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'_^:?^^f^f^^^:."-i'"^-M^  P:  ■■■ii; 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


J^7^^y^  ^-:  ^C^.^-^^' 


THE 


PLAYS 


OF 


PHILIP     MASSINGER. 


VOLUME    IV. 


THE 

PLAYS 

OF 

PHILIP    MASSINGER, 

IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 
WITH  NOTES  CRITICAL  AND  EXPLANATORY, 

By.W.   GIFFORD,   Esq. 


HAUD  TAMEN  INVIDEAS  YATI  <JUEM  PULPITA  PASCUNT. 


THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

VOLUME  THE  FOURTH. 

CONTAINING 

THE  CITY  MADAM. 
THE  GUARDIAN. 
A  VERY  WOMAN. 
THE  BASHFUL  LOVER. 
'     THE  OLD  LAW. 


LONDON: 

—  \, 

PRINTED  FOR  G.  AND  W.  NICOt  ;    F.  C.  AND  J.  RIVINGTON  ;    CADELK. 
AND    DAVIES;     LONGMAN     AND     CO.;      LACKINGTON     AND     CO.; 

J.  barker;  WHITE  and  Cochrane;  r.  u.  evans;  j.  murray; 

f.  MAWMAN  ;    J.  FaULDER,   AND  R.  BALDWIN; 

By  tV.  Buitner  and  Co.  Cleveland-Row ^  St.  James' t. 


1813. 

29285       /^ 


G  3  L 


THE 


CITY    MADAM 


VOL.  IV. 


*  B 


The  City  Madam.]  This  "  Comedy,"  of  which  it  is  not 
easy  to  speak  in  appropriate  terms  of  praise,  was  iicensod  by 
sir  Henry  Herbert,  May  25th,  1632,  and  acted  by  the  king's 
company. 

*'  The  plot,  the  business,  the  conduct,  and  the  language  of 
the  piece,"  as  the  Companion  to  the  Playhouse  justi)'  observes, 
*'  are  all  admirable;"  yet  I  do  not  know  that  it  was  erer  revived 
till  the  year  1771,  when  the  late  Mr.  Love  made  some  changes 
in  it,  and  procured  it  to  be  acted  at  Richmond. 

Mr.  Waldron,  of  the  Theatre  Royal  Drury  Lane,  is  in  pos- 
session of  a  very  old  alteration  of  this  Play,  in  which,  as 
usual,  not  only  the  titles,  but  the  names  of  the  dramatis  per- 
sonae  are  changed.  I  have  looked  through  it,  but  can  find  no- 
thing to  commend  :  it  is  called  the  Cure  of  Pride.  This  gentle- 
man informs  me  that  Mr.  Love,  who  was  the  manager  of  the 
Richmond  Theatre,  played  the  part  of  Luke  with  great  success; 
and  that  he  afterwards  prevailed  on  Mr.  Garrick  to  bring  the 
Play  forward  at  Drury  Lane.  A  short  J;ime  since  it  was  repro- 
duced, with  considerable  alterations,  by  Sir  J.  B.  burges  under 
the  nsme  of  the  Wife  and  Brother^  and  acted,  for  a  few  nights, 
at  the  Lyceum.  But  the  drift  of  the  original  was  totally  mis- 
taken, and  the  failure  was,  of  course,  complete. 

The  City  Madam  was  received,  as  the  quarto  says,  with 
great  applause;  it  was,  however,  kept  in  the  players'  hands  till 
1669,*  when  it  was  given  to  the  press  by  Andrew  Pennycuicke, 
one  of  the  actors. 


*  This  is  the  date  of  all  the  copies  which  I  have  seen,  with  the  exception  of 
one  that  lately  fell  into  my  hands :  this  has  the  year  1653  on  the  title-page.  It 
-was  probably  thrown  off  in  1058-0. 


TO 

The  truly  Noble  and  Firtuom 

LADY  ANN  COUNTESS  OF  OXFORD  * 


HONOURED  LADY, 

In  that  age  when  wit  and  learning  were  not  conquered  by 
injury  and  violence,  this  poem  was  the  object  of  love  and 
commendations,  it  being  composed  by  an  infallible  pen,  and 
censured  by  an  uneriing  auditory.  In  this  epistle  I  shall  not 
need  to  make  an  apology  for  plays  in  genera/,  by  exhibiting 
their  antiquity  and  utility :  in  a  word,  they  are  mirrors  or 
glasses  which  none  but  deformed  faces,  and  fouler  consciences 
fear  to  look  into.  The  encouragement  I  had  to  prefer  this  dedi- 
cation to  your  powerful  protection  proceeds  from  the  universal 
fame  of  the  deceased  author,  who  (although  he  composed  many) 
wrote  none  amiss,  and  this  may  justly  be  ranked  among  his 
best.  I  have  redeemed  it  from  the  teeth  of  Time,  by  com- 
mitting of  it  to  the  press,  but  more  in  imploring  your  patro- 
nage. I  will  not  slander  it  with  my  praises,  it  is  commendation 
enough  to  call  it  Massingeb's;  if  it  may  gain  your  allow- 
ance and  pardon,  I  am  highly  gratified,  and  desire  only  to 
wear  the  happy  title  of. 

Madam, 

your  most  humble  servant, 

ANDREW  PENNYCUICKE. 


*  Daughter  of  Paul  viscount  BiDnyng,  uid  wife  of  Aubrey 
de  Vere  earl  of  Oxford. 


♦  B2 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Zor^  Lacy. 

Sir  John  Frugal,*  a  merchant. 

Sir  Maurice  Lacy,*  son  to  lord  Lacy. 

Air.  Plenty,  a  country  gentleman. 

Luke  Frugal,  brother  to  sir  John. 

Gold  wire  senior.  7  ^  ^j 

rr     1        II       •      f  two  gentlemen. 

Iradewell  senior^  \        * 

Go\dw'\re  junior  J  ">  their  sonSy    apprentices  to   sir 

TvdideweW  junior  J  5      John  Frugal. 

Stargaze,  an  astrologer. 

Hoyst,  a  decayed  gentleman. 

T,  '  [  decayed  merchants. 

Penury,   3        ^ 

Holdfast,  steward  to  sir  John  Frugal. 

Ramble, )    ,       ,     . 

Scuffle,    1  *""'  '"'"'"• 

Ding'em,  a  pimp. 

Gettall,  a  bo.v -keeper. ^ 

Page,  Sheriff,  Marshal,  Serjeants. 

Lady  Frugal. 

^  "^  /    [  her  daughters. 

Milliscent,  her  woman. 
Shave'em,  a  courtezan. 
Secret,  a  bawd. 

Orpheus,  Charon,  Cerberus,  Chorus,  Musicians, 
Porters,  Servants, 

SCENE,  London. 

*  In  the  old  list  of  dramatis  personae  these  two  characters  are 
named  Sir  John  Rich  and  Sir  John  Lacy,  notwithstanding  the 
former  is  called  Sir  John  Frvgal  in  every  part  of  the  play,  and 
the  latter  Sir  Maurice  Lacy,  in  the  only  two  places  in  which  his 
christian  name  is  mentioned. 

+  Gettall,  a  box-keeper.']  Or,  as  he  is  usually  called, — groom- 
porter  to  a  gambling-house.  This  important  character,  as  I 
am  told,  never  plays,  but  is  seated  in  a  box  or  elevated  chair, 
"  where  he  declares  the  state  of  the  game,  the  odds,  and  ^he  suc- 
cess of  the  parties.'*  - 


THE 

CITY    MADAM. 


ACT   I.    SCENE    I. 

A  Room  in  Sir  John  Frugal's  House. 

Enter  Golt>wibe  junior  and  Trxbew  ell  junior. 

Gold.  The  ship  is  safe  in  the  Pool  then? 
Trade.  And  makes  good, 
In  her  rich  fraught,  the  name  she  bears,  The 

Speedwell  : 
My  master  will  find  it ;  for,  on  my  certain  know- 
ledge, 
For  every  hundred  that  he  ventured  in  her, 
She  hath  return'd  him  five. 

Gold.  And  it  comes  timely ; 
For,  besides  a  payment  on  the  nail  for  a  manor 
Late  purchased  by  my  master,  his  young  daugh- 
ters 
Are  ripe  for  marriage. 

Trade.  Who  ?  Nan  and  Mall  ? 
Gold.  Mistress  Anne  and  Mary,  and  with  some 
addition, 
Or  *tis  more  punishable  in  our  house 
Than  scandalum  magnatum. 


6  TPIE   CITY   MADAM. 

Trade.  'Tis  great  pity 
Such  a  a^entleman  as  my  master  (for  that  title 
His  being  a  citizen  cannot  take  from  him) 
Hath  no  male  heir  to  inherit  his  estate, 
And  keep  liis  name  alive. 

Gold.  The  want  of  ooe, 
Swells  my  young  mistresses,  and  their  madam- 
mother, 
With  hopes  above  their  birth,  and  scale :  their 

dreams  are 
Of  being  made  countesses ;  and  they  take  state, 
As  they  were  such  already.    When  you  went 
To  the  Indies,  there  was  some  shape  and  pro- 
portion 
Of  a  merchant's  house  in  our  family  ;  but  since 
My  master,  to  gain  precedency  for  my  mistress, 
Above  some  elder  merchants' wives,  was  knighted, 
'Tis  grown  a  little  court  in  bravery. 
Variety  of  fashions,  and  those  rich  ones : 
There  are  few  great  ladies  going  to  a  mask 
That  do  outshine  ours  in  their  every-day  habits. 

Trade.  'Tis  strange,  my  master,  in  his  wisdom, 
can 
Give  the  reins  to  such  exorbitance. 

Gold.  He  must, 
Or  there's  no  peace  nor  rest  for  him  at  home : 
I  grant  his  state  will  bear  it ;  yet  he's  censured 
For  his  indulgence,  and,  for  sir  John  Frugal, 
By  some  styled  sir  John  Prodigal. 

Trade.  Is  his  brother, 
Master  Luke  Frugal,  living  ? 

Gold.  Yes ;  the  more 
His  misery,  poor  man  ! 

Trade.  Still  in  the  counter? 

Gold.  In  a  worse  place.    He  was  redeem'd  from 
the  hole, 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  .     7 

To  live,  in  ourhouse,  in  hell  ;*  since,  his  base  usage 
Consider'd,  'tis  no'better.     My  proud  lady 
Admits  him  to  her  table;  marry,  ever 
Beneath  the  salt,*  and  there  he  sits  the  subject 
Of  her  contempt  and  scorn  ;  and  dinner  ended, 
His  courteous  nieces  find  employment  for  him 


*  — He  was  redeem' d from  the  hole, 

To  live^  in  our  house^  in  hell ;]  This  passage  alludes  to  a  pas- 
time called  Barley-brake.     M.  Mason. 

Never  did  so  strange  a  conceit  enter  mortal  head.  What  is 
there  in  the  miserable  situation  of  Luke  that  could  possibly  put 
Goldwire,  or  rather  Mr.  M.Mason,  iu  mind  of  a  pastime? 
The  hole  was  one  of  the  wretched  departments  of  a  gaol,  in 
which  prisoners,  who  could  not  afford  to  pay  for  better  accom- 
modations, were  obliged  to  take  up  their  residence.  It  is  fre- 
quently mentioned  by  our  old  writers.  Thus  Wilkins  :  "  Can. 
it  accord  with  the  state  of  gentry,  to  submit  myself,  from  the 
feather-bed  in  the  master's  side,  or  the  flock-bed  in  the  knights* 
ward,  to  the  straw -bed  in  the  holeV  Miseries  of  inforced 
Marriage. 

Hell  was  a  spot  yet  more  wretched  than  the  hole  : 
*'  For  in  the  lowest  deep,  a  lower  deep 
"  Still  threaten'd  to  devour," 
It  was  a  cant  name  for  the  darkest  part  of  the  kole^  or  for  an 
obscure  dungeon  in  some  of  our  prisons,  for  which  the  former 
appellation  appeared  too  favourable  a  term.    Thus  in  the  Coun- 
ter-rat,  1658  : 

"  In  Wood-street's  hole,  or  Poultry's  hell.^' 
And  to  this  sense  of  the  word  Goldwire  alludes.   The  Counter, 
from  the  hole  of  which  Luke  was  redeemed,  stood  in  Wood-street. 

* marry ^  ever 

Beneath  the  salt,]  Thus  Cartvvright : 

*' Where  you  are  best  esteem'd 

"  You  only  pass  under  the  favourable  name 
"  Of  humble  cousins  that  sit  beneath  the  salt.** 

Love's  Convert. 
And  see  Vol.  I.  p.  170. 

Massinger  generally  opens  his  plots  with  great  ingenuity ;  but 
here  he  is  particularly  happy.  We  arc  at  once  admitted  into  the 
interior  of  the  merchant's  family,  and  prepared  for  the  conduct 
of  the  different  branches  of  it,  before  tliey  appear,  by  a  dialogue 
as  natural  as  it  is  easy  aud  unforced. 


8      .        THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Fitting  an  under-prentice,  or  a  footman, 
And  not  an  uncle. 

Trade.  I  wonder,  being  a  scholar 
Well  t-ead,  and  travell'd,  the  world  yielding  means 
For  men  of  such  desert,  he  should  endure  it. 

Gold.   He  does,  with  a  strange  patience ;  and 
to  us, 
The  servants,  so  familiar,  nay  humble  ! 

Enter  Stargaze,  Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  Mary, 
and  Milliscent,  in  several  affected  postureSj 
with  looking-glasses  at  their  girdles. ' 

I'll  tell  you — but  I  am  cut  off.     Look  these 
Like  a  citizen's  wife  and  daughters  ? 

Trade.  In  their  habits 
They  appear  other  things  :  but  what  are  the  mo- 
tives 
Of  this  strange  preparation  ? 

Gold.  The  young  wagtails 
Expect  their  suitors :  the  first,  the  son  and  heir 
Of  the  lord  Lacy,  who  needs  my  master's  money. 
As  his  daughter  does  his  honour;   the  second, 
Mr,  Plenty, 

3  .  with  looking-glasses  at  their  girdles.]  It  appears 

/rem  innumerable  passages  in  onr  old  -writers,  that  it  was  cus- 
tomary, not  only  for  ladies,  but  for  gentlemen,  to  carry  mirrors 
about  them.  The  former,  we  see,  wore  them  at  their  girdles. 
Thus  Jonson  : 

"  I  confess  all,  I  replied, 
"  And  the  glass  hangs  by  her  side, 
'*  And  the  girdle  'bout  her  waist, 
*'  All  is  Venus,  save  unchaste."         Underwoods. 
The  latter,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  like  the  fine  gentlemen  of  the  pre- 
sent day,  kept  them   in   their  pockets: — and   yet  there  are 
instances  of  their  displaying  them  as  ostentatiously  as  the  vainest 
of  the  fair  sex.    Thus  Jonson  again  : 

"  Where  is  your  page?  call  for  your  casting  bottle,  and  place 
your  mirror  in  your  hat,  as  I  told  you."    Cynthia's  Revels. 


THE   CITY    MADAM.  9 

A  rough-hewn  gentleman,  and  newly  come 
To  a  great  estate ;  and  so  all  aids  of  art 
In  them's  excusable. 

L.  Frug.  You  have  done  your  parts  here : 
To  your  study ;  and  be  curious  in  the  search 
Of  the  nativities.  \^Exit  Stargaze, 

Trade.  Methinks  the  mother, 
As  if  she  could  renew  her  youth,  in  care, 
Nay  curiosity,*  to  appear  lovely. 
Comes  not  behind  her  daughters. 

Gold.  Keeps  the  first  place  ; 
And  though  the  church-book  speak  her  fifty,  they 
That  say  she  can  write  thirty,  more  offend  her, 
Than  if  they  tax'd  her  honesty:  t'other  day, 
A  tenant  of  hers,  instructed  in  her  humour, 
But  one  she  never  saw,  being  brought  before  her, 
For  saying  only.  Good  young  mistress,  help  me 
To  the  speech  of  your  lady-mother,  so  far  pleased 

her, 
That  he  got  his  lease  renew'd  for't. 

Trade.  How  she  bristles  ! 
Prithee,  observe  her. 

Mill.  As  I  hope  to  see 
A  country  knight's  son  and  heir  walk  bare  before 

you 
When  you  are  a  countess,  as  you  may  be  one 
When  my  master  dies,  or  leaves  trading;  and  I, 

continuing 
Your  principal  woman,  take  the  upper  hand 
Of  a  squire's  wife,  though  a  justice,  as  I  must 
By  the   place  you  give   me  ;    you  look  now  as 

young 
As  when  you  were  married. 

L.  Frug.  I  think  1  bear  my  years  well. 

*  Nay  curiosity,  to  appear  lovely,']  Curiosity  here,  as  in  many 
other  passages  of  these  plays,  signifles  scrupulous  attention, 
anxiety,  &c. 

VOL.  IV.  *  C 


10  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Mill,  Why  should   you  talk  of  years?  Time 
hath  not  plough'd 
One  furrow  iu  your  face;  and   were   you   not 

known 
The  mother  of  my  young'  ladies,  you  might  pass 
For  a  virgin  of  fifteen. 

Trade.  Here's  no  gross  flattery  ! 
Will  she  swallow  this  ? 

Gold.  You  see  she  does,  and  glibly. 

MilL  You  never  can  be  old  ;  wear  but  a  mask 
Forty  years  hence,  and  you  will  still  seem  young 
In  your  other  parts.     What  a  waist  is  here  1   O 

Venus ! 
That  I  had  been  born  a  king  !  and  here  a  hand 
To  be  kiss'd  ever ; — pardon  my  boldness,  madam. 
Then,  for  a  leg  and  foot,  you  will  be  courted 
When  a  great  grandmother. 

L.  Frug.  These,  indeed,  wench,  are  not 
So  subject  to  decayings  as  the  face; 
Their  comeliness  lasts  longer. 

Mill.  Ever,  ever  ! 
Such  a  rare  featured  and  proportioned  madam, 
London  could  never  boast  of. 

L.  Frug.  Where  are  my  shoes? 

Mill.  Those   that  your  ladyship  gave  order, 
should 
Be  made  of  the  Spanish  perfum'd  skins  ? 

L.  Frug.  The  same. 

*  The  mother  of  my  young  ladies,"]  So  the  old  copy  ;  the  mo- 
dern editors,  in  compassion  to  the  author's  irregularities^  have 
reformed  his  text,  and  printed,  The  mother  0/ these  ladies:  in  the 
preceding  line  too,  they  have  interposed  their  aid.  Seriously, 
these  impertinent  deviations  cannot  be  too  strongly  reprobated. 
Massinger's  ear  was  so  exquisitely  touched,  that  I  could  almost 
venture  to  affirm  he  never  made  use  of  his  ten  fingers  in  the  con- 
struction of  a  single  verse  ;  and  his  bungling  editors,  therefore, 
"who  try  his  poetry  by  such  coarse  mechanism,  ■will  more  fre- 
quently injure  his  kense,  than  iraprovo  his  metre. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  Ii 

Mill.  I  sent  the  prison-bird  this  morning  for 
them ; 
But  he  ne.^lects  his  duty . 

Anne.  He  is  grown 
Exceeding-  careless. 

Mary.  And  begins  to  murmur 
At  our  commands,  and  sometimes  grumbles  to  us, 
He  is,  forsooth,  our  uncle  ! 

L.  Frug.  He  is  your  slave, 
And  as  such  use  him. 

An7ie.  Willingly ;  but  he's  grown 
Rebellious,  madam. 

Gold.  Nay,  like  hen,  like  chicken. 

L,  Frug.  rii  humble  him. 

Enter  Luke,  with  shoes,  garters,  fans,  and  roses. 

Gold.  Here  he  comes,  sweating  all  over: 
He  shews  like  a  walking  frippery.* 

L,  Frug.  Very  good,  sir : 
Were  you  drunk  last  night,  that  you  could  rise 

no  sooner. 
With  humble  diligence,  to  do  what  my  daughters 
And  woman  did  command  you  ? 

^  He  shews  like  a  walking  frippery.]  A  frippery  is  an  old- 
clothcs  shop ;  the  word  is  pure  French,  but  occurs  in  most  of 
our  ancient  dramatists : 

"  If  I  carry any  lady  of  the  laundry, 

*'  Chambering  or  wantonness  behind  my  gelding, 
*'  With  all  her  streamers,  knapsacks,  glasses,  gewgaws, 
*'  As  if  I  were  a  running  frippery, 

*'  I'll  give  them  learc,"  &c.  Wit  without  Money. 

The  roses  mentioned  among  the  articles  brought  by  Luke, 
were  not  the  flowers  of  that  name,  but  knots  of  ribands  to  bo 
fixed  on  the  shoes :  it  appears  from  old  paintings,  and,  indeed, 
from  the  description  of  them  in  various  authors,  that  they  were 
of  a  preposterous  size.     Thus  Jonson  : 

"  Service  !  'fore  hell,  my  heart  was  at  my  mouth, 

**  Till  1  had  view'd  his  shoes  well,  for  these  roses 

**  Were  big  enough  to  hide  a  cloven  foot."     Devil's  an  Ass. 

♦Ca 


12  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Luke,  Drunk,  an't  please  you  1 
X.  Frug.  Drunk,  I  said,  sirrah  !  dar'st  thou,  in 
a  look, 
Repine,  or  grumble?    Thou  unthankful  wretch, 
Did  our  charity  redeem  thee  out  of  prison, 
(Thy  patrimony  spent,)  ragged,  and  lousy, 
When  the  sheriff's  basket,  and  his  broken  meat/ 
Were  your  festival-exceedings  !  and  is  this 
So  soon  forgotten  ? 

Luke.  I  confess  I  am 
Your  creature,  madam. 

Z.  Frug,  And  good  reason  why 
You  should  continue  so. 

Anne.  Who  did  new  clothe  you? 
Marg.  Admitted  you  to  the  dining-room? 
Mill.  Allow'd  you 
A  fresh  bed  in  the  garret  ? 
L.  Frug.  Or  from  whom 
Received  you  spending  money  ? 

Luke.  I  owe  all  this 
To  your  goodness,  madam ;  for  it  you  have  my 

prayers. 
The  beggar's  satisfaction  :  all  my  studies 
(Forgetting  what  I  was,  but  with  all  duty 
Remembering  what  I  am)  are  how  to  please  you. 
And  if  in  my  long  stay  I  have  offended, 
I  ask  your  pardon  ;  though  you  may  consider, 
Being  forced  to  fetch  these  from  the  Old  Ex- 
change, 
These  from  the  Tower,  and  these  from  West- 
minster, 
I  could  not  come  much  sooner. 

'  When  the  sheriffs  basket,  &c,]  **  The  poorer  sort  of  pri- 
soners," says  Stow,  "  as  well  in  this  counter,  as  in  that  in 
Wood-street,  receive  daily  relief  from  the  sher'^'s  table  of  all 
the  broJcen  bread  and  meat."    B.  iii.  p.  51. 

FoTfestival.€X4:€€<lifigi'y  see  vol.  iii.  p.  216. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  13 

Gold.  Here  was  a  walk 
To  breathe  a  footman  ! 

Anne.  'Tis  a  curious  fan. 

Mary.    These   roses   will   shew   rare :    would 
'twere  in  fashion 
That  the  garters  might  be  seen  too! 

Mill.  Many  ladies 
That  know  they  have  good  legs,  wish  the  same 

with  you ; 
Men  that  way  have  the  advantage. 

Luke.  I  was  with 
The  lady,  and  delivered  her  the  satin 
For  her  gown,  and  velvet  for  her  petticoat; 
This  night  she  vows  she'll  pay  you. 

[Aside  to  Goldwii-Cm 

Gold,  How  I  am  bound 
To  your  favour,  master  Luke  ! 

Mill,  As  I  live,  you  will 
Perfume  all  rooms  you  walk  in. 

L.  Frug,  Get  your  fur,' 
You  shall  pull  them  on  within.  [Ea'ii  Luke* 

Gold.  That  servile  office 
Her  pride  imposes  on  him. 

Sir  John,  [within.]  Gold  wire  !  Tradewell  1 

Trade,  My  master  calls. — We  come,  sir. 

\_E.reunt  Goldzvire  and  Tradewell. 

Enter  Holdfast,  and  Porters  with  baskets^  S^c. 

L.  Frug,  What  have  you  brought  there  ? 
Hold.  The  cream  o'the  market ; 
Provision  enough  to  serve  a  garrison. 

'  L.  Frug.  Get  your  fur,]  To  put  under  her  feet  while  he 
tried  on  her  shoes.     M.  Mason. 

Or  rather,  was  not  the  fur  a  piece  of  undressed  skin,  such  as 
is  sometimes  used  by  ladies  of  the  present  day,  in  lieu  of  a  shoe- 
ing horn  ?  Grande  certamen  ! 


14.  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

I  weep  to  think  on't :  when  my  master  got 
His  wealth,  his  family  fed  on  roots  and  livers, 

And  necks  of  beef  on  Sundays. 

Bat  now  I  fear  it  will  be  spent  in  poultry ; 
Butcher's-meat  will  not  go  down. 

L.  Friig.  Why,  you  rascal,  is  it 
At  your  expense?  what  cooks  have  you  provided? 

Hold,  The  best  of  the  city  :  they've  wrought 
at  my  lord  mayor's. 

Anne.  Fie  on  them  !  they  smell  of  Fleet-lane, 
and  Pie-corner. 

Mary.  And  think  the  happiness  of  man's  life 
consists 
In  a  mighty  shoulder  of  mutton. 

L.  Frug.  I'll  have  none 
Shall  touch  what  I  shall  eat,  you  grumbling  cur. 
But  Frenchmen  and  Italians  ;  they  wear  satin, 
And  dish  no  meat  but  in  silver. 

Hold.  You  may  want,  though, 
A  dish  or  two  when  the  service  ends, 

L.  Frug,  Leave  prating  ; 
I'll  have  my  will :  do  you  as  I  command  you. 

l^Eoceunt, 


SCENE   XL 

The  Street  before  Frugal's  House, 

Enter  Sir  Maurice  Lacy  and  Page. 

Sir  Maur.  You  were  with  Plenty  ? 
:  Page.  Yes,  sir. 

Sir  Maur.  And  what  answer 
Returned  the  clown  ? 
Fage,  Clown,  sir !  he  is  transformed, 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  15 

And  grown  a  gallant  of  the  last  edition ;' 
More  rich  than  gaudy  in  his  habit ;  yet 
Tlie  freedom  and  the  bluntness  of  his  language 
Continues  with  him.     When  I  told  him  that 
You  gave  him  caution,  as  he  loved  the  peace 
And  safety  of  his  life,  he  should  forbear 
To  pass  the  merchant's  threshold,  until  you. 
Of  his  two  daughters,  had  made  choice  of  hef 
Whom  you  design'd  to  honour  as  your  wife, 
He  smiled  in  scorn. 

Si?'  Maiir.  In  scorn  ! 

Page.  His  words  confirm 'd  it; 
They  were  ^qw,  but  to  this  purpose :  Tell  your 

master^ 
Though  his  lordship  in  reversion  were  now  his, 
It  cannot,  awe  me.     I  was  born  a  freeman, 
And  will  not  yields  in  the  way  of  affection, 
Precedence  to  him  :  I  zvill  visit  them, 
Though  he  sate  porter  to  deny  me  entrance: 
When  I  meet  him  next,  Pll  say  more  to  his  face. 
Deliver  thou  this :  then  gave  me  a  piece, 
To  help  my  memory,  and  so  we  parted. 

Sir  Maur.  Where  got  he  this  spirit? 

Page,  At  the  academy  of  valour, 
Newly  erected  for  the  institution 
Of  elder  brothers;  where  they  are  taught  the 

ways. 
Though  they  refuse  to  seal  for  a  duellist, 
How  to  decline  a  challenge.     He  himself 
Can  best  resolve  you. 

Enter  Plenty  and  three  Servants. 
Sir  Maur,  You,  sir! 

•  And  grown  a  gallant  of  the  last  edition ;]  i.  e.  of  the  newest 
fashion.  It  was  the  application  of  this  common  phrase  to  Ed. 
wards  (who  misunderstood  it)  which  provoked  that  gentleman 
fo  highly  against  WarbartOD. 


16  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Plenty.  What  with  me,  sir? 
How  bio-  yoLi  look  !   I  will  not  loose  a  hat 
To  a  hair's  breadth:  move  your  beaver,  I'll  move 

mine ; 
Or  if  you  desire  to  prove  your  sword,  mine  hangs 
As  near  my  right  hand,  and  will  as  soon  out; 

though  I  keep  not 
A  fencer  to  breathe  me.    Walk  into  Moorfields — 
I  dare  look  on  your  Toledo.     Do  not  shew 
A  foolish  valour  in  the  streets,  to  make 
Work  for  shopkeepers  and  their  clubs,*  'tis  scurvy. 
And  the  women  will  laugh  at  us. 

Sir  Maur.  You  presume 
On  the  protection  of  your  hinds. 

Flenty.  I  scorn  it : 
Though  I  keep  men,  I  fight  not  with  their  fingers, 
Nor  make  it  my  religion  to  follow 
The  gallant's  fashion,  to  have  my  family 
Consisting  in  a  footman  and  a  page, 
Andthosetwosometimeshungry.  lean  feed  these. 
And  clothe  them  too,  my  gay  sir. 

Sir  Maur.  What  a  fine  man 
Hath  your  tailor  made  you! 

Plenty.  'Tis  quite  contrary, 
I  have  made  my  tailor,  for  my  clothes  are  paid  for 
As  soon  as  put  on  ;  a  sin  your  man  of  title 
Is  seldom  guilty  of;  but  Heaven  forgive  it  ! 
I  have  other  faults,  too,  very  incident 
To  a  plain  gentleman:  I  eat  my  venison 
With  my  neighbours  in  the  country,  and  present 

not 
My  pheasants,  partridges,  and   growse  to   the 

usurer; 
Nor  ever  yet  paid  brokage  to  his  scrivener. 
I  flatter  not  my  mercer's  wife,  nor  feast  her 

\  Work  for  shopkeepers  and  their  clubs,]  See  Vol.  II.  p.  142. 


THE   CITY    MADAM.  17 

With  the  first  cherries,  or  peascods,  to  prepare  me 
Credit  with  her  husband,  when  I  come  to  London. 
The  wool  of  my  sheep,  or  a  score  or  two  of  fat  oxen 
In  Smithfield,  give  me  money  for  my  expenses. 
I  can  make  my  wife  a  jointure  of  such  lands  too 
As  are  not  encumber'd  ;  no  annuity 
Or  statute  lying  on  them.  This  I  can  do, 
An  it  please  your  future  honour,  and  why,  there- 
fore, 
You  should  forbid  my  being  suitor  with  you, 
My  dullness  apprehends  not. 

Page.  This  is  bitter.  [Aside. 

Sir  Maur.  I  have  heard  you,  sir,  and  in  my 
patience  shewn 
Too  much  of  the  stoic.  But  to  parley  further, 
Oransweryourgrossjeers,  would  vvritemecoward. 
This  only, — thy  great  grandfather  was  a  butcher,* 
And  his  son  a  grazier;  thy  sire,  constable 
Of  thehundred,  and  thou  the  first  of  your  dunghill 
Created  gentleman.  Now  you  may  come  on,  sir, 
You  and  your  thrashers. 

Plenty.  Stir  not,  on  your  lives. 
This  for  the  grazier, —  this  for  the  butcher. 

\TheyJight, 

Sir  Maur.  So,  sir  ! 

Page.  I'll  not  stand  idle;  draw!  [to  the  Servant  s.'\ 
my  little  rapier,' 

'  This  only., — thy  great  grandfather  was  a  butcher,  &c.]  Mas- 
singer  did  not  intend  Lacy  for  a  fool,  and  yet  his  reply  to  the 
high-spirited  and  characteristic  speech  of  his  competitor  savours 
strongly  of  fatuity.  It  must  be  confessed  that  the  young  gen- 
tleman is  warm,  yet  he  should  not,  for  that,  have  adopted  the 
language  and  sentiments  of  a  tishwoman. 

^ (h-aw  !  My  little  rapier. 

Against  your  bumb  blades  !  &c.]  So  I  have  regulated  the 
teit  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Waldron.    it  stood  thus  before,    . 
draw,  (i.  e.  I  will  draw)  my  little  rapier 
Against  your  bumb  blades,  &c. 


18  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

Against  your  bumb  blades  !  I'll  one  by  one  dis- 
patch you, 
Then  liouse  this  instrument  of  death  and  horror. 

Enter  Sir   John    Frugal,   Luke,    Goldwire 
junior^  atid  TiiAHEWELLJimior, 

Sir  John.  Beat  down  their  weapons.    My  gate 
ruffian's  hall  ! 
What  insolence  is  this? 

Luke.  Noble  sir  Maurice, 
Worshipful  master  Plenty — 

Sir  John.  1  blush  for  you. 
Men  of  your  quality  expose  your  fame 
To  every  vulgar  censure  !  this  at  midnight, 
After  a  drunken  supper  in  a  tavern, 
(No  civil  man  abroad  to  censure  it,)* 
Had  shewn  poor  in  you  ;  but  in  the  day,  and  vie\r 
Of  all  that  pass  by,  monstrous  ! 

Plenty.  Very  well,  sir  ; 
You  look'd  for  this  defence. 

Sir  Maiir.  'Tis  thy  protection  ; 
But  it  will  deceive  thee. 

Sir  John.  Hold,  if  you  proceed  thus, 
I  must  make  use  of  the  next  justice'  power. 
And  leave  persuasion ;  and  in  plain  terms  tell  you. 

Enter  Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  Mary,  and  Mil- 

LISCENT. 

Neither  your  birth,  sir  Maurice,  nor  your  wealth, 
Shall  privilege  this  riot.   See  whom  you  have 

drawn 
To  be  spectators  of  it  !  can  you  imagine 
It  can  stand  with  the  credit  of  my  daughters, 

♦  No  civil  man  abroad"]  No  citizen,  or  perhaps,  no  man  in- 
Tested  with  civil  authority.  See  Vol.  II.  p.  218. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  ic) 

To  be  the  argument  of  your  swords?  i'the  street 

too? 
Nay,  ere  you  do  salute,  or  I  give  way 
To  any  private  conterence,  shake  hands 
In  sign  of  peace :  he  that  draws  back,  parts  witli 
My  good  opinion.    \Tkey  shake  hands.]   This  is 

as  it  sliould  be. 
Make  your  approaches,  and  if  their  affection 
Can  sympathise  with  yours,  they  shall  not  come, 
On  my  credit,  beggars  to  you.  I  will  hear 
What  you  reply  within. 

Sir  Maiir,  May  I  have  the  honour 
To  support  you,  lady  ?  \To  Anne. 

Plenty.  I  know  not  what's  supporting, 
But  by  this  fair  hand,  glove  and  all,  I  love  you. 

[7b  Mary. 
[Ei'eunt  all  but  Luke. 

Enter  Hoyst,  Penury,  «72</ Fortune. 

Luke.  You  are  come  with  all  advantage.     I 
will  help  you 
To  the  speech  of  my  brother, 

For.  Have  you  moved  him  for  us  ? 
Luke.  With  the  best  of  my  endeavours,  and  I 
hope 
You'll  find  him  tractable. 
Pen,  Heaven  grant  he  prove  so! 
Hoyst.  Howe'er,  I'll  speak  m,y  mind. 

Enter  Lord  Lacy. 

Luke.  Do  so,  master  Hoyst. 
Go  in  :  I'll  pay  my  duty  to  this  lord. 
And  then  I  am  wholly  yours. 

\Excunt  Hoyst,  Penury ,  and  Fortune, 
Heaven  bless  your  honour  ! 


20  THE    CITY   MADAM. 

L.  Lacy.  Your  liand,  master  Luke:  the  world's 
much  changed  with  you 
Within  these  few  months  ;  then  you  were  the 

gallant : 
No  meeting  at  the  horse-race,  cocking,  hunting, 
Shooting,  or  bowling,  at  which  master  Luke 
Was  not  a  principal  gamester,  and  companion 
For  the  nobility. 

Luke.  I  have  paid  dear 
For  those  follies,   my  good  lord  ;    and  'tis  but 

justice 
That  such  as  soar  above  their  pitch,  and  will  not 
Be  warn'd  by  my  example,  should,  like  me, 
Share  in  the  miseries  that  wait  upon  it. 
Your  honour,  in  your  charity,  may  do  well 
Not  to  upbraid  me  with  those  weaknesses. 
Too  late  repented. 

L.  Lacy.  I  nor  do,  nor  will; 
And  you  shall  find  I'll  lend  a  helping  hand 
To  raise  your  fortunes  :  how  deals  your  brother 
with  you  ? 

Luhe.  Beyond  my  merit,  I  thank  his  goodness 
for't. 
I  am  a  free  man,  all  my  debts  discharged  ; 
Nor  does  one  creditor,  undone  by  me, 
Curse  my  loose  riots.  I  have  meat  and  clothes, 
Time  to  ask  heaven  remission  for  what's  past ; 
Cares  of  the  world  by  me  are  laid  aside, 
My  present  poverty's  a  blessing  to  me  ; 
And  though  I  have  been  long,  I  dare  not  say 
I  ever  lived  till  now. 

Z.  Lacy.  You  bear  it  well ; 
Yet  as  you  wish  I  should  receive  for  truth 
What  you  deliver,  with  that  truth  acquaint  me 
With  your  brother's  inclination.    I  have  heard. 
In  the  acquisition  of  his  wealth,  he  weighs  not 
Whose  ruins  he  builds  upon. 


THE    CITY   MADAM.  21 

Luke.  In  that,  report 
Wrongs  him,  my  lord.    He  is  a  citizen, 
And  would  increase  his  heap,  and  will  not  lose 
What  tlie  law  gives  him  :    such  as  are  worldly 

wise 
Pursue  that  track,  or  they  will  ne'er  wear  scarlet.* 
But  if  your  honour  please  to  know  his  temper. 
You  are  come  opportunely.  I  can  bring  you 
Where  you,  unseen,  shall  see  and  hear  his  carriage 
Towards  some  poor  men,  whose  making,  or  un- 
doing, 
Depends  upon  his  pleasure.^ 

L.  Lacy.  To  my  wish : 
I  know  no  object  that  could  more  content  me. 

[E.veunf. 

SCENE   HI. 

A  Counting'TOom  in  Frugal's  House. 

Enter  Sir  John   Frugal,   Hoyst,   Fortune, 
Penury,  and  Go  ldw  ire  junior. 

Sir  John.  What  would  you  have  me  do?  reach 
me  a  chair. 
When  I  lent  my  monies  I  appear'd  an  angel ; 
But  now  I  would  call  in  mine  own,  a  devil. 

5  ■  —  or  they  will  ne'er  wear  scarlet.]  i.  e. 

nerer  rise  to  city  honours.  Our  old  writers  have  innumerable 
allusions  to  the  scarlet  gowns  of  the  mayors  and  aldermen  of 
London. 

*  The  old  copy  has  a  marginal  direction  here,  to  set  out  a 
tabky  count  book,  standish,  chair  and  stool.  Nothing  can  more 
fully  demonstrate  the  poyerty  of  our  ancient  theatres,  than  these 
hints  to  the  property-man.  Of  what  wo  now  call  scenery,  there 
is  not  the  slightest  indication  in  any  of  these  dramas.  What  was 
the  street  before  the  merchant's  house,  is  converted,  by  simply 
thrusting  forward  a  table,  into  a  counting-room :  Luke  and 
lord  Lacy  go  out,  the  others  take  their  places,  aad  then  th« 
former  two  re-entcr  behiad  them. 


JQ  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Hoyst.  Were  you  the  devil's  dam,  you  must 
stay  till  I  have  it, 
For  as  I  am  a  gentleman 

Re-enter  Luke,  behind,  with  Lord  Lacy,  whom  he 
places  near  the  door, 

Luke.  There  you  may  hear  all. 

Hoyst.  I   pawn'd  you  my  land  for  the   tenth 
part  of  the  value  : 
Now,  'cause  I  am  a  gamester,  and  keep  ordinaries. 
And  a  livery  punk  or  so,  and  trade  not  with 
The    money-mongers'    wives,   not   one  will   be 

bound  for  me : 
'Tis  a  hard  case  ;  you  must  give  me  longer  day. 
Or  I  shall  grow  very  angry. 

Sir  John,  Fret,  and  spare  not. 
I  know  no  obligation  lies  upon  me 
With  my  honey  to  feed  drones.    But  to  the  pur- 
pose, 
How  much  owes  Penury  ? 

Gold.  Two  hundred  pounds  : 
His  bond  three  times  since  forfeited. 

Sir  John.  Is  it  sued  ? 

Gold.  Yes,  sir,  and  execution  out  against  him. 

Sir  John.  For  body  and  goods  ? 

Gold.  For  both,  sir. 

Sir  John.  See  it  served. 

Pen.  I  am  undone ;  my  wife  and  family 
Must  starve  for  want  of  bread. 

Sir  John.  More  infidel  thou. 
In  not  providing  better  to  support  them. 
What's  Fortune's  debt  ? 

Gold.  A  thousand,  sir. 

Sir  John.  An  estate 
For  a  good  man !  You  were  the  glorious  trader, 
Embraced  all  bargains;  the  main  venturer 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  25 

In  every  slilp  that  laiincli'd  forth ;  kept  your  wife 

As  a  lady ;  she  had  her  caroch,  her  choice 

Of  summer-lioiises,  built  with  other  men's  monies 

Ta'en  up  at  interest,  the  certain  road 

To  Ludgate  in  a  citizen/    Pray  you  acquaint  me, 

How  were  my  thousand  pounds  employ 'd  ? 

For.  Insult  not 
On  my  calamity  ;  though,  being  a  debtor, 
And  a  slave  to  him  that  lends,  I  must  endure  it. 
Yet  hear  me  speak  thus  much  in  my  defence ; 
Losses  at  sea,  and  those,  sir,  great  and  many. 
By  storms  and  tempests,  not  domestical  riots 
In  soothing  my  wife's  humour,  or  mine  own. 
Have  brought  me  to  this  low  ebb. 

Sir  John.  Suppose  this  true. 
What  is't  to  me?  I  must  and  will  have  my  money, 
Or  I'll  protest  you  first,  and,  tliat  done,  have 
The  statute  made  for  bankrupts  served  upon  you. 

For.  'Tis  in  your  power,  but  not  in  mine  to 
shun  it. 

Luke,  [comes  forward.l  ^^^  ^^  a  brother,  sir, 
but  with  such  duty. 
As  I  should  use  unto  my  father,  since 
Your  charity  is  my  parent,  give  me  leave 
To  speak  my  thoughts. 

Sir  John.  What  would  you  say  ? 

Luke.  No  word,  sir, 
I  hope,  shall  give  offence;  nor  let  it  relish 
Of  flattery,  though  I  proclaim  aloud, 
I  glory  in  the  bravery  of  your  mind, 
To  which  your  wealth's  a  servant.  Not  that  riches 

the  certain  road 


To  Ludgate  in  a  citizen.']  This  prison  was  anciently  appro- 
priated to  the  freemen  of  the  city,  and  to  clergymen:  it  is,  sayi 
the  Companion  for  Debtors,  (a  book  of  Massinger's  age,)  th« 
best  prison  about  London,  both  in  regard  to  its  endowment  and 
government. 


34  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Is,  or  should  be,  contemn'd,  it  being  a  blessing 
Derived  from  heaven,  and  by  your  industry 
PuU'd  down  upon  you ;  but  in  this,  dear  sir, 
You  have  many  equals  :  such  a  man's  possessions 
Extend  as  far  as  yours  ;  a  second  hath 
His  bags  as  full;  a  third  in  credit  flies 
As  high  in  the  popular  voice:  but  the  distinction 
And  noble  difference  by  which  you  are 
Divided  from  them,  is,  that  you  are  styled, 
Gentle  in  your  abundance,  good  in  plenty  ; 
And  that  you  f^el  compassion  in  your  bowels 
Of  others  miseries,  (I  have  found  it,  sir, 
Heaven  keep  me  thankful  for't !)  while  tliey  arc 

curs'd 
As  rigid  and  inexorable. 

Sir  John.  I  delight  not 
To  hear  this  spoke  to  my  face. 

Luke,  That  shall  not  grieve  you. 
Your  affability,  and  mildness,  clothed 
In   the   garments   of  your   [thankful]   debtors' 

breath,' 
Shall  everywhere,  though  you  strive  to  conceal  it, 
Be  seen  and  wonder'd  at,  and  in  the  act 
With  a  prodigal  hand  rewarded.    Whereas,  such 
As  are  born  only  for  themselves,  and  live  so, 
Though  prosperous  in  worldly  understandings, 
Are  but  like  beasts  of  rapine,  that,  by  odds 
Of  strength,  usurp,  and  tyrannize  o'er  others 
Brought  under  their  subjection. 

L.  Lacy.  A  rare  fellow  ! 
I  am  strangely  taken  with  him. 

Luke.  Can  you  think,  sir. 
In  your  unquestion'd  wisdom,  I  beseech  you, 

'  In  tlie  garments  of  your  [thankful,]  debtors'  breath,']  A  foot 
is  wanting  in  the  former  editions.  1  do  not  flatter  myself  that 
the  genuine  word  was  that  which  is  here  enclosed  between 
brackets,  though  it  was  not  improbably  somewhat  similar  to  it. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  25 

The  goods  of  this  poor  man  sold  at  an  outcry,' 
His  wife  turn'd  out  of  doors,  his  children  forced 
To  beg  their  bread ;  this  gentleman's  estate, 
By  wrong  extorted,  can  advantage  you  ? 

Hoyst.  If  it  thrive  with  him,  hang  me,  as  it 
will  damn  him. 
If  he  be  not  converted. 

Luke.  You  are  too  violent. 

Or  that  the  ruin  of  this  once  brave  merchant, 
For  such  he  was  esteem'd,  though  now  decay'd, 
Will  raise  your  reputation  with  good  men  ? 
But  you  may  urge,  (pray  you  pardon  me,  my  zeal 
Makes  me  thus  bold  and  vehement,)  in  this 
You  satisfy  your  anger,  and  revenge 
For  being  defeated.    Suppose  this,  it  will  not 
Repair  your  loss,  and  there  was  never  yet 
But  shame  and  scandal  in  a  victory, 
When  the  rebels  unto  reason,  passions,  fought  it. 
Then  for  revenge,  by  great  souls  it  was  ever 
Contemn'd,  though  offered  ;  entertain'd  by  none 
But  cowards,  base  and  abject  spirits,  strangers 
To  moral  honesty,  and  never  yet 
Acquainted  with  religion. 

L.  Lacy.  Our  divines 
Cannot  speak  more  effectually. 

Sir  John,  Shall  I  be 
Talk'd  out  of  my  money  ? 

Luke.  No,  sir,  but  entreated 

»  The  goods  of  this  poor  man  sold  at  an  outcry,]  i.  e.  at  a 
public  auction.     So  Jonson  : 

"  Their  houses  and  fine  gardens  given  away, 

"  And  all  their  goods,  under  the  spear,  at  outcry.**  Catiline, 

Again, 

**  Ay,  that  was  when  the  nursery's  self  was  noble, 
"  And  only  virtue  made  it,  not  the  market, 
"  That  titles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum, 
"  Or  common  outcry.**  The  New  Inn. 

VOL.   IV.  *  D 


26  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

To  do  yourself  a  benefit,  and  preserve 
What  you  possess  entire. 

Sir  John.  How,  my  good  brother? 

Luke.    By    niaking    these    your    beadsmen.* 
When  they  eat, 
Their  thanks,  next  heaven,  will  be  paid  to  your 

mercy ; 
When  your  ships  are  at  sea,  their  prayers  will  swell 
The  sails  with  prosperous  winds,  and  guard  them 

from 
Tempests,  and  pirates ;  keep  your  warehouses 
From  fire,  or  quench  them  with  their  tears. 

Sir  John.  No  more. 

Luke.  Write  you  a  good  man  in  the  people's 
hearts, 
Follow  you  everywhere. 

Sir  John.  If  this  could  be — 

Luke.  It  must,  or  our  devotions  are  but  words. 
I  see  a  gentle  promise  in  your  eye. 
Make  it  a  blessed  act,  and  poor  me  rich, 
In  being  the  instrument. 

Sir  John.  You  shall  prevail ; 
Give  them  longer  day :  but,  do  you  hear,  no  talk 

oft. 
Should  this  arrive  at  twelve  on  the  Exchange, 
I  shall  be  laugh'd  at  for  my  foolish  pity. 
Which  money-men  hate  deadly.    Take  your  own 

time, 
But  see  you  break  not.  Carry  them  to  the  cellar; 
Drink  a  health,  and  thank  your  orator. 

Pen.  On  our  knees,  sir. 

*  Luke.  By  making  them  your  beadsmen.]  Beadsmen  is  pure 
Saxon,  and  means  prayersmen ;  i.  e.  such  as  are  engaged,  in 
consequence  of  past  or  present  faTOurs,  to  pray  for  their  bene- 
factors. The  name  was  formerly  given  with  great  propriety  to 
the  inhabitants  of  alms-houses,  and,  in  general,  to  the  objects 
of  our  public  charities. 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  27 

For.  Honest  master  Luke  ! 

Hoyst.  I  bless  the  counter,  where 
You  learn'd  this  rhetoric. 

Luke.  No  more  of  that,  friends. 

[Exeunt  Luke,  Hoyst,  Fortune^  and  Fenury, 
Lord  Lacy  comes  forward. 

Sir  John.  My  honourable  lord. 

L.  Lacy.  I  have  seen  and  heard  all. 
Excuse  my  manners,  and  wish  heartily 
You  were  all  of  a  piece.     Your  charity  to  your 

debtors, 
I  do  commend;  but  where  you  should  express 
Your  piety  to  the  height,  I  must  boldly  tell  you, 
You  shew  yourself  an  atheist. 

Sir  John.  Make  me  know 
My  error,  and  for  what  I  am  thus  censured, 
And  I  will  purge  myself,  or  else  confess 
A  guilty  cause. 

L.  Lacy.  It  is  your  harsh  demeanour 
To  your  poor  brother. 

Sir  John.  Is  that  all  ? 

L.  Lacy.  'Tis  more 
Than  can  admit  defence.    You  keep  him  as 
A  parasite  to  your  table,  subject  to 
The  scorn  of  your  proud  wife  ;  an  underling 
To  his  own  nieces :  and  can  I  with  niine  honour 
Mix  my  blood  with  his,  that  is  not  sensible 
Of  his  brother's  miseries  ? 

Sir  John.  Pray  you,  take  me  with  you ; 
And  let  me  yield  my  reasons  why  I  am 
No  opener-handed  to  him.     I  was  born 
His  elder  brother,  yet  my  father  s  fondness 
To  him,  the  younger,  robb'd  me  of  my  birthright; 
He  had  a  fair  estate,  which  his  loose  riots 
Soon  brought  to  nothing  ;  wants  grew  heavy  on 
him, 

•Dg 


28  THE    CITY   MADAM. 

And  when  laid  up  for  debt,  of  all  forsaken, 
And  in  liis  own  hopes  lost,  I  did  redeem  him. 

L.  Lacy.  You  could  not  do  less. 

Sir  John.  Was  I  bound  to  it,  my  lord? 
What  I  possess  I  may,  with  justice,  call 
The  harvest  of  my  industry.  Would  you  have  me, 
Neglecting  mine  own  family,  to  give  up 
My  estate  to  his  disposure? 

L.  Lacy.  I  would  have  you, 
What's  pass'd  forgot,  to  use  him  as  a  brother; 
A  brother  of  fair  parts,  of  a  clear  soul, 
Religious,  good,  and  honest. 

Sir  John.  Outward  gloss 
Often  deceives,  may  it  not  prove  so  in  him  I 
And  yet  my  long  acquaintance  with  his  nature 
Renders  me  doubtful ;  but  that  shall  not  make 
A  breach  between  us  :  let  us  in  to  dinner, 
And  what  trust,  or  employment  you  think  fit, 
Shall  be  conferr'd  upon  him  :  if  he  prove 
True  gold  in  the  touch,  I'll  be  no  mourner  for  it, 

L.  Lacy.    If  counterfeit,  I'll  never  trust  my 
judgment.  \_Ej;eunt, 


ACT   II.     SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  Sir  John  Frugal's  House. 

Enter  Luke,  Holdfast,  Goi.dv/ iky,  junior,  and 
Tr  A  D  E  w  E  L  L  jumor. 

Hold,  The  like  was  never  seen. 
Luke.  Why  in  this  rage,  man? 
Hold.  Men  may  talk  of  country-christmasses, 
and  court-gluttony. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  29 

Their  thirty-pound  butter'd  eggs,  their  pies  of 

carps'  tongues, 
Their  pheasants  drench'd   with  ambergris,  the 

carcases 
Of  three  fat  wethers  bruised  for  gravy,  to 
Make  sauce  for  a  single  peacock;  yet  their  feasts 
Were  fasts,  compared  with  the  city's. 

Trade.  What  dear  dainty 
Was  it,  thou  murmur'st  at? 

Hold.  Did  you  not  observe  it  ? 
There  were  three  sucking  pigs  serv'd  up  in  a  dish, 
Ta'en  from  the  sow  as  soon  as  farrowed, 
A  fortnight  fed  with' dates,  and  muskadine. 
That  stood  my  master  in  twenty  marks  apiece, 
Besides  the  puddings  in  their  bellies,  made 
Of  I  know  not  what. — I  dare  swear  the  cook  that 

dress'd  it 
Was  the  devil,  disguised  like  a  Dutchman. 

Gold.  Yet  all  this 
Will  not  make  you  fat,  fellow  Holdfast. 

Hold.  I  am  rather 
Starv'd  to  look  on't.     But  here's  the  mischief — 

though 
The  dishes  were  raised  one  upon  another. 
As  woodmongers  do  billets,  for  the  first. 
The  second,  and  third  course,  and  most  of  the 

shops 
Of  the  best  confectioners  in  London  ransack'd, 
To  furnish  out  a  banquet;'  yet  my  lady 


most  of  the  shops 


Of  the  best  confectioners  in  London  ransack'd 
To  furnish  out  a  banquet ;]  A  banquet  was  what  we  now  call 
a  dessert;  it  was  composed  of  fruit,  sweetmeats,  &c. : 

" your  citizen 

*'  Is  a  most  fierce  devourer,  sir,  of  plums; 

"  Six  will  destroy  as  many  as  might  make 

"  A  banquet  for  an  army."  The  Wits. 

The  banquet  was  usually  placed  in  a  separate  room,  to  which 


so  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Call'd  me  penurious  rascal,  and  cried  out, 
There  was  nothin<]^  worth  the  eating. 

Gold.  You  must  have  patience, 
This  is  not  done  often. 

Hold.  'Tis  not  fit  it  should  ; 
Threesuchdinners  more  would  breakan  alderman, 
And  make  him  give  up  his  cloak  :  1  am  resolv'd 
To  have  no  hand  in't.    I'll  make  up  my  accompts, 
And  since  my  master  longs  to  be  undone, 
The  great  fiend  be  his  steward  :  I  will  pray, 
And  bless  myself  from  him  !  \_Exit. 

Gold.  The  wretch  shews  in  this 
An  honest  care. 

Luke.  Out  on  him  !   with  the  fortune 
Of  a  slave  he  has  the  mind  of  one.     However 
She  bears  me  hard,  I  like  my  lady's  humour, 
And  my  brother's  suffrage  to  it.     They  are  now 
Busy  on  all  hands ;  one  side  eager  for 
Large  portions,  the  other  arguing  strictly 
For  jointures  and  security;  but  this 
Being  above  our  scale,  no  way  concerns  us. 
How  dull  you  look!  in  the  mean  time,  how  intend 

you 
To  spend  the  hours  ? 

Gold.  We  well  know  how  we  would. 
But  dare  not  serve  our  wills. 

the  guests  removed  as  soon  as  they  had  dined:  thus,  in  the  Uru 
natural  Combat,  Beaufort  says : 

"  We'll  dine  in  the  great  room,  but  let  the  music 
*'  And  banquet  be  prepared  here." 
The  common  place  of  banqueting,  or  of  eating  the  dessert, 
among  our  ancestors,  was  tlie  garden-house,  or  arbour,  with 
which  almost  every  dwelling  was  once  furnished  :  to  this  Shallow 
alludes  in  a  simple  passage,  which  has  had  a  great  deal  of  im« 
pertinent  matter  written  to  confound  it : 

Shall.  "  Nay,  you  shall  see  mine  orchard,  where,  in  an  ar- 
hour^  we  will  eat  a  last  year's  pippin  of  my  own  graffing,  with, 
a  dish  of  carraways,"  (a  small  kind  of  comfit,)  "  and  so  forth." 

Henry  IV,  Part  II. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  31 

Trade.  Being  prentices, 
We  are  bound  to  attendance. 

Luke.  Have  you  almost  served  out 
The  term  of  your  indentures,yet  make  conscience 
By  starts  to  use  your  liberty !  Hast  thou  traded 

\To  TradewelL 
In  the  other  world/  exposed  unto  all  dangers, 
To  make  thy  master  rich,  yet  dar'st  not  take 
Some  portionof  the  profit  tor  thy  pleasure? 
Or  wilt  thou;  \toGold.\  being  keeper  of  the  cash, 
Like  an  ass  that  carries  dainties,  feed  on  thistles? 
Are  you  gentlemen  born,  yet  have  no  gallant 

tincture 
Of  gentry  in  you  ?  you  are  no  mechanics, 
Nor  serve  some  needy  shopkeeper,  who  surveys 
His  every-day  takings :  you  have  in  your  keeping 
A  mass  of  wealth,  from  which  you  may  take  boldly, 
And  no  way  be  discover'd.     He's  no  rich  man 
That  knows  all  he  possesses,  and  leaves  nothing 
For  his  servants  to  make  prey  of.   I  blush  for  you, 
Blush  at  your  poverty  of  spirit ;  you, 
The  brave  sparks  of  the  city ! 

Gold.  Master  Luke, 
I  wouder  you  should  urge  this,  having  felt 
What  misery  follows  riot. 

Trade,  And  the  penance 
You  endured  for't  in  the  counter. 

Luke,  You  are  fools. 
The  case  is  not  the  same;  I  spent  mine  own  money. 
And  my  stock  being  small,  no  marvel  'twas  soon 

wasted ; 
But  you,  without  the  least  doubt  or  suspicion. 
If  cautelous,  may  make  bold  with  your  master's. 
As,  for  example,  when  his  ships  come  home. 
And  you  take  your  receipts,  as  'tis  the  fashion, 

'  In  the  other  world,]  i.e.  the  East  Indies,  from  whence,  ai 
the  first  scene  informs  us,  Tradewell  was  just  returned. 


32  THE   CITY  MADAM. 

For  fifty  bales  of  silk  you  may  write  forty  ; 
Or  for  so  many  pieces  of  cloth  of  bodkin, 
Tissue,  gold,  silver,  velvets,  satins,  taffetas, 
A  piece  of  each  deducted  from  the  gross 
Will  ne'er  be  miss'd,  a  dash  of  a  pen  will  do  it. 

Trade.  Ay,  butourfathers' bonds,  thatliein pawn 
For  our  honesties,  must  pay  for't. 

Luke.  A  mere  bugbear, 
Invented  to  fright  children  !  As  I  live, 
Were  I  the  master  of  my  brother's  fortunes, 
I  should  glory  in  such  servants.    Didst  thou  know 
What  ravishing  lechery  it  is  to  enter 
An  ordinary,  cap^-pie,  trimm'd  like  a  gallant. 
For  which,  in  trunks  conceal'd,  be  ever  furnish'd; 
The  reverence,  respect,  the  crouches,  cringes. 
The  musical   chime  of  gold  in  your  cramm'd 

pockets, 
Commands  from  the  attendants,  and  poor  por- 
ters  • 

Trade,  O  rare ! 

Luke.  Then  sitting  at  the  table  with 
The  braveries  of  the  kingdom,  you  shall  hear 
Occurrents  from  all  corners  of  the  world. 
The  plots,  the  counsels,  the  designs  of  princes, 
And  freely  censure  them  ;  the  city  wits 
Cried  up,  or  decried,  as  their  passions  lead  them; 
Judgment  having  nought  to  do  there. 

Trade.  Admirable ! 

Luke,  My  lord  no  sooner  shall  rise  out  of  his 
chair. 
The  gaming  lord  I  mean,  but  you  may  boldly. 
By  the  privilege  of  a  gamester,  fill  his  room, 
For  in  play  you  are  all  fellows;  have  your  knife 
As  soon  in  the  pheasant ;  drink  your  health  as 

freely. 
And,  striking  in  a  lucky  hand  or  two. 
Buy  out  your  time. 


THE   CITY    MADAM.  33 

Trade.  This  may  be  ;  but  suppose 
We  should  be  known  ? 

Luke.  Have  money  and  good  clothes, 
And  you  may  pass  invisible.     Or,  if 
You  love  a  madam-punk,  and  your  wide  nostril 
Be  taken  with  the  scent  of  cambric  smocks, 
Wrought  and  perfumed- ■ 

Gold.  There,  there,  master  Luke, 
There  lies  my  road  of  happiness-! 

Luke.  Enjoy  it. 
And  pleasures  stolen,  being  sweetest,  apprehend 
The  raptures  of  being  hurried  in  a  coach 
To  Brentford,  Staines,  or  Barnet. 

Gold.  'Tis  enchanting. 
I  have  proved  it. 

Luke.  Hast  thou  ? 

Gold.  Yes,  in  all  these  places 
I  have  had  my  several  pagans  billeted 
For  my  own  tooth,  and  after  ten-pound  suppers 
The  curtains  drawn,  my  fiddlers  playing  all  night 
The  shaking  of  the  sheets^  which  I  have  danced 
Again  and  again  with  my  cockatrice  : — master 

Luke, 
You  shall  be  of  my  counsel,  and  we  two  sworn 

brothers  ; 
And  therefore  I'll  be  open.  I  am  out  now 
Six  hundred  in  the  cash,  yet  if  on  a  sudden 
I  should  be  call'd  to  account,  I  have  a  trick 
How  to  evade  it,  and  make  up  the  sum. 

Trade.  Is't  possible  ? 

Luke.  You  can  instruct  your  tutor. 
How,  how,  good  Tom  ? 

Gold.  Why,  look  you.  We  cash-keepers 
Hold  correspondence,  supply  one  another 
On  all  occasions  :  I  can  borrow  for  a  week 
Two  hundred  pounds  of  one,  as  muchofasecQnd, 
A  third  lays  down  the  rest ;  and,  when  they  want, 


34  THE    CITY   MADAM. 

As  my  master's  monies  come  in  I  do  repay  it : 
Ka  mty  ka  thee  /' 

Luke.  An  excellent  knot  !  'tis  pity 
It  e'er  should  be  unloosed  ;  for  me  it  shall  not. 
You  are  shewn   the  way,  friend  Trade  well,  you 

may  make  use  on't, 
Or  freeze  in  the  warehouse,  and  keep  company 
With  the  cater,*  Holdfast. 

Trade,  No,  I  am  converted. 
A  Barbican  broker  will  furnish  me  with  outside, 
And  then,  a  crash  at  the  ordinary  ! 

Gold.   I  am  for 
The  lady  you  saw  this  morning,  who  indeed  is 
My  proper  recreation. 

Luke.  Go  to,  Tom  ; 
What  did  you  make  me  ? 

Gold.  I'll  do  as  much  for  you. 
Employ  me  when  you  please. 

Luke.  If  you  are  enquired  for, 
I  will  excuse  you  both, 

'  Ka  me,  ka  thee  /]  This,  I  believe,  is  a  Scotish  proverb,  and 
means,  indulge,  or  serve  me,  and  I'll  serve  thee  in  my  turn.  It 
is  not  uncommon  in  our  old  dramas.  Thus  in  Ram-Alley. 

*'  Ka  me,  ka  thee.,  one  thing  must  rub  another." 
Again,  in  Eastward  Hoe: 

'*  Thou  art  pander  to  me,  for  my  wench :  and  I  to  thee  for 
thy  couzenage.  Ka  me,  ka  thee,  runs  through  court  and  country." 
♦  JVith  the  cater,  Holdfast.']  i.  e.  the  purveyor.  This  word 
was  in  very  general  use  in  Massinger's  time  :  though  the  editors 
of  some  of  our  old  dramatists  do  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  it. 
Thus  Jonson  : 

*'  He  is  my  wardrobe-man,  my  cater,  cook, 
"  Butler,  and  steward."  Devits  an  Ass. 

Here  Mr.  Whalley  reads,  with  sufficient  harshness, 
*'  He  is  my  ward-robe  man,  m'acater,  cook,'' 
And  Fletcher  ; 

"  See,  sweet,  I'm  cook  myself,  and  mine  own  cater." 

Women  pleased. 
Here  the  editors  propose  to  read  caterer,  which,  they  say,  is  the 
more  probable  word  ?  I  suppose— because  it  injures  the  metr?. 


THE   CITY    MADAM,  35 

Trade.  Kind  master  Luke  ! 

Gold.  We'll  break  my  master  to  make  you. 

You  kno\v^ 

Luke.  I  cannot  love  money.  Go,  boys ! 

[  Exeunt  Goldwire  and  TradewelL 
When  time  serves, 
It  shall  appear  I  have  another  end  in't.*     [Exit, 


SCENE    II. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Sir  John  Frugal,  Lord  Lacy,  Sir  Mau- 
rice Lacy,  Plenty,  Lady  Frugal,  Anne, 
Mary,  and  Milliscent. 

Sir  John.  Ten  thousand   pounds  a  piece    I'll 
make  their  portions, 
And  after  my  decease  it  shall  be  double, 
Provided  you  assure  them,  for  their  jointures, 
Eight  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  and  entail 
A  thousand  more  upon  the  heirs*  male 
Begotten  on  their  bodies. 

L.  Lacy.  Sir,  you  bind  us 
To  very  strict  conditions. 

Plenty.  You,  my  lord. 
May  do  as  you    please  :     but  to  me  it  seems 
strange, 

J  The  real  character  of  Luke  opens,  in  this  scene,  with  sur- 
prizing art.  He  had  deeply  studied  the  dispositions  of  the  two 
apprentices,  and  his  language  is  nicely  calculatf  d  to  betray  them 
into  a  confession  of  their  respective  propensities,  and  thus  render 
them  subservient  to  his  future  views. 

•  A  thousand  more  upon  the  heirs  male~\  Heirs  must  be  pro- 
nounced (as  they  say)  as  a  dissyllable,  though  I  do  not  profesi 
to  know  uow  it  can  be  done. 


36  THE    CITY    MADAM. 

We  should  conclude  of  portions,  and  of  jointures, 
Before  our  hearts  are  settled. 

Z.  Frug.  You  say  right: 
There  are  counsels  of  more  moment  and  impor- 
tance, 
On  the  making  up  of  marriages,  to  be 
Consider'd  duly,  than  the  portion  or  the  jointures, 
In  which  a  mother's  care  must  be  exacted  ; 
And  I,  by  special  privilege,  may  challenge 
-A  casting  voice. 

L.  Lacy.  How's  this? 

L.  Frug.  Even  so,  my  lord  ; 
In  these  affairs  I  govern. 

L.  Lacy,  Give  you  way  to't  ? 

Sir  John.  I  must,  my  lord. 

L.  Frug,  'Tis  fit  he  should,  and  shall . 
You  may  consultof  something  else,  this  province 
Is  wholly  mine. 

Sir  Maur.  By  the  city  custom,  madam  ? 

L  Frug.  Yes,  my  young  sir ;    and   both  must 
look  my  daughters 
Will  hold  it  by  my  copy. 

Plenty.  Brave,  i'faith  ! 

aS^V  John.  Give  her  leave  to  talk,  we  have  the 
power  to  do ; 
And  now  touching  the  business  we  last  talk'd  of, 
In  private,  if  you  please. 

L.  Lacy.  'Tis  well  remember'd  : 
You  shall  take  your  ovv^n  way,  madam. 

[Exeunt  Lord  Lacy  and  Sir  John  Frugal. 

Sir  Maur.  What  strange  lecture 
Will  she  read  unto  us  ? 

L.  Frug.  Such  as  wisdom  warrants 
From  the  superior  bodies.  Is  Stargaze  ready 
With  his  several  schemes  r 

Mill.  Yes,  madam,  and  attends 
Your  pleasure. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  37 

Sir  Maur.  Stargaze  !  lady:  what  is  he? 

Z.  Fi^ug    Call  him  in. — lExit  Milli scent.]— You 
shall  first  know  him,  then  admire  him 
For  a  man  of  many  parts,  and  those  parts  rare  ones. 
He's  every  thing,  indeed  ;  parcel  pliysician, 
And  as  such  prescribes  my  diet,  and  foretels 
My  dreams  when  I  eat  potatoes  ;  parcel  poet, 
And  sings  encomiums  to  my  virtues  sweetly; 
My  antecedent,  or  my  gentleman-usher. 
And  as  the  stars  move,  with  that  due  proportion 
He  walks  before  me  :  but  an  absolute  master 
In  the  calculation  of  nativities  ; 
Guided  by  that  ne'er- erring  science  call'd, 
Judicial  astrology. 

Plenty.  Stargaze  !  sure 
I  have  a  penny  almanack  about  me 
Inscribed  to  you,  as  to  his  patronness, 
In  his  name  publish'd. 

L.  Frug.  Keep  it  as  a  jewel. 
Some  statesmen  that  I  will  not  name  are  wholly 
Govern'd  by  his  predictions;  for  they  serve 
For  any  latitude  in  Christendom, 
As  well  as  our  own  climate. 

Re-enter  Miiai.iBcv.s'Ty  folloxtjed  by  Stargaze, 

with  two  schemes. 

Sir  Maur.  I  believe  so. 

Plenty.  Must  we  couple  by  the  almanack? 

L.  Frug.  Be  silent; 
And  ere  we  do  articulate,  much  more 
Grow  to  a  full  conclusion,  instruct  us 
Whttherthisdayand  hour,  by  the  planets,  promise 
Happy  success  in  marriage. 

Star.  In  omni 
Parte^  et  toto. 

Plenty.  Good  learn'd  sir,  in  English; 


58  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

And  since  it  is  resolved  we  must  be  coxcombs, 
Make  us  so  in  our  own  language. 

Star.  You  are  pleasant : 
Thus  in  our  vulgar  tongue  then. 

L.  Frug.  Pray  you  observe  him. 

Star.  Venus,  in  the  west  angle,  the  house  of 
marriage  the  seventh  house,  in  trine  of  Mars,  in 
conjuncrion  of  Luna;  and  Mars  almuthen,  or 
lord  of  the  horoscope. 

Plenty.  Hey-day  ! 

L.  Frug.  The  angels'  language!  I  am  ravish 'd: 
forward. 

Star,  Mars,  as  I  said,  lord  of  the  horoscope,  or 
geniture,  in  mutual  reception  of  each  other;  she 
in  her  exaltation,  and  he  in  his  triplicite  trine, 
and  face,  assure  a  fortunate  combination  to  Hy- 
men, excellent,  prosperous,  and  happy. 

L.  Frug.  Kneel,  and  give  thanks. 

\The  JVomen  kneel. 

Sir  Maur.  For  what  we  understand  not  ? 

Plenty.  And  have  as  little  faith  in  ? 

L.  Frug.  Be  incredulous ;' 
To  me,  'tis  oracle. 

Star.  Now  for  the  sovereignty  of  my  future 
ladies,  your  daughters,  after  they  are  married. 

Plenty.  Wearing  the  breeches,  you  mean? 

L.  Frug.  Touch  that  point  home : 
It  is  a  principal  one,  and,  with  London  ladies, 
Of  main  consideration. 

Star.  This  is  infallible:  Saturn  out  of  all  dig- 
nities in  his  detriment  and  fall,  combust:  and 
Venus  in  the  south  angle  elevated  above  him, 

7  L.  Frug.  Be  iflcredulous ;]  This  is  the  reading  of  Mr.  M. 
Mason.  The  old  copy  has  Be  credulous,  meaning,  perhaps, 
follow  my  example,  and  believe;  and  so  may  be  right;  though 
incredulous  is  better  adapted  to  the  measure,  and,  indeed,  occurs 
in  the  same  sense  in  a  Very  Woman. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  39 

lady  of  both  their  nativities,  in  her  essential  and 
accidental  dignities ;  occidental  from  the  sun, 
oriental  from  the  angle  of  the  east,  in  cazini  of 
the  sun,  in  her  joy,  and  free  from  the  malevolent 
beams  of  infortunes;  in  a  sign  commanding,  and 
Mars  in  a  constellation  obeying;  she  fortunate, 
and  he  dejected :  the  disposers  of  marriage 
in  the  radix  of  the  native  in  feminine  figures, 
argue,  foretel,  and  declare  rule,  pre-eminence, 
and  absolute  sovereignty  in  women.* 

X.  Frug.  Is't  possible  ! 

Star.  'Tis  drawn,  I  assure  you,  from  the  apho- 
risms of  the  old  Chaldeans,  Zoroastes  the  first  and 
greatest  magician,  Mercurius  Trismegistus,  the 
laterPtolemy,and  the  everlasting  prognosticator, 
old  Erra  Pater. 

X.  Frug.  Are  you  yet  satisfied  ? 

Plenty.  In  vi^hat? 

X.  Frug.  That  you 
Are  bound  to  obey  your  wives;  it  being  so 
Determined  by  the  stars,  against  whose  influence 
There  is  no  opposition. 

Plenty.  Since  I  must 
Be  married  by  the  almanack,  as  I  may  be, 
*Twere  requisite  the  services  and  duties 
Which,  as  you  say,  I  must  pay  to  my  wife, 
Were  set  down  in  the  calendar. 

Sir  Maur.  With  the  date 
Of  my  apprenticeship. 

X.  Frug.  Make  your  demands; 
I'll  sit  as  moderatrix,  if  they  press  you 
With  over-hard  conditions. 

•  I  hare  contented  myself  with  correcting  the  errors  of  the 
former  editors  in  printing  the  ol.suletc  jarj<oii  of  this  ignorant 
impostoi,  without  attomptiiifj  t<<  tx  plain  anv  part  of  it.  J I  the 
reader  will  follow  my  example,  und  not  waste  a  thought  on  it, 
he  yf\\\  lose  nothing  by  his  negligence. 


40  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Sir  Maur.  Mine  hath  the  van; 
I  stand  your  charge,  sweet. 

Star,  Silence. 

Anne.  I  require  first, 
And  that,  since  'tis  in  fashion  with  kind  hus- 

hands, 
In  civil  manners  you  must  grant,  my  will 
In  all  things  whatsoever,  and  that  will 
To  be  obey'd,  not  argued. 

L.  Frug.  And  good  reason. 

Plenty.  A  gentle  imprimis! 

Sir  Maur.  This  in  gross  contains  all : 
But  your  special  items,  lady. 

Anne.  When  I  am  one, 
And  you  are  honour'd  to  be  styled  my  husband, 
To  urge  my  having  my  page,  my  gentleman- 
usher, 
My  woman  sworn  to  my  secrets,  my  caroch 
Drawn   by  six   Flanders  mares,   my  coachman, 

grooms, 
Postillion,  and  footmen. 

Sir  Maur.  Is  there  aught  else 
To  be  demanded? 

Anne.  Yes,  sir,  mine  own  doctor. 
French  and  Italian  cooks,  musicians,  songsters, 
And  a  chaplain  that  must  preach  to  please  my 

fancy : 
A  friend  at  court  to  place  me  at  a  masque ; 
The  private  box  ta'en  up  at  a  new  play, 
For  me  and  my  retinue ;  a  fresh  habit, 
Of  a  fashion  never  seen  before,  to  draw 
The  gallants'  eyes,  that  sit  on  the  stage,  upon  me; 
Some  decayed  lady  for  my  parasite, 
To  flatter  me,  and  rail  at  other  madams ; 
And  there  ends  my  ambition. 

Sir  Maur.  Your  desires 
Are  modest,  I  confess  ! 


THE  CITY  MADAM.^  41 

Anne.  These  toys  subscribed  to, 
And  you  continuing  an  obedient  husband, 
Upon  all  fit  occasions  you  shall  find  me 
A  most  indulgent  wife. 

L.  Frug.  You  have  said ;  give  place, 
And  hear  your  younger  sister. 

Plenty.  If  she  speak 
Her  language,  may  the  great  fiend,'  booted  and 

spurr'd, 
With  a  sithe  at  his  girdle,  as  the  Scotchman  says. 
Ride  headlong  down  her  throat ! 

Sir  Maur.  Curs€  not  the  judge, 
Before  you  hear  the  sentence. 

Mary.  In  some  part 
My'sister  hath  spoke  well  for  the  city  pleasures, 
But  I  am  for  the  country's ;  and  must  say, 
Under  correction,  in  her  demands 
She  was  too  modest. 

Sir  Maur.  How  like  you  this  exordium  ? 

Plenty.  Too  modest,  with  a  mischief ! 

Mary.  Yes,  too  modest: 
I  know  my  value,  and  prize  it  to  the  worth, 
My  youth,  my  beauty- 

Plenty.  How  your  glass  deceives  you  ! 

Mary.  The  greatness  of  the  portion  I  bring 
with  me, 
And  the  seaof  happiness  that  from  me  flows  to  you. 

Sir  Maur.  She  bears  up  close. 

Mary.  And  can  you,  in  3'our  wisdom, 
Or  rustical  simplicity,  imagine 
You  have  met  some  innocent  country  girl,  that 
never 

•  ■  ■ may  the  great jfiend^  &c.]  This 

is  one  of  Ray's  Proverbs.     It  is  found  in  the  Tamer  Tamed: 
"  A  Sedgly  curse  light  on  him !  which  is,  Pedro,  The  fiend 
ride  through  him  booted  and  spurr'd,  with  a  sithe  at  his  back." 
And  also  in  the  Goblinsy  by  sir  John  buckling. 
»    VOL.  IV.  •  E 


42  THE  CITY   MADAM. 

Look'd  further  than  her  father's  farm,  nor  knew 

more 
Than  the  price  of  corn  in  the  market ;  or  at  what 

rate 
Beef  went  a   stone  ?    that   would   survey   your 

dairy, 
And  hring  in  mutton  out  of  cheese  and  butter? 
That  could  give  directions  at  what  time  of  the 

moon 
To  cut  her  cocks  for  capons  against  Christmas, 
Or  when  to  raise  up  goslings? 

Plenty.  These  are  arts 
Would  not  uMsbecome  you,  though  you  should 

put  in 
Obedience  and  duty. 

Mary.  Yes,  and  patience, 
To  sit  like  a  fool  at  home,  and  eye  your  thrashers; 
Then  make  provision  for  your  slavering  hounds. 
When  you  come  drunk  from  an  alehouse,  after 

hunting 
With  your  clowns  and  comrades,  as  if  all  were 

yours, 
You  the  lord  paramount,  and  I  the  drudge ; 
The  case,  sir,  must  be  otherwise. 
Plenty.  How,  I  beseech  you  ? 
Mary.  Marry,  thus :  I  will  not,  like  my  sister, 

challenge 
What's  useful  or  superfluous  from  my  husband, 
That's  base  all  o'er;  mine  shall  receive  from  me 
What  I  think  fit ;  I'll  have  the  state  convey'd 
Into  my  hands,  and  he  put  to  his  pension. 
Which  the  wise  viragos  of  our  climate  practise; — 
I  will  receive  your  rents. 

Plenty.  You  shall  be  hang'd  first. 

Mary,  Make  sale  or  purchase :  nay  1*11  have 

my  neighbours 
Instructed,  when  a  passenger  shall  askj 


THE    CITY   MADAM.  43 

Whose  house  is  this  ?  (though  you  stand  by)  to 

answer, 
Tile  lady  Pleuty's.    Or  who  owns  this  manor? 
The  lady  Plenty.    Whose  sheep  are  these,  whose 

oxen  ? 
The  lady  Plenty's. 

Plenty.  A  plentiful  pox  upon  you  ! 
Mary.  And   when  I  have   children,  if  it  btf 
enquired 
By  a  stranger,  whose  they  are? — they  shall  still 

echo, 
My  lady  Pleuty's,  the  husband  never  thought  on. 
Plenty.  In  their  begetting:  I  think  so. 
Mary.  Since  you'll  marry 
In  the  city  for  our  wealth,  injustice,  we 
Must  have  the  country's  sovereignty. 
Plenty.  And  we  nothing. 

Mary.  A  nag  of  forty  shillings,  a  couple   of 
spaniels, 
With  a  sparhawk,  is  sufficient,  and  these  too, 
As  you  shall  behave  yourself,  during  my  pleasure, 
I  will  not  greatly  stand  on,     I  have  said,  sir, 
Now  if  you  like  me,  so.* 

*  1  have  said,  sir, 

Now  if  you  like  me,  ao.]  Before  we  accuse  the  poet  of  abasing 
the  license  of  comedy  in  these  preposterous  stipulations,  it  may 
not  be  improper  to  look  back  for  a  moment  on  the  period  in 
which  he  wrote,  and  enquire  if  no  examples  of  a  similar  nature 
were  then  to  be  found  in  real  life.  It  was  an  age  of  profusion 
and  ranify  ;  and  the  means  of  enjoying  them  both,  as  they  per- 
suaded to  condescension  on  the  one  side,  so  they  engendered 
rapacity  on  the  othor :  it  is  not,  therefore,  a  very  improbable 
conjecture,  that  Massinger  has  but  slightly  taxed  our  credulity, 
and  but  little  overcharged  his  glaring  description  of  female 
extravagance  and  folly.  The  reader  who  is  still  inclined  to 
hesitate,  may  peruse  the  extract  subjoined.  A  short  time 
before  this  l^lay  was  written,  Elizabeth  Spencer,  daughter  and 
heir  of  sir  John  Spencer,  lord  mayor  of  London,  (whom  I  once 
considered  as  the  prototype  of  sir  Giles  Overreach,)  was  mar- 
ried to  William  lord  Compton.    With  less  integrity  and  candour 

*E2 


44  THE   CITY   MADAM, 

Z.  Frug.  At  my  entreaty, 
The  articles  shall  be  easier. 

Plenty.  Shall  they,  i'  faith  ? 
Like  bitch,  like  whelps. 

than  the  daughters  of  sir  John  Frugal,  she  made  few  previous 
stipulations,  but  not  long  after  the  conclusion  of  the  nuptial 
ceremony,  sent  her  husband  a  modest  and  consolatory  letter, 
^hkh  is  yet  extant ;  and  from  which  the  following  items^  among 
many  others,  are  verbally  taken : 

"  Alsoe  I  will  bars  3  horses  for  my  owne  saddle,  that  none 
shall  dare  to  lend  or  borrowe  ;  none  lend  but  I,  none  borrowe 
but  you.  Alsoe,  I  would  have  two  gentlewomen,  leaste  one 
should  be  sicke,  or  have  some  other  lett.  Alsoe  beleeve  yt,  it 
is  an  undecent  thinge  for  a  gentlewoman  to  stand  mumpinge 
alone,  when  God  hath  blessed  their  lord  and  lady  w'**  a  greate 
estate.  Alsoe,  when  I  ride  a  huntinge  or  a  hawkeinge,  or  tra- 
vayle  from  one  howse  to  another,  I  will  have  them  attendinge  ; 
soe  for  either  of  those  said  woemen,  I  must  and  will  have  for 
either  of  them  a  horse.  Alsoe,  I  will  have  6  or  8  gentlemen  ; 
and  I  will  have  my  twoe  coaches,  one  lyned  with  velvett  to 
myselfe,  w'*"  4  very  fayre  horses,  and  a  coache  for  my  woemen, 
lyned  w*^  sweete  cloth,  one  laced  w'^  gold,  the  other  w"'  scar- 
lett,  and  laced  with  watched  lace  and  silver,  w''^  4  good  horses. 
Alsoe,  I  will  have  twoe  coachmen,  one  for  my  own  coache,  the 
other  fpr  my  women.  Alsoe,  att  any  tyme  when  I  travayle,  I 
will  be  allowed  not  only  carroches,  and  spare  horses  for  me  and 
my  women,  but  1  will  have  such  carryadgs,  as  shal  be  fittinge  for 
me  all  orderly;  not  pestringe  my  things  w""  my  woemens,  nor 
theirs  w^''  either  chambermayds,  or  theirs  w'**  wase  maids.  Alsoe, 
for  laundresses,  when  I  travayle  I  will  have  them  sent  away  before 
w**"  the  carryadgs  to  see  all  safe,  and  the  chambermayds  I  will 
have  goe  before  w'"^  the  groomes,  that  a  chamber  may  be  ready, 
sweete  and  cleane.  Alsoe,  for  that  yt  is  undecent  to  croud  upp 
myself  w'*"  my  gentl.  usher  in  my  coache,  I  will  have  him  to 
have  a  convenyent  horse  to  attend  me  either  in  city  or  country. 
And  I  must  have  2  footemen.  And  my  desire  is,  that  you  de- 
fray all  the  chardges  for  me." 

It  may  not  be  impertinent  to  add,  that  lord  Compton,  as 
tnight  reasonably  be  conjectured,  after  such  a  letter  as  this, 
reaped  little  comfort  from  his  wife,  and- less  from  her  immense 
fortune.  This  scene  (as  much  of  it,  at  least,  as  relates  to  the 
two  young  ladies  and  their  lovers)  is  imitated  with  infinite  plea-' 
santry  by  Glapthorne,  ia  that  admirable  old  comedy,  Wit  in  a 
Constable, 


THE    CITY   MADAM.  45 

Sir  Maur.  Use  fair  words. 
Plenty.  I  cannot ; 
I  have  read  of  a  house  of  pride,  and  now  I  have 

found  one  : 
A  whirlwind  overturn  it ! 

Sir  Maur,  On  these  terms, 
Will  your  minxship  be  a  lady  ? 
Plenty.  A  lady  in  a  morris  : 
I'll  wed  a  pedlar's  punk  first — 

Sir  Maur.  Tinker's  trull, 
A  beggar  without  a  smock. 

Plenty.  Let  monsieur  almanack, 
Since  he  is  so  cunning  with  his  Jacob's  staff, 
Find  you  out  a  husband  in  a  bowling-alley. 
Sir  Maur.  The  general  pimp  to  a  brothel. 
Plenty.  Though  that  now 
All  the  loose  desires  of  man  were  raked  up  in  me, 
And  no  means  but  thy  maidenhead  left  to  quench 

them, 
I  would  turn  cinders,  or  the  next  sow-gelder. 
On  my  life,  should  lib  me,  rather  than  embrace 
thee. 
Anne.  Wooing  do  you  call  this  ! 
Mary.  A  bear-baiting  rather. 
Plenty.  Were  you  worried,  you  deserve  it,  and 
I  hope 
I  shall  live  to  see  it. 

Sir  Maur.  I'll  not  rail,  nor  curse  yo>i : 
Only  this,  you  are  pretty  peats,  and  your  great 

portions 
Add  much  unto  your  handsomeness ;  but  as 
You   would   command  your  husbands,  you  arc 

beggars, 
Deform 'd  and  ugly. 
L.  Frug.  Hear  me. 
Plenty.  Not  a  word  more. 

[Ej'eunt  Sir  Maurice  Lacy  and  Plenty. 


45  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Anne.  I  ever  thought  it  would  come  to  this. 

Mary.  We  may 
Lead  apes  in  hell  for  husbands,  if  3''0u  bind  us 
To  articulate  thus  with  our  suitors. 

{Both  speak  weeping. 

Star.  Now  the  cloud  breaks, 
And  the  storm  will  fall  on  me.  [Aside. 

L.  Frug.  You  rascal !  juggler  ! 

[She  breaks  Stargaze's  head,  and  beats  him. 

Star.  Dear  madam. 

L.  Frug.  Hold  you  intelligence  with  the  stars, 
And  thus  deceive  me! 

Star.  My  art  cannot  err  ; 
If  it  does,  I'll  burn  my  astrolabe.  In  mine  ownstar 
I  did  forsee  this  broken  head,  and  beating  ; 
And  now  your  ladyship  sees,  as  I  do  feel  it, 
It  could  not  be  avoided. 

L.  Frug.  Did  you  ? 

Star.  Madam. 
Have  patience  but  a  week,  and  if  3'ou  find  not 
All  my  predictions  true,  touching}  our  daughters. 
And  a  change  of  fortune  to  yourself,  a  rare  one. 
Turn  me  out  of  doors.     These  are  not  the  men 

the  planets 
Appointed  for  their  husbands ;  there  will  come 
Gallants  of  another  metal. 

Mill.  Once  more  trust  him. 

Anne.  Mary.  Do,  lady- mother. 

Z.  Frug.  I  am  vex'd,  look  to  it  ; 
Turn  o'er  your  books;  if  once  again  you  fool  me, 
You  shall  graze  elsewhere :  come,  girls. 

Star.  I  am  glad  I  scaped  thus. 

[Aside.     Exeunt, 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  47 

SCENE    HI. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Lord  Lacy  and  Sir  John  Frugal. 

L.  Lacy.  The  plot  shews  very  likely.* 

Sir  John.  I  repose 
My  principal  trust  in  your  lordship ;  'twill  prepare 
The  physic  I  intend  to  minister 
To  my  wife  and  daughters. 

L.  Lacy.  I  will  do  my  parts, 
To  set  it  off  to  the  life. 

Enter  Sir  Maurice  Lacy,  and  Plenty. 

Sir  John.  It  may  produce 
A  scene  of  no  vulgar  mirth.     Here  come  the 

suitors ; 
When  we  understand  how  they  relish  my  wife's 

humours, 
The  rest  is  feasible. 

Z.  Lacy.  Their  looks  are  cloudy. 
Sir  John.  How  sits  the  wind?  are  you  ready  ta 
launch  forth 
Into  this  sea  of  marriage  ? 

Plenty.  Call  it  rather, 
A  whirlpool  of  afflictions. 
AS7r  Maur.  If  you  please 
To  enjoin  me  to  it,  I  will  undertake 

*  L.  Lacy.  The  plot  shews  xery  likefy.']  It  appears  from  this 
that  sir  John  had  instilled  his  suspicions  of  his  brother  into  lord 
Lacy.  It  18  finely  contrived,  to  confirm  thc-m  in  the  execution 
of  their  design  by  a  new  instance  of  unfeeling  pride  in  his  family. 


48  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

To  find  the  north  passage  to  the  Indies  sooner,* 
Than  plough  with  your  proud  heifer. 

Plenty.  I  will  make 
A  voyage  to  hell  first. — 

Sir  John.  How,  sir  ! 

Plenty.  And  court  Proserpine, 
In  the  sight  of  Pluto,  his  three-headed  porter, 
Cerberus,  standing  by,  and  all  the  Furies 
With  their  whips  to  scourge  me  for't,  than  say,  I 

Jeffrey 
Take  you,  Mary,  for  my  wife. 

L.  Lacy.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Sir  Maur.  The  matter  is,   the  mother  (with 
your  pardon, 
I  cannot  but  speak  so  much)  is  a  most  unsufferable. 
Proud,  insolent  lady. 

Plenty.  And  the  daughters  worse. 
The  dam  in  years  had  the  advantage  to  be  wicked, 
But  they  were  so  in  her  belly. 

Sir  Maur.  I  must  tell  you, 
With  reverence  to  your  wealth,  I  do  begin 
To  think  you  of  the  same  leaven. 

Plenty.  Take  my  counsel ; 
'Tis  safer  for  your  credit  to  profess 
Yourself  a  cuckold,  and  upon  record, 
Than  say  they  are  your  daughters. 

Sir  John.  You  go  too  far,  sir. 

Sir  Maur.  They  have  so  articled  with  us ! 

Plenty.  And  will  not  take  us 
For  their  husbands,   but  their  slaves;    and  so 

aforehand 
They  do  profess  they'll  use  us. 

'  To  find  the  north  passage  to  the  Indies  sooner^']  This  was 
the  grand  object  of  our  maritime  expeditions  in  those  days,  and 
was  prosecuted  with  a  boldness,  dexterity,  and  perseverance 
which,  though  since  equalled,  perhaps,  iu  the  same  fruitless  pur- 
luit,  have  not  yet  been  surpassed. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  49 

Sir  John.  Leave  this  heat : 
Though  they  are  mine,  I  must  tell  you,  the  per- 

verseness 
Of  their  manners  (which  they  did  not  take  from 

me, 
But  from  their  mother)  qualified,  they  deserve 
Your  equals. 

Sir  Maur.  True;  but  what's  bred  in  the  bone, 
Admits  no  hope  of  cure. 

Plenty.  Though  saints  and  angels 
Were  their  physicians. 

Sir  John.  You  conclude  too  fast, 
Plenty.  God  be  wi'  you !  *  I'll  travel  three  years, 
but  I'll  bury 
This  shame  that  lives  upon  me. 
Sir  Maur.  With  your  license, 
I'll  keep  him  company. 

L.  Lacy.  Who  shall  furnish  you 
For  your  expenses. 

Plenty.  He  shall  not  need  your  help, 
My  purse  is  his;  we  were  rivals,  but  now  friends. 
And  will  live  and  die  so. 

Sir  Maur.  Ere  we  go,  I'll  pay 
My  duty  as  a  son. 

Plenty.  And  till  then  leave  you. 

\Exeunt  Sir  Maurice  Lacy  and  Plenty* 
Z.  Lacy,  They  are  strangely  moved. 
Sir  John.  What's  wealth,  accompanied 
With  disoberlience  in  a  wife  and  children? 
My  heart  will  break. 

L.  Lacy.  Be  comforted,  and  hope  better : 
We'll  ride  abroad  ;  the  fresh  air  and  discourse 
May  yield  us  new  inventions. 

♦  Plenty.  God  be  wi'  you!]  For  this  valedictory  phrase,  so 
common  in  our  old  writers,  the  modern  editois  with  equal  ele- 
gance and  judgment  have  substituted,  GuoJ-Oj/  to  j/ou  ! 


50  THE  CITY  MADAM. 

Sir  John.  You  are  noble, 
And  shall  in  all  things,  as  you  please,  command 
me.  [E.reunt. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  Secret's  House, 
Enter  Shave'em  and  Secret. 

Secret.  Dead  doings,  daughter. 

Shave.  Doings!  sufferings,  mother: 
[For  poor]  men  have  forgot'  what  doing  is ; 
And  such  as  have  to  pay  for  what  they  do, 
Are  impotent,  or  eunuchs. 

Secret.  You  have  a  friend  yet, 
And  a  striker  too,  I  take  it. 

Shave.  Goldwire  is  so,  and  comes 
To  me  by  stealth,  and,  as  he  can  steal,  maintains  me 
In  clothes,  I  grant ;  but  alas  !  dame,  what*s  one 

friend  ? 
I  would  have  a  hundred ; — for  every  hour,  and  use, 
And  change  of  humour  I  am  in,  a  fresh  one  : 
*Tis  a  flock  of  sheep  that  makes  a  lean  wolf  fat. 
And  not  a  single  lambkin.     I  am  starv'd, 
Starv'd   in  my  pleasures;    I  know  not  what  a 

coach  is. 
To  hurry  me  to  the  Burse,*  or  Old  Exchange : 

*  [For  poor]  meti  have  forgot,  &c.]  A  foot  appears  to  be  lost 
in  the  original :  I  have  substituted  the  words  between  brackets 
in  the  hope  of  restoring  the  sense  of  the  passage. 

^  To  hurry  me  to  the  Burse,]  To  the  New  Exchange,  which 
was  then  full  of  shops,  where  all  kinds  of  finery  for  the  ladies, 
trinkets,  ornaments,  &c.  were  sold.    It  was  as  much  frequented 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  51 

Theneathouse*for  musk-melons,  and  thegardens, 
Where  we  traffic  for  asparagus,  are,  to  me, 
In  the  other  world. 

Secret.  There  are  other  places,  lady, 
Where  you  might  find  customers. 

Shave.  You  would  have  me  foot  it 
To  the  dancing  of  the  ropes,  sit  a  whole  afternoon 

there 
In  expectation  of  nuts  and  pippins  ; 
Gape  round  about  me,  and  yet  not  find  a  chapman 
That  in  courtesy  will  bid  a  chop  of  mutton, 
Or  a  pint  of  drum-wine  for  me/ 

Secret,  You  are  so  impatient ! 
But  I  can  tell  you  news  will  comfort  you. 
And  the  whole  sisterhood. 

Shave.  What's  that  ? 

Secret.  I  am  told 
Two  ambassadors  are  come  over:  a  French  mon- 
sieur, 
And  a  Venetian,  one  of  the  clarissimi, 
A  hot-rein'd  marmoset.'  Their  followers, 
For  their  countries'  honour,  after  a  long  vacation, 
Will  make  a  full  term  with  us. 

Shave.  They  indeed  are 

by  the  fashionable  world  in  James's  days,  as  Exeter  Change  in 
those  of  Charles  J  I. 

*  The  neathouse ybr  musk-melons ^"j  The  neathouse  was  a  cele- 
brated garden  and  nursery,  near  Chelsea. 

7  Or  a  pint  of  drwm.w'me for  me.]  So  the  old  copy;  meaning 
perhaps  sutler's  wine,  or  such  sophisticated  stuff  as  is  disposed 
of  at  the  drum-head.     Thus  Shirley  : 

''  What  we  have  more  than  to  supply  our  wants, 
**  Consumes  on  the  drum^  head." 

Or  it  may  signify  such  wine  as  is  to  be  found  at  common 
auctions,  or  uutcrics,  to  which  the  people  were,  at  this  time, 
usually  summoned  by  beat  of  drum.  See  p.  25.  Coxcter  and 
M.Mason  read  stru7n-mae;  Dodsley,  5i;u?«-wine,  which  pro- 
mises fairer  to  be  right. 

'  A  hot-reined  marmoset.']  i.  e.  a  monkey,  a  libidinous  animal. 


52  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Our     certain    and    best    customers: — [knocking 
withhi.] — Who  knocks  there  ? 

Ramb,  [within.']  Open  the  door. 

Secret.  What  are  you  ? 

Rajnb.  [within.]  Ramble. 

Scuff,  [within.]  Scuffle. 

Ramb.  [zvithin.]  Your  constant  visitants. 

Shave.  Let  them  not  in  ; 
I  know  them,  swaggering,  suburbian  roarers, 
Sixpenny  truckers. 

Ramb.  [within.]  Down  go  all  your  windows, 
And  your  neighbours'  too  shall  suffer. 

Scuff,  [within,]  Force  the  doors  ! 

Secret.  They  are  outlaws,  mistress  Shave'em, 
and  there  is 
No  remedy  against  them.  What  should  you  fear.? 
They  are  but  men  ;  lying  at  your  close  ward, 
You  have  foil'd  their  betters. 

Shave.  Out,  you  bawd !  you  care  not 
Upon  what  desperate  service  you  employ  me, 
Kor  with  whom,  so  you  have  your  fee. 

Secret.  Sweet  lady-bird, 
Sing  in  a  milder  key. 

Exit,  and  re-enters  with  Ramble  and  Scuffle^ 

Scuff.  Are  you  grown  proud? 
Ramb.  I  knew  you  a  waistcoateer  in  the  gar- 
den alleys, 

'  »  Ramb.  I  knew  you  a  waistcoateer,  &c.]  It  appears  from 
innumerable  passages  in  our  old  plays,  that  xvaistcoateer  was  a 
cant  term  for  a  strumpet  of  the  lowest  kind ;  probably  given 
to  thtm  from  their  usually  appearing,  either  through  choice  or 
necessity,  in  a  succinct  habit.  Thus  Beaumont  and  Fletcher: 

*'  '* Do  you  think  you  are  here,  sir, 

**  Amongst  your  waistcoatetrs,  your  base  wenches, 
'*  That  scratch  on  such  occasions."    fVit  wii/iout  Money.. 
Again  ; 

"  This  is  the  time  of  night,  and  this  the  haunt, 


THE    CITY   MADAM.  53 

And  would  come  to  a  sailor's  whistle. 

Secret.  Good  sir  Ramble, 
Use  her  not  roughly  ;  she  is  very  tender. 

Ramb.  Rank  and  rotten,  is  she  not  ? 

\^Shave'em  draws  her  knife. 

Shave.  Your  spittle  rogueships* 

\Ra7nble  draws  his  sword. 
Shall  not  make  me  so. 

Secret.  As  you  are  a  man,  squire  Scuffle, 
Step    in    between    them :      a    weapon    of   that 

length, 
Was  never  drawn  in  my  house. 

Shave.  Let  him  come  on. 
I'll  scour  it  in  your  guts,  you  dog  ! 

Ramb.  You  brache  ! ' 

*'  In  which  I  use  to  catch  my  waisicoateers : 
•*  I  hope  they  have  not  left  their  walk.'*' 

The  Noble  Gentleman. 

*  Your  spittle  rogueskips,  Sec]  Mr.  M.  Mason,  following  hit 
usual  practice  of  altering  what  he  dislikes  or  misunderstands, 
changed  spittle  into  spital.  But  our  old  writers  carefully  dis- 
tinguished between  these  two  words  ;  with  them  a  hospital  or 
spital  signified  a  charitable  institution  for  the  advantage  of  poor, 
infirm,  and  aged  persons,  an  alms-house,  in  short ;  while  spittles 
were  mere  lazar-houscs,  receptacles  for  wretches  in  the  leprosy, 
and  other  loathsome  diseases,  the  consequence  of  debauchery 
and  vice.  "  Dishonest  women,''  says  Barnaby  Rich,  in  hit 
English  Hue  and  Crie,  "  thrive  so  ill,  that  if  they  do  not  turne 
bawd,  when  they  be  some  foure  or  five  and  thirty  yeeres  of  age, 
they  must  cither  be  turned  into  some  hospitall,  or  end  the  rest 
of  their  days  in  a  spittle.'' 

And  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  : 

"  The  very  vomit,  sir,  of  hospitals, 

"  Bridewells,  and  spittle-houses.'"     Nice  Valour^  A.  IV.  S.  1. 

'  Ramb.  You  brache  ! 

Are  you  turn'd  mankind?]  i.  e.  are  you  become  masculine? 
is  your  nature  changed  into  that  of  a  man  ?  this  is  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  word,  though,  as  Upton  observes,  it  some- 
times bears  a  stronger  sense,  and  signifies  violent,  ferocious, 
wicked.     It  is  singular,  however,  that    not  one  of  Upton'« 


54,  THE    CITY   MADAM. 

Are  you  turn'cl  mankind  r  you  forgot  I  gave  you, 
When  wc  last  join'd  issue,  twenty  pound — 

Shave.  O'er  night, 
And  kick'd  it  out  of  me  in  the  morning.     I  was 

then 
A  novice,  but  I  know  to  make  my  game  now. 
Fetch  the  constable. 

Enter  Goldwi re  junior,  disguised  like  a  Justice 
of  Peace,  Dixg'em  tike  a  Constable,  and  Musi- 
cians  like  Jfatchmen. 

Secret,  Ah  me  1  here's  one  unsent  for, 
And  a  justice  of  peace,  too. 

Shave.  I'll  hang  you  both,  you  rascals  ! 
I  can  but  ride  :' — you  for  the  purse  you  cut 
In  Paul's  at  a  sermon  ;  I  have  smoak'd  you,  ha  ! 
And  you  for  the  bacon  you  took  on  the  liigh- 

way, 
From  the  poor  market  woman,  as  she  rode 
From  Rumford. 

Ramh.  Mistress  Shave'em. 

Scuff.  Mistress  Secret, 
On  our  knees  we  beg  your  pardon. 

examples  justifies  his  position,  or  means  more  than  masculine,  or 
mannish  :  he  is,  notwithstanding,  correct  in  his  a&sertion.  Thus 
Chapman : 

*'  Cor.  I  will  hear  thee  no  more,  I  will  take  no  compassion 
on  thee. 

"  Page.  Good  Signior  Cornelio,  be  not  too  mankind  against 
your  wife."     All  Fools. 
And  Hall : 

"  I  ask't  phisitians  what  their  counsell  was 
'*  For  a  mad  dogge,  or  for  a  mankind  asse." 

BracAe  (which  Ramble  uses  as  the  "  retort  courteous,"  for 
Shave'em's  "  dog,")  has  been  already  explained.^  See  Vol.  I 
p.  1\0. 

'  I  can  but  ride.]  i.  e.  I  know  the  worst  of  my  punishment; 
I  can  but  be  carted  for  a  strumpet. 


THE   CITY    MADAM*  65 

Ramh.  Set  a  ransome  on  us. 
Secret.  We  cannot  stand  trifling  :  if  you  mean 
to  save  them,  ^^f  '^^"^  ""-^  ^  ' 
Shut  them  out  at  the  back-door. 

Shave.  First,  for  punishment, 
They  shall  leave  their  cloaks  behind  them;   and 

in  sign 
I  am  their  sovereign,  and  they  my  vassals, 
For  homage  kiss  my  shoe-sole,  rogues,  and  vanish! 

[Ej-eunt  Ramble  and  Scuffle, 
Gold.   My  brave  virago  !    The  coast's   clear ; 
strike  up. 
[Ooldzvire^and  the  rest  discover  themselves. 
Shave.  My  Gold  wire  made  a  justice  ! 
Secret.  And  your  scout 
Turn'd  constable,  and  the  musicians  watchmen  ! 
Gold.  We  come  not  to  fright  you,  but  to  make 
you  merry  : 
A  light  lavolta.*  [Thet/  dance. 

Shave.  I  am  tired  ;  no  more. 
This  was  your  device  ?  * 

Ding.  Wholly  his  own ;  he  is 
No  pig-sconce,'  mistress. 

Secret.  He  has  an  excellent  headpiece. 
Gold.  Fie!  no,  noti;  your  jeering  gallants  say, 
We  citizens  have  no  wit. 

Ding,  He  dies  that  says  so  : 
This  was  a  masterpiece. 

*  A  light  laTolta.]  See  Vol.  II.  p.  496. 

*  he  is 

No  pig-sconce.']  No  heayy  dull-pated  felIo\t.    The  term 
appears  in  the  complimentary  verses  prefixed  to  the  author'9 

Duke  uf  Milan : 

"  Thou  mak'st  a  garland  for  thy  fouch  unfit, 

"  And  boldly  deckst  thy  pig-brain'd  sconce  with  it, 

"  As  if  it  were  the  supreme  head  of  wit.'* 


56  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Gold.  A  trifling  stratagem, 
Not  worth  the  talking  of. 

Shave.  I  must  kiss  thee  for  it, 
Again,  and  again.  [They  Jciss. 

Ding.  Make  much  of  her.     Did  you  know 

What  suitors  she  had  since  she  saw  you 

Gold.  I'the  way  of  marriage? 
Ding.  Yes,  sir ;  for  marriage,  and  the  other 
thing  too  ; 
The   commodity   is   the   same.     An   Irish  lord 

ofFer'd  her 
Five  pound  a  week. 

Secret.  And  a  cashier'd  captain,  half 
Of  his  entertainment. 

Ding.  And  a  new-made  courtier, 
The  next  suit  he  could  beg.* 

Gold.  And  did  my  sweet  one 
Refuse  all  this,  for  me? 

Shave.  Weep  not  for  joy ; 
'Tistrue.  Let  others  talk  of  lords  and  commanders. 
And  country  heirs  for  their  servants;  but  give  me 
My  gallant  prentice  1  he  parts  with  his  money 
So  civilly,  and  demurely,  keeps  no  account 
Of  his  expenses,  and  comes  ever  furnish'd. — 
I  know  thou  hast  brought  money  to  make  up 
My  gown  and  petticoat,  with  the  appurtenances. 
Gold.  I  have  it  here,  duck ;  thou  shalt  want 

for  nothing. 
Shave.  Let  the  chantber  be  perfumed  ;  and  get 
you,  sirrah,  [To  Ding'em. 

His  cap  and  pantofles  ready. 

Gold.  There's  for  thee, 
And  thee :  that  for  a  banquet. 

5  The  next  suit  be  could  beg.li  Omnia  cum  pretio  !  Justice  was 
extremely  venal  in  this  age : — but  the  allusion,  perhaps,  is  to  the 
crying  grievance  of  the  times,  monopolies.     A  favourite,  who 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  57 

'Secret,  And  a  caudle 
Again  you  rise. 

Gold.  Tliere,  \Gives  them  7noney. 

Shave.  Usher  us  up  in  state. 
Gold.  You  will  be  constant  ? 
Shave.  Thou  art  the  whole  world  to  me. 
l^Exeunt ;  Gold,  and  Shave,  embracing^  mudc 
playing  before  them. 


SCENE    II. 

-A  Room  in  Sir  John  Frugal's  House 
Enter  Luke. 

Anne,  lypithin.']  Where  is  this  uncle  ? 

L.  Frug.  \within.']  Call  this  beadsman-brother;* 
He  hath  fo4got  attendance. 

Mary,  [within.']  Seek  hini  out ; 
Idleness  spoils  him. 

Luke.  I  deserve  much  more 
Than  their  scorn  can  load  me  with,  and  'tis  but 

justice 
That  I  should  live  the  family's  drudge,  design'd 
To  all  the  sordid  offices  their  pride 
Imposes  on  me ;  since,  if  now  I  sat 
A  judge  in  mine  own  cause,  I  should  conclude 
I  am  not  worth  their  pity.     Such  as  want 
Discourse,'  and  judgment,  aud  through  weakness 
fall, 

coald  obtain  a  grant  of  these  from  the  easy  monarch,  considered 
his  fortune  as  established  by  the  vast  sums  at  which  he  disposed 
of  them  to  rapacious  adventurers,  who  oppressed  the  people 
without  shame,  and  without  pity. 

*  L.  Frug.  [within.]  Call  this  bead3man-6ro/^er ;]  i.  c.  thii 
poor  dependent  on  our  charity.     See  p.  26. 

'  Discourse,  &c.]  i.  e.  reason.     See  vol.  i.  p.  148. 

VOL,  IV.  *E 


58  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

May  merit  man's  compassion  ;  but  I, 

That  knew  profuseness  of  expense  the  parent 

Of  wretched  poverty,  her  fatal  daughter, 

To  riot  out  mine  own,  to  live  upon 

The  alms  of  others,  steering  on  a  rock 

I  might  have  shunn'd  !  O  Heaven  !  it  is  not  fit 

I  should  look  upward,  much  less  hope  for  mercy." 

Enter  Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  Mary,  Stargaze, 

afld  MiLLISCENT. 

X.  Fritg.  What  are  you  devising,  sir  ? 

Anne.  My  uncle  is  much  given 
To  his  devotion. 

Mary.  And  takes  time  to  mumble 
A  paternoster  to  himself. 

L.  Frug.  Know  you  where 
Your  brother  is  ?  it  better  would  become  you 
(Your  means  of  life  depending  wholly  on  him) 
To  give  your  attendance. 

Luke.  In  my  will  I  do  : 
But  since  he  rode  forth  yesterday  with  lord  Lacy, 
I  have  not  seen  him. 

L.  Frug.  And  why  went  not  you 
By  his  stirrup?  How  do  you  look !  were  his  eyes 

closed, 
You'd  be  glad  of  such  employment. 

Luke.  'Twas  his  pleasure 
I  should  wait  your  commands,  and  those  I  am  ever 
Most  ready  to  receive. 

Z.  Frug.  I  know  you  can  speak  well ; 
But  say,  and  do. 

*  This  penitenCial  speech  of  Luke  is  introduced  with  admi« 
rable  artifice,  at  the  period  of  his  breaking  forth  in  his  true 
character ;  nor  is  the  insolence  of  lady  Frugal  and  her  daughters 
less  judiciously  timed. 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  59  ' 

EnUr  Lord  Lacy. 

l^iike.  Here  comes  my  lord. 

L.  Frug.  Further  oiF: 
Vou  are  no  companion  for  him,  and  his  business 
Aims  not  at  you,  as  I  take  it. 

Luke.  Can  I  h"ve 
In  tliis  base  condition  !  [He  stands  aside. 

L.  Frug.  I  hope,  my  lord, 
You  had  brought  master  Frugal  with  you;'  for 

I  must  ask 
An  account  of  him  from  you. 

L.  Lacy.  I  can  give  it,  lady ; 
But  with  the  best  discretion  of  a  woman, 
And  a  strong  fortified  patience,  I  desire  you 
To  give  it  hearing. 

Luke.  My  heart  beats. 

L,  Frug.  My  lord,  you  much  amaze  me. 

L.  Lacy.  I  shall  astonish  you.    The  noble  mer- 
chant, 
Who,  living,  was,  for  his  integrity 
And  upright  dealing,  (a  rare  miracle 
In  a  rich  citizen,)  London's  best  honour; 
Is 1  am  loth  to  speak  it. 

*  You  had  brought  Mr.  Frugal  with  you  ;]  So  the  quarto  reads, 
and  probably  by  inadvertence,  of  which  it  furnishes  many  ex- 
amples. Or  may  we  venture  to  conjecture  that  Massinger 
intended,  in  this  place,  to  ridicule  a  species  of  affectation  then 
in  vogue  ?  It  appears  that  the  city  ladies,  though  extremely  tena- 
cious of  their  own  titles,  thought  it  a  part  of  high  breeding  to 
address  the  knights,  their  husbands,  by  the  name  of  master. 
One  example  of  this  is  now  before  me  : 

Fitchew.  And  what  said  master  Luckless  ? 

Howd'ye.  Sir  Philip  you  mean. 

Fit.  The  very  same :  but  I  begin  to  call  him  now,  as  I  must 
call  him  hereafter.  Ladies  do  not  call  their  husbands,  as  they 
arc  knights,  as  sir  Philip,  sir  Timothy,  or  sir  Gregory.  Did 
you  ever  hear  lady  Squelch  call  her  husband  iir  Paul  ?  No  J 
but  master  Squelch.     Northern  Lass,  A.  1.  S.  6. 

*  1'  <i 


60  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Luke,  Wonderous  strange  ! 

L.  Frug,  I  do  suppose  the  worst ;  not  dead,  I 
hope  ? 

i.  Lacy.  Your  supposition's  true,  your  hopes 
•are  false ; 
He*s  dead. 

L.  Fj^ug.  Ah  me  ! 

Anne.  My  father ! 

Mary.  My  kind  father  ! 

Luke.  Now  they  insult  not. 

L.  Lacy,  Pray  hear  me  out. 
He's  dead  ;  dead  to  the  world  and  you,  and,  now, 
Lives  only  to  himself. 

Luke.  V/hat  riddle's  this  ? 

L.Frug.  Act  not  the  torturer  in*  my  afflictions; 
But  make  me  understand  the  sum  of  all 
That  I  must  undergo. 

L.  Lacy,  In  few  words  take,  it : 
He  is  retired  into  a  monastery, 
Where  he  resolves  to  end  his  days. 

Luke.  More  strange. 

L.  Lacy.  I  saw  him  take  post  for  Dover,  and 
the  wind 
Sitting  so  fair,  by  this  he's  safe  at  Calais, 
And  ere  long  will  be  at  Lovain. 

L.  Frug.^  Could  I  guess 
What  were  the  motives  that  induced  him  to  it, 
'Twere  some  allay  to  my  sorrows. 

L.  Lacy.  I'll  instruct  you. 
And  chide  you  into  that  knowledge;  'twas  your 

pride 
Above  your  rank,  and  stubborn  disobedience 
Of  these  your  daughters,  in  their  milk  suck'd 
from  you : 

■  L.  Frug.  Act  not  the  torturer  in  my  afflictions  f]  Mr.  M. 
Mason  reads,  it  is  impossible  to  say  why. 

Act  not  the  torturer  of  my  afflictions  ! 


THE   CITY   MADAM.       .     61 

At  home  the  harshness  of  his  entertainment, 

You  wilfully  forgetting  that  your  all 

Was  borrow'd  from  him  ;  and  to  hear  abroad 

The  imputations  dispers'd  upon  you, 

And  justly  too,  I  fear,  that  drew  him  to 

Thisstrictretirement:  and,thusmuchsaidforhim, 

I  am  myself  to  accuse  you. 

L.  Frug.  I  confess 
A  guilty  cause  to  him  ;  but,  in  a  thought, 
My  lord,  I  ne'er  wrong'd  you. 

L.  Lacy.  In  fact,  you  have. 
The  insolent  disgrace  you  put  upon 
My  only  son,  and  Plenty,  men  that  loved 
Your  daughters  in  a  noble  way,  to  wash  off 
The  scandal,  put  a  resolution  in  them 
For  three  years  travel. 

L.  Frug.  I  am  much  grieved  for  it. 

L,Lacy.  One  thing  I  had  forgot;  your  rigour  to 
His  decay'd  brother,  in  which  your  flatteries. 
Or  sorceries,  made  him  a  co-agent  with  you, 
Wrought  not  the  least  impression. 

Luke.  Hum  !  this  sounds  well. 

L.  Frug.  *Tis  now  past  help:  after  these  storms, 
my  lord, 
A  little  calm,  if  you  please. 

L.  Lacy.  If  what  I  have  told  you, 
Shew'd  like  a  storm,  what  now  I  must  deliver. 
Will  prove  a  raging  tempest.     His  whole  estate. 
In  lands  and  leases,  debts  and  present  monies. 
With  all  the  moveables  he  stood  possess'd  of, 
With  the  best  advice  which  he  could  get  for  gold 
From  his  learned  counsel,  by  this  formal  will 
Is  pass'd  o'er  to  his  brother. — [Giving  the  will  to 

LukCy  who  comes  forward.'\ — With  it  take 
The  key  of  his  counting-house.    Not  a  groat  left 

you, 
Which  you  can  call  your  own. 


62  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

X.  Frug,  Undone  for  ever  ! 

An7ie.  Mary.  What  will  become  of  us  ? 

Luke.  Hum  !  {Aaidt. 

i.  Lacy.  The  scene  is  changed, 
And  he  that  was  your  slave,  by  Fate  appointed 

[Lady  Frugal,  Mary,  and  Anne  hieeh 
Your  governor :  you  kneel  to  me  in  vain, 
I  cannot  help  you ;  I  discharge  tlie  trust 
Imposed  upon  me.     This  humility. 
From  him  may  gain  remission,  and,  perhaps, 
Forgetfulness  of  your  barbarous  usage  to  him, 

Z.  Frug.  Am  I  come  to  this  ? 

L»  Lacy.  Enjoy  your  own,  good  sir, 
But  use  it  with  due  reverence.    I  once  heard  you 
Speak  most  divinely  in  the  opposition 
Of  a  revengeful  humour;  to  these  shew  it, 
And  such  who  then  depended  on  the  mercy 
Of  your  brother,  wholly  now  at  your  devotion, 
And  make  good  the  opinion  I  held  of  you, 
Of  which  I  am  most  confident. 

Luke.  Pray  you  rise,  [Raises  them^ 

And  rise  with  this  assurance,  I  am  still. 
As  I  was  of  late,  your  creature  ;  and  if  raised 
In  any  thing,  'tis  in  my  power  to  serve  you. 
My  will  is  still  the  same.     O  my  good  lord  ! 
This  heap  of  wealth  which  you  possess  me  of, 
Which  to  a  worldly  man  had  been  a  blessing, 
And  to  the  messenger  might  with  justice  chal- 
lenge 
A  kind  of  adoration,  is  to  me 
A  curse  I  cannot  thank  you  for;  and,  much  less, 
Rejoice  in  that  tranquillity  of  mmd 
My  brother's  vows  must  purchase.    I  have  made 
A  dear  exchange  with  him  :  he  now  enjoys 
My  peace  and  poverty,  the  trouble  of 
His  wealth  conferr'd  on  me,  and  that  a  burthen 
Too  heavy  for  my  weak  shoulders, 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  63 

L.  Lacy.  Honest  soul, 
With  what  feeling  he  receives  it ! 

L.  Frug,  You  shall  have 
My  best  assistance,  if  you  please  to  use  it, 
To  help  you  to  support  it.    * 

Luke.  By  no  means ; 
The  weight  shall  rather  sink  me,  than  you  part 
With  one  short  minute  from  those  lawful  pleasures 
Which  you  were  born  to,  in  your  care  to  aid  me: 
You  shall  have  all  abundance.     In  my  nature, 
I  was  ever  liberal ;  my  lord,  you  know  it ; 
Kind,  affable. — And  now  methinks  I  see 
Before  my  face  the  jubilee  of  joy, 
When  'tis  assured  my  brother  lives  in  me, 
His  debtors,  in  full  cups  crown'd  to  my  health, 
With  pagans  to  my  praise  will  celebrate  ! 
For  they  well  know  'tis  far  from  me  to  take 
The  forfeiture  of  a  bond  :  nay,  I  shall  blush, 
The  interest  never  paid  after  three  years, 
When  I  demand  my  principal :  and  his  servants, 
Who  from  a  slavish  fear  paid  their  obedience, 
By  him  exacted,  now,  when  they  are  mine. 
Will  grow  familiar  friends,  and  as  such  use  me; 
Being  certain  of  the  mildness  of  my  temper, 
Which  my  change  of  fortune,  frequent  in  most 

men, 
Hath  not  the  power  to  alter. 

L.  Lacy.  Yet  take  heed,  sir, 
You  ruin  not,  with  too  much  lenity, 
What  his  fit  severity  raised. 

L.  Frug.  And  we  fall  from 
That  height  we  have  maintain'd, 

Luke.  I'll  build  it  higher, 
To  admiration  higher.     With  disdain 
I  look  upon  these  habits,  no  way  suiting 
The  wife  and  daughters  of  a  knighted  citizen 
Bless'd  with  abundance. 


64  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

L.  Lacy,  There,  sir,  I  join  with  you  ; 
A  fit  decorum  must,  be  kept,  the  court 
Distinguish'd  from  the  city. 

Luke,  With  your  favour, 
I  know  what  you  would  say;  but  give  me  leave 
In  this  to  be  your  advocate.     You  are  wide, 
Wide  the  whole  region,"  in  what  I  purpose. 
Since  all  the  titles,  honours,  long  descents. 
Borrow  their  gloss  from  wealth,  the  rich  with 

reason 
May  challenge  their  prerogatives:  and  it  shall  be 
My  glory,  nay  a  triumph,  to  revive. 
In  the  pomp  that  these  shall  shine,  the  memory 
Of  the  Roman  matrons,  who  kept  captive  queens 
To  be  their  handmaids.     And  when  you  appear^ 
Like  Juno,  in  full  majesty,  and  my  nieces. 
Like  Iris,  Hebe,  or  what  deities  else 
Old  poets  fancy,  (your  cramm'd  wardrobes  richer 
Than  various  nature's,}  and  draw  down  the  envy 
Of  our  western  world  upon  you  ;  only  hold  me 
Your  vigilant  Hermes  with  aerial  wings, 
(My  caduceus,  my  strong  zeal  to  serve  you,) 
Prest'  to  fetch  in  all  rarities  may  delight  you, 
And  I  am  made  immortal. 

Z.  Lacy.  A  strange  frenzy  }  [Aside. 

Luke.  Off  with  these  rags,  and  then  to  bed  ; 
there  dream 


You  are  wide, 


Wide  the  -whole  region, in  what  I  purpose,']  This  is  a  most  admirable 
stroke,  and  shows  with  what  exquisite  judgment  Massingcr  dis^ 
criminates  his  characters.  Lord  Lacy  had  touched  a  discordant 
string,  and  the  vanity  of  Luke,  already  raised  to  an  inordinate 
pitch  by  his  recent  glimpse  of  wealth,  is  irritated  and  alarmed. 
The  expression,  You  are  wide,  wide  the  whole  region,  is  a  La- 
tinism,  toto  ccclo,  tota  regione  oberras. 

J  Prcst  to  fetch  in  &c.]  i.  e.  ready,  prepared,  to  fetch  in.  The 
word  occurs  so  frequently  in  this  sense,  that  it  is  unnecessary 
to  produce  any  example  of  it. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  65 

Of  future  greatness,  which,  when  you  awake, 
I'll  make  a  certain  truth :  but  I  must  be 
A  doer,  not  a  promiser.     The  performance 
Requiring  haste,  I  kiss  your  hands,  and  leave 
you.  [E.vit. 

L.  Lacy.  Are  we  all  turn'd  statues  ?  have  his 
strange  words  charm'd  us? 
What  muse  you  on,  lady  ? 

L.  Frug.  Do  not  trouble  me. 

L.  Lacy,  Sleep  you  too,  young  ones  ? 

Anne.  Swift-wing'd  time  till  now 
Was  never  tedious  to  me.    Would  'twere  night! 

Mary.  Nay,  morning  rather. 

L.  Lacy.  Can  you  ground  your  faith 
On  such  impossibilities?  have  you  so  soon 
Forgot  your  good  husband  ? 

Z.  Frug.  He  was  a  vanity 
I  must  no  more  remember, 

L.  Lacy.  Excellent! 
You,  your  kind  father?  ,  1 

Anne.  Such  an  uncle  never 
Was  read  of  in  story  1 

L.  Lacy.  Not  one  word  in  answer 
Of  my  demands  ? 

Mary.  You  are  but  a  lord ;  and  know, 
My  thoughts  soar  higher. 

L.  Lacy.  Admirable  !  I'll  leave  you 
To  your  castles  in  the  air. — When  I  relate  this, 
Jt  will  exceed  belief;  but  he  must  know  it. 

[Aside,  and  ejcit. 

Star.  Now  I  may  boldly  speak.    May  it  please 
you,  madam, 
To  look  upon  your  vassal ;  I  foresaw  this. 
The  stars  assured  it. 

L.  Frug.  I  begin  to  feel 
Myself  another  woman. 

Star.  Now  you  shall  find  :\'' 


66  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

All  my  predictions  true,  and  nobler  matches 
Prepared  for  my  young  ladies. 

Afiil.  Princely  husbands. 

Anne.  I'll  go  no  less.* 

Mary,  Not  a  word  more  ; 
Provide  my  night-rail.* 

Miii'  What  shall  we  be  to  nuorrow  !    [Exeunt. 


SCENE   III. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Luke. 

Luke.  'Twas  no  fantastic  object,  but  a  truth, 
A  real  truth  ;  nor  dream  :  I  did  not  slumber, 
And  could  wake  ever  with  a  brooding  eye 
To  gaze  upon't !  it  did  endure  the  touch  ; 
I  saw  and  felt  it !  Yet  what  I  beheld 
And  handled  oft,  did  so  transcend  belief, 
(My  wonder  and  astonishment  pass'd  o'er,) 
I  faintly  could  give  credit  to  my  senses. 
Thou  dumb  magician, — [Taking  out  a  key.'\ — that 

without  a  charm 
Didst  make  my  entrance  easy,  to  possess 
What  wise  men  wish,  and  toil  for  !   Hermes'  moly, 
Sibylla's  golden  bough,  the  great  elixir, 
Imagined  only*  by  the  alchemist, 

♦  Anne.  Til  go  no  less.}  This  is  a  gaming  phrase,  and  means, 
I  will  not  play  for  a  smaller  stake. 

*  Provide  my  night-rail.]  "  Enter  Crowstitch  with  a  7iight' 
rail.  Crow.  Pray,  madam,  does  this  belong  to  you,  or  miss  ? 
O  la!  Mr.  Scmibrief  here!  (Folds  up  the  night-shift  hastily.") 
Love  for  Money 

^  Imagined  only  by  the  alchemist j"]  i.  e.  which  only  exists  in 
the  imagination  of  the  alchemist. 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  67 

Compared   with  thee   are   shadows,  —  thou  the 

substance, 
And  guardian  of  felicity  !  No  marvel, 
My  brother  made  thy  place  of  rest  his  bosom, 
Thou  being  the  keeper  of  his  heart,  a  mistress 
Te  be  hugg'd  ever  !  In  by-corners  of 
This  sacred  room,  silver  in  bags,  heap'd  up 
Like  billets  saw'd  and  ready  for  the  fire, 
Unworthy  to  hold  fellowship  with  bright  gold 
That  flow'd  about  the  room,  conceal'd  itself. 
There  needs  no  artificial  light ;  the  splendour 
Makes  a  perpetual  day  there,  night  and  darkness 
By  that  still-burning  lamp  for  ever  banish'd  ! 
But  when,  guided  by  that,  my  eyes  had  made 
Discovery  of  the  caskets,  and  they  open'd. 
Each  sparkling  diamond,  from  itself,  shot  forth 
A  pyramid  of  flames,  and,  in  the  roof, 
Eix'd  it  a  glorious  star,  and  made  the  place 
Heaven's  abstract, or  epitome! — rubies,  sapphires. 
And  ropes  of  orient  pearl,  these  seen,  I  could  not 
But  look  on  with  contempt/    And  yet  I  found, 


-  and  made  the  place 


Heaven's  abstract  or  epitome : — rubies,  sapphires^ 
And  ropes  of  orient  pearl,  these  seen,  I  could  not 
But  look  on  with  contempt.']    For  these  most  beautiful  lines, 
which  I  have  faithfully  taken  from  the  old  copies,  the  modern 
editors  give  us, 

■   atid  made  the  place 

Heaven's  abstract  or  epitome.     Rubies^  saphires. 
And  ropes  of  oriental  pearl.     These  seen,  I  could  not 
But  look  on  gold  with  contempt  ! 
These  vile  and  senseless  interpolations  utterly  subvert  not  only 
the  metre,  bat  the  meaning  of  the  passage  :  indeed  it  is  evident 
that  neither  Coxeter  nor  Mr.  M.  Mason  (I  am  loth  to  speak  of 
Dodsley)  understood  a  syllable  of  what  they  were  mangling 
under  the  idea  of  reforming.    The  sense  now   is  clear :   the 
diamonds,  which  are  described  by  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
figures  to  be  found  in  all  poetry,  so  ravished  his  sight,  that  lie 
looked  upon  the  other  precious  itonesj  rubies,  sapphires,  and 


68  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

What  weak  credulity  could  have  no  faith  in, 
A  treasure  far  exceeding  these  :  here  lay 
A  manor  bound  fast  in  a  skin  of  parchment, 
The  wax  continuing  hard,  the  acres  melting; 
Here  a  sure  deed  of  gift  for  a  market-town, 
If  not  redeem'd  this  day,  which  is  not  in 
The  unthrift's  power :    there   being  scarce  one 

shire 
In  Wales  or  England,  where  my  monies  are  not 
Lent  out  at  usury,  the  certain  hook 
To  draw  in  more.     I  am  sublimed  !  gross  earth 
Supports  me  not ;  I  walk  on  air  ! — ^Who's  there? 

Enter  Lord  Lacy,  with  Sir  John  Frugal,  Sir 
Maurice  Lacy,  and  Vi^^-^ty^  painted  and  dis^ 
guised  as  Indiam. 

Thieves  !  raise  the  street !  thieves  ! 

Z.  Lacy.  What  strange  passion's  this  \ 
Have  you  your  eyes?  do  you  know  me? 

Luke.  You,  my  lord, 
I  do :  but  this  retinue,  in  these  shapes  too, 
May    well    excuse   my   fears.     When  'tis  your 

pleasure 
That  I  should  wait  upon  you,  give  me  leave 
To  do  it  at  your  own  house,  for  I  must  tell  you, 
Things  as  they  now  are  with  me  well  considered, 
I  do  not  like  such  visitants. 

L.  Lacy.  Yesterday, 
Wlien  you  had  nothing,  praise  your  poverty  for't, 


pearls,  (not  the  goW,  -which  he  had  already  dismissed  from  his 
thoughts,)  with  contempt.  Errors  of  this  nature  are  the  more 
to  be  regretted,  as  they  have  induced  many  critics  (and  among 
them  Dr.  Ferriar*)  to  complain  of  a  want  of  harmony  in  £S, 
ipeech- rhythmical  and  melodious  almost  beyond  example. 

•  Sec  tht  Essay  on  Massinger,  prefixed  to  vol.  u 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  69 

You  could  have  sung  secure  before  a  thief; 
But  now  you  are  grown  rich,   doubts  and  sus- 
picions, 
And  needless  fears,  possess  you.     Thank  a  good 

brother  ; 
But  let  not  this  exalt  you. 

Luke.  A  good  brother !  * 
Good  in  his  conscience,  I  confess,  and  wise, 
In  giving  o'er  the  world.     But  his  estate, 
Which  your  lordship  may  conceive  great,  no  way 

answers 
The  general  opinion  :  alas  ! 
AVith  a  great  charge,  I  am  left  a  poor  man  by  him. 

Z.  Laci/.  A  poor  man,  say  you  ? 

Luke.  Poor,  compared  with  what 
'Tis  thought  I  do  possess.    Some  little  land, 
Fair  household  furniture,  a  few  good  debts. 
But  empty  bags,  I  find  :  yet  I  will  be 
A  faithful  steward  to  his  wife  and  daughters; 
And,  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  obey 
His  will  in  all  things. 

L.  Lacy.  I'll  not  argue  with  you 
Of  his  estate,  but  bind  you  to  performance 
Of  his  last  request,  which  is,  for  testimony 
Of  his  religious  charity,  that  you  would 
Receive  these  Indians,  lately  sent  him  from 
Virginia,  into  your  house  ;  and  labour. 
At  any  rate,  with  the  best  of  your  endeavours, 
Assisted  by  the  aids  of  our  divines, 
To  make  them  Christians. 

Luke,  Call  you  this,  my  lord, 

•      Luke.  A  good  brother  ! 

Good  in  his  conscience,  I  confess^  &c.3  Luke  alludes  her* 
to  the  mercantile  sense  of  the  word  goody  i.  e.  rich.  See  vol.  iii. 
p.  373.  In  lord  Lacy's  speech,  there  is  an  allusion  to  the 
well-known  Terse : 

Cantabit  vqcuu$  coram  latrone  viator. 


70  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Religious  charity;  to  send  infidels, 
Like  hungry  locusts,  to  devour  the  bread 
Should  feed  his  family  ?  I  neither  can, 
Nor  will  consent  to't. 

X.  Laci/.  Do  not  slight  it;  'tis 
With  him  a  business  of  such  consequence, 
That  should  he  only  hear  'tis  not  embraced, 
And  cheerfully,  in  this  his  conscience  aiming 
At  the  saving  of  three  souls,  'twill  draw  him  o'er 
To  see  it  himself  accomplish'd. 

Lttke.  Heaven  forbid 
I  should  divert  him  from  his  holy  purpose, 
To  worldly  cares  again  !  I  rather  will 
Sustain  the  burthen,  and,  with  the  converted, 
Feast  the  converters,  who,  I  know,  will  prove 
The  greater  feeders. 

Sir  John.  O/f,  ha,  enewah  Chrish  bully  leika. 

Plenty.  Enaula. 

Sir  Maur.  Ilarrico  botikia  bonnery. 

Luke.  Ha  !  in  this  heathen  language. 
How  is  it  possible  our  doctors  should 
Hold  conference  with  them,  or  I  use  the  means 
For  their  conversion  ? 

/..  Lacy.  That  shall  be  no  hindrance 
To  your  good  purposes  :    they  have  lived  long 
In  the  English  colony,  and  speak  our  language 
As  their  own  dialect ;  the  business  does  concern 

you: 
Mine  own  designs  command  me  hence.  Continue, 
As  in  your  poverty  you  were,  a  pious 
And  honest  man.  [Exit, 

Luke,  That  is,  interpreted, 
A  slave  and  beggar. 

Sir  John.  You  conceive  it  right ; 
There  being  no  religion,  nor  virtue, 
But  in  abundance,  and  no  vice  but  want. 
All  deities  serve  Plutus. 


THE    CITY    MADAM.  71 

Luke.  Oracle  ! 

Sir  John.  Temples  raised  to  ourselves  in  the 
increase 
Of  wealth  and  reputation,  speak  a  wise  man ; 
But  sacrifice  to  an  imagined  Power, 
Of  which  we  have  no  sense  but  in  belief, 
A  superstitious  fool. 

Luke.  True  worldly  wisdom  ! 

Sir  John.  All  knowledge  else  is  folly. 

Sir  Maur.  Now  we  are  yours, 
Be  confident  your  better  angel  is 
Enter'd  your  house. 

Plenty.  There  being  nothing  in 
The  compass  of  your  wishes,  but  shall  end 
In  their  fruition  to  the  full. 

Sir  John.  As  yet, 
You  do  not  know  us ;  but  when  you  understand 
The  wonders  we  can  do,  and  what  the  ends  were 
That  brought  us  hither,  you  will  entertain  us 
With  more  respect. 

Luke.  There's  something  whispers  to  me 
These  are  no  common  men.  [Aside.'] — My  house 

is  yours, 
Enjoy  it  freely  :  only  grant  me  this. 
Not  to  be  seen  abroad  till  I  have  heard 
More  of  your  sacred  principles.  Pray  enter : 
You  are  learned  Europeans,  and  we  worse 
Than  ignorant  Americans. 

Sir  John.  You  shall  find  it.  [E,veunt. 


791.  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

ACT  IV.    SCENE  I. 

^  Roojn  in  Frugal's  House. 
■  Enter  Ding'em,  Gettall,  and  Holdfast, 

Ding.  Not  speak  with  him  !  with  fear  survey 
me  better, 
Thou  figure  of  famine  ! 

Gett.  Coming,  as  we  do,  * 

From  his  quondam  patrons,  his  dear  ingles  now,* 
The  brave  spark  Trade  well  — 

Ding.  And  the  man  of  men 
In  the  service  of  a  woman,  gallant  Goidwire  ! 

Ente?^  Luke. 

Hold.  I  know  them  for  his  prentices,  without 
These  flourishes. — Here  are  rude  fellows,  sir. 

Ding.  Not  yours,  you  rascal  ! 

Hold.  No,  don  pimp ;  you  may  seek  them 
In  Bridewell,  or  the  hole  ;  here  are  noneofyoul* 
comrogues.* 

Luke.  One  of  them  looks  as  he  would  cut  my 
throat : 
Your  business,  friends? 

Hold.  I'll  fetch  a  constable  ; 
Let  him  answer  him  in  the  stocks. 


» his  dear  ingles  «ory,]  i.  e.  his  bosom 

friends,  his  associates ;  enghle.,  which  the  commentators  some- 
times confound  with  this  word,  differs  from  it  altogether,  both 
in  its  derivation  and  its  meaning. 

'  Here  are  noneofymir  comrogues.]  This  is  absurdly  changed 
in  the  modern  editions  into  comrades^  a  y^ry  superfluous  word 
9,iiCT  fellows. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  7S 

Ding.  Stir,  an  thou  dar'stV^^sf^  ^^^^^^^    ^''^^  - 
Fright  me  with  Bridewell  and  the  stocks !  they 

are  fleabitings  .:.^'     - 

I  am  familiar  with.  >  n^'  ^i'^'^^^^^lPraxos. 

Luke.  VrsLj  you  put  up  :  \^!^ 

And,  sirrah,  hold  your  peace.  [To  Holdfast,' 

Ding.  Thy  word's  a  law, 
And  I  obey.  Live,  scrape-shoe,  and  be  thankful. 
Thou  man  of  muck  and  money,  for  as  such 
I  now  salute  thee,  the  suburbian  gamesters 
Have  heard  thy  fortunes,  and  I  am,  in  person, 
Sent  to  congratulate.  ,.,,.^  .,,.,.;  i 

Gett.  The  news  hath  reach'd        n^O   .^,^VO 
The  ordinaries,  and  all  the  gamesters  are    ^''^"  1 
Ambitious  to  shake  the  golden  goUs  '''■     -'^ 

Of   worshipful    master    Luke.      I    come    from 
Tradewell,  ■  '^ 

Your  fine  facetious  factor.  " 

Ding,  I  from  Goldwire:  .^  no  3(u>iU^ 

He  and  his  Helen  have  prepared  a  banquet. 
With  the  appurtenances,  to  entertain  thee; 
For,  I  must  whisper  in  thine  ear,  thou  art   }'^ 
To  be  her  Paris:  but  bring  money  with  thee, 
To  quit  old  scores. 

ti'Gett.  Blind  chance  hath  frown'd  upon  •^•; 

Brave  Tradewell  :  he's  blown  up,  but  not  without 
Hope  of  recovery,  so  you  supply  him 
.With  a  good   round  sum.     In  my  house,  I  can 

assure  you, 
There's  half  a  million  stirring. 

an      r,  »  _  ■ 

I  ^  :  ,       tke  golden  goUs  &c.]  Golls  is  a  cant  word  for 

hands,  or  rather  fists  :  it  occurs  continually  in  our  old  poets. 
Thus  Decker :  "  Hold  up  thy  hands  :  I  have  seen  the  day  whea 
thou  didst  not  scorn  to  hold  up  thy  golls."  Satiromastix. 

*'  Bid  her  tie  up  her  head,  and  wish  her 

'*  To  wash  her  /lands  in  bran  or  flower, 

"  And  do  you,  in  like  manner,  scour 

"  Your  dirty  goUs.'*  Cotton's  Virgil,  B.  IV. 

VOL.   IV.  *  G 


74-  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Luke,  What  hath  he  lost  ? 

Gett.  Three  hundred. 

Luke.  A  trifle. 

Gett.  Make  it  up  a  thousand, 
And  I  will  fit  him  with  such  tools  as  shall 
Bring  in  a  myriad. 

Luke.  They  know  me  well, 
Nor  need  you  use  such  circumstances  for  them  : 
What's  mine,  is  theirs.  They  are  my  friends,  not 

servants, 
But  in  their  care  to  enrich  me  ;  and  these  courses, 
The  speeding  means.     Your  name,  I  pray  you  ?,- 

Gett.  Gettall. 
I  have  been  many  years  an  ordinary-keeper. 
My  box  my  poor  revenue.' 

Luke.  Your  name  suits  well 
With  your  profession.  Bid  him  bear  up ;  he  shall 

lK)t 

Sit  long  on  Penniless-Bench. 

Gett.  There  spake  an  augel ! 

Luke,  You  know  mistress  Shave*em  ? 

Gett.  The  pontifical  punk  } 

Luke.  The  same.    Let  him  meet  me  there  some 
two  hours  hence : 
And  tell  Tom  Goldwire  I  will  then  be  with  him, 
Furnish'd  beyond  his  hopes ;  and  let  your  mistress 
Appear  in  her  best  trim. 

Ding.  She  will  make  thee  young, 

J  My  box  my  poor  revenue.]  "  If  the  caster  throws  three 
mains.,  or  wins  by  throwing  three  times  successively,  he 
pays  to  the  Aox-keeper,  for  the  use  of  the  house,  a  stipulated 
sum  (varyini^  according  to  the  dignity  of  the  place,  from  eighteen 
pence  to  ten  and  six. pence)  :  if  the  caster  wins  sis.  times  suc- 
cessively, he  is  expected,  besides  the  usual  payment  to  the 
house,  to  make  the  box-keeper  a  handsome  donation.''  For  this 
and  what  else  occurs  on  the  subject  ot  dice,  1  am  indebted  to 
a  writer  in  the  Monthly  Mirror,  whom  I  believe  to  be  Mr. 
Du  Bois. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  7S 

Old  iEson  :  she  is  ever  furnish'd  with 
Medea's  drugs,  restoratives      I  fly 
To  keep  them  sober  till  thy  worship  come ; 
They  will  be  drunk  with  joy  else. 

Gett.  I'll  run  with  you. 

.u,-n^\jA  :rni  i^Exeufit  Ding^eifi  and  GettalL 

Hold.  You  will  hot  do  as  you  say,  I  hope  ? 

Luke.  Enquire  not ;  v 

I  shall  do  what  becomes  me. — [Knocking  within.'] 
— To  the  door.  [Eocit  Holdfast. 

New  visitants  ! 

Re-enter  Holdfast. 

What  are  theyj^,,  j 

Hold.  A  whole  batch,  sir,   ,''.'", 
Almost  of  the  same  leaven:  your  needy  debtors, 
Penury,  Fortune,  Hoyst. 

Luke.  They  come  to  gratulate 
The  fortune  fallen  upon  me. 

Hold.  Rather,  sir, 
Like  the  others,  to  prey  on  you. 

Luke.  I  am  simple  ;  they 
Know  my  good  nature :  but  let  them  in,  however. 

Hold.  All  will  come  to  ruin  1  I  see  beggary 
Already  knocking  at  the  door. — You  may  enter— 

[Speaking  to  those  without. 
But  use  a  conscience,  and  do  not  work  upon 
A  tender-hearted  gentleman  too  much ; 
'Twill  shew  like  chanty  in  you. 

Enter  Fortune,  Penury,  awJ  Hoyst. 

Luke.  Welcome,  friends  ; 
I  know  your  hearts,  and  wishes  ;  you  are  glad 
You  have  changed  your  creditor. 

Pen.  I  weep  for  joy. 
To  look  upon  his  worship's  face. 

♦G  2 


j^  THE  CITY   MADjAM. 

For.  His  worship's  !.;'i  t^vo  ,;[  ^.-f^  :  no^3^.  h\i) 
I  see  lord  mayor  written  on  his  forcheadji-.jh.^l^ 
The  cap  of  maintenance,  and  city  svvord^jaM  oT 
Born  up  in  state  before  hiqa.jinjnb  nd  Hiv/  y^riT 

Hoyst.  Hospitals,  'V"  .     '; 

And  a  third  Burse,  erected  by  his  honour. 

Pen.  The  cUy  poet  on  the  pageant  day 
Preferring  him  before  Gresham. 

Hoyst.  All  the  conduits 
Spouting  canary  sack. 
.  For.  Not  a  prisoner  left,  ;  j^jnii^i^;; 

Under  ten  pounds.  - 

Pen.  We,  his  poor  beadsmen,  feasting 
Our  neighbours  on  his  bounty^r  ,, 

Luke.  May  I  make  good  ^  ' .''  ^    .      ,     -  ,  , 
Your  prophecies,  gentle  friends,  as  t'll  endeavour, 
To  the  utmost  of  my  power! ,  ,,  r. 

Hold.  Yes,  foroneyear,^^^^  ^nuiuA  ^nw-5^ 
And  break  the  next. 

Luhe.  You  are  ever  prating,  sirrah. 
Your  present  business,  friends?''^  */""! 

For.  Were  your  brbther  present,"    V  . 

Mine  had  been  of  some  consequence  ;  bUt  now 
The  power  lies  jiii'ybur  worship's  hand,  'tis  little. 
And  will,  I  know,  as  sooti  as  ask'd,  be  granted, 
[~  Luke.  'Tis  very  probable. 

"JPbr.  The  kind  forbearance  <. 

Of  "thy  great  debt,  by  your  means,  Heaven  be 

prais'd  for't ! 
Hath  raised  my  Sunk  estate.    I  have  two  ships. 
Which  I  long  since  gave  for  lost,  above  my  hopes 
Return'd  from  Barbary,  and  richly  freighted. 

Luke.  Where  are  they  ?  :»{'j7/ 

For.  Near  Gravesendi  ,  ; 

Luke.  I  am  truly  glad  of  it.  '' 

For.  I  find  your  worship's  charity,  and  dare 
swear  so.  ,  •  .m  i^oi^  :iuo:  oi 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  77 

Now  may  I  have  your  license,  as  I  knowV^^ 
With  willingness  I  shall,  to  make  the  best       //^ 
Of  the  commodities,  though  you  have  executfon, 
And  after  judgment,  against  all  that's,  mine,     ■ 
As  my  poor  body,  I  shall  be  enabled  :yf)^n  val  cil 
To  make  payment  of  my  debts  to  all  the  world, 
And  leave  myself  a  competence. 

Luke.  You  much  wrong  me. 
If  you  only  doubt  it.    Yours,  master  Hoyst? 

Hoyst.  'Tis  the  surrendering  back  the  mort- 
gage of 
My  lands,  and  on  good  terms,  but  three  days 

patience; 
By  an  uncle's  death  I  have  means  left  to  redeem  it, 
And  cancel  all  the  forfeited  bonds  I  seal'd  to, 
In  my  riots,  to  the  merchant;  for  I  am 
Resolv'd  to  leave  off  play,  and  turn  good  husband. 

Luke.  A  good  intent,  and  to  be  cherish'd  in  you. 
Yours,  Penury  ? 

Pen.  My  state  stands  as  it  did,  sir : 
What  I  owed  I  owe,  but  can  pay  nothing  to  you. 
Yet,  ifyou  please  to  trust  me  with  ten  pounds  more, 
I  can  buy  a  commodity  of  a  sailor, 
Will  make  me  a  freeman.  There,  sir,  is  l^i^  name; 
And  the  parcels  I  am  to  deal  for.  {     . 

[Gives  him  a  paper. 

Luke.  You  are  all  so  reasonable 
In  your  demands,  that  I  must  freely  grant  them. 
Some  three  hourshence  meet  meontheExchange, 
You  shall  be  amply  satisfied. 

Pen.  Heaven  preserve  you  ! 

For.  Happy  were  London,  if,  within  her  walls. 
She  had  many  such  rich  men ! 

Luke.  No  more;  now  leave  me: 
I  am  full  of  various  thoughts. —  [Ej-eunt  Fortune, 
Hoyst,  and  Penury.^ — Be  careful,  Holdfast ; 
I  have  much  to  do. 


78  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Hold.  And  I  somethinp^  to  say, 
Would  you  give  me  hearing. 

Luke,  At  my  better  leisure. 
Till  my  return  look  well  unto  the  Indians;        ^^ 
In  the  mean  time,  do  you  as  this  directs  you.    a 
\Gwes  him  a  paper.     Exeunt, 


SCENE   II. 
A  Room  in  Shave'em's  House. 

Enter  Goldwire  junior,   Trad^welx  junior, 
Shave'em,  Secret,  Gettall,  «w^Ding'em. 

•■  Dill  i; 

Gold.  All  that  is  mine  is  tkeifs.    Those  were 
* '         his  words  ? 

Ding.  I  am  authentical. 

Trade.  And  that  /  should  not 
Sit  long  on  Penniless- Bench  ? 

Gett.  But  suddenly  start  up 
A  gamester  at  the  height,  and  cry  At  all  !* 

Shave.  And  did  he  seem  to  have  an  inclination 
To  toy  with  me? 

Ding.  He  wish'd  you  would  put  on 


* and  cry  At  all !]  This  expression 

occurs  in  Skelton's  bold  and  animated  description  of  Ryotte, 
the  prototype  of  a  gamester : 

"  With  that  came  Ryotte  rushing  all  at  ones, 
"  A  rustic  galande,  to  ragged  and  to  rente, 
*'  And  on  the  horde  he  whirled  a  pair  of  bones 
*'  Quater  treye  dews  !  he  clatter'd  as  he  went, 
"  Now  have  at  all!  by  St.  Thomas  of  Kent!" 

Bouge  of  Court. 
"  If  the  caster  is  full  of  cash  and  spirit,  it  is  usual  for  him  to 
say  At  all  in  the  ring !  meaning,  that  he  will  play  for  any  sums 
the  company  may  chuse  to  risk  against  him." 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  79 

Your  best  habiliments,  for  he  resolved 
To  make  a  jovial  day  on't. 

Gold.  Hug  him  close,  wench, 
And  thou  mayst  eat   gold  and  amber.     I  well 

know  him  i  m.X) 

For  a  most  insatiate  drabber :  he  hath  given, 
Before  he  spent  his  own  estate,  which  was 
Nothing  to  the  huge  mass  he's  now  possess'd  of, 
A  hundred  pound  a  leap. 

Shave    Hell  take  my  doctor! 
He  should  have  brought  me  some  fresh  oil  of  talc; 
These  ceruses  are  common.' 

Secret.   'Troth,  sweet  lady. 
The  colours  are  well  laid  on. 

Gold   And  thick  enough  ; 
I  find  that  on  my  lips. 

Shave.  Do  you  so,  Jack  Sauce  ! 
I'll  keep  them  further  off. 

Gold.  But  be  assured  first 
Of  a  new  maintainer,  ere  you  cashier  the  old  one. 
But  bind  him  fast  by  thy  sorceries,  and  thou  shalt 
Be  my  revenue ;  the  whole  college  study 
The  reparation  of  thy  ruin'd  face  ; 
Thou   shalt  have  thy  proper  and   bald-headed 
coachman  ; 

'  He  should  have  brought  me  some  fresh  oil  of  talc ; 
These  ceruses  are  common.']  Talc  is  a  fossil  easily  divisible 
into  thin  laminae.  From  its  smoothness,  unctuosity,  and  bright, 
ness  it  has  been  groatly  celebrated  as  a  cosmetic^  and  the  chy- 
mists  have  submitted  it  io  a  variety  of  operations  for  procuring 
from  it  oils^  salts,  tinctures,  magisteries,  &c.  for  that  purpose; 
but  all  their  labours  have  been  in  vain,  and  all  the  preparations 
sold  under  the  name  of  oil  of  talc,  &c.  have  either  contained 
nothing  of  that  mineral,  or  only  a  fine  power  of  it.  To  this 
information,  which  I  owe  to  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  I 
have  only  to  add  that  a  deleterious  composition,  under  this 
name,  was  sold  by  the  quacks  of  Massinger's  time,  as  a  wash 
for  the  complexion,  and  is  mentioned  by  all  his  contemporaries. 
Ceruse,  (white  paint,)  I  fear,  is  yet  in  use. 


80  THE  CITY  madam; 

Thy  tailor  and  embroiderer  shall  kneel 
To  thee,  their  idol:  Cheapside  and  the  Exchange 
Shall  court  thy  custom,  and  thou  shalt  forget 
There  e'er  was  a  St.  Martin's  :*  thj'  procurer 
Shall  be  sheath'd  in  velvet,  and  a  reverend  veil 
Pass  her  for  a  grave  matron.     Have  an  eye  to 

the  door, 
And  let  loud  music,  when  this  monarch  enters, 
Proclaim  his  entertainment. 

Ding.  That's  my  office. 
; ';  I'jsJ  ^i  o  I  lo  f  I=jj^ri  srff         [Flourish  of  cornets  within. 
The  consort's  ready.  i 

Enter  Luke. 

Trade.  And  the  god  of  pleasure, 
Master  Luke,  our  Comus,  enters. 

Gold.  Set  your  face  in  order, 
I  will  prepare  him. — Live  I  to  see  this  day, 
And  to  acknowledge  you  my  royal  master? 

Trade.  Let  the  iron  chests  fly  open,  and  the  gold, 
Rusty  for  want  of  use,  appear  again ! 

Gett.  Make  my  ordinary  flourish  ! 

Shave,  Welcome,  sir, 
To  your  own  palace  !  [The  music  plays. 

Gold.  Kiss  your  Cleopatra, 
And  shew  yourself,  in  your  magnificent  bounties, 
A  second  Antony ! 

Ding.  All  the  nine  worthies  ! 

Secret.  Variety  of  pleasures  wait  upon  you, 
And  a  strong  back  !  ;!''  ^'•■'' 

^'^'•*'  thou  shalt  forget 

There  e'er  was  a  St.  Martin's  :]  The  parish  of  St.  Martin  appears 
from  the  old  histories  of  London,  to  hare  been  distinguished, 
surcfssivoly,  for  a  sanctuary,  a  bridewell,  a  spittle,  and  an 
alms-house.  VV^hich  of  them  was  to  be  driven  from  the  mind  of 
mispress  Shave'em,  by  the  full  tide  of  prosperity  which  is  here 
auticipated,  aiubt  be  left  to  the  sagacity  of  the  reader. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  81 

*"    Luke.  Give  me  leave  to  breathe,  I  pray  you. 
I  am  astonish'd !  all  this  preparation   i    sViVvV 
For  me?  and  this  choice  modest  beauty  wrought 
To  feed  my  appetite  ? 

All.  W6  are  all  your  creatures.  t  ' 

Luke.  A  house  well  furnish'd  ! 

Gold.  At  your  own  cost,  sir, 
Glad  I  the  instrument.     I  prophesied-  n»o/'i/i no 
You  should  possess  what  now  you  do,  and  therefdii& 
Prepared  it  for  your  pleasure.     There's  no  rag 
This  Venus  wears,  but,  on  my  knowledge,  >vas 
Derived  from  your  brother's  cash :  the  lease  of 

the  house, 
And  furniture,  cost  near  a  thousand,  sir.   ^^  .,/f 

Shave.  But  now  you  are  master  both  of  it  and 
me, 
I  hope  you'll  build  elsewhere. 

Luke.  And  see  you  placed, 
Fair  one,   to   your   desert.     As   I   live,   friend 

Trade  well, 
I  hardly  knew  you,  your  clothes  so  well  become 

you. 
What  is  your  loss,?  speak  truth. 

Trade.  Three  hundred,  sir. 

Gett.  But,  on  a  new  supply,  he  shall  recover 
The  sum  told  twenty  times  o'er. 

Shave.  There's  a  banquet, 
And  after  that  a  soft  couch,  that  attends  you. 

Luke.  I  couple  not  in  the  daylight.     Expec- 
tation 
Heightens  the  pleasure  of  the  night,  my  sweet 

one  ! 
Your  music's  harsh,  discharge  it;  I  have  pro- 
vided 
A  better  consort,  and  you  shall  frolic  it 
In  another  place.  [The  music  ceases,' 


SS  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Gold.  But  have  you  brought  gold,  and  store,  sir.' 
Trade.  I  long  to  fVare  the  caster  /* 

*  Gold.  But  hare  you  brought  gold,  and  sforCi  sir  f]  This,  as 
bas  been  already  observed,  is  a  line  of  an  old  ballad. 

•  Trade.  /  lojig  to  wear  the  caster.]  Tradewell  is  anxious  for 
a  supply  of  money,  to  return  to  the  ordinary  or  gambling  house. 
ToTcasterMr.  M.Mason  chooses  to  read  castor:  he  then  observes 
on  his  own  sophistication,  "  alluding  to  the  throwers  of  dice  at 
hazard,  and  to  the  cloth  made  of  the  beaver's  hair."  The  last 
supposition  is  unlikely,  the  former  is  probably  right.  The 
difficulty,  however,  is  not  in  the  word  castir,  but  xvear.  Whether 
•wear  the  caster,  signified,  in  the  language  of  gaming,  to  tire  out 
the  caster,  or  had  any  other  meaning  more  appropriate  to  the 
profession,  I  know  not;  but  am  willing  to  suppose  so,  in  prefer- 
ence to  tampering  with  the  text.     1805. 

I  have  suffered  this  note,  which  I  trust  is  sufficiently  modest,  to 
remain  as  a  memento  to  those  who,  like  myself,  may  have  to 
treat  of  technical  terms  in  an  art  to  which  they  are  strangers. 
While  I  was  gravely  labouring  to  reason  on  a  printer's  blander, 
and  to  explain  a  text  which,  if  correct,  I  should  not  have  un- 
derstood, the  writer,  to  whom  I  have  already  confessed  my 
obligations,  steps  forward,  and,  without  effort,  sets  all  right  in 
an  instant. 

"  tVare  the  caster!"  (for  so  it  should  be,  and  not  wear) 
**  When  a  setter  supposes  himself  to  possess  more  money  than 
the  caster,  it  is  usual  for  him,  on  putting  his  stake  into  the  ring, 
to  cry,  JVare  caster!  the  caster  then  declares  at  all  under  such 
a  sum,  ten,  twenty,  or  fifty  pounds,  for  instance;  or  else  to 
place  against  the  stakes  of  certain  setters  the  corresponding 
sums,  and  cry,  IFare  cover'd  only!"  This  explanation  undoubt- 
edly adds  greatly  to  the  force  and  humour  of  this  character. 
*'  The  ambitious  Tradewell  expects,  by  the  assistance  of  Luke, 
to  be  lord-paramount  of  the  gaming  table  :  as  caster,  to  be  At 
all!  (p.  78.)  and,  as  setter,  to  IVare  the  caster!" 

Mr.  M.  Mason's  observation  on  caster,  led  me  to  observe, 
that  this  was  also  a  cant  term  for  a  Plymouth  cloak,  i.  e.  a  staff; 
which  I  mention,  because  it  gives  me  an  opportunity  of  adding 
the  following  lively  and  pleasing  passage  from  Shirley,  which 
the  reader  may,  if  he  pleases,  add  to  what  has  been  advanced 
on  this  term.  Vol.  III.  p.  494 : 

"  ■  a  reed 

"  But  waved  discreetly,  has  so  many  pores 
^'  It  sucks  up  all  the  rain  that  falls  about  one. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  83 

Gold.  I  to  appear 
In  a  fresh  habit. 

Sha've.  My  mercer  and  my  silkman 
Waited  me,  two  hours  since. 

Luke.  1  am  no  porter,  .lioid  -rm 

To  carry  so  much  gold  as  will  supply 
Your  vast  desires,  but  I  have  ta'en  order  for  you; 

Enter  Sheriff,  Marshal,  and  Officers, 

You  shall  have  what  is  fitting,  and  they  come  here 
Will  see  it  perform'd. — Do  your  offices:  you  have 
My  lord  chief-justice's  warrant  for't. 

Sher.  Seize  them  all. 

Shave.  The  city  marshal ! 

Gold.  And  the  sheriff !  I  know  him. 

Secret.  We  are  betray'd. 

Ding.  Undone. 

Gett.  Dear  master  Luke. 

Gold.  You  cannot  be  so  cruel;  your  persuasion 
Chid  us  into  these  courses,  oft  repeating, 
Shew  yourselves  city-sparks,  and  hang  up  money  I 

Luke.  True;  when  it  was  my  brother's,  I  con- 
temn'd  it; 
But  now  it  is  mine  own,  the  case  is  alter'd. 

Trade.  Will  you  prove  yourself  a  devil?  tempt 
us  to  mischief, 
And  then  discover  it? 

Luke.  Argue  that  hereafter ; 
In  the  mean  time,  mastel"  Gold  wire,  you  that 

made 
Your  ten-pound  suppers ;  kept  your  punks  at 
livery 

**  With  this  defence,  when  other  men  have  been 

*'  Wet  to  the  skin  through  all  their  cloaks,  I  hare 

"  Defied  a  tempest,  and  walk'd  by  the  tarerns 

"  Dry  as  a  bone."  Lac/j/  of  Pkamre,  Act  IV. 


84  THE   CITY  MADAM. 

In  Brentford,  Staines,  and  Bariiet,  dhd  this,  in 

London; 
Held  correspondence  with  your  fellow-cashiers, 
Ka  me,  ka  thee!  and  knew,  in  your  acconipts, 
To  cheat  my  brother ;  if  you  can,  evade  me. 
If  there  be  law  in  London,  ydur  fathers'  bondSf/ 
Shall  answer  for  what  you  are  out. 

Gold,  You  often  told  us 
It  was  a  bugbear.  -  *'-  ^^^ 

Luke.  Such  a  one  as  shall  fright  them 
Out  of  their  eststtes,  to  make  me  satisfaction 
To  the  utmost  scruple.     And  for  you,  madam, 
My  Cleopatra,  by  your  own  confession. 
Your  house,  and  all  your  moveables,  are  mine ; 
Nor  shall  you  nor  your  matron  need  to  trouble 
Your  mercer,  or  your  silkman ;  a  blue  gown,' 
And  a  whip  to  boot,  as  I  will  handle  it, 
Will  serve  the  turn  in  Bridewell ;  and  these  soft 

hands. 
When  they  are  inured  to  beating  hemp,  be  scpur'd 
In  your  penitent  tears,  2ind  quite  forget  their 

powders 
And  bitter  almonds. 

Shave.  Secret.  Ding.  Will  you  shew  no  mercy? 

Luke.  I  am  inexorable. 

Gett.  I'll  make  bold 
To  take  my  leave;  the  gamesters  stay  my  coming. 

Luke.  We   must  not  part  so,  gentle  master 
Gettall.       :  f-'^iisfu'J  i^ 
Your  box,  your  certaiti  income,  must  pay  back 
Three  hundred,  as  I  take  it,  or  you  lie  by  it. 
There's  half  a  million  stiiTing  in  your  house,  - 

This  a  poor  trifle. — Master  shrieve  and  master 

marshal. 
On  your  perils,  do  your  offices. 

•^^  ^''  '  >  M>  'ii^^^'  «  blue  gomi,  &c.]  See  Act  V.  sc.  3. 


THE   CITY   madam:  85 

Gold,  Dost  thou  cry  now  [7b  TradewelL 

Like  a  maudlin  gamester  after  loss  ?  I'll  suffer  1 
Like  a  boman,'  and  now,  in  my  misery,  '' 

In  scorn  of  all  thy  wealth,  to  thy  teeth  tell  thee 
Thou  wert  my  pander.  •jaiqqBrt  iirAiiuii  ii/ 

Luke.  Shall  I  hear  this  from 
My  prentice  ? 

Mar.  Stop  his  mouth,  .  ^^^fi: 

Sher.  Away  with  them. 

[E.veunt  Sheriff,  Marshal,  and  Officers,  with 
Gold.  Trade.  Shave.  Secret.  Gett.  and  Ding » 

Luke.  A  prosperous  omen  in  my  entrance  to 
My  alter'd  nature!  these  house-thieves  removed, 
And  what  was  lost,  beyond  my  hopes,  recover'd, 
Will  add  unto  my  heap  ;  increase  of  wealth 
Is  the  rich  man's  ambition,  and  mine 
Shall  know  no  bounds.     The  valiant  Macedon 
Having  in  his  conceit  subdued  one  world. 
Lamented  that  there  were  no  more  to  conquer? 
In  my  M'ay,  he  shall  be  my  great  example. 
And  when  my  private  house,  in  cramni'dabundancCj 
Shall  prove  the  chamber  of  the  city  poor, 
And  Genoa's  bankers  shall  look  pale  with  envy 


I'll  suffer 


Like  a  boman,]  "  A  boman  (Mr.  M.  Mason  says)  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Alsatia"  (i,  e.  of  White  Friars,  a  receptacle  for  fraudu- 
lent debtors,  gamblers,  and  thieves)  "  means  a  gallant  fellow." 
It  does  so ;  but  I  doubt  whether  this  was  the  author's  word. 
Gold  wire  is  not  a  gambler,  nor  does  he  affect  the  cant  of  one. 
Boman,  in  the  quarto,  is  gi?en  with  a  capital  letter,  and  is,  not 
improbably,  a  misprint  for  Roman.  To  die,  or  to  suffer,  like 
a  Roman^  occurs  perpetually  in  our  old  comedies,  and,  generally, 
as  herc^  in  a  kind  of  mock-heroic.  Thus  Lazarillo,  in  the 
Wmnan-flater^  "  1  will  die  bravely,  and  like  a  Roman!'"  and 
Forobosco,  of  a  gambler  or  cheat, 

"  Only  the  foreman  of  their  jury's  dead,  but  he 
f  r  «  2),f^  iijfg  d  Roman."  Fair  Maid  of  the  Inn. 

Examples  of  this  expression,  if  more  were  necessary,  might 
b  produced  to  any  extent. 


86  'THE   CITY   MADAM. 

When  I  am  mentioned,  I  shall  grieve  there  is 
No  more  to  be  exhausted  in  one  kingdom. 
Religion,  conscience,  charity,  farewell ! 
To  me  you  are  words  only,  and  no  more  ; 
All  human  happiness  consists  in  store  [Ea^it. 


SCENE    III. 

A  Street. 

Enter  Serjeants  with  Fortune,    Hoyst,  and 

,     .     V  .  ^PfiNURY. 

^j/'i'^.v  /fff  ha: 

For.  At  master  Luke's  suit '/  the  action  twenty 

thousand  ! 
1  Serj.  With  two  or  three  executions,  which 
shall  grind  you 
To  powder,  when  we  have  you  in  the  counter. 
For.  Thou  dost  belie  him,  varlet !    he,  good 
gentleman, 
Will  weep  when  he  hears  how  we  are  used. 

1  Serj.  Yes,  millstones. 

Pen.  He  promised  to  lend  me  ten  pound  for  a 
bargain, 
He  will  not  do  it  this  way. 

2  Serj.  I  have  warrant 

For  what  I  hav,e  done.  You  are  a  poor  fellow, 
And  there  being  little  to  be  got  by  you, 

*  At  master  Luke's  suit  !  The  action  twenty  thousand  /]  The 
old  copy  reads,  At  M.  Luke's  suit !  &c.  which  I  only  notice  for 
the  sake  of  observing  that  most  of  our  old  writers  assumed  to 
themselves  the  privilege  of  abridging  the  word  master^  and  pro- 
nouncing only  the  initial  letter  of  it  (em),  as  in  the  line  before 
us.  Of  this  there  are  too  many  instances  in  this  single  play  to 
admit  a  doubt ;  since  without  some  license  of  this  sort,  many 
lines  could  not  be  spoken  as  verse. 


THE   CITY   MADAMJ  87 

In  charity,  as  I  am  an  officer,  f^>   •>' 

I  woukl  not  have  seen  you,  but  upon  compulsion, 

And  for  mine  own  securityr  (.  ii-^  j^u^i    i    v.  ^ 

3  SerJ.  You  are  a  gallant,^  '  H)'-:  t^>iiF  ^oir  oS  I 
And  I'll  do  you  a  courtesy,  provided 
That  you  have  money  :  for  a  piece  an  hour, 
I'll  keep  you  in  the  house  till  you  send  for  bail. 

2  Serj.  In  the  mean  time,  yeoman,  run  to  the 

other  counter,' 
And  search  if  there  be  aught  else  out  against  him. 

3  Se?j.  That  done,  haste  to  his  creditors  :  he's^ 

a  prize, 
And  as  we  are  city  pirates  by  our  oaths, 
We  must  make  the  best  on't. 

Hoyst.  Do  your  worst,  I  care  not. 
I'll  be  removed  to  the  Fleet,  and  drink  and  dral> 

there  /jni^o')  ."  di; 

In  spite  of  your  teeth.  I  now  repent  I  ever 
Intended  to  be  honest. 

Enter  Luke. 

3  Serj.  Here  he  comes         Jtl^inxi  ^ 

You  had  best  tell  so.' 

For.  Worshipful  sir, 
You  come  in  time  to  free  us  from  these  bandogs. 
I  know  you  gave  no  way  to't.    .. 

.■■>(M>    A|i    • 

7  2  Serj.  In  the  mean  time,  yeoman,  run  to  the  other  counter,  &c.] 
Fielding  has  closely  followed  Massinger  in  his  Amelia  ;  indeed, 
he  has  done  little  more  than  copied  him,  or  rather  perhaps 
nature,  which  each  of  them  had  in  view.  The  dialogue  before 
us  might  have  been  written  yesterday. 
*     3  Serj.  Here  he  comes 

You  had  best  ietl  so.'\  Mr.  M.  Mason  reads, 
Here  he  comes  ; 
You  had  best  him  tell  so. 
His  false  pointing  made  his  barbarous  interpolation  necessary  : 
the  old  copy  is  evidently  right. 


88  THE   CITY   MADAMl' 

Pen,  Or  if  you  did,  »; 

'Twas  but  to  try  our  patience.  i 

Hoy.  I  must  tell  you  ';:•:?.£  i' "  oitA 

I  do  not  like  such  trials.       -  .,     :(.  ijv>'/   .'••  ^   " 

Luke.  Are  you  Serjeants,  .  o  •■  <;  »jr'/  r >■> 
Acquainted  with  the  danger  of  a  rescue,  ul 

Yet  stand  here  prating  in  the  street?. the  counter" 
Is  a  safer  place  to  parley  in,  <  v-^    • 

For.  Are  you  in  earnest  ? 

Luke.  Yes,  faith  ;  I  will  be  satisfied  to  a  token,' 
Of,  build  upon't,  you  rot  there. 

For.  Can  a  gentleman 
Of  your  soft  and  silken  temper,  speak  such  lanr. 
guage  ?  >  j<-;{i  Oil  J  '^Avau  iium  aW 

Pe7i.  So  honest,  so  religious  PuiO^ioCI  ,^1fc^;Ai 
{Floy,  That  preach'd  "  ;.i   .,;.,.    *!  fl'T 

So  much  of  charity  for  us  to  your  brother  ? 

Lukg,.  Yes,  when  I  was  in  poverty  it  shew'd  well; 
But  I  inherit  with  his  state,  his  mind,  u 

And  rougher  nature.  I  grant  then,  I  talk'd, 
For  some  ends  to  myself  conceal'd,  of  pity, 
The  poor  man's  orisons,  and  such  like  nothings  : 
But  what  I  thought  you  all  shall  feel,  and  with 

rigour; 
Kind  master  Luke  says  it.     Who  pays  for  your 

attendance  ?    afiaai; 
Do  you  wait  gratis  ?  / 

For.  Hear  us  speak. 
'.Luke.  While  I,  ,  .^ 

Like  the  adder,  stop  mine  ears  :  or  did  I  listen,  ^ 
Though  you  spake  with  the  tongues  of  angels  to 

me, 
I  am  not  to  be  alter'd. 

For.  Let  me  make  the  best 
Of  my  ships,  and  their  freight. 

'  Luke.  Yes^faith^  I  will  be  satisfied  to  a  token;]   i.  e.  to  %, 
farthing.  See  Vol.  III.  p.  496. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  89 

Pen.  Lend  me  the  ten  pounds  you  promised. 

Hoy.  A  day  or  two's  patience  to  redeem  my 
mortgage, 
And  you  shall  be  satisfied. 

For.  To  the  utmost  farthing. 

Luke.  I'll  shew  some  mercy  ;  which  is,  that  I 
will  not 
Torture  you  with  false  hopes,  but  make  you  know 
What  you  shall  trust  to. — Your  ships  to  my  use 
Are  seized  on. — I  have  got  into  my  hands 
Your  bargain  from  the  sailor,  'twas  a  good  one 
For  such  a  petty  sum. — I  will  likewise  take 
The  extremity  of  your  mortgage,  and  the  forfeit 
Of  your  several  bonds  ;  the  use  and  principal 
Shall  not  serve. — Think  of  the  basket,  wretches, 
And  a  coal-sack  for  a  winding-sheet. 

For.  Broker  ! 

Hoy.  jew  ! 

For.  I m poster  ! 

Hoy.  Cut-throat! 

For.  Hypocrite ! 

Liikt.  Do,  rail  on  ; 
Alove  mountains  with  your  breath,  it  shakes  not 
me. 

Pen.  On  my  knees  I  beg  compassion.     My 
wife  and  children 
Shall  hourly  pray  for  your  worship. 

For.  Mine  betake  thee  ' 

To  the  devil,  thy  tutor.* 

Pen.  Look  upon  my  tears. 

*    For.  Mine  betake  thee 

To  the  devil,  thy  tutor.']  That  is,  says  Mr.  Davies,  "  may  the 
earth  open  to  swallow  thee  up,  or  mayst  thou  be  undermined.** 
Why,  this  "  is  the  best  fooling  of  all."  To  betake  is  to  commit, 
to  consign,  to  giye  over:  My  wife  and  children,  says  Penury, 
shall  pray  for  you.  Mine,  (i.  e.  my  wife  and  children,  or  per- 
haps, my  prayers,)  adds  Fortune,  shall  consign  you  to  the  devil, 
your  tutor. 

VOL.   IV.  *  H 


90  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Hoyst.  My  rage. 
For.  My  wrongs. 
Luke.  They  are  all  alike  to  me  ; 
Entreaties,  curses,  prayers,  or  imprecations. 
Do  your  duties,  Serjeants;  I  am  elsewhere  look'd 

for.  {Exit. 

3  Serj.  This  your  kind  creditor  I 
2  Serj.  A  vast  villain,  rather. 
Pen.  See,  see,  the  Serjeants  pity  us  !  yet  he's 

marble. 
Hoyst.  Buried  alive  ! 
For.  There's  no  means  to  avoid  it.      [Exeunt, 


SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  in  Sir  John  Frugal's  House. 
Enter  Holdfast,  Stargaze,  flW6?  Milliscent. 

Star.  Not  wait  upon  my  lady  ? 

Hold.  Nor  come  at  her ; 
You  find  it  not  in  your  almanack. 

Mill.  Nor  I  have  license 
To  bring  her  breakfast  ? 

Hold.  My  new  master  hath 
Decreed  this  for  a  fasting-day.    She  hath  feasted 

long, 
And,  after  a  carnival.  Lent  ever  follows. 

Mill.    Give   me    the   key   of  her  wardrobe. 
You'll  repent  this; 
I  must  know  what  gown  she'll  wear. 

Hold.  You  are  mistaken. 
Dame  president  of  the  sweetmeats ;  she  and  her 

daughters 
Are  turn'd  philosophers,  and  must  carry  all 


THE    CITY  MADAM.  9I 

Their  wealth   about  them  :    they  liave  clothes 

laid  in  their  chamber, 
Ifthey  please  to  put  them  on,  and  withouthelptoo, 
Or  they  may  walk  naked.   You  look,  master  Star- 
gaze, 
As  you  had  seen  a  strange  comet,  and  had  now 

foretold, 
The  end  of  the  world,  and  on  what  day:  and  you, 
As  the  wasps  had  broke  into  the  gallipots, 
And  eaten  up  your  apricots. 

L.  Frug.  \within.']  Stargaze  !  Milliscent  i 

Mill.  My  lady's  voice. 
,    Hold.  Stir  not,  you  are  confined  here. 
Your  ladyship  may  approach  them,  if  you  please  ; 
But  they  are  bound  in  this  circle.  [Aloud, 

L.  Frug.  [with'm.l  Mine  own  bees 
Rebel  against  me !  *    When    my    kind  brother 

knows  this, 
I  will  be  so  revenged  ! 

Hold.  The  world's  well  alter'd. 
He's  your  kind  brother  now  ;  but  yesterday 
Your  slave  and  jesting-stock. 

Enter  Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  and  Mary,  in  coarse 
habitSf  weeping. 

Mill.  What  witch  hath  transform'd  you? 

Star.  Is  this  the  glorious  shape  your  cheating 
brother 
Promised  you  should  appear  in  ? 

Mill.  My  young  ladies 
In  buffin  gowns,  and  green  aprons  !  tear  them  off; 
Rather  shew  all  than  be  seen  thus. 

'     L.  Frug.  Mine  own  bees 
Rebel  against  me  /]    This  is  a  strange  expression  ;  but  it  is 
probably  genuine :  the  Jady  seems  still  to  consider  herself  as  the 
queen  of  the  hive. 

*  H  2 


9fe  THE   CITY  MADAM. 

^  Hold,  'Tis  more  comely, 
1  wis,  than  their  other  whim-whams. 

Mill.  A  French  hood  too. 
Now  'tis  out  of  fashion  !  a  fool's  cap  would  shew 
better. 
L.  Frug.   We   are   fool'd  indeed!   by  whose 
command  are  we  used  thus? 

Enter  Luke. 

Hold.  Here  he  comes  can  best  resolve  you. 

L.  Frug.  O,  good  brother ! 
Do  you  thus  preserve  your  protestation  to  me  ? 
Can  queens  envy  this  habit?  or  did  Juno 
E'er  feast  in  such  a  shape  ? 

Anne.  You  talk'd  of  Hebe, 
Of  Iris,  and  I  know  not  what ;  but  were  they 
Dress'd  as  we  are  ?  they  were  suresome  chandler's 

daughters 
Bleaching  linen  in  Moorfields. 

Mary.  Or  Exchange  wenches, 
Coming  from  eating  pudding-pies  on  a  Sundayj 
At  Pimlico,  or  Islington. 

Luke.  Save  you,  sister  1 
I  now  dare  style  you  so  :  you  were  before 
Too  glorious  to  be  look'd  on,  now  you  appea^r 
Like  a  city  matron ;  and  my  pretty  nieces 
Such  things  as  were  born  and  bred  there.    Why 

should  you  ape 
The  fashions  of  court- ladies,  whose  high  titles, 
And  pedigrees  of  long  descent,  give  warrant 
For  their  superfluous  bravery?  'twas  monstrous: 
Till  now  you  ne'er  look'd  lovely. 

L.  Frug.  Is  this  spoken 
la  scorn? 

Luke.  Fie!  no;  with  judgment.    I  make  good: 
My  promise,  and  now  shew  you  like  yourselves, 


TPIE   CITY    MADAM.  93 

In  your  own  natural  shapes  ;  and  stand  resolved 
You  shall  continue  so. 

L.  Frug.  It  is  confess'd,  sir.' 

Luke.  Sir !  sirrah :  use  your  old  phrase,  I  can 
bear  it. 

L.  Frug.   That,   if  you  please,   forgotten,  m'c 
acknowledge 
We  have  deserv'd  ill  from  you;  yet  despair  not, 
Though  weareatyourdisposure,  you'll  maintain  us 
Like  your  brother's  wife  and  daughters. 

Luke,  'Tis  my  purpose. 

L.  Frug.  And  not  make  us  ridiculous. 

Luke,  Admired  rather, 
As  fair  examples  for  our  proud  city  dames, 
And  their  proud  brood  to  imitate.  Do  not  frown; 
If  you  do,  I  laugh,  and  glory  that  I  have 
The  power,  in  you,  to  scourge  a  general  vice, 
And  rise  up  a  new  satirist :  but  hear  gently, 
And  in  a  gentle  phrase  I'll  reprehend 
Your  late  disguised  deformity,  and  cry  up 
This  decency  and  neatness,  with  the  advantage 
You  shall  receive  by't. 

L.  Frug.  We  are  bound  to  hear  3'ou. 

Luke.  With  a  soul  inclined  to    learn.     Your 
father  was 
An  honest  country  farmer,  goodman  Humble, 
By  his  neighbours  ne'er  call'd  Master.    Did  your 

pride 
Descend  from  him?  but  let  that  pass  :  your  for- 
tune, 
Or  rather  your  husband's  industry,  advanced  you' 


*  L.  Frug.  It  is  confess' df  tir.'\  A  speech  of  Luke's  appears 
to  be  lost  here,  for  in  that  to  which  this  now  forms  the  reply, 
no  accusation  of  lady  Frugal  is  brought  forward ;  nor  docs  it  at 
all  appear,  what  she  so  meekly  admits. 


94  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

To  the  rank  of  a  merchant's  wife.     He  made  a, 

knight, 
And  your  sweet  mistress-ship  ladyfied,  you  wore. 
Satin  on  solemn  days^  a  chain  of  gold, 
A  velvet  hood,  rich  borders,  and  sometimes 
A  dainty  miniver  cap,"  a  silver  pin, 
Headed  with  a  pearl  worth  three-pence,   and 

thus  far 
You  were  privileged,  and  no  man  envied  it ; 
It  being  for  the  city's  honour  that 
There  should  be  a  distinction  between 
The  wife  of  a  patrician,  and  plebeian. 

Mill.  Pray  you,  leave  preaching,  or  choose  somc^ 
other  text; 
Your  rhetoric  is  toomoving,  for  it  makes 
Your  auditory  weep. 

Luke.  Peace,  chattering  magpie  1 
I'll  treat  of  you  anon  : — but  when  the  height 
And  dignity  of  London's  blessings  grew 
Contemptible,  and  the  name  lady  mayoress 
Became  a  by-word,  and  you  scorn'd  the  means 
By  which  you  were  raised,  my  brother's  fond^ 

indulgence. 
Giving  the  reins  to  it;  and  no  object  pleased  you 
But  the  glittering  pomp  and  bravery  of  the  court; 
What  a  strange,  nay  monstrous,  metamorphosis 
follow'd  ! 

f  A  dainty  miniver  ca/),]  Minher,  as  I  learn  from  Cofgrave, 
is  the  fur  of  the  ermine  mixed  with  that  of  the  small  wesel.  {menu 
*  rair,)  called  gris  or  gray.  In  the  days  of  our  author,  and  in., 
deed,  long  before,  the  use  of  furs  was  almost  universal.  The 
nobility  had  them  of  ermine  and  sable,  the  wealthy  merchants, 
of  vair  and  gray,  (the  dainty  miniver  of  Luke,)  and  the  lower 
order  of  people  of  such  home  materials  gs  were  easiest  procured, 
squirrel,  lamb,  and  above  all,  rabbit's  skins.  For  this  last  article 
the  demand  was  anciently  so  great,  that  innumerable  warrens 
were  established  in  the  vicinity  of  the  metropolis. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  95 

No  English  workman  then  could  please  your  fancy, 
The  French  andTuscan  dress  your  whole  discourse; 
This  bawd  to  prodigality,  entertain'd 
To  buzz  into  your  ears  what  shape  this  countess 
Appear'd  in  the  last  masque,  and  how  it  drew 
The  young  lord's  eyes  upon  her;  and  this  usher 
Succeeded  in  the  eldest  prentice'  place, 
To  walk  before  you 

L.  Frug.  Pray  you,  end. 

Hold.  Proceed,  sir ; 
I  could  fast  almost  a  prenticeship  to  hear  you. 
You  touch  them  so  to  the  quick. 

Luke.  Then,  as  I  said, 
The  reverend  hood  cast  off,  your  borrow'd  hair, 
Powder'd  and  curl'd,  was  by  your  dresser's  art 
Form'd  like  a  coronet,  hang'd  with  diamonds, 
And  the  richest  orient  pearl ;  your  carcanets 
That  did  adorn  your  neck,  of  equal  value  :' 
YourHungerland  bands, and  Spanish quellio  ruffs; 
Great  lords  and  ladies  feasted  to  survey 
Embroider'd  petticoats;  and  sickness  feign'd. 
That  your  night-rails  of  forty  pounds  a  piece 
Might  be  seen,  with  envy,  of  the  visitants; 
Rich  pantofles  in  ostentation  shewn, 
And  roses  worth  a  family :'  you  were  served  in 

plate, 
Stirr'd  not  a  foot  without  your  coach,  and  going 

•  »_ ■         your  carcanets^ 

That  did  adorn  your  neck,  oi equal  value:'] with  what  he 

had  mentioned  before.  I  should  not  hare  noticed  this  had  not 
Mr.  M.  Mason,  to  spoil  the  sense  of  a  plain  passage,  read,  with 
equal  value.  Quellio  (a  corruption  of  cucllo)  ruffs,  are  ruffs  for 
the  neck.  Luke  furnishes  the  most  complete  picture  of  the 
dress,  manners,  &c.  of  the  different  classes  of  citizens'  wives,  at 
that  time,  that  is  to  be  found  on  the  ancient  stage. 

9  And  roses  toorth  a  family  ;]  I  have  already  said  that  these 
roies  (knots  of  ribands)  were  enormously  large;  (see  p.  11;) 
and  it  appears  from  Stow  (who,  as  Mr.  Gilchrist  justly  observes, 
is  frequeutly  the  best  commentator  on  Massinger)  that  they 


96  T»HE  CITY   MADAM, 

To  church,  not  for  devotion,  but  to  shew 
Your  pomp,  you  were  tickled  when  the  beggars. 

cried, 
Heaven  save  your  honour  !  this  idolatry 
Paid  to  a  painted  room. 

Hold.  Nay,  you  have  reason 
To  blubber,  all  of  you. 

Luke.  And  when  you  lay 
In  childbed,  at  the  christening  of  this  minx, 
I  well  remember  it,  as  you  had  been 
An  absokite  princess,  since  tliey  have  no  more. 
Three  several  chambers  hung,  the  first  with  arras^ 
And  that  for  waiters  ;  the  second  crimson  satin, 
Forthemeaner  sort  of  guests;  the  third  of  scarlet 
Of  the  rich  Tyrian  die;  a  canopy 
To  cover  the  brat's  cradle ;  you  in  state, 
Like  Pompey's  Julia. 

Z.  Frvg.  No  more,  I  pray  you. 

Luke.  Of  this,  be  sure,  you  shall  not.  I'll  cut  off 
Whatever  is  exorbitant  in  you, 
Or  in  [your]  daughters,  and  reduce  you  to 
Your  natural  forms  and  habits;  not  in  revenge. 
Of  your  base  usage  of  me,  but  to  fright 
Others  by  your  example  :  'tis  decreed 
You  shall  serve  one  another,  for  I  will 
Allow  no  waiter  to  you.     Out  of  door^ 
With  these  useless  drones  ! 

Hold.   Will  you  pack  ? 

Mill.  Not  till  I  have 
My  trunks  along  with  me. 

Luke.  Not  a  rag;  you  came 
Hither  without  a  box. 

were  extremely  dear.  "  Concerning  shoe-roses  either  of  silkc  or 
■what  stufFe  soever,  they  were  not  then  (in  the  reign  of  queen 
Elizabeth)  used  nor  known  ;  nor  was  there  any  garters  above 
the  price  of  five  shillings  a  payre,  aitho  at  this  day  (James  I.) 
men  of  nicane  rank  weare  garters  and  shoe-roses  of  more  tbajk 
five  pounds  price."     P.  1039.  fol.  1631, 


THE   CITY   MADAM,  97 

Star.  You'll  shew  to  me, 
J  hope,  sir,  more  compassion. 

Hold.  Troth  I'll  be 
Thus  far  a  suitor  for  him  :  he  hath  printed 
An  almanack,  for  this  year,  at  his  own  charge ; 
Let  him  have  the  impression  with  him,  to  set  up 
with. 

Luhe.  For  once  I'll  he  entreated ;  let  it  be 
Thrown  to  him  out  of  the  window. 

Star,  O  cursed  stars 
That   reign'd  at  my  nativity !    how  have  you 

cheated 
Your  poor  observer ! 

Anne.  Must  we  part  in  tears? 

Mary.  Farewell,  good  Milliscent ! 

L.  Frug.  I  am  sick,  and  meet  with 
A  rough  physician.     O  my  pride  and  scorn  ! 
How  justly  am  I  punish'd  ! 

Mary.  Now  we  suffer 
For  our  stubbornness  and  disobedience 
To  our  good  father. 

Anne.  And  the  base  conditions 
We  imposed  upon  our  suitors. 

Luke.  Get  you  in. 
And  caterwaul  in  a  corner. 

L.  Frug.  There's  no  contending. 

[Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  and  Mary,  go  off  at  one 
door.  Stargaze  and  Milliscent  at  the  other, 

Luke.   How 
Lik'st  thou  my  carriage,  Holdfast  ? 

Hold.  Well  in  some  parts  ; 
But  it  relishes,  I  know  not  how,  a  little 
Of  too  much  tyranny. 

Luke.  Thou  art  a  fool : 
He's  cruel  to  himself,  that  dares  not  be 
Severe  to  those  that  used  him  cruelly.    [Exeunt* 


58  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

ACT  V.     SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  Sir  John  Frugal 's  House. 

Enter  Luke,  Sir  John  Frugal,  Sir  Maurice 
Lacy,  jwc?  Plenty. 

Luke.  You  care  not  then,  as  it  seems,  to  be 
converted 
To  our  religion  ? 

Sir  John.  We  know  no  such  word. 
Nor  power  but  the  devil,  and  him  we  serve  for 

fear, 
Not  love. 

Luke.  I  am  glad  that  charge  is  saved. 

Sir  John.  We  put 
That  trick  upon  your  brother,  to  have  means 
To  come  to  the  city.    Now,  to  you,  we'll  discover 
The  close  design  that  brought  us,  with  assurance, 
If  you  lend  your  aids  to  furnish  us  with  that 
Which  in  the  colony  M'as  not  to  be  purchased, 
No  merchant  ever  made  such  a  return 
For  his  most  precious  venture,  as  you  shall 
Receive  from  us  ;  far,  far  above  your  hopes, 
Or  fanc3^  to  imagine. 

Luke.  It  must  be 
Some  strange  commodity,  and  of  a  dear  value, 
(Such  an  opinion  is  planted  in  me 
You  will  deal  fairly,)  that  I  would  not  hazard  : 
Give  me  the  name  of  it. 

Sir  Maur.  I  fear  you  will  make 
Some  scruple  in  your  conscience,  to  grant  it. 

Luke.  Conscience  !  no,  no ;  so  it  may  be  done 
with  safety, 
And  without  danger  of  the  law. 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  99 

Plenty, '  For  that, 
You  shall  sleep  securely  :  nor  shall  it  diminish, 
But  add  unto  your  heap  such  an  increase, 
As  what  you  now  possess  shall  appear  an  atom, 
To  the  mountain  it  brings  with  it. 

Luke.  Do  not  rack  me 
With  expectation. 

Sir  John.  Thus  then  in  a  word  : 
The  devil — why  start  you  at  his  name  ?  if  you 
Desire  to  wallow  in  wealth  and  worldly  honours. 
You  must  make  haste  to  be  familiar  w^ith  him. — • 
This  devil,  whose  priest  I  am,  and  by  him  made 
A  deep  magician,  (for  I  can  do  wonders,) 
Appear'd  to  me  in  Virginia,  and  commanded. 
With  many  stripes,  for  that's  his  cruel  custom, 
I  should  provide,  on  pain  of  his  fierce  wrath, 
Against  the  next  great  sacrifice,  at  which 
We,  grovelling  on  our  faces,  fall  before  him, 
Two  Christian  virgins,  that,  with  their  pure  blood. 
Might  die  his  horrid  altars  ;  and  a  third, 
In  his  hate  to  such  embraces  as  are  lawful, 
Married,  and  with  your  ceremonious  rites, 
As  an  oblation  unto  Hecate, 
And  wanton  Lust,  her  favourite. 

Luke.  A  devilish  custom  ! 
And  yet  why  should  it  startle  me? — There  are 
Enough  of  the  sex  fit  for  this*  use  ;  but  virgins, 
And  such  a  matron  as  you  speak  of,  hardly 
To  be  wrought  to  it. 

Plenty.  A  mine  of  gold,  for  a  fee. 
Waits  him  that  undertakes  it  and  performs  it. 

Sir  Maur.  Know  you  no  distressed  widow,  or 
poor  maids, 

'  Enough  of  the  sex  fit  for  this  use  ;']    So  the  old  copy,  and 
rightly.     The  modern  editors  ready  fit  for  hia  use. 


100  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Whose  want  of  dower,  though  well  born,  makes 

"  them  weary 
Of  their  own  country  ? ' 

Sir  John,  Such  as  had  rather  be 
Miserable  in  another  world,  than  where 
They  have  surfeited  in  felicity  ? 

Luke.  Give  me  leave [Walks  asUie. 

I  would  not  lose  this  purchase.  A  grave  matron  ! 
And  two  pure  virgins  !  Umph  !  I  think  my  sister, 
Though  proud,  was  ever  honest ;  and  my  nieces 
Untainted  yet.  Why  should  not  they  be  shipp'd 
For  this  employment  ?  they  are  burthensome  to 

me, 
And  eat  too  much  ;  and  if  they  stay  in  London, 
They  will  find  friends  that,  to  my  loss,  will  force 

me 
To  composition:  'twere  a  masterpiece, 
If  this  could  be  effected.    They  were  ever 
Ambitious  of  title:  should  I  urge, 
Matching   with    these    they  shall   live   Indian 

queens. 
It  may  do  much  :  but  what  shall  I  feel  here. 
Knowing  to  what  they  are  design'd  ?  they  absent. 
The  thought  of  them  will  leave  me.     It  shall  be 

so. [Returns. 


*  Sir  Maiir.  Know  you  no  distressed  -widow,  or  poor  maidsj 
Whose  teafit  of  dower,  though  v. ell  born,  makes  them  weary 
Of  their  own  country  ?]  I  haye  silently  reformed  the  metre  of 
this  i^and  indeed  of  every  other)  Play,  in  innumerable  places : 
the  reader,  however,  may  not  be  unamused  with  a  specimen, 
now  and  then,  of  the  manner  in  which  this  most  harmonioiis 
poet  has  been  hitherto  printed.  The  lines  above  are  thu3  di- 
vided by  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  : 

Know  you  no  distressed  widow f  or  poor 
Maids,  whose  want  of  dower,  though  well  born. 
Makes  'em  weary  of  their  own  country? 


fHl^   CITY   MADAM.  Wl 

I'll  furnish  you,  and,  to  endear  the  service, 
In  mine  own  family,  and  my  blood  too. 

Sir  John.  Make  this  good,  and  your  house  shall 
not  contain 
The  gold  we'll  send  you. 

Luke.   You  have  seen  my  sister^ 
And  my  two  nieces  ? 

Sir  John,  Yes,  sir^ 

Luke.  These  persuaded 
How  happily  they  shall  live,  and  in  what  pompi 
When  tliey  are  in  your  kingdoms,  for  you  must 
Work  them  a  belief  that  you  are  kings 

Plenty.  We  are  so. 

Luke.  rUput  it  in  practice  instantly.' Study  you 
For  moving  language.    Sister  !  nieces  1 

'  Luke.  I'll  put  it  in  practice  instantlj/.l  Hitherto  the  charac 
ter  of  Luke  has  been  supported  with  matchless  judgment  and 
dexterity  :  the  present  design,  however,  of  sacrificing  his  bro- 
ther's wife  and  daughters  to  Lust  and  Hecate  has  always  struck 
the  critics  as  unnatural  and  improbable  in  the  highest  degree. 
"  Bloody,  indeed,  it  is;"  but  is  it  out  of  character?  Luke  i3 
the  creature  of  no  ordinary  hand,  and  he  who  conducted  him 
thus  far  with  such  unexampled  skill,  was  little  likely  to  desert 
him  at  the  end.  It  appears  that  Massinger  was  desirous  of 
shewing,  in  the  person  of  Luke,  the  hideous  portraiture  of  ava- 
rice personified.  The  love  of  money  is  the  ruling  passion  of  his 
soul ;  it  gathers  strength  with  indulgence  ;  and  the  prospect  of 
such  unbounded  wealth  as  is  here  held  out  to  him,  is  properly 
calculated  to  overcome  the  fear  of  law,  and  the  remonstrances 
of  the  few  scruples  of  conscience  which  yet  torment  him. 

History  furnishes  examples  of  men  who  have  sacrificed  friends, 
kindred,  all,  to  the  distant  view  of  wealth  ;  and  we  might  have 
kjiown,  without  the  instance  of  Luke,  that  avarice,  while  it 
depraves  the  feelings,  enfeebles  the  judgment,  and  renders  its 
votaries  at  once  credulous  and  unnatural. 

With  respect  to  another  objection  which  has  been  raised,  that 
*'  Luke  is  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  be  so  grossly  imposed 
upon,"  it  is  more  easily  obviated.  Instead  of  going  back  to  the 
age  of  the  poet,  we  inconsiderately  bring  him  forward  to  our 
own,  and  invest  him  with  all  our  knowledge.  This  is  an  evil  as 
common  as  it  is  grievous.   That  the  Indians  do  not  worship  the 


102  THE   CITY   MADAM. 


Enter  Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  and  Mary, 

How! 
Still  mourning  ?  dry  j'^our  eyes,  and  clear  these 

clouds 
That  do  obscure  your  beauties.  Did  you  believe 
M}'  personated  reprehension,  though 
It  shew'd  like  a  rough  anger,  could  be  serious  ? 
Forget  the  fright  I  put  you  in  :  my  end, 
In  humbling  you,  was  to  set  otf  the  height 
Of  honour,  principal  honour,  which  my  studies, 
When  you  least  expect  it,  shall  confer  upon  ybu  ! 
Still  you  seem  doubtful :  be  not  wanting  to 
Yourselves,  nor  let  the  strangeness  of  the  means, 
With  the  shadow  of  some  danger,  render  you 
Incredulous. 

Z.  Frug,  OAir  usage  hath  been  such, 
As  we  can  faintly  hope  that  your  intents 
And  language  are  the  same. 

Luke.  I'll  change  those  hopes 
To  certainties.  , 

iS/r  John.  With  what  art  he  winds  about  them  ! 

[Aside. 

devil,  we  know  ;  but  did  Massinger  know  it  ?  Our  old  writers 
partook  of  the  general  credulity,  and  believed  the  wonders 
which  they  told  ;  they  would  not  else  have  told  them  so  well. 
All  the  first  discoverers,  and  all  the  first  historians,  of  America, 
were  themselves  fully  persuaded,  and  earnestly  laboured  to 
persuade  others,  that  the  natives  worshipped  the  devil.  Every 
shapeless  block,  every  rude  stone  painfully  battered  by  the  poor 
savages  into  a  distaiit  resemblance  of  animated  nature,  and 
therefore  prized  by  them,  was,  by  their  more  savage  visitors, 
taken  for  a  representation  of  some  mis-shapen  fiend  to  whom 
they  ofiered  human  sacrifices  :  nay,  so  rooted  was  this  opinion, 
that  the  author  of  the  New  English  Canaan^  (printed  not  many 
years  before  this  play,)  a  man  well  disposed  towards  the  Indians, 
says,  "  some  correspondency  they  have  with  the  devil,  out  of 
all  doubt  !"  (p.  34.)  and,  indeed,  1  scarcely  know  a  writer  of 
Massinger's  time,  who  was  not  of  the  same  belief. 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  103 

Luke.  What  will  you  say,  or  what  thanks  shall 
I  \6ok  for, 
If  now  I  raise  you  to  such  eminence,  as 
The  wife  and  daughters  of  a  citizen 
Never  arrived  at  !    many,   for  their  wealth,   1 

grant. 
Have  written  ladies  of  honour,  and  some  few- 
Have  higher  titles,  and  that's  the  furthest  rise 
You  can  in  England  hope  for.  What  think  you, 
If  I  should  mark  you  out  a  way  to  live 
Queens  in  another  climate? 

Anne.  We  desire 
A  competence. 

Mary.  And  prefer  our  country's  smoke 
Before  outlandish  fire. 

L.  Frug.  But  should  we  listen 
To  such  impossibilities,  'tis  not  in 
The  power  of  man  to  make  it  good, 

Luke.  I'll  do  it : 
Nor  is  this  seat  Of  majesty  far  removed  ; 
It  is  but  to  Virginia. 

L.  Frug.  How  !   Virginia  ! 
High  heaven  forbid !    Remember,  sir,  I  beseech 

you, 
Wliat  creatures  are  shipp'd  thither. 

Anne.  Condemn'd  wretches. 
Forfeited  to  the  law. 

Mary.  Strumpets  and  bawds, 
For  the  abomination  of  their  life, 
Spew'd  out  of  their  own  country. 

Luke.  Your  false  fears 
Abuse  my  noble  purposes.  Such  indeed 
Are  sent  as  slaves  to  labour  there;  but  you, 
To  absolute  sovereignty.  Observe  these  men, 
With  reverence  observe  them  :  they  are  kings  of 
Such  spacious  territories  and  dominions, 


104  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

As  our  Great  Britain  measured  will  appear 
A  garden  to  it. 

JSir  Maiir.  You  shall  be  adored  there 
As  goddesses. 

Sir  John.  Your  litters  made  of  gold, 
Supported  by  your  vassals,  proud  to  bear 
The  burthen  on  their  shoulders. 

Plenty.  Pomp,  and  ease, 
With  delicates  that  Europe  never  kneWj 
Like  pages  shall  wait  on  you. 

Luke,  If  you  have  minds 
To  entertain  the  greatness  offer'd  to  you, 
With  outstretch'd  arms,  and  willing  hands,  em- 
brace it. 
But  this  refused,  imagine  what  can  make  you 
Most  miserable  here  ;  and  rest  assured, 
In  storms  it  falls  upon  you :  take  them  in. 
And  use  your  best  persuasion.  If  that  fail, 
I'll  send  them  aboard  in  a  dry  fat. 

[E.veunt  all  but  Sir  John  Frugal  and  Luke. 

Sir  John.  Be  not  moved,  sir  ; 
We'll  work  them  to  your  will.  Yet,  ere  we  part, 
\our  worldly  cares  deferred,  a  little  mirth 
Would  not  misbecome  us. 

Luke.  You  say  well  :  and  now 
It  comes  into  my  memory,  'tis  my  birthday, 
Which  with  solemnity  I  would  observe, 
But  that  it  would  ask  cost. 

Sir  John.  That  shall  not  grieve  you. 
By  my  art  I  will  prepare  you  such  a  feast. 
As  Persia,  in  her  heiglit  of  pomp  and  riot. 
Did  never  equal ;  and  such  ravishing  music 
As  the  Italian  princes  seldom  heard 
At  their  greatest  entertainments.    Name  your 
guests. 

Luke*  I  must  have  none. 


THE    CITY    MADAM.  105 

Sir  John.  Not  the  city  senate  ? 

Luke.  No ; 
Noryet  poor  neighbours :  the  first  would  argue  me 
Of  foolish  ostentation,  and  the  latter 
Of  too  much  hospitality;  a  virtue 
Grown  obsolete,  and  useless.  I  will  sit 
Alone,  and  surfeit  in  my  store,  while  others 
With  envy  pine  at  it ;  my  genius  pamper'd 
With  the  thought  of  what  I  am,  and  what  they 

suffer 
I  have  mark'd  out  to  misery. 

Sir  John.  You  shall : 
And  something  I  will  add  you  yet  conceive  not, 
Nor  will  I  be  slow-paced. 

Luke.  I  have  one  business, 
And,  that  dispatch'd,  I  am  free. 

Sir  John.  About  it,  sir, 
Leave  the  rest  to  me. 

Luke.  Till  now  I  ne'er  loved  magic.    \_Ej:eunt, 


SCENE    II. 

Another  Room  in  ike  same. 

Enter  Lord  Lacy,  Goldwire  senior,  andTviADE' 
WELL  senior.  '  V'V'r '. 

L.  Lacy.  Believe  me,  gentlemen,  I  never  was 
So  cozen'd  in  a  fellow.  He  disguised 
Hypocrisy  in  such  a  cunning  shape 
Of  real  goodness,  that  I  would  have  sworn 
This  devil  a  saint.    *M.  Goldwire,  and  M.  Trade- 
well, 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  Put  on.* 

♦  M.  Goldwire,  and  M.  Tradewcll,]  See  p.  83. 

'  Put  on]  i.  e.  be  covered :  an  expression 

Tvhich  frequently  occurs, 

VOL.  IV.  *  I 


106  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Gold  With  your  lordship's  favour. 

L.  Lacy.  I'll  have  it  so. 

Trade.  Your  will,  my  lord,  excuses 
The  rudeness  of  our  manners. 

L.  Lacy.  You  have  received 
Penitent  letters  from  your  sons,  I  doubt  not? 

Trade.  They  are  our  only  sons. 

Gold.  And  as  we  are  fathers. 
Remembering  the  errors  of  our  youth, 
We  would  pardon  slips  in  them. 

Trade.  And  pay  for  them 
In  a  moderate  way. 

Gold.  In  which  we  hope  your  lordship 
Will  be  our  mediator. 

L.  Lacy.  All  my  power 

Enter  Luke,  richly  dressed. 

You  freely  shall  command ;  'tis  he !  You  are  well 

met. 
And  to  my  wish, — and  wonderous  brave !  your 

habit 
Speaks  you  a  merchant  royal. 

Luke.  What  I  wear 
I  take  not  upon  trust, 

L.  Lacy.  Your  betters  may. 
And  blush  not  for't. 

Luke.  If  you  have  nought  else  with  me 
But  to  argue  that,  I  will  make  bold  to  leave 
you. 
L.  Lacy    You  are  very  peremptory  ;  pray  you 
stay  :~ 
I  once  held  you 
An  upright  honest  man 

Luke.  I  am  honcster  now 
By  a  hundred  thousand  pound,  I  thank  my  start 
for't. 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  107 

Upon  the  Exchange;  and  if  your  late  opinion 
Be  alter'd,  who  can  help  it?  Good  my  lord, 
To  the  point;  I  have  other  business  than  to  talk 
Of  honesty,  and  opinions. 

L.  Lacy.  Yet  you  may 
Do  well,  if  you  please,  to  shew  the  one.  and  merit 
The  other  from  good  men,  in  a  case  that  now 
Is  offer'd  to  you. 

Luke,  What  is  it  ?  I  am  troubled. 

L.  Lacy.  Here  are  two  gentlemen,  the  fathers  of 
Your  brother's  prentices. 

Luke.  Mine,  my  lord,  I  take  it. 

Z.  Lacy.  Goldwire,  and  Tradewell. 

Luke.  They  are  welcome,  if 
They  come  prepared  to  satisfy  the  damage 
I  have  siistain'd  by  their  sons. 

Gold.  We  are,  so  you  please 
To  use  a  conscience. 

Trade.  Which  we  hope  you  will  do, 
For  your  own  worship's  sake. 

Luke.  Conscience,  my  friends. 
And  wealth,  are  not  always  neighbours.    Should  I 

part 
With  what  the  law  gives  me,  I  should  suffer  mainly 
In  my  reputation;  for  it  would  convince  me 
Of  indiscretion :  nor  will  you,  I  hope,  move  me 
To  do  myself  such  prejudice. 

L.  Lacy.  No  moderation  ? 

Luke  They  cannot  look  for't,  and  preserve  in  me 
A  thriving  citizen's  credit.     Your  bonds  lie 
For  your  sons'  truth,  and  they  shall  answer  all 
They  have  run  out:  the  masters  never  prosper'd 
Since  gentlemen's  sons  grew  prentices:  when  we 

look 
To  have  our  business  done  at  home,  they  are 
Abroad  in  the  tennis-court,  or  in  Partridge  alley, 
In  Lambeth  Marsh,  or  a  cheating  ordinary, 

•IS 


108  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

Where  I  found  your  sons.     I  have  your  bonds, ' 

look  to't. 
A  thousand  pounds  apiece,  and  that  will  hardly 
Repair  my  losses. 

Z.  Lacy.  Thou  dar'st  not  shew  thyself 
Such  a  devil ! 

Luke.  Good  words. 

L.  Lacy.  Such  a  cut-throat !  I  have  heard  of 
The  usage  of  your  brother's  wife  and  daughters  ; 
You  shall  find  you  are  not  lawless,  and  that  your 

monies 
Cannot  justify  your  villainies. 

Luke.  I  endure  this. 
And,  good  my  lord,nowyou  talk  in  time  of  monies, 
Pay  in  what  you  owe  me.    And  give  me  leave  to 

wonder 
Your  wisdom  should  have  leisure  to  consider 
The  business  of  these  gentlemen,  or  my  carriage 
To  my  sister,  or  my  nieces,  being  yourself 
So  much  in  my  danger.* 
L.  Lacy.  In  thy  danger? 
Luke,  Mine. 
I  find  in  my  counting-house  a  manor  pawn'd, 
Pawn'd,  my  good  lord ;  Lacy  manor,  and  that 

manor 
From  which  you  have  the  title  of  a  lord. 
An  it  please  your  good   lordship !    You  are  a 

nobleman  ; 
Pray  you  pay  in  my  monies :  the  interest 
Will  eat  faster  in't,  than  aquafortis  in  iron. 
Now  though  you  bear  me  hard,  I  love  your  lord- 

i  ship. 

I  grant  your  person  to  be  privileged 
From  all  arrests;  yet  there  lives  a  foolish  creature 

*  So  much  in  my  danger.]  i.  e.  in  my  debt.     See  Vol.  III. 
p.  376. 


THE   GITY  MADAM.  105 

Call'd  an  under-sheriff,  who,  being  well  paid,  will 

serve  ^  g-  r^f  r-j  ; 

An  extent'  on  lords  or  lowtis'  land.  Pay  it  in  : 
I  would  be  loth  your  name  should  sink,  or  that 
Your  hopeful  son,  when  he  returns  from  travel, 
Should  find  you  my  lord-without-land.     You  are 

angry 
For  my  good  counsel :  look  you  to  your  bonds  ; 

had  I  know^n 
Of  your  coming,   believe't,  I   would  have  had 

Serjeants  ready. 
Lord,  how  you  fret !  but  that  a  tavern's  near. 
You  should  taste  a  cup  of  muscadine  in  my  house, 
To  wash  down  sorrow;  but  there  it  will  do  better: 
I  know  you'll  drink  a  health  to  me.  [Eait. 

L.  Lacy.  To  thy  damnation. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  villain!  heaven  forgive  me 
For  speaking  so  unchristianly,  though  he  de- 
serves it. 
Gold,  We  are  undone. 
Trade.  Our  families  quite  ruin'd. 
L.  Lacy.  Take  courage,  gentlemen ;   comfort 

may  appear. 
And  punishment  overtake  him,  when  he  least 

expects  it.  \Exeunt. 

'  An  extent  on  lords  or  lowns'  land.']  To  extend^  as  has  been 
already  observed,  is  a  legal  term  for  '*  laying  an  execution  on." 
Thus  Shadwell,  in  the  Virtuoso: 

"  Niece,  my  land  in  the  country  is  extended^  and  all  my  goods 
seized  on." 


no  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

SCENE   III. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Sir  John  Frugal  a7id  Holdfast. 

Sir  John.  Be  silent,  on  your  life. 

Hold.  I  am  o'erjoy'd. 

Sir  John.  Are  the  pictures  placed  as  I  directed? 

Hold.  Yes,  sir. 

Sir  John.  And  the  musicians  ready  ? 

Hold.  All  is  done 
As  you  commanded. 

Sir  John,  [goes  to  the  door.]  Make  haste ;  and 
be  careful ; 
You  know  your  cue,  and  postures? 

Plenty,  [within.]  We  are  perfect. 

Sir  John.  'Tis  well.    The  rest  are  come,  too  ? 

Hold.  And  disposed  of 
To  your  own  wish. 

Enter  Servants  with  a  rich  banquet. 

Sir  John.  Set  forth  the  table  :  so  ! 
A  perfect  banquet.     At  the  upper  end, 
His  chair  in  state :  he  shall  feast  like  a  prince. 

Hold.  And  rise  like  a  Dutch  hangman.* 

'  Aiid  rise  like  a  Dutch   hangman.]    A  similar  expression 
occurs  in  the  New  Way  to  Fay  old  Debts : 

■  ■  come,  gentleman, 

I  will  not  haTe  you  feed  like  the  hangman  of  Flushing^ 
Alone^  while  I  am  here."     A.  if.  S.  1. 
In  some  old  account  of  the  Low  Countries,  while  under  the 
Spanish  government,  I  remember  to  have  read,  among  many  things, 
that  the  office  of  a  hangman  was  considered  so  infamous,  that  no 
one  would  sit  at  table  with  himj  or  even  touch  the  meat  of  which 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  Ill 


Enter  Luke. 


Sir  John.  Not  a  word  more.- 


How  like  you  the  preparation  ?  Fill  your  room, 
And  taste  the  cates ;  then  in  your  thought  consider 
A  rich  man,  that  lives  wisely  to  himself, 
In  his  fuli  height  of  glory. 

Luke.  I  can  brook 
No  rival  in  this  happiness.     How  sweetly 
These  dainties,  when  unpaid  for,  please  my  pa- 
late ? 
Some  wine.  Jove's  nectar!  Brightness  to  the  star 
That  govern'd  at  my  birth  !    shoot  down  thy 

influence, 
And  with  a  perpetuity  of  being  •* 

Continue  this  felicity,  not  gain'd 

he  partook.  Not  aware  that  such  a  passage  would  ever  be  of 
use  to  me,  I  made  no  reference,  and  cannot  now  discover  the 
place.  The  allusion  however,  to  th«  degraded  state  of  com- 
mon executioners  on  the  continent,  is  to  be  found  in  others  of 
our  old  writers.  I'hus  in  Lodge's  tVits  Miserie  and  the  Worlds 
Madness,  "  But  if  besotted  with  foolish  vain  glory,  you  fail  to 
neglect  one  another,  quod  Deus  amen  avertat,  doubtless  it  will  be 
as  infamous  a  thing  shortly  to  present  any  book  whatsoever 
learned  to  any  Mxcenas  in  England,  as  it  is  to  be  headsman  in 
any  free  city  in  Germanie." 

Indeed,  in  one  of  Broome's  comedies,  a  principal  part  of  the 
plot  is  made  to  turn  on  the  horror  with  which  the  hangman  was 
regarded : 

— "  Sir,  you  know  what  common  disrepute 
Falls  upon  man  or  woman  that  is  found 
Conversing  with  the  common  city  hangman. 
The  nearest  kindred,  after  such  converse, 
Shun  their  society,  as  they  would  do  him. 
The  hangman's  self,  so  odious  are  they  held."— 
And,  again : 

^'  But  what  disguise  shall  shroud  the  hangman  hither. 
Whose  own  shape  is  at  horrid  as  the  plague?^' 

Novella,  A.  ii.  S.  1. 


112  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

By  vows  to  saints  above,  and  much  less  purchased 
By  thriving  industry;  nor  fallen  upon  me 
As  a  reward  to  piety,  and  religion. 
Or  service  to  my  country :  I  owe  all 
This  to  dissimulation,  and  the  shape 
I  wore  of  goodness.     Let  my  brother  number 
His  beads  devoutly,  and  believe  his  alms 
To  beggars,  his  compassion  to  his  debtors, 
Will  wing  his  better  part,  disrobed  of  flesh. 
To  soar  above  the  firmament.     I  am  well ; 
And  so  I  surfeit  here  in  all  abundance. 
Though  styled  a  cormorant,  a  cut-throat,  Jew, 
And  prosecuted  with  the  fatal  curses 
Of  widows,  undone  orphans,  and  what  else 
Such  as  malign  my  state  can  load  me  with, 
I. will  not  envy  it.     You  promised  music. 

Sir  John.  And  you  shall  hear  the  strength  and 

power  of  it, 
The  spirit  of  Orpheus  raised  to  make  it  good, 
And,  in  those  ravishing  strains,  with  which  he 

moved 
Charon  and  Cerberus  to  give  him  way, 
To  fetch  from  hell  his  lost  Eurydice. 
— Appear!  swifter  than  thought !  [Aloud. 

Music.     Enter  at  one  door,  Cerberus,  at  the  other 
Charon,  Orpheus,  and  Chorus,     t 

Luke.  'Tis  wonderous  strange  ! 

\They  represent  the  story  of  Orpheus^  with 

dance  and  gesture. 
Sir  John.  Does  not  the  object  and  the  accent 

take  you? 
Luke.  A  pretty  fable.'  [Exe.  Orph.  and  the  rest.} 

But  that  music  should 

'  From  this  it  appears  that  the  fable  of  Orpheus  and  Eurydice 


THE   CITY  MADAM.  113 

Alter,  in  fiends,  their  nature,  is  to  me 

Impossible;  since,  in  myself,  I  find, 

What  I  have  once  decreed  shall  know  no  change. 

Sir  John.  You  are  constant  to  your  purposes; 
yet  I  think 
That  I  could  stagger  you.  -  --    i 

Luke.  How?  r»^^-i>  I' 

Sir  John.  Should  I  present 
Your  servants,  debtors,  and  the  rest  that  suffer 
By  your  fit  severity,  I  presume  the  sight 
Would  move  you  to  compassion. 

Luke.  Not  a  mote. 
The  music  that  your  Orpheus  made  was  harsh. 
To  the  delight  I  should  receive  in  hearing 
Their  cries  and  groans :  if  it  be  in  your  power, 
I  would  now  see  them. 

Sir  John,  Spirits,  in  their  shapes. 
Shall  shew  them  as  they  are :  but  if  it  should 
move  you? —  xi 

Luke.  If  it  do,  may  I  ne'er  find  pity  ! 

Sir  John.  Be  your  own  judge. 

Appear  !  as  I  commanded. 

Sad  Music.  Enter  Golt>wib.e  junior,  «wc?Trade- 
wELLJunior,  as Jrom  prison;  Fortune,  Hoyst, 
and  Penurt  ;  Serjeants  with  Tradewell  se* 
nior,  and  Goldwire  senior  ; — these JoUowed  by 
Shave'em,  in  a  blue  gown*  Secret,  and  Ding- 
'em  ;  they  all  kneel  to  Lukr,  lifting  up  their  hands. 
Stargaze  is  seen,  with  a  pack  of' almanacks,  and 
Milliscent. 

Luke.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
This  move  me  to  compassion,  or  raise 

was  acted  in  dumb  show.     Few  of  Massinger's  plays  are  with- 
out a  masque  or  an  interlude  of  some  kind  or  other. 

*  Shave'em  in  a  blue  gown ;]  i.  e.  in  the  livery  of  Bridewell, 


T14  THE   CITY    MADAM. 

One  sign  of  seeming  pity  in  my  face  ! 
You  are  deceived  :  it  rather  renders  me 
More  flinty,  and  obdurate.     A  south  wind 
Shall  sooner  soften  marble,  and  the  rain 
That  slides  down  gently  from  his  flaggy  wings, 
0*erflow  the  Alps,  than  knees,  or  tears,  or  groans, 
Shall  wrest  compunction  from  me.    Tis  my  glory 
That  they  are  wretched,  and  by  me  made  so ; 
It  sets  my  happiness  off:  I  could  not  triumph 
If  these  were  not  my  captives. — Ha!  my  tarriers, 
As  it  appears,  have  seized  on  these  old  foxes, 
As  I  gave  order;  new  addition  to 
My  scene  of  mirth:  ha,  ha! — They  now  grow 

tedious, 
Let  them  be  removed.  [Ej:eunf  Gold,  nnd  the  rest. 

Some  other  object,  if 
Your  art  can  shew  it. 

Sir  John,  You  shall  perceive  'tis  boundless. 
Yet  one  thing  real,  if  you  please? 
Luke.  What  is  it? 

Sir  John,  Your  nieces,  ere  they  put  to  sea, 
crave  humbly. 
Though  absent  i  n  their  bodies,  they  may  take  leave 
Of  their  late  suitors'  statues. 

Enter  Lady  Frugal,  Anne,  «w£?Mary. 

Luke,  There  they  hang : 
In  tilings  indiiFerent,  I  am  tractable. 

Sir  John.  There  pay  your  vows,  you  have  liberty. 
Anne.  O  sweet  figure  \kneels. 

It  appears  from  many  passages  in  our  old  plays,  particularly 
from  the  second  part  of  Decker's  Honest  Whore,  that  this  was 
the  dress  in  which  prostitutes  were  compelled  to  do  penance 
there. 


THE    CITY   MADAM.  115 

Of  my  abused  Lacy  !  ^  when  removed 
Into  another  world,  I'll  daily  pay 
A  sacrifice  of  sighs  to  thy  remembrance  ; 
And  with  a  shower  of  tears  strive  to  wash  off 
The  stain  of  that  contempt  my  foolish  pride 
And  insolence  threw  upon  thee. 

Mary.  I  had  been 
Too  happy,  if  I  had  enjoyed  the  substance ; 
But  far  unworthy  of  it,  now  I  fall 
Thus  prostrate  to  thy  statue.  \kneels. 

L.  Frug.  My  kind  husband,  [kneels. 

(Bless'd  in  my  misery,)  from  the  monastery 
To  which  my  disobedience  confined  thee, 
With  thy  soul's  eye,  which  distance  cannot  hinder, 
Look  on  my  penitence.     O,  that  I  could 
Call  back  time  past !  thy  holy  vow  dispensed, 
With  what  humility  would  I  observe 
My  long-neglected  duty ! 

Sir  John.  Does  not  this  move  you  ? 

Luke,  Yes,  as  they  do  the  statues,  and  her  sorrow 
My  absent  brother.    If,  by  your  magic  art, 
You  can  give  life  to  these,  or  bring  him  hither 
To  witness  her  repentance,  I  may  have, 
Perchance,  some  feeling  of  it. 

*  Anne.  0  sweet Jigure 

Of  my  abused  Lacy  /]  There  is  some  diflBculty  in  understand- 
ing the  mechanism  of  this  scene.  Massinger,  like  all  his  coutem. 
poraries,  confounds  statue  with  picture,  and  this  creates  confu. 
»ion : — it  seems  as  if  Lacy  and  Plenty,  by  some  contrivance, 
stood  within  the  frames,  and  in  the  exact  dress  and  attitudes  of 
their  respective  portraits,  which  sir  John  appears  to  have  pro- 
cured, and,  after  taking  out  the  canvas,  hung  up  in  the  back  part 
of  the  room;  (see  p.  110;)  from  whence,  at  a  preconcerted 
signal,  they  descend,  and  come  forward.  The  direction,  in  the 
quarto,  is,  Plenty  and  Lacy  ready  behind.  The  attempt  to  mark 
the  stage  arrangements  of  this  interesting  scene  will,  I  hope,  be 
received  with  that  indulgence  to  which,  from  the  wretched 
assistance  afforded  by  the  old  copies,  it  is,  in  some  measure, 
intitled. 


116  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Sir  John.  For  your  sport, 
You  shall  see  a  masterpiece.    Here's  nothing  but 
A  superficies ;  colours,  and  no  substance. 
Sit  still,  and  to  your  wonder  and  amazement, 
I'll  give  these  organs.    This  the  sacrifice, 
To  make  the  great  work  perfect, 

[Burns  incense,  and  makes  mystical  gesticula- 
tions.   Sir  Maurice  Lacy  and  Plenty  give 
signs  of  animation, 
Luke.  Prodigious  ! 

Sir  John.   Nay,  they  have  life,  and  motion. 
Descend  ! 

\_Sir  Maurice  Lacy  and  Plenty  descend  and 
comej'orzvard. 
And  for  your  absent  brother,— this  wash'd  off, 
Against  your  will  you  shall  know  him. 

[Discovers  himself^ 

:f. 

Enter  Lord  Lacy,  with  Goldwire  senior  andju- 

nio)%  Trade  WELL  senior  andjunior,  the  Debtors^ 

4'c.  S^c.  as  before. 

Luke.  I  am  lost. 
Guilt  strikes  me  dumb. 

Sir  John.  You  have  seen,  my  lord,  the  pageant? 

X.  Lacy.  I  have,  and  am  ravish'd  with  it. 

Sir  John.  What  think  you  now 
Of  this  clear  soul  ?  this  honest,  pious  man  ? 
Have  I  stripp'd  him  bare,  or  will  your  lordship 

have 
A  further  trial  of  him  ?  'Tis  not  in 
A  wolf  to  change  his  nature. 

L.  Lacy.  I  long  since 
Confess'd  my  error. 

Sir  John.  Look  up  ;  I  forgive  you. 
And  seal  your  pardons  thus. 
[Raises  and  embraces  Lady  Frugal^  Anne,  and  Mary. 


THE   CITY    MADAM.  117 

L.  Frug.  I  am  too  full 
Of  joy,  to  speak  it. 

Anne.  I  am  another  creature  ; 
Not  what  I  was. 

Mary.  I  vow  to  shew  myself, 
When  I  am  married,  an  humble  wife, 
Not  a  commanding  mistress. 

Plenty*  On  those  terms, 
I  gladly  thus  embrace  you.  [7b  Mary. 

Sir  Maur.  Welcome  to 
My  bosom  :  as  the  one  half  of  myself, 
I'll  love  and  cherish  you.  [7b  Anne, 

Gold.  Jan.  Mercy  ! 

Trade,  jun.  and  the  rest.  Good  sir,  mercy  ! 

Sir  John.  This  day  is  sacred  to  it.     All  shall 
find  me, 
As  far  as  lawful  pity  can  give  way  to't, 
Indulgent  to  your  wishes,  though  with  loss 
Unto  myself — My  kind  and  honest  brother, 
Looking  into  yourself,  haveyouseen  theGorgon? 
What  a  golden  dream  you  have  had,  in  the  pos- 
session 
Of  my  estate  ! — but  here's  a  revocation 
That  wakes  you  out  of  it.     Monster  in  nature  ! 
Revengeful,  avaricious  atheist, 
Transcending  all  example  ! — but  I  shall  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  crimes,  should  I  repeat  them — 
What  wilt  thou  do  ?  turn  hypocrite  again, 
With  hope  dissimulation  can  aid  thee  ? 
Or  that  one  eye  will  shed  a  tear  in  sign 
Of  sorrow  for  thee  ?  I  have  warrant  to 
Make  bold  with  mine  own,  pray  you  uncase  :  this 

key,  too, 
I  must  make  bold  with.     Hide  thyself  in  some 

desart, 
Where  good  men  ne'er  may  find  thee;  orin  justice 
Pack  to  Virginia,  and  repent ;  not  for 


118  THE   CITY   MADAM. 

Those  horrid  ends  to  which  thou  didst  design 
these. 
Luke.  I  care  not  where  I  go:  what's  done, 
with  words 
Cannot  be  undone.  [^Eait. 

L.  Frug,  Yet,  sir,  shew  some  mercy ; 
Because  his  cruelty  to  me  and  mine. 
Did  good  upon  us. 

Sir  John,  Of  that  at  better  leisure, 
As  his  penitency  shall  work  me.  Make  you  good 
Your  promised  reformation,  and  instruct 
Our  city  dames,  whom  wealth  makes  proud,  to 

move 
In  their  own  spheres  ;  and  willingly  to  confess. 
In  their  habits,  manners,  and  their  highest  port, 
A  distance  'twixt  the  city  and  the  court. 

\^Exeunt* 

^  Every  friend  to  the  reputation  of  Massinger  must  cherish  the 
remembrance  of  this  play.  It  exhibits  equal  power  of  thought 
and  copiousness  of  matter.  The  circumstantial  detail  of  the  man- 
ners of  the  age,  (though  some  part  of  it  is  to  be  regretted,)  the 
impression  with  which  the  moral  lessons  are  conveyed,  and  the 
strong  incidents  with  which  the  scenes  abound,  fill  the  mind  with 
variety  of  excellence.  It  is  a  powerful  and  a  pregnant  compo- 
sition, and  has  the  effect  of  history,  satire,  and  comedy  united. 

The  object  of  the  Play  is  formally  stated  at  the  conclusion  : 
but  it  is  observable,  that  the  person  who  incidentally  partakes 
in  the  promotion  of  it,  becomes  the  most  marked  character,  and 
obscures  those  who  are  originally  concerned.  The  effect  is 
stronger  through  its  own  surprise  ;  and  the  address  of  Massinger 
is  proved  in  proportion  as  he  produces  so  important  an  agency 
from  so  indirect  a  promise.  There  is  another  mark  of  his  ad- 
dress. The  real  character  of  Luke  is  unusually  suspended  ;  and 
even  when  suspicion  begins,  it  is  balanced  by  a  new  contrivance 
of  regard.  The  final  disclosure  of  the  villain,  becomes,  in  this 
instance  too,  more  striking,  through  the  previous  concealment, 
and  we  hate  him  the  more  on  account  of  the  good  opinion  we 
have  wasted  upon  him.  The  character  of  Luke  is  so  predomi- 
nant,  that  it  well  deserves  the  particular  attention  of  the  reader. 

He  is  originally  self-indulgent,  idle,  riotous,  prodigal,  and 


THE   CITY   MADAM.  119 

Ticious ;  supported  by  his  brother,  he  appears  penitent,  pious, 
unusually  humble,  compassionate,  charitable,  and  draws  much 
of  our  pity  and  esteem.  When  he  hears  of  his  supposed  fortune, 
he  assumes  the  most  imposing  hypocrisy,  oflFers  protection  that 
he  may  betray,  talks  of  kindness  that  he  may  be  finally  severe, 
and  masks  a  decided  cruelty  with  the  most  deceitful  promises  of 
liberality.  Every  restraint  being  at  length  remored,  the  appear* 
ance  of  his  soft  feeling  is  changed  into  a  savage  and  ferocious 
avarice  ;  his  glossy  deceit  becomes  avowed  and  daring  villainy  : 
he  is  insolent,  oppressive,  insatiable,  obdurate,  inexorable,  and 
impious.  The  character  is  true,  though  some  of  its  parts  are 
opposite.  The  sufferings  from  his  former  profuseness,  and  per- 
haps the  exhaustion  of  its  pleasures,  might  well  prepare  him  for 
future  avarice  :  nor  are  such  changes  unfrequent  in  common  life. 
His  intermediate  shew  of  goodness  is  easily  reconciled  with  the 
unextinguished  viciousness  of  his  mind  His  penitence  is  deceit, 
his  piety  is  hypocrisy,  his  strange  humility  an  inbred  baseness, 
and  his  talk  of  liberality  a  genuine  disregard  of  money  that  is 
not  his  own. — In  short,  the  character  is  at  once  bold  and  natu- 
ral, and  is  described  with  uncommon  art  and  eflFect. 

The  other  characters  lose  part  of  their  importance  through 
the  ascendency  of  Luke.  Yet  the  women  are  well  represented ; 
and  their  ignorance  and  vulgarity,  their  admiration  of  the  unin- 
telligible jargon  of  Stargaze,  and  their  contented  forgetfulness 
of  Frugal  amidst  the  new  promises  of  Luke,  are  very  amusing. 
Nor  is  the  outrageous  treatment  of  the  suitors  unnatural,  though 
the  desire  of  getting  them  as  husbands  might  have  been  expected 
to  teach  some  caution.    It  appears  that  the  predictions  of  Star, 
gaze  had  convinced  ihem  of  the  certain  submission  of  Lacy,  &c. 
and  therefore  caution  was  unnecessary.  The  unexampled  impu. 
dence  of  the  demands  is  only  explained  by  the  blind  credulity 
of  the  mother.    Stargaze  hhnself  is  humorously  treated.     In  the 
Picture^  Sophia  speaks  with  all  the  seriousness  of  religion  against 
the  practice  of  magic.    Ridicule  alone  is  bestowed  on  judicial 
astrology.     After  various  failures  and  renewals  of  credit,  the 
wretched  professor  is  driven   off  the  stage,  disgraced,  poor, 
beaten,  and,  worse  than  all,  compelled  to  acknowledge  the 
futility  of  his  art.     In  the  midst  of  this  excellence,  there  is  aa 
inadvertence  not  "wholly  unimportant.     The  moral  purpose  of 
the  Play  is  accomplished,  even  upon  moral  principles,  by  its 
most  flagitious  character.   Luke  is  a  declared  villain,  and  a  re. 
former  too  !  He  allows  revenge  to  be  the  motive  of  his  cruelty, 
yet  he  rises  up  a  "  new  satirist''  against  the  vices  of  the  city  !— . 
it  is  obvious  that  Massingcr  has  forgot  himself.     He  has  con- 
founded in  the  same  person  his  own  general  and  patriotic  views 
with  the  private  malice  of  Luke  :  and  in  this  mixture  of  design, 
Luke  talks  alternately  for  himself  and  for  the  poet ! 


mo  THE    CITY   MADAM. 

An  instructive  moral  yet  remains  to  be  drawn  from  the  ap-;^ 
parent  humility  of  Luke.  It  is  the  excess  of  this  quality  whichj, 
gives  the  reader  the  first  suspicion  of  hypocrisy.  ly 

We  must  not  administer  to  the  follies  or  vices  of  others,  by.j| 
a  base  subserviency;  nor  must  vvc  console  the  disgrace  of^^ 
present  submission  with  the  prospect  of  future  revenge.  Humi- 
lity, well  understood,  has  true  purity  and  true  elevation.  It 
raises  us  above  all  moral  meanness  ;  and,  while  it  prescribes  an  .. 
unaffected  lowliness  of  service,  it  dignifies  the  obscurest  actions  J 
through  the  principle  from  which  they  flow. 


THE 


GUARDIAN 


VOL.  IV. 


♦K 


The  Guardiav.]  This  "  Comical  History"  was  licensed  by 
the  Master  of  the  Revels,  October  31st,  1633;  but  not  printed 
till  1655,  when  it  was  put  to  the  press,  together  with  the  Bashful 
Lover,  and  the  Very  IVoman,  by  Humphrey  Moseley,  the  general 
publisher  of  that  age. 

Its  plot  is  singularly  wild  and  romantic ;  the  most  interest- 
ing and  probable  part  of  it  may,  perhaps,  be  the  poet's  own  ;  the 
incident  of  lolante  and  Calipso  is  borrowed.  The  original  tale 
is  in  the  Heetopades ;  whence  it  was  transferred  to  the  Fables  of 
Pilpay  :  it  was  translated  into  Greek  about  the  end  of  the  ele- 
venth century,  by  Simeon  Seth,  a  learned  Orientalist;  and  thus 
found  its  way  into  Latin,  and  made  a  part  of  those  quaint  col- 
lections of  ribald  morality,  which,  in  Massinger's  time,  were 
in  every  one's  hands.  A  sneer  at  miracles  was  not  likely 
to  escape  the  wits  of  Italy  ;  it  was  therefore  inserted  by  Boc- 
cacio  in  his  Decameron,  where  it  is  bat  poorly  told.  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  have  introduced  it  with  some  degree  of  dexterity 
into  the  plot  of  Women  Pleased;  and  it  has  been  versified  (from 
a  translation  of  the  Sanscrit)  with  exquisite  humour,  by  my 
lamented  friend,  Mr.  Hoppner. 

It  would  be  a  miserable  waste  of  time  to  examine  from  what 
specific  work  Massinger  derived  an  adventure  which  probably 
existed  in  an  hundred  different  publications,  and  which  was 
scarcely  worth  the  picking  up  any  where :  he  is  not  unlikely, 
however,  to  have  taken  it  from  Westward  for  Smelts,  where  it 
forms  the  first,  or  the  fish-wfe  of  Brainford's  tale.  Those  who 
wish  for  more  on  the  subject,  may  consult  the  late  Mr.  Hole's 
Remarks  on  the  Arabian  Nights  Entertainments. 

'This  popular  Drama  was  produced  "  at  the  Private-house  in 
Black  fryers."  From  a  memorandum  in  the  Office-book  of  Sir 
Henry  Herbert,'  we  learn,  that,  shortly  after  its  appearance,  it 
was  acted  before  the  king.  "  The  Guardian,  a  play  of  Mr.  Mas- 
singer's,  was  performed  at  court  on  Sunday  the  12  January, 
1633,  by  the  king's  players,  atid  well  likte."  Malone's  Historical 
Account  of  the  English  Stage. 


K2 


[  124  ] 


PROLOGUE. 


After  txmce  putting  forth  to  sea,*  his  fame 
Shijnvredid  in  either,^  and  his  once- known  najne 
In  txvo  years  silence  buried,  perhaps  lost 
In  the  general  opinion  ;  at  our  cost 
(A  zealous  sacrifice  to  Neptune  made 
For  good  success  in  his  uncertain  trade) 
Our  author  weighs  up  anchors,  and  once  more 
Forsaking  the  security  of  the  sho}'e, 
Resolves  to  prove  his  fortune :  what  "'twill  he. 
Is  not  i?i  him,  or  us,  to  prophesie; 

■  -After  trvice  pultijig forth,  &c.]  I  scarcely  know  whether  I 
understand  this  rightly  or  not,  but  it  seems  that  the  players 
allude  to  two  pieces  of  Massinger,  which  were  condemned  on  the 
first  representation.  This  ill  fortune  appears  to  have  induced 
the  modest  poet  to  give  up  all  further  thoughts  of  writing  for 
the  stage;  the  players,  however,  who  knew  his  worth,  pre- 
vailed on  him  to  try  his  fate  once  more;  and  to  obviate  his 
objections  to  the  uncertainty  of  popular  favour,  purchased  the 
piece  outright:  this,  indeed,  was  no  uncommon  circumstance. 
The  event  proved  that  they  had  made  no  wrong  estimate  of  his 
talents,  for  the  Guardian  is  said  to  "  have  been  often  acted  with 
great  applause." 

A  difficulty  yet  remains.  The  prologue  speaks  of  tuo  years* 
silence,  yet  t/ie  City  Madam  was  licensed  on  the  25th  of  May, 
1632,  and  the  present  "  Comical  History,"  on  the  last  day  of 
October  in  the  following  year,  an  interval  of  only  seventeen 
months :  but,  perhaps,  accuracy  of  computation  is  not  to  be 
looked  for  in  these  occasional  productions. 

* his  fame 

Shipvreck'd  in  either,]  Mr.  M.  Mason  chooses  to  read,  in 
neither:  but,  according  to  his  usual  custom,  assigns  no  reason 
for  the  variation,  though  it  be  important  enough  to  recjuire 
one,  as  it  makes  the  passage  arrant  Monsensc. 


[   125  ] 

you  only,  can  assure  us :  yet  he  pray'd 

This  little,  in  his  absence,  might  be  said, 

Designing  me  his  orator.    He  submits 

To  the  grave  censure  of  those  abler  zvits 

His  weakness ;  nor  dares  he  profess  that  when 

The  critics  laugh,  he'll  laugh  at  them  agen. 

(Strange  self-love  in  a  writer  I)  He  would  knozv 

His  errors  asyoufnd  them,  and  bestow 

His  future  studies  to  reform  from  this, 

JVhat  in  another  might  be  judged  amiss. 

And  yet  despair  not,  gentlemen  ;  though  he  fear 

His  strengths  to  please,  we  hope  that  you  shall  hear 

Some  things  so  writ,  as  you  may  truly  say 

He  hath  not  quite  forgot  to  make  a  play. 

As  'tis  zvith  malice  rumour'd :  his  intents 

Are  fair  ;  and  though  he  want  the  compliments 

Of  wide-mouth'' d  promisers,  tvho  still  engage, 

Before  their  works  are  brought  upon  the  stage. 

Their  parasites  to  proclaim  them  :  this  last  birth, 

Deliver  d  without  noise,  may  yield  such  mi)  th. 

As,  balanced  equally,  will  cry  down  the  boast 

Of  arrogance,  and  regain  his  credit  lost. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 

Alplionso,  king  0/ Naples. 

Duke  Montpensier,  general  of  MWdiXi. 

Severino,  a  banished  nobleman. 

Monteclaro,  his  brother-in-law,  (supposed  dead,) 

disguised,  under  the  name  of  Laval. 
Durazzo,  the  guardian. 

Caldoro,  his  nephew  and  ward,  in  love  with  Calista. 
Adorio,  a  young  libertine. 
Camillo,  ^ 

Lentulo,  INeapolitan  gentlemen. 
Donate,  J 

Carlo,  cook  to  Adorio. 
Claudio,  a  confidential  servant  to  Severino. 
Captain. 
Banditti. 
Servants. 

lolante,  wife  to  Severino. 

Calista,  her  daughter,  in  love  with  Adorio, 

Mirtilla,  Calista's  maid. 

Calipso,  the  confident  0/ lolante. 


Singers,  Countrymen. 

SCENE,  partly  at  Naples,  and  partly  in  the 
adjacent  country. 


THE 

(Guardian. 


ACT  I.    SCENE   I. 

Naples.     A  Grove. 

Enter  Durazzo,  Camillo,  Lentulo,  Donato, 
and  two  Servants, 

Dur.  Tell  me  of  his  expenses  !   Which  of  you 
Stands  bound  for  a  gazet  ?  he  spends  his  own ; 
And  you   impertinent   fools  or  knaves,   (make 

choice 
Of  either  title,  which  your  signiorships  please,) 
To  meddle  in't. 

Camil,  Your  age  gives  privilege 
To  this  harsh  language. 

Dur.  My  age!  do  not  use 
That  word  again  ;  if  you  do,  I  shall  grow  young, 
And  swinge  you  soundly :    I  would  have  you 

know 
Though  I  write  fifty  odd,  I  do  not  carry 
An  almanack  in  my  bones  to  pre-declare 
What  weather  we  shall  have ;  nor  do  I  kneel 
In  adoration,  at  the  spring  and  fall, 
Before  my  doctor,  for  a  dose  or  two 
Of  his  restoratives,  which  are  things,  I  take  it, 
You  are  familiar  with. 

Camil.  This  is  from  the  purpose. 


128  THE  GUARDIAN. 

Dur.  I  cannot  cut  Ji  caper,  or  groan  like  you 
When  I  have  done,  nor  run  away  so  nimbly 
Out  of  the  field  :  but  bring  me  to  a  fence-school, 
And  crack  a  blade  or  two  for  exercise, 
Ride  a  barb'd  horse,  or  take  a  leap  after  me, 
Following  my  hounds  or  hawks,  (and,  by  your 

leave,-     - 
At  a  gamesome  mistress,)  and  you  shall  confess 
I  am  in  the  May  of  my  abilities, 
And  you  in  your  December. 

Lent.   VV^e  are  glad  you  bear 
Your  years  so  well. 

Dur.  My  years!  no  more  of  years  ; 
If  you  do,  at  your  peril. 

Camil.  We  desire  not 
To  prove  your  valour. 

Du7\  'Tis  your  safest  course. 

Camil.  But  as  friends  to  your  fame  and  repu- 
tation, 
Come  to  instruct  you,  your  too  much  indulgence 
To  the  exorbitant  waste  of  young  Caldoro, 
Your  nephew  and  your  ward,  hath  rendered  you 
But  a  bad  report  among  wise  men  in  Naples. 

Dur.  Wise  men  ! — in  your  opinion  ;  but  to  me, 
That  understand  myself  and  them,  they  are 
Hide-boundedmoney-mongers  :  they  would  have 

/      me 
^frain  up  my  ward  a  hopeful  youth,  to  keep 
A  merchant's  book ;  or  at  the  plousjh,  and  clothe 

im     , 
In  canvas  or  coarse  cotton ;  while  I  fell 
His  woods,*  grant  leases,  which  he  must  make 


good 


while  I  fell 


His  woods,  grant  leases,  &c.]  This  is  by  no  means  an  exag- 
gerated description  of  the  tyranny  which  was  sometimes  exer- 
cised by  a  guardian  over  the  uurd,  whom  law  had  put  into  his 


THE   GUARDIAN.  129 

When  he  comes  to  ag;e,  or  be  compell'd  to  marry 
With  a  cast  whore  and  three  bastards ;  let  him 

know 
No  more  than  how  to  cipher  well,  or  do 
His  tricks  by  the  square  root ;    grant  him  no 

pleasure 
But  quoits  and  nine-pins ;  suffer  him  to  converse 
With  none  but  clowns  and  cobbkrs  :  as  the  Turk 

says, 
Poverty,  old  age,  and  aches  of  all  seasons, 
Light  on  such  heathenish  guardians  ! 

Don.  You  do  worse 
To  the  ruin  of  his  state,  under  your  favour, 
In  feeding  his  loose  riots. 

Dur.  Riots  !  what  riots  ? 
He  wears  rich  clothes,   I  do  so ;  keeps  horses, 

games,  and  wenches ; 
'Tis  not  amiss,  so  it  be  done  with  decorum  : 
In  an  heir  'tis  ten  times  more  excusable 
Than  to  be  over-thrifty.     Is  there  aught  else 
That  you  can  charge  him  with  ? 

Camil.  With  what  we  grieve  for, 
And  you  will  not  approve. 
Dur.  Out  with  it,  man. 

power.     Thus  Falconbridge  threatens  young  Scarborowr,  wh* 
had  fallen  in  love  without  his  consent: 

"  My  steward  too ; — Post  you  to  Yorkshire, 

*'  Where  lies  my  youngster's  land  :  and,  sirrah, 

*'  Fell  me  his  wood,  make  havoc,  spoil,  aod  waste; 

*'  Sir,  you  shall  know  that  you  are  ward  to  me, 

**  I'll  make  you  poor  enough  : — then  mend  yourself.'* 

Miseries  of  Jn/brced  Marriage. 
Wardship^  which  was  a  part  of  the  royal  prerogative  under 
the  feudal  system,  and  another  name  for  the  most  oppressive 
slavery,  was  happily  abolished  under  Charles  II.  Before  that 
time  wards/lips  were  sold,  with  all  their  advantages,  (which  are 
detailed  in  Blackslone,  vol.  ii.)  and  sometimes  begged  by  the 
favourite  of  the  day.  Our  old  poeU  are  fuU  oX  allnsivAi  to 
these  iniquitous  transactions.  ^ 


130  THE   guardian; 

Camil.  Hisrasli endeavour, withoutyourconsemt, 
To  match  himself  into  a  family 
Not  gracious  with  the  times. 

Dur.  'Tis  still  the  better; 
By  this  means  he  shall  scape  court  visitants, 
And  not  be  eaten  out  of  house  and  home 
In  a  summer  progress : '  but  does  he  mean  to 
marry  ? 

GamiL  Yes,  sir,  to  marry. 

Dur.  In  a  beardless  chin 
'Tis  ten  times   worse  than   wenching.    Family! 
whose  family  ? 

Camil.  Signor  Severino's. 

Dur.  How  '.  not  he  that  kill'd 
The  brother  of  his  wife,  as  it  is  rumour'd, 
Then  fled  upon  it ;  since  proscribed,  and  chosen 
Captain  of  the  Banditti ;  the  king's  pardon 
On  no  suit  to  be  granted  ? 

Lent.  The  same,  sir. 

Dur,  This  touches  near:  howishislovereturn'd 
By  the  saint  he  worships? 

*  By  this  means  he  shall  scape  court~visitanfs^ 
And  not  be  eaten  out  of  house  and  home 
In  a  summer  progress.]  This  stroke  of  satire  must  ha?e  been 
peculiarly  well  received  ;  as  many  of  the  gentry  had  found  those 
summer  progresses  of  the  court  almost  too  expensive  for  them 
to  bear. 

Puttenham,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  these  matters,  tells 
us,  that  Henry  VII.  was  offended  with  his  host  if  he  undertook 
to  defray  "  the  charge  of  his  dyet  if  he  passed  moe  meales  than 
one."  P.  247.  And  of  Elizabeth  he  says,  that  "  her  majestic 
hath  been  knowne  often  times  to  mislike  the  supe;-fluous  expense 
of  her  subjects  bestowed  upon  her  in  times  of  her  progresses." 

James  was  not  so  delicate  :  it  appears  from  many  scattered 
passages  in  the  publications  of  those  times,  that  he  abused  this 
part  of  the  royal  prerogative  to  a  great  degree,  and  lay  heavy 
upon  his  subjects.  Charles,  who  was  now  on  the  throne,  was 
less  burthensome  ;  and  in  the  succeeding  reign,  these  predatory 
excursions,  together  with  other  oppressive  claims  of  barbarous 
times,  were  entirely  done  away. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  131 

Don.  She  affects  him  not, 
But  dotes  upon  another. 

Dur.  Worse  and  worse. 

Camil.  You  know  liim,  young  Adorio. 

Dur.  A  brave  gentleman  ! 
What  proof  of  this  ? 

Lent.  I  dogg'd  him  to  the  church  ; 
Where  he,  not  for  devotion,  as  I  guess. 
But  to  make  his  approaches  to  his  mistress, 
Is  often  seen. 

Camil.  And  would  you  stand  conceal'd 
Among  these  trees,  for  he  must  pass  this  green, 
The  matins  ended,  as  she  returns  home, 
You  may  observe  the  passages. 

Dur,  I  thank  you  ; 
This  torrent  must  be  stopt. 

Don.  They  come. 

Camil.  Stand  close.  \J-^hey  stand  aside. 

Enter  Adorio,  Calista,  Mirtilla,  and  Cal» 
DORO  muffled, 

Calis.  I  know  I  wrong  my  modesty. 

Ador.  And  wrong  me, 
In  being  so  importunate  for  that 
I  neither  can  nor  must  grant. 

Calis.  A  hard  sentence  ! 
And  to  increase  my  misery,  by  you, 
Whom  fond  affection  hath  made  my  judge. 
Pronounced  without  compassion.  Alas,  sir. 
Did  I  approach  you  with  unchaste  desires, 
A  sullied  reputation  ;  were  deform 'd, 
As  it  may  be  I  am,  though  many  affirm 
I  am  something  more  than  handsome 

Dur.  I  dare  swear  it. 

Calis.  Or  if  I  were  no  gentlewoman,  but  bred 
coarsely, 


132  THE    GUARDIAN. 

You  might,  willi  some  pretence  of  reason,  slight 
What  you  should  sue  for. 

Diir.  Were  he  not  an  eunuch, 
He  would,  and  sue  again  ;  1  am  sure  I  should. 
Pray  look  in  my  collar,  a  flea  troubles  me  : 
Hey-day  !  there  are  a  legion  of  young  Cupids 
At  barley-break  in  my  breeches. 

Calls.  Hear  me,  sir; 
Though  you  continue,  nay  increase  your  scorn, 
Only  vouchsafe  to  let  me  understand 
What  my  defects  are  ;  of  which  once  convinced, 
I  will  hereafter  silence  my  harsh  plea, 
And  spare  your  further  trouble. 

Ador.  I  will  tell  you, 
And  bluntly,  as  my  usual  manner  is. 
Though  I  were  a  woman-hater,  which  I  am  not. 
But  love  the  sex, — for  my  ends,  take  me  with  you; 
If  in  my  thought  I  found  one  taint  or  blemish 
In  the  whole  fabric  of  your  outward  features, 
I  would  give  myself  tlie  lie.  You  are  a  virgin 
Possessed  of  all  your  mother  could  wish  in  you; 
Your  father  Severino's  dire  disaster 
In  killing  of  your  uncle,  which  I  grieve  for. 
In  no  part  taking  from  you.   I  repeat  it, 
A  noble  virgin,  for  whose  grace  and  favours 
The  Italian  princes  might  contend  as  rivals; 
Yet  unto  me,  a  thing  far,  far  beneath  you, 
(A  noted  libertine  I  profess  myself,) 
In  your  mind  there  does  appear  one  fault  so  gross. 
Nay,  I  might  say  unpardonable  at  your  years, 
If  justly  you  consider  it,  that  I  cannot 
As  you  desire,  affect  you. 

Calls.  Make  me  know  it, 
I'll  soon  reform  it. 

Ador,  Would  you'd  keep  your  word  \ 

Calls.  Put  me  to  the  test. 

Ador.  I  will.  You  are  too  honestj 


THE    GUARDIAN.  133 

And,  like  your  mother,  too  strict  and  religious, 
And  talk  too  soon  of  marriage;  I  shall  break, 
If  at  that  rate  I  purchase  you.     Can  I  part  with 
My  uncurb'd  liberty,  and  on  my  neck 
Wear  such  a  heavy  yoke  ?  hazard  my  fortunes, 
With  all  the  expected  joys  my  life  can  yield  me. 
For  one  commodity,  before  I  prove  it? 
Venus  forbid  on  both  sides  !  let  crook'd  hams, 
Bald  heads,  declining  shoulders,  furrow'd  cheeks, 
Be  awed  by  ceremonies :  if  you  love  me 
In  the  way  young  people  should,  I'll  fly  to  meet  it, 
And  M-e'll  meet  merrily. 

Calls,  'Tis  strange  such  a  man 
Can  use  such  language. 

Ador.  In  my  tongue  my  heart 
Speaks   freely,    fair  one.     Think  on't,   a  close 

friend, 
Or  private  mistress,  is  court  rhetoric; 
A  wife,  mere  rustic  solecism  :  so  good  morrow  ! 
[Adorio  offers  lo  go,  Caldoro  comes  forward 
and  stops  him. 

Camil.  How  like  you  this? 

Dur.  A  well-bred  gentleman  ! 
I  am  thinking  now  if  ever  in  the  dark, 
Or  drunk,  I  met  his  mother:  he  must  have 
Some  drops  of  my  blood  in  him,  for  at  his  years 
I  was  much  of  his  religion. 

Camil.  Out  upon  you  ! 

Don.  The  colt's  tooth  still  in  your  mouth  ! 

Dur.  What  means  this  whispering  ? 
-  Ador.  You  may  perceive  I  seek  not  to  displant 
you. 
Where  you  desire  to  grow  ;  for  further  thanks, 
'Tis  needless  compliment. 

Cald.  There  are  some  natures 
W^hich  blush  to  owe  a  benefit,  if  not 
Received  in  corners;  holding  it  an  impairing- 


134  THE   GUARDIAN. 

To  their  own  worth,  should  they  acknowledge  it. 
I  am  made  of  other  clay,  and  therefore  must 
Trench  so  far  on  your  leisure,  as  to  win  you 
To  lend  a  patient  ear,  while  I  profess 
Before  my  glory,  though  your  scorn,  Calista, 
How  much  I  am  your  servant. 

Ador.  My  designs 
Are  not  so  urgent,  but  they  can  dispense 
With  so  much  time. 

Camil.  Pray  you  now  observe  your  nephew. 

Dur.  How  he  looks  !  like  a  school-boy  that 
had  play'd  the  truant, 
And  went  to  be  breech'd. 

Cald,  Madam  ! 

Calls.  A  new  affliction  : 
Your  suit  offends  as  much  as  his  repulse, 
It  being  not  to  be  granted. 

Mirt.  Hear  him,  madam  ; 
His  sorrow  is  not  personated ;  he  deserves 
Your  pity,  not  contempt. 

Dur.  He  has  made  the  maid  his ; 
And,  as  the  master  of  the  Art  of  LoDe 
Wisely  affirms,'  it  is  a  kind  of  passage 
To  the  mistress'  favour. 

Cald,  I  come  not  to  urge 
My  merit  to  deserve  you,  since  you  are, 
Weigh 'd  truly  to  your  worth,  above  all  value  : 
Much  less  to  argue  you  of  want  of  judgment 
For  following  one  that  with  wing'd  feet  flies 

from  you, 
While  I,  at  all  parts,  without  boast,  his  equal, 

'  And  as  the  master  of  the  Art  of  Love 
Wisely  affirms^  &c.] 

Sed  prius  ancillam  captandce  nosse  puellce 

Cura  sit :  accessus  molliat  ilia  tiios. 
Hanc  tu  poUicitis,  hanc  tu  corrumpe  rogando : 

Quod  petisj  ifacilij  si  volet  ilia,  feres.         Lib.  i.  356. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  135 

In  vain  pursue  you ;  bringing  those  flames  with 

me, 
Thoselawful  flames,  (for,  madam,  know,  withother 
I  never  shall  approach  you,)  which  Adorio, 
In  scorn  of  Hymen  and  religious  rites, 
With  atheistical  impudence  contemns  ; ,»»  iioiir 
And  in  his  loose  attempt  to  undermine 
The  fortress  of  your  honour,  seeks  to  ruin 
All  holy  altars  by  clear  minds  erected 
To  virgin  honour. 

Dur.  My  nephew  is  an  ass  ; 
What  a  devil  hath  he  to  do  with  virgin  honour, 
Altars,  or  lawful  flames,  when  he  should  tell  her 
They  are  superstitious  nothings ;  and  speak  to  the 

purpose, 
Of  the  delight  to  meet  in  the  old  dance, 
Between  a  pair  of  sheets  ;  my  grandam  call'd  it, 
The  Peopling  of  the  World. 

Calls.  How,  gentle  sir ! 
To  vindicate  my  honour  ?  that  is  needless ; 
I  dare  not  fear  the  worst  aspersion  malice 
Can  throw  upon  it. 

Cald,  Your  sweet  patience,  lady, 
And  more  than  dove-like  innocence,  render  you 
Insensible  of  an  injury,  for  which 
I  deeply  suffer.     Can  you  undergo 
The  scorn  of  being  refused  ?  I  must  confess 
It  makes  for  my  ends;  for  had  he  embraced 
Your  gracious  offers  tender'd  him,  I  had  been 
In  my  own  hopes  forsaken  ;  and  if  yet 
There  can  breathe  any  air  of  comfort  in  me, 
To  his  contempt  I  owe  it :  but  his  ill 
No  more  shall  make  way  for  my  good  intents, 
Tlian  virtue,  powerful  in  herself,  can  need 
The  aids  of  vice. 

Ador.  You  take  that  license,  sir. 
Which  yet  I  never  granted. 


1S6  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Cald,  I'll  force  more  ; 
Nor  will  I  for  my  own  ends  undertake  it, 
As  I  will  make  apparent,  but  to  do 
A  justice  to  your  sex,  with  mine  own  wrong 
And  irrecoverable  loss.*    To  thee  I  turn. 
Thou  goatish  ribald,  in  whom  lust  is  grown 
Defensible,'  the  last  descent  to  hell. 
Which  gapes  wide  for  thee  :  look  upon  this  lady, 
And  on  her  fame,  (if  it  were  possible. 
Fairer  than  she  is,)  and  if  base  desires. 
And  beastly  appetite,  will  give  thee  leave, 
Consider  how  she  sought  thee,  how  this  lady. 
In  a  noble  way,  desired  thee.    Was  she  fashion'd 
In  an  inimitable  mould,  (which  Nature  broke, 
The  great  work  perfected,)*  to  be  made  a  slave 
To  thy  libidinous  twines,  and,  when  commanded. 
To  be  used  as  physic  after  drunken  surfeits  ! 
Mankind  should  rise  ag-ainst  thee :  what  even  now 
I  heard  with  horror,  shewed  like  blasphemy, 
And  as  such  I  will  punish  it. 

[Strikes  A  dorio,  the  rest  rush  forward ;  they 
all  draw. 

Calls.  Murder ! 

Mirt,  Help  ! 

♦  And  irrecoverable  loss.']  So  the  old  copy.  Mr.  M.  Mason 
dliscards  it  from  the  text,  for  an  improTcment  of  his  o\ni ;  he 
reads,  irrexocable. 

*  '  in  •whom  lust  is  grown 

Defensible,]  i.  e.  as  Mr.  M.  Mason  observes,  an  object  of 

justification,  rather  than  of  shame. 

* which  Nature  hrohe^ 

The  great  work  perfected^']  We  have  had  this  thought  in 
several  of  the  preceding  plays :  indeed,  I  know  no  idea  so  com- 
mon ;  scarce  a  sonetteer  or  playwright  from  Surrey  to  Shadwell 
being  without  it.  It  must  have  had  considerable  charms  in  the 
•yes  of  our  forefathers,  since  neither  its  triteness  nor  its  folly 
could  prevent  the  eternal  repetition.  Twines^  which  occurs  in 
the  next  line,  is  constantly  used  by  the  writers  of  Massinger's 
time  for  embraets*  in  a  loose  sense. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  137 

Dur.  After  a  whining  prologue/  who  would 

have  look'd  for 
Such  a  rough  catastrophe  ?  Nay,  come  on,  fear 

nothing : 
Never  till  now  my  nephew  !  and  do  you  hear, 

sir? 
(And  yet  I  love  thee  too)  if  you  take  the  wench 

now, 
I'll  have  it  posted  first,  then  chronicled. 
Thou  wert  beaten  to  it. 

Ado7\  You  think  you  have  shewn 
A  memorable  masterpiece  of  valour 
In  doing  this  in  public,  and  it  may 
Perhaps  deserve  her  shoe-string  for  a  favour : 
Wear  it  without  my  envy  ;  but  expect, 
For  this  affront,  when  times  serves,  I  shall  call  you 
To  a  strict  accompt.  \_Exit» 

Dur.  Hook  on,  follow  him,  harpies  ! 
You  may  feed  upon  this  business  for  a  month,?,  i 
If  you  manage  it  handsomely: 

[Exeunt  Camillo,  Lentulo,  and  Donato. 
When  two  heirs  quarrel,' 
The  sword  men  of  the  city  shortly  after 
Appear  in  plush,  for  their  grave  consultations^  ? 
In  taking  up  the  difference;  some,  I  know, 
Make  a  set  living  on't.     Nay,  let  him  go, 
Thou  art  master  of  the  field ;  enjoy  thy  fortune 
With  moderation  :  for  a  flying  foe, 
Discreet  and  provident  conquerors  build  up 
A  bridge  of  gold.     To  thy  mistress,  boy  !  if  I 

were 
In  thy  shirt,  how  I  could  nick  it ! 

Cald.  You  stand,  madam. 
As  you  were  rooted,  and  I  more  than  fear 
My  passion  hath  offended  :  I  perceive 
The  roses  frighted  from  your  cheeks,  and  paleness 

7  Whtn  two  heirs  quarrel,  &c.]  See  Vol.  III.  p.  9. 
VOL.  IV.  *  L 


138  THE  GUARDIAN. 

To  usurp  their  room ;  yet  you  may  please  to 

ascribe  it 
To  my  excess  of  love,  and  boundless  ardour 
To  do  you  right;  for  myself  I  have  done  nothing. 
I  will  not  curse  my  stars,  ho vv e'er  assured 
To  me  you  are  lost  for  ever  :  for  suppose 
Adorio  slain,  and  b}'  my  hand,  my  life 
Is  forfeited  to  the  law,  which  I  contemn. 
So  with  a  tear  or  two  you  would  remember 
I  was  your  martyr,  and  died  in  your  service. 

Cal.  Alas,  you  weep!  and  in  my  just  compassion 
Of  what  you  suffer,  I  were  more  than  marble, 
Should  I  not  keep  you  company :  you  have  sought 
My  favours  nobly,  and  I  am  justly  punish'd. 
In  wild  Adorio's  contempt  and  scorn, 
For  my  ingratitude,  it  is  no  better, 
To  your  deservings  :  yet  such  is  my  fate,    . 
Though  I  would,  I  cannot  help  it.     O  Caldoro! 
In  our  misplaced  affection  I  prove 
Too   soon,    and   with   dear-bought    experience, 

Cupid 
Is  blind  indeed,  and  hath  mistook  his  arrows.' 
If  it  be  possible,  learn  to  forget, 
(And  yet  that  punishment  is  too  light,)  to  hate, 
A  thankless  virgin:  practise  it;  and  may 
Your  due  consideration  that  I  am  so, 
In  your  imagination,  disperse 
Loathsome  deformity  upon  this  face 
That  hath  bewitch'd  you  !  more  I  cannot  say, 
But  that  I  truly  pity  you,  and  wish  you 
A  better  choice,  which,  in  my  prayers,  Caldoro, 
I  ever  will  remember. 

[^Exeunt  Calista,  and  Mir t ilia. 

Dur.   'Tis  a  sweet  rogue. 
Why,  how  now  !  thunderstruck  ? 


■Cupid 


Is  blind  indeedf  and  hath  mistook  his  arrows.]  See  Yol.  I.  p.  19. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  15^' 

Cald.  I  am  not  so  happy  : 
Oh  that  I  were  but  master  of  myself  I 
You  soon  should  see  me  nothing. 

Dur.  What  would  you  do  ? 

Cald.  With  one  stab  give  a  fatal  period 
To  my  woes  and  life  together. 

Dur.  For  a  woman  ! 
Better  the  kind  were  lost,  and  generation  '  <■ 

Maintain'd  a  new  way. 

Cald.  Pray  you,  sir,  forbear  n  Hsd^ 

This  profane  language. 

Dur.  Pray  you,  be  you  a  man, 
And  whimper  not  like  a  girl :  all  shall  be  well, 
As  I  live  it  shall ;  this  is  no  hectic  fever, 
But  a  lovesick  ague,  easy  to  be  cured. 
And  I'll  be  your  physician,  so  you  subscribe 
To  my  directions.  First,  you  must  change 
This  city  whorish  air,  for  'tis  infected, 
And  my   potions  will  not  work   here ;    I  must 

have  you 
To  my  country  villa:  rise  before  the  sun, 
Then  make  a  breakfast  of  the  morning  dew, 
Served  up  by  nature  on  some  grassy  hill; 
You'll  find  it  nectar,  and  far  more  cordial 
Than  cullises,  cock-broth,  or  your  distillations 
Of  a  hundred  crowns  a  quart. 

Cald.  You  talk  of  nothing. 

Dur.  This  ta'en  as  a  preparative,  to  strengthen 
Your  queasy  stomach,  vault  into  your  saddle  ; 
With  all  this  flesh  I  can  do  it  without  a  stirrup  : — 
My  hounds  uncoupled,  and  my  huntsmen  ready, 
You  shall  hear  such   music  from  their  tunable 

mouths, 
That  you  shall  say  the  viol,  harp,  theorbo, 
Ne'er  made  such  ravishing  harmony ;  from  the 

groves 
And  neighbouring  woods,  with  frequent  iterations, 


140  THE    GUARDIAN. 

Enamoiir'cl  of  the  cry,  a  thousand  echoes 
Repeating  it,, 

Cald.  What's  this  to  me  ? 
Dur.  It  shall  be, 
And  you  give  thanks  for't.  In  the  afternoon, 
For  M'e  will  have  variety  of  delights. 
We'll  to  the  field  again,  no  game  shall  rise 
But   we'll   be  ready   for't :    if  a  hare,  my  grey- 
hounds 
Shall  make  a  course  ;    for  the  pie  or  jay,  a  spar- 
hawk 
Flies  from  the  fist ;   the  crow  so  near  pursued, 
Shall  be  compell'd  to  seek  protection  under 
Our  horses  bellies ;  a  hearn  put  from  her  siege,' 
And  a  pistol  shot  off  in  her  breech,  shall  mount 
So  high,  that,  to  your  view,  she'll  seem  to  soar 
Above  the  middle  region  of  the  air  : 
A  cast  of  haggard  falcons,  by  me  mann'd. 
Eyeing  the  prey  at  first,  appear  as  if 
They  did  turn  tail ;  but  with  their  labouring  wings 
Getting  above  her,  with  a  thought  their  pinions 
Cleaving  the  purer  element,  make  in. 
And  by  turns  bind  with  her;*  the  frighted  fowl, 

'  A  hearn  put  from  her  siege,]  '*  Hern  at  Siege,  is  when  you 
find  a  hern  standing  by  the  water  side,  watching  for  prey,  or 
the  like/'  Gent.  Recr.  p.  165. 

*  J)id  by  turns  hind  with  her  ;'\  This  exquisite  description  of 
rural  amusements  is  from  the  hand  of  a  great  master.  1  lament 
that  it  is  so  technical ;  but,  in  Massinger's  time,  this  language 
was  perfectly  familiar  to  the  audience,  who  heard  it,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  in  every  play  that  came  before  them.  To  bi7id 
withy  as  I  learn  from  the  Gentleman's  Recreation,  quoted  above, 
"  is  the  same  as  to  tire  or  seize.  A  hawk  is  said  to  bind  when 
■he  seizcth  her  prey.'' 

There  is  a  striking  similarity  between  this  description,  and  a 
passage  in  Spenser,  who,  like  Massinger,  was  probably  a 
sportsman  : 

*'  As  when  a  cast  of  faulcons  make  their  flight 
"  At  an  hernshaw,  that  lies  aloft  on  wing, 


THE   GUARDIAN.  141 

Lying  at  her  defence  upon  her  back, 
With  her  dreadful  beak  a  while  defers  her  death, 
But  by  degrees  forced  down,  we  part  the  fray, 
And  feast  upon  her. 

Cald.  This  cannot  be,  I  grant, 
But  pretty  pastime. 

Dur.  Pretty  pastime,  nephew  ! 
'Tis  royal  sport.  Then,  for  an  evening  flight, 
A  tiercel  gentle,  which  I  call,  my  masters, 
As  he  were  sent  a  messenger  to  the  moon, 
In  such  a  place  flies,"  as  he  seems  to  say, 

"  The  whiles  they  strike  at  him  with  heedless  might, 
"  The  warie  foule  his  bill  doth  backward  wring  ; 
"  On  which  the  first,  whose  force  her  first  doth  bring, 
"  Herselfe  quite  through  the  bodie  doth  engore, 

"  And  falleth  downc  to  ground  like  senseless  thing :" — 

F.  Q.  B.  Ti.  c.  7.  s.  9. 
*  In  such  a  place^ici,]  So  the  old  copy,  and  so,  indeed, 
Coxeter.  Mr.  M.  Mason,  who,  without  ceremony,  alters  every 
thing  that  he  does  not  comprehend,  (which,  by  the  bye,  is  no 
small  matter,)  corrupts  it  into  pace:  a  most  injudicious  attempt 
at  improvement,  for  who  ever  heard  of  the  pace  of  a  bird, 
except,  perhaps,  of  an  ostrich  !  But  place  is  the  genuine  word  ; 
and  means,  in  falconry,  the  greatest  elevation  which  a  bird  of 
prey  attains  in  its  flight.  "  Eagles,"  says  Col.  Thornton,  (who, 
probably,  had  no  intention  of  becoming  a  comnwntator  on 
Massinger,)  "  can  have  no  speed  except  when  at  their  ;)/rtCe; 
then  to  be  sure  their  weight  increases  their  velocity,  and  they 
aim  with  an  incredible  swiftness,  seldom  missing  their  quarry." 
Sporting  Tour. 

And  lord  Cecil,  in  a  letter  to  the  earl  of  Shrewsbury.— 
"  And  so  I  end,  with  a  release  to  you  for  a  field  hawke,  if  you 
can  help  me  to  a  river  hawke"  (this  is  the  hawk  of  which 
Durazzo  speaks)  ''  that  will  fly  in  a  high  place,  stick  not  to  give 
gold  so  she  fly  high,  but  not  else." 

Lodge's  Illustrations.  Vol.  III.  187. 
This  too  is  the  meaning  of  the  expression  in  Macbeth,  which 
has  escaped  the  commentators.  ''  A  faulcon,  tow'ring  in  his 
pride  of  ;)/ace."  "Finely  expressed,"  says  Warburton,  "for 
tonfidence  in  its  quality."  "  In  a  place  ol  which  she"  (i.  e.  he) 
"  seemed  pi  oud" — adds  Mr.  Malone.  It  is,  as  the  reader  now  sees, 
a  technical  phrase  for  the  "  highest  pitch." 


148  THE   GUARDIAN. 

See  nie,  or  see  me  not  I  the  partridsje  sprung, 
He  makes  liis  stoop ;  but  wanting  breath,  isforced 
To  cancelier;^  then,  with  such  speed  as  if 
He  carried  lightning  in  his  wings,  he  strikes 
The  trembling  bird,  who  even  in  death  appears 
Proud  to  be  made  his  quarry. 

Cald.  Yet  all  this 
Is  nothing  to  Calista. 

Dur.  Thou  shalt  find 
Twenty  Calistas  there  ;  for  every  night, 
A  fresh  and  lusty  one  ;   I'll  give  thee  a  ticket, 
In  which  my  name,  Durazzo's  name,  subscribed, 
My    tenants'  nut-brown  daughters,   wholesome 

girls, 
At  midnight  shall  contend  to  do  thee  service. 
I  have  bred  them  up  to't;    should  their  fathers 

murmur, 
Their  leases  are  void,  for  that  is  a  main  point 
In  my  indentures ;    and  when  we  make  our  pro- 

.     gress, 
There  is  no  entertainment  perfect,  if 
This  last  dish  be  not  offer'd.* 

Cald.  You  make  me  smile. 

Dur,    I'll   make    thee    laugh    outright. — My 
horses,  knaves  ! 
'Tis  but  six  short  hours  riding  :  yet  ere  night 
Thou  shalt  be  an  alter'd  man. 

Cald.  I  wish  I  may,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

^  To  canceller,]  "  Cancelier  is  when  a  high-floArn  bawk,  in 
her  stooping,  turneth  two  or  three  times  upon  the  wing,  to  re- 
cover herself  before  she  seizeth  her  prey."     Gent,  Recreation. 

*  Durazzo's  object  evidently  is  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  his  ne- 
phew. It  is  to  bf  wihhed,  however,  that  his  lively  rhodomontade 
(for  it  is  nothjrg  more)  had  been  confined  within  the  bounds  of 
decorum.  A  little  attention  of  the  poet  to  this  point,  would 
have  rendered  this  interestmg  character  as  unexceptionable  aa 
he  is  amusing. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  143 

SCENE   II. 

A  Room  in  Severino's  House. 

Enter   Iolante,    Cahsta,    Calipso,  and 

MlllTILLA. 

lol.  I  had  spies  upon  you,  minion  ;  the  relation 
Of  your  behaviour  was  at  home  before  you  : 
My  daughter  to  hold  parley,  from  the  church  too, 
With  noted  libertines  !  her  fame  and  favours 
The  quarrel  of  their  swords  ! 

Calls.  'Twas  not  in  me 
To  help  it,  madam. 

lol.  No  !  how  have  I  lived  r 
My  neighbour  knows  my  manners  have  been 

such, 
That  1  presume  I  may  affirm,  and  boldly, 
In  no  particular  action  of  my  life 
I  can  be  justly  censured. 

Calip,  Censured,  madam  ! 
What  lord  or  lady  lives,  worthy  to  sit 
A  competent  judge  on  you? 

Calls.  Yet  black  detraction 
Will  find  faults  where  they  are  not, 

Calip.  Her  foul  mouth 
Is  stopp'd,  you  being  the  object :  give  me  leave 
To  speak  my  thoughts,  yet  still  under  correction; 
And  if  my  young  lady  and  her  woman  hear 
With  reverence,  they  may  be  edified. 
You  are  my  gracious  patroness  and  supportress, 
And  I  your  poor  observer,  nay,  your  creature, 
Fed  by  your  bounties ;  and  but  that  I  know 
Your  honour  detests  ttattery,  I  might  say, 
And  with  an  emphasis,  you  are  the  lady 


144  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Admired  and  envied  at,  far,  far  above 
All  imitation  of  the  best  of  women 
That  are  or  ever  shall  be.     This  is  truth: 
I  dare  not  be  obsequious;  and  'twould  ill 
Become  my  gravity,  and  wisdom  glean'd 
From  your  oraculous  lad3'ship,  to  act 
The  part  of  a  she-parasite. 

T6L  If  you  do, 
I  never  shall  acknowledge  you. 

Calls.  Admirable  ! 
This  is  no  flattery  !  [Aside  to  Mirt, 

Mirt.  Do  not  interrupt  her : 
'Tis  such  a  pleasing  itch  to  your  lady-mother, 
That  she  may  perad venture  forget  us, 
To  feed  on  her  own  praises. 

Tol.  I  am  not 
So  far  in  debt  to  age,  but  if  I  would 
Listen  to  men's  bewitching  sorceries, 
I  could  be  courted, 

Calip.  Rest  secure  of  that. 
All  the  braveries  of  the  city  run  mad  for  you, 
And  yet  your  virtue's  such,  not  one  attempts 
you. 

lol.  1  keep  no  mankind  servant  in  my  house, 
In  fear  my  chastity  may  be  suspected : 
How  is  that  voiced  in  Naples  ? 

Calip.  With  loud  applause, 
I  assure  your  honour. 

lol.  It  confirms  I  can 
Command  my  sensual  appetites. 

Calip.  As  vassals  to 
Your  more  than  masculine  reason,  that  commands 

them  : 
Your  palace  styled  a  nunnery  of  pureness, 
In  which  not  one  lascivious  thought  dares  enter. 
Your  clear  soul  standing  centinel. 

Mirt.  Well  said,  Echo  !  {Aside. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  145 

Tdl.  Yet  I  have  tasted  those  delights  which 
women 
So  greedily  long  for,  know  their  titillations  ; 
And  when,  with  danger  of  his  head,  thy  father 
Comes  to  give  comfort  to  my  widow'd  sheets, 
As  soon  as  his  desires  are  satisfied, 
I  can  with  ease  forget  them. 

Caiip.  Observe  that. 
It  being  indeed  remarkable :  'tis  nothing 
'For  a  simple  maid,  that  never  had  her  hand 
In  the  honey-pot  of  pleasure,  to  forbear  it; 
But  such  as  have  lick'd  there,  and  lick'd  there 

often, 
And  felt  the  sweetness  oft 

Mirt.  How  her  mouth  runs  o'er 
With  rank  imagination!  [Aside, 

Calip.  If  such  can, 
As  urged  before,  the  kickshaw  being  offer'd, 
Refuse  to  take  it,  like  my  matchless  madam, 
They  may  be  sainted. 

lol.  I'll  lose  no  more  breath 
In  fruitless  reprehension  ;  look  to  it : 
I'll  have  thee  wear  this  habit  of  my  mind, 
As  of  my  body. 

Calip.  Seek  no  other  precedent; 
In  all  the  books  of  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
The  Palmerins,  and  that  true  Spanish  stor}^ 
The  Mirror  of  Knighthood^  which  I  have  read 

often, 
Read  feelingly,  nay  more,  I  do  believe  in't, 
My  lady  has  no  parallel.^ 

lOl.  Do  not  provoke  me  : 

*  Calipso  might  pass  for  a  pattern  of  perseverance  even  in 
these  novel-reading  days.  Most  of  those  old  romances  would 
outweigh  scores  of  the  flimsey  productions  of  modern  times  : 
and  that  true  Spanish  story,  the  Mirror  of  Knighthood,  which  she 
had  read  often,  consists  of  three  ponderous  tomes  in  quarto ! 


146  THE   GUARDIAN. 

If,  from  this  minute,  thou  e'er  stir  abroad, 
Write  letter,  or  receive  one  ;  or  presume 
To  look  upon  a  man,  though  from  a  window, 
I'll  chain  thee  like  a  slave  in  some  dark  corner; 
Prescribe  thy  daily  labour,  which  omitted, 
Expect  the  usage  of  a  Fury  from  me, 
Not  an  indulgent  mother.— ^Come,  Calipso. 

CaUp.  Your  ladyship's  injunctions  are  so  easy, 
That  1  dare  pawn  my  credit  my  young  lady 
And  her  woman  shall  obey  them. 

[  Exeunt  lolante  and  Calipso, 

Mirt.  You  shall  fry  first 
For  a  rotten  piece  of  touchwood,  and  give  fire 
To  the  great  fiend's  nostrils,  when  he  smokes 

tobacco  ! 
Note  the  injustice,  madam  ;  they  would  have  us, 
Being  young  and  hungry,  keep  perpetual  Lent, 
And  the  whole  year  to  them  a  carnival. 
Easy  injunctions,  with  a  mischief  to  you  ! 
Suffer  this  and  suffer  ail. 

Calis.  Not  stir  abroad ! 
The  use  and  pleasure  of  our  eyes  denied  us  I 

Mi7^t.  Insufferable. 

Calis.  Nor  write,  nor  yet  receive 
An  amorous  letter  ! 

Mirt.  Not  to  be  endured. 

Calis.  Nor  look  upon  a  man  out  of  a  window  ! 

il/ir^.  Flat  tyranny,  insupportable  tyranny, 
To  a  lady  of  your  blood. 

Calis.  She  is  my  mother,'  . 
And  how  should  I  decline  it  ? 

5  She  is  my  mother,  &c.]  The  language  of  this  play  is  beau- 
tiful, even  for  Massinger  :  it  is  modulated  with  the  nicest  atten- 
tion to  rhythm,  and  laboured  into  an  exactness  of  which  I  knoMr 
not  where  to  find  another  exaniple  :  yet  it  is  in  this  very  play 
that  the  modern  editors  have  chosen  1o  evince  their  sovereign 
contempt  of  their  author's  characteristic  excellencies,  and  to  turi^ 


THE   GUARDIAN.  147 

Mirt.  Run  away  from't ; 
Take  any  course. 

Calis.  But  without  means,  Mirtilla, 
How  shall  we  live  ? 

Mirt.  What  a  question's  that !  as  if 
A  buxom  lady  could  want  maintenance 
In  any  place  in  the  world,  where  there  are  men, 
Wine,  meat,  or  money  stirring. 

Calis.  Be  you  more  modest, 
Or  seek  some  other  mistress  :  rather  than 
In  a  thought  or  dream  I  will  consent  to  aught 
That  may  take  from  my  honour,  I'll  endure 
More  than  my  mother  can  impose  upon  me. 

Mirt.  I  grant  your  honour  is  a  specious  dress- 

But  without  conversation  of  men, 
A  kind  of  nothing.     I  will  not  persuade  you 
To  disobedience :  yet  my  confessor  told  me 
(And  he,  you  know,  is  held  a  learned  clerk) 
When  parents  do  enjoin  unnatural  things, 
Wise  children  may  evade  them.    She  may  as  well 
Command  when  you  are  hungry,  not  to  eat. 
Or  drink,  or  sleep :  and  yet  all  these  are  easy, 
Compared  with  the  not  seeing  of  a  man, 
As  I  persuade  no  further;  but  to  you 
There  is  no  such  necessity ;  you  have  means 
To  shun  your  mother's  rigour. 
Calis,  Lawful  means  ? 

his  sweetest  metre  into  weak  and  hobbling  prose.  The  reader, 
who  compares  this  with  the  former  editions,  will  see  that  I  have 
reformed  what  has  already  past  of  this  act,  in  numberless  in- 
stances. A  short  quotation  will  give  those  who  wish  to  decline 
that  ungrateful  trouble,  a  sufficient  specimen  of  the  disgraceful 
negligence  to  which  I  allude. 

Calip.  She  is  my  mother^  and  how  should  I  decline  it  ? 

Mirt.  Ran  away  from't ,  lake  any  course. 

Calis.  But  without  means ,  Mirtilla^  how  shall  we  Ivce  f 


148  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Mirt.  Lawful,  and  pleasing  too;  I  will  not  urge 
Caldoro's  loyal  love,  you  being  averse  to't ; 
Make  trial  of  Adorio. 

Calls,  And  give  up 
My  honour  to  his  lust ! 

Mirt.  There's  no  such  thing 
Intended,  madam  ;  in  few  words,  write  to  him 
What  slavish  hours  you  spend  under  your  mother; 
That  you  desire  not  present  marriage  from  him, 
But  as  a  noble  gentleman  to  redeem  you 
From  the  tyranny  you  suffer.     With  your  letter 
Present  him  some  rich  jewel;  you  have  one, 
In  which  the  rape  of  Proserpine,  in  little, 
Is  to  the  life  express'd  :  I'll  be  the  messenger 
With  any  hazard,  and  at  my  return, 
Yield  you  a  good  account  oft. 

Calls.  'Tis  a  business 
To  be  consider'd  of. 

Mirt.  Consideration, 
When  the  converse  of  your  lover  is  in  question, 
Is  of  no  moment :  if  she  would  allow  you 
A  dancer  in  the  morning  to  well  breathe  you, 
A  songster  in  the  afternoon,  a  servant 
To  air  you  in  the  evening;*  give  you  leave 
To  see  the  theatre  twice  a  week,  to  mark 
How  the  old  actors  decay,  the  young  sprout  up, 
(A  fitting  observation,)  you  might  bear  it; 
But  not  to  see,  or  talk,  or  touch  a  man. 
Abominable ! 

Calls.  Do  not  my  blushes  speak 
How  willingly  I  would  assent  ? 

*  a  servant 

To  air  yuu  in  the  evening ;  &c.]  It  has  been  already  ob- 
seired  thaf  servant  was  the  authorised  term  for  a  lover.  From 
a  subsequent  passage  it  appears  that  ihis  forward  young  lady 
was  barely  sixteen.  Juliet,  however,  still  more  forward,  ii 
still  younger. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  149 

Mirt.  Sweet  lady, 
Do  something  to  deserve  them,  and  blush  after. 

[E.veunt. 


ACT   II.     SCENE   I. 

The  same.     A  Street  near  Severino*s  House. 

Enter  Iolante  and  Calipso. 

Tdl.  And  are   these  Frenchmen,  as  you   say, 

such  gallants? 
Calip.  Gallant  and  active;  their  free  breeding 
knows  not 
The  Spanish  and  Italian  preciseness 
Practised  among  us;  what  we  call  immodest, 
With  them  is  styled  bold  courtship  :   they  dare 

fight 
Under  a  velvet  ensign,  at  fourteen. 
lol.  A  petticoat,  you  mean  ? 
Calip.  You  are  in  the  right ; 
Let  a  mistress  wear  it  under  an  armour  of  proof, 
They  are  not  to  beaten  off. 

lot.  You  are  merry,  neighbour. 
Calip.  I  fool  to  make  you  so:  pray  you  observe 
them. 
They  are  the  forward'st  monsieurs;  born  phy- 
sicians 
For  the  malady  of  young  wenches,  and  ne'er  miss: 
I  owe  my  life  to  one  of  them.     When  I  was 
A  raw  young  thing,  not  worth  the  ground  I  trod 

on, 
And  long'd  to  dip  my  bread  in  tar,  my  lips 


150  THE   GUARDIAN. 

As  blue  as  salt-water,  he  came  up  roundly  to  me, 
And  cured  me  in  an  instant;  Venus  be  praised  for't! 

Enter  Alphonso,  Montpensier,  Laval, 
Captain,  and  Attendants, 

Tol.  They  come,  leave  prating. 

Calip.  I  am  dumb,  an't  like  your  honour. 

Aiph.  We  will  not  break  the  league  confirm'd 
between  us 
And  your  great  master:  the  passage  of  his  army 
Through  all  our  territories  lies  open  to  him  ; 
Only  we  grieve  that  your  design  for  Rome 
Commands  such  haste,  as  it  denies  us  means 
To  entertain  you  as  your  worth  deserves, 
And  we  would  gladly  tender. 

Mont.  Royal  Alphonso, 
The  king  my  master,  your  confederate, 
Will  pay  the  debt  he  owes,  in  fact,  which  I 
Want  words  t'express.    I  must  remove  to  night; 
And  yet,  that  your  intended  favours  may  not 
Be  lost,  I  leave  this  gentleman  behind  me, 
To  whom  you  may  vouchsafe  them,  I  dare  say, 
Without  repentance.     I  forbear  to  give 
Your  majesty  his  character;  in  France 
He  was  a  precedent  for  arts  and  arms. 
Without  a  rival,  and  may  prove  in  Naples 
Worthy  the  imitation. 

[Introduces  Laval  to  the  king. 

Calip.  Is  he  not,  madam, 
A  monsieur  in  print?  what  a  garb  was  there  !  O 

rare  ! 
Then,  how  he  wears  his  clothes !  and  the  fashion 

of  them  ! 
A  main  assurance  that  he  is  within 
All  excellent:  by  this,  wise  ladies  ever 
Make  their  conjectures. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  151 

lol.  Peace,  I  have  observed  him 
From  head  to  foot. 

Caiip.  Eye  him  again,  all  over. 
Lav.  It  cannot,  royal  sir,  but  argue  me         ;  * 
Of  much  presumption,  if  not  impudence, 
To  be  a  suitor  to  your  majesty, 
Before  I  have  deserved  a  gracious,  grant, 
By  some  employment  prosperously  achiev^ed. '  .^ 
But  pardon,  gracious  sir:  when  I  left  France   ' 
I  made  a  vow  to  a  bosom  friend  of  mine, 
(Which    my    lord   general,    if   he    please,    can 

witness,) 
With  such  humility  as  well  becomes 
A  poor  petitioner,  to  desire  a  boon         "^   ;   '*!.i{^ 
From  your  magnificence.    \_He  delivers 'd'pBttt'i'W. 

Calip.  With  what  punctual  form 
He  does  deliver  it ! 

Tdl.  I  have  eyes  :  no  more. 
Alph.  ForSeverino's  pardon  I — you  must  excuse 
me, 
I  dare  not  pardon  murder. 

Lav,  His  fact,  sir,  ! 

Ever  submitting  to  your  abler  judgment,   '^'l  ^\ 
Merits  a  fairer  name:  he  was  provoked,     '"    "^" 
As  by  unanswerable  proofs  it  is  confirm'd, 
By  Monteclaro's  rashness  ;  who  repining 
That  Severino,  without  his  consent, 
Had  married  lolante,  his  sole  sister, 
(It  being  conceal'd  almost  for  thirteen  years,) 
Though  the  gentleman,  at  all  parts,  was  his  equal, 
First  challeng'd  him,  and,  that  declined,  he  gave 

him 
A  blow  in  public. 

Mont,  Not  to  be  endured. 
But  by  a  slave. 

Lav.  This,  great  sir,  justly  weigh'd, 
You  may  a  little,  if  you  please,  take  from 


152  THE   GUARDIAN. 

The  rigour  of  your  justice,  and  express 
An  act  of  mercy. 

lol.  I  can  hear  no  more. 
This  opens  an  old  wound,  and  makes  a  new  one. 
Would  it  were  cicatrized  !  wait  me. 

Calip.  As  your  sh§^ow. 

[E.rewit  lolante  and  Calipso. 

Alph,  We  grant  you  these  are  glorious  pretences, 
Revenge  appearing  in  the  shape  of  valour, 
Which  wise  kings  must  distinguish  :  the  defence 
Of  reputation,  now  made  a  bawd 
To  murder;  every  trifle  falsely  styled 
An  injury,  and  not  to  be  determined 
But  by  a  bloody  duel :  though  this  vice 
Hath  taken  root  and  growth  beyond  the  moun- 
tains, 
(As  France,  and,  in  strange  fashions,  her  ape, 
England,  can  dearly  witness  with  the  loss 
Of  more  brave  spirits,  than  vrould  have  stood  the 

shock 
Of  the  Turk's  army,)  while  Alphonso  lives 
It  shall  not  here  be  planted.  Move  me  no  further 
In  this ;  in  what  else  suiting  you  to  ask. 
And  me  to  give,  expect  a  gracious  answer; 
However,  welcome  to  our  court.    Lord  General, 
I'll  bring  you  out  of  the  ports,  and  then  betake 

you 
To  your  good  fortune. 

Mont.  Your  grace  overwhelms  me.     [Exeunt, 


THE   GUARDIAN.  153 

SCENE    II. 

A  Room  in  Severino's  House* 

Enter  Calipso  a?id  Y6 la^te. 

Calip.  You  are  bound  to  favour  him :   mark 
you  how  he  pleaded 
For  my  lord's  pardon. 

IvL  That's  indeed  a  tie  ; 
But  I  have  a  stronger  on  me. 

Calip.  Say  you  love 
His  person,  be  not  asham'd  oft;  he's  a  man, 
For  whose  embraces,  though  Endymion 
Lay  sleeping  by,  Cynthia  would  leave  her  orb, 
And  exchange  kisses  with  him. 

loL  Do  not  fan 
A  fire  that  burns  already  too  hot  in  me; 
I  am  in  my  honour  sick,  sick  to  the  death, 
Never  to  be  recovered. 

Calip.  What  a  coil's  here 
For  loving  a  man  !   It  is  no  Africk  wonder : 
U\  like  Pasiphae,  you  doted  on  a  bull, 
Indeed  'twere  monstrous ;  but  in  this  you  have 
A  thousand  thousand  precedents  to  excuse  you. 
A  seaman's  wife  may  ask  relief  of  her  neighbour, 
When  her  husband's  bound  to  the  Indies,  and  not 

blamed  for't; 
And  many  more  besides  of  higher  calling, 
Tbough  I  forbear  to  name  them.    You  have  a 

husband ; 
But,  as  the  case  stands  with  my  lord,  he  is 
A  kind  of  no  husband;  and  your  ladyship 
As  free  as  a  widow  can  be.     I  confess, 
If  ladies  should  seek   change,   that  have   their 
husbands 

VOL.  IV.  *  M 


154  THE   GUARDIAN. 

At  board  and  bed,  to  pay  their  marriage  duties, 
(The  surest  bond  of  concord,)  'twere  a  fault, 
Indeed  it  were  :  but  for  your  honour,  that 
Do  lie  alone  so  often — body  of  me  ! 
I  am  zealous  in  your  cause — let  me  take  breath. 
Tdl.  I  apprehend  what  thou  wouldst  say,  I  want 

all 
As  means  to  quench  the  spurious  fire  that  burns 

here. 
Calip.  Want  means,   while  I,  your  creature, 

live  !   I  dare  not 
Be  so  unthankful. 

I'dl.  Wilt  thou  undertake  it? 
And,  as  an  earnest  of  much  more  to  come, 
Receive  this  jewel,  and  purse  cramm'd  full  of 

crowns. 

How  dearly  I  am  forced  to  buy  dishonour !  [Jside'. 
Calip.   I   would  do  it  gratis,   but  'twould   ill 

become 
My  breeding  to  refuse  your  honour's  bounty ; 
Nay,  say  no  more,  all  rhetoric  in  this 
Is  comprehended;  let  me  alone  to  work  him. 
He  shall  be  yours;'  that's  poor,  he  is  already 
At  your  devotion.     I  will  not  boast 
My  faculties  this  way,  but  suppose  he  were 
Coy  as  Adonis,  or  Hippolytus, 
And  your  desires  more  hot  than  Cytherea's, 

7  He  shall  be  yours  ;  that's  poor,  he  is  already 
At  your  devotion.']  This  is  parodied  with  some  humour  from 
a  spirited  passage  in  Hercules  Furens : 

■  Si  novi  Herculem, 

•    Lycus  Creonti  debitas  pcenas  dabit : 

Lentum  est,  dabit ;  dat :  hoc  quoque  lentutn  est ;  dedit. 

Ver.  644* 
which  Jonson  has  thus  closely  imitated  in  his  Catiline: 
*'  ■    ■   ■  ■  He  shall  die ; 

*'  Shall,  was  too  slowly  said  :  ht's  dying  ;  that 
*'  Is  yet  too  slew  :  he's  dead.'* 


THE   GUARDIAN.  155 

Or  wanton  Phosdra's,  I  will  bring  him  chain'd 
To  your  embraces,  o-Ioryinff  in  bis  fetters  : 
1  nave  said  it. 

lol.  Go,  and  prosper;  and  imagine 
A  salary  beyond  thy  hopes. 

Calip.  Sleep  you 
Secure  on  either  ear;'  the  burthen*s  yours 
To  entertain  him,  mine  to  bring  him  hither. 

[E.veunt 

^  Calip.  Sleep  you 
Secure  on  either  ear ;]  Calipso  seems  to  have  joined  (he 
classics  to  Amadis  de  Gaul,  Palmerin,  and  the  Mirror  of  Knight- 
hood. Tu  sleep  on  either  ear,  is  from  the  Heautont.  of  Terence, — 
in  aurem  ntramvis  dormire, — and  means,  to  sleep  soundly,  free 
from  care,  &c.  It  is  used  by  Jonson,  in  his  beautiful  Masque  of 
Oberon  : 

" Sirs,  you  keep 

"  Proper  watch,  that  thus  do  lie 
"  DrownM  in  sloth  ! 

"  Sat,  1.  They  have  no  eye 
"  To  Make  withal. 

"  Sat.  %  Nor  sense,  I  fear, 
'*  For  they  sleep  on  either  ear.^* 

In  Accrbi's  Travels  to  the  North  of  Europe,  there  is  an  extract 
from  the  bishop  of  Drontheim's  Account  ef  the  Laplanders — "  in 
ulramvis  dormiunt  aurem,  nee  plumis  indormire  mollibus  magni  cesti- 
mant."  This  Acerbi,  or  rather  the  English  manufacturer  of  his 
work,  who  seems  io  have  improved  upon  his  author's  scurrility, 
translates,  *'  they  sleep  equally  on  both  sides ! "  He  then  re- 
marks with  an  appearance  of  great  sagacity,  "Some  physicians 
recommend  sleeping  on  the  right  side,  or  right  ear,  the  good 
bishop  seems,  however,  to  think  that  to  sleep  casually  on  either 
ear  is  the  most  conducive  to  health."  The  *'  good  bishop" 
knew  what  he  was  saying  very  well,  though  his  flippant  trans- 
lator did  not : — but  thus  it  is  that  we  are  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of 
Europe  by  needy  adventurers,  who  setup  for  critics  in  literature 
with  no  other  qualifications  than  ignorance  and  impudence  ! 


M  2 


156  THE   GUARDIAN. 

SCENE  m. 

A  Room  in  Adorio's  House. 
£///cr  Adorio,  Camillo,  Lentulo,  ««d/DoNATO. 

Don,  Your  wrong's  beyond  a  challenge,  and 
you  deal 
Too  fairly  with  him,  if  you  take  that  way 
To  right  yourself. 

Lent.  The  least  that  you  can  do. 
In  the  terms  of  honour,  is,  when  next  you  meet 

him, 
To  give  him  the  bastinado. 

Cam.  And  that  done, 
Draw  out  his  sword  to  cut  your  own  throat !  No^ 
Be  ruled  by  me,  shew  yourself  an  Italian, 
And  having  received  one  injury,  do  not  put  off 
Your  hat  for  a  second  ;  there  are  fellows  that. 
For  a  few  crowns,  will  make  him  sure,  and  so. 
With  your  revenge,  you  prevent  future  mischief. 

Ado7\  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  your  studied 
care 
In  what  concerns  tny  honour ;  but  in  that 
I'll  steer  my  own  course.  Yet,  that  J^ou  may  know 
You  are  still  my  cabinet  counsellors,  my  bosom. 
Lies  open  to  you  ;  I  begin  to  feel 
A  weariness,  nay,  satiety  of  looseness, 
And  something  tells  me  here,  I  should  repent 
My  harshness  to  Calista#. 

Enter  Cario,  hastily, 

Camil.  When  you  please, 
You  may  remove  that  scruple. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  157 

Ador.  I  shall  think  on't. 

Car.  Sir,  sir,  are  you  ready  ? 

Ador.  To  do  what  ? 
I  am  sure  'tis  not  yet  dinner-time. 

Car.  True  ;  but  I  usher 
Such  an  unexpected  dainty  bit  for  breakfast, 
As  yet  I  never  cook'd  :  'tis  not  botargo, 
Fried  frogs,  potatoes  marrow'd,  cavear, 
Carps'  tongues,  the  pith  of  an  English  chine  of 

beef, 
Nor  our  Italian  delicate,  oil'd  mushrooms, 
And  yet  a  drawer-on'  too;  and  if  you  shew  not 
An  appetite,  and  a  strong  one,  I'll  not  say 
To  eat  it,  but  devour  it,  without  grace  too, 
(For  it  will  not  stay  a  preface,)  I  am  shamed, 
And  all  my  past  provocatives  will  be  jeer'd  at. 

Ador.  Art  thou  in  thy  wits  ?  what  new-found 
rarity 
Hast  thou  discover'd  ? 

Car.  No  such  matter,  sir; 
It  grows  in  our  own  country. 

JDon.  Serve  it  up, 
I  feel  a  kind  of  stomach. 

Camil.  I  could  fttd  too. 

Car.  Not  a  bit  upon  a  march ;  there's  other 
lettuce 
For  your  coarse  lips;  this  is  peculiar  only 
For  my  master's  palate :  I  would  give  my  whole 

year's  wages, 
With  all  my  vails,  and  fees  due  to  the  kitchen. 
But  to  be  his  carver. 

Ador.  Leave  your  fooling,  sirrah, 
And  bring  in  your  dainty. 

Car.  'Twill  bring  in  itself, 
It  has  life  and  spirit  in  it;  and  for  proof, 

»  And  yet  a  drawcr-on  too;"]  i.e.  an  incitement  to  appetite; 
the  phrase  is  yti  in  use. 


158  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Behold!  Now  fall  to  boldly;  my  life  on'r, 
It  comes  to  be  tasted. 

Enter  Mirtilla, 

Camil.   Ha  !  Calista's  woman  ? 
'  L€?it.  A  handsome  one,  by  Venus. 

Jldo7\  Pray  you  forbear  : — 
You  are  welcome,  fair  one. 

I)o?2.  How  that  blush  becomes  her  ! 

Ado7\  Aim  your  designs  at  me  ? 

MirL  I  am  trusted,  sir, 
With  a  business  of  near  consequence,  which  I 

would 
To  your  private  ear  deliver. 

Car.  I  told  you  so. 
Give  her  audience  on  your  couch  ;  it  is  fit  state 
To  a  she-ambassador. 

Jdor.  Pray  you,  gentlemen, 
For  awhile  dispose  of  yourselves,  I'll  straight 
attend  you.  [l^j:euiit  Camil.  Lent,  and  Don, 

Car.  Dispatch  her  first  for  your  honour:  the 

quickly  doing 

You  know  what  follows. 

Adqr.  Will  you  please  to  vanish?  \_Exit  Caria. 
Now,  pretty  one,  your  pleasure?  you  shall  find  me 
Keady  to  serve  you  ;  if  you'll  put  me  to 
My  oath,  I'll  take  it  on  this  book. 

[Offers  to  kiss  her. 

Mirt.  O  sir, 
The  favour  is  too  great,  and.  far  above 
My  poor  ambition;  I  must  kiss  your  hand 
In  sign  of  humble  thankfulness. 

Ador.  So  modest ! 

Mirt.  It  well  becomes  a  maid,  sir.   Spare  those 
blessings 
]Por  my  noble  mistress,  upon  whom  with  justice, 


THE  GUARDIAN.  ug 

And,  with  your  good  allowance,  T  might  add 
With  a  due  gratitude,  you  may  confer  them ; 
But  this  will  better  speak  her  chaste  desires, 

[Delivers  a  lettei\ 
Than  T  can  fancy  what  they  are,  much  less 
^V'ith  moving  language,  to  their  fair  deserts, 
Aptly  express  them.     Pray  you  read,  but  with 
Compassion,  I  beseech  you:  if  you  find 
The   paper  blurr'd  with  tears   fallen   from    her 

eyes. 
While  she  endeavour'd  to  set  down  that  truth 
Her  soul  did  dictate  to  her,  it  must  challenge 
A  gracious  answer. 

Ador.  O  the  powerful  charms 
By  that  fair  hand  writ  down  here!  not  like  those 
Which  dreadfully  pronounced  by  Circe,  changed 
Ulysses'  followers  into  beasts  ;  these  have 
An  opposite  working,  I  already  feel. 
But  reading  them,  their  saving  operations; 
And  all  those  sensual,  loose,  and  base  desir'es, 
Which  have  too  long  usurp'd,  and  tyrannized 
Over  my  reason,  of  themselves  fall  off. 
Most  happy  metamorphosis  !  in  which 
The  film  of  error  that  did  blind  my  judgment 
And  seduced  understanding,  is  removed. 
What  sacrifice  of  thanks  can  I  return 
Her  pious  charity,  that  not  alone 
Redeems  me  from  the  worst  of  slavery. 
The  tyranny  of  my  beastly  appetites. 
To  which  I  long  obsequiously  have  bow'd ; 
But  adds  a  matchless  favour,  to  receive 
A  benefit  from  me,  nay,  puts  her  goodness 
In  my  protection  ? 

Alirt,  Transform 'd  ! — it  is 
A  blessed  metamorphosis,  and  works 
I  know  not  how  on  me.  [Aside. 

Ador.  My  joys  are  boundless, 


\eo  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Curb'd  with  no  limits:  for  her  sake,  Mirtilla, 
Instruct  me  how  I  presently  may  seal 
To  those  strong  bonds  of  loyal  love,  and  service, 
Which  never  shall  be  cancell'd. 

Mii't.  She'll  become 
Your  debtor,  sir,  if  you  vouchsafe  to  answer 
Her  pure  affection. 

AdQ7\  Answer  it,  Mirtilla  ! 
With  more  than  adoration  I  kneel  to  it. 
Tell  her,  I'll  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths 
Than  fail,  with  punctuality,  to  perform 
All  her  commands. 

Mirt.  I  am  lost  on  this  assurance, 
Which,  if  'twere  made  to  me,  I  should  have  faith 

in't. 
As  in  an  oracle:  ah  me  !  [As.ida.']  She  presents  you 
This  jewel,  her  dead  grandsire's  gift,  in  which. 
As  by  a  true  Egyptian  hieroglyphic, 
(For  so  I  think  she  call'd  it,)  you  may  be 
Instructed  what  her  suit  is  you  should  do, 
And  she  with  joy  will  suffer. 

Ador.     [looking  at  the   trinket.']     Heaven    be. 
pleased 
To  qualify  this  excess,  of  happiness 
With  some  disaster,  or  I  shall  expire 
With  a  surfeit  of  felicity.  With  what  art 
The  cunning'  lapidary  hath  here  express'd 
The  rape  of  Proserpine  I    I  apprehend 
Her  purpose,  and  obey  it ;  yet  not  as 
A  helping  friend,  but  a  husband  ;  I  will  meet 
Her  chaste  desires  with  lawful  heat,  and  \varm 
Our  Hymenaeal  sheets  with  such  delights 
As  leave  no  sting  behind  them. 


With  what  art 


The  cunning  lapidary  &c.]  Cunning  is  the  Scriptural  tejfm  for 
ingenuity  in  the  aria. 


THE    GUARDIAN.  161 

Mirt.  I  despair  then.  [Aside. 

Ador.  At  the  time  appointed  say,  wench,  I'll 
attend  her, 
And  guard  her  from  the  fury  of  her  mother, 
And  all  that  dare  disturb  her. 

Mirt.  You  speak  well  ; 
And  I  believe  you. 

Ador.  Would  you  aught  else  ? 

Mirt.  I  would  carry 
Some  love-sign  to  her;  and  now  I  think  on  it, 
The  kind  salute  you  offer'd  at  my  entrance, 
Hold  it  not  impudence  that  I  desire  it, 
I'll  faithfully  deliver  it. 

Ador.  O,  a  kiss  ! 
You  must  excuse  me,  I  was  then  mine  own, 
Now 'wholly  hers  :  the  touch  of  other  lips 
I  do  abjure  for  ever:   but  there's  gold 
To  bind  thee  still  my  advocate.  [_Exit<. 

Mirt.  Not  a  kiss  ! 
I  was  coy  when  it  was  offer'd,  and  now  justly. 
When  I  beg  one  am  denied.  What  scorching  fires 
My  loose  hopes  kindle  in  me  !  shall  I  be 
False  to  my  lady's  trust,  and,  from  a  servant, 
Kise  up  her  rival  ?  His  words  have  bewitch'd  me, 
And  something  I  must  do,  but  what  ? — 'tis  yet 
An  embryon,  and  how  to  give  it  form, 
Alas,  I  know  not.     Pardon  me,  Calista, 
I  am  nearest  to  myself,  and  time  will  teach  me 
Tq  perfect  that  which  yet  is  undetermined. 

{Exit, 


16'2  THE   GUARDIAN. 

SCENE   IV. 

The  Country.     A  Forest. 
Enter  Claudio  and  Severi  no. 

Claud.  Youaremasterofyourself;  yet,iflmay. 
As  a  tried  friend  in  my  love  and  aftection, 
And  a  servant  in  my  duty,  speak  my  thoughts 
Without  offence,  i'the  way  of  counsel  to  you  ; 
I  could  allege,  and  truly,  that  your  purpose 
For  Naples,  cover'd  with  a  thin  disguise, 
Is  full  of  danger. 

Sev.  Danger,  Claud io  ! 
'Tis  here,  and  every  where,  our  forced  companion  : 
The  rising  and  the  setting  sun  heholds  us 
Environ'd  with  it;  our  whole  life  a  journey 
Ending  in  certain  ruin. 

Claud.  Yet  we  should  not, 
Howe'er  besieged,  deliver  up  our  fort 
Of  life,  till  it  be  forced. 

Se'o,  'Tis  so  indeed 
By  wisest  men  concluded,  which  we  should 
Obey  as  Christians;  but  when  1  consider 
How  different  the  progress  of  our  actions 
Is  from  religion,  nay,  morality, 
I  cannot  find  in  reason,  why  we  should 
Be  scrupulous  that  way  only ;  or  like  meteors 
Blaze  forth  prodigious  terrors,  till  our  stuff' 
Be  utterly  consumed,  which  once  put  out, 
Would  bring  security  unto  ourselves. 
And  safety  unto  those  we  prey  upon. 
O  Claudio  !  since  by  this  fatal  hand 
The  brother  of  my  wife,  bold  Monteclaro, 
Was  left  dead  in  the  field,  and  I  proscribed 
After  my  flight,  by  the  justice  of  the  king, 


THE   GUARDIAN.  163 

My  being  hath  been  but  a  living  death, 
With  a  continued  torture. 

Claud.  Yet  in  that, 
You  do  delude  their  bloody  violence 
That  do  pursue  your  life. 

Sev.  While  I,  by  rapines, 
Live  terrible  to  others  as  myself. — 
What  one  hour  can  we  challenge  as  our  own, 
Unhappy  as  we  are,  yielding  a  beam 
Of  comfort  to  us?  Quiet  night,  that  brings 
Rest  to  the  labourer,  is  the  outlaw's  day, 
In  which  he  rises  early  to  do  wrong, 
And  when  his  work  is  ended,  dares  not  sleep  : 
Our  time  is  spent  in  watches  to  entrap 
Such  as  would  shun  us,  and  to  hide  ourselves 
From  the  ministers  of  justice,  that  would  bring  us 
To  the  correction  of  the  law.     O,  Claudio, 
Is  this  a  life  to  be  preserv'd,'  and  at 
So  dear  a  rate?   But  why  hold  I  discourse 
On  this  sad  subject,  since  it  is  a  burthen 
We  are  mark'd  to  bear,  and  not  to  be  shook  off 
But  with  our  human  frailty  ?  in  the  change 
Of  dangers  there  is  some  delight,  and  therefore 
I  am  resolved  for  Naples. 

* 0,  Claudio^ 

Is  this  a  life  to  be  preserved,  &c.]  A  state  of  insecurity  and 
perpetual  alarm  was  never  described  with  more  energy  and 
beauty  than  in  this  scene.  I  know  not  whether  Massinger  ever 
reached  Germany ;  but  certainly  many  parts  of  Charles  the 
Robber  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  thecharacter  of  Severino. 
There  is  a  fine  passage  in  Marstoo,  which  is  not  altogether  un- 
like the  opening  of  this  speech  : 

*^ —  O  thou  pale,  sober  night, 

"  Thou  that  in  sluggisli  fumes  ail  sense  doth  steep ; 
'*  Thou  that  giv'st  all  the  world  full  leave  to  play, 
*'  Unbend'st  the  feeble  veins  of  sweaty  labour,''  &c. 

T/ie  Makcontent.     Act  Ifl.sc.  2. 
Mr.  Colman  has  laid  this  scene  under  heavy  contribution  in 
his  Battle  of  Hexham. 


164,  THE    GUARDIAN. 

Claud.  May  you  meet  there 
All  comforts  that  so  fair  and  chaste  a  wife 
As  Fame  proclaims  her,  without  parallel, 
Can  yield  to  ease  your  sorrows  ! 

Sev.  I  much  thank  you  ; 
Yet  you  may  spare  those  wishes,  which  with  joy 
I  have  proved  certainties,  and  from  their  want 
Her  excellencies  take  lustre. 

Claud.  Ere  you  go  yet, 
Some  charge  unto  your  squires  not  to  fly  out 
Beyond  their  bounds,  were  not  impertinent: 
For  though  that  with  a  look  you  can  command 

them, 
In  your  absence  they'll  be  headstrong. 

Sev.  'Tis  well  thought  on, 
I'Utouch  my  hovi\i— [^Blows  his  horn.l — they  know 
my  call. 

Claud.  And  will, 
As  soon  as  heard,  make  in  to't  from  all  quarters. 
As  the  flock  to  the  shepherd's  whistle. 

Enter  Banditti. 

1  Ban.  What's  your  will  ? 

2  Bail.  Hail  sovereign  of  these  woods  ! 

3  Ban.  We  lay  our  lives 
At  your  highness'  feet. 

4  Ban.  And  will  confess  no  king. 

Nor  laws  but  what  come  from  your  mouth ;  and 

those 
We  gladly  will  subscribe  to. 

Sev.  Make  this  good. 
In  my  absence,  to  my  substitute,  to  whom 
Pay  all  obedience  as  to  myself; 
The  breach  of  this  in  one  particular 
I  will  severely  punish:  on  your  lives. 
Remember  upon  whom  with  our  allowance 


THE    GUARDIx\N.  iC? 

You  may  securely  prey,  with  such  as  are 
Exem{3ted  from  your  fury. 

Claud.  'Twere  not  amiss, 
If  you  please,  to  help  their  memory;  hesides, 
Here  are  some  newly  initiated. 

Sev.  To  these 
Read  you  the  articles  ;  I  must  be  gone  : 
Ci audio,  farewell  !  [Exit, 

Claud.  May  your  return  be  speedy  ! 

1  Ba)i.  Silence  ;  out  with  your  table-books. 

2  Ban.  And  observe. 

Claud,  [reads.]  The  cormorant  that  lives  in  ex-^ 
pectation 
Of  a  long  wisKd-for  dearth^  and,  smiling,  grinds 
The  faces  of  the  poor,  you  may  make  spoil  of ; 
Even  theft  to  such  is  justice.  •  r   tl  . 

3  Ban.  He's  in  my  tables. 

Claud.  The  grand  encloser  of  the  commons,  for 
His  private  profit  or  delight,  with  all 
His  herds  that  graze  upon't,  are  lawful  prize. 

4  Ban.  And  we  will  bring  them  in,  although 

the  devil 
Stood  roaring  by,  to  guard  them. 

Claud.   If  a  usurer, 
Greedy,  at  his  own  pince,  to  make  a  purchase, 
Taking  advantage  upon  bond  or  mortgage 
From  a  prodigal,  pass  through  our  territories, 
In  the  way  of  custom,  or  of  tribute  to  us, 
You  may  ease  him  of  his  burthen. 

2  Ban.  Wholesome  doctrine. 

Claud.  Builders  of  iron  millSf  that  grub  up  forests^ 
JVith  timber  trees  for  shipping.  ^ 

'     Claud,   liuilders  of  iron  mills,  that  grub  up  forests 
With  timber  trees  far  shipping."]    Did  this  evil  rqally  exist  iii 
Massingcr's  days?  or  did  the  poet,  in  prophetic  vision,  visit  the 
"  well-wooded"  mountains  which  orerhang  the  Lakes  of  Cum- 
berland and  VVcstaa  ore  land  ?  These  articles  ajre  extrenicljr  curious, 


166  THE   GUARDIANT. 

1  Ban.  May  we  not 
Have  a  touch  at  lawyers  ? 

Claud.  By  no  means  ;  they  may 
Too  soon  have  a  gripe  at  us ;  they  are  angry 

liornets, 
Not  to  be  jested  with. 

3  Ban.  This  is  not  so  well. 

Claud.  77/e  oivners  of  dark  shops,  that  vent  their 
wares 
TVith  perjuries  ;  cheating  vintners,  not  contented 
With  half  in  half  in  their  reckojiings,  yet  cry  out. 
When  they  find  their  guests  want  coin,  'Tis  fate,  and 

bed-time. 
These  ransack  at  your  pleasures. 

S  Ban.  How  shall  we  know  them  ^ 

Claud.   If  they   walk  on  foot,    by   their   rat- 
colour'd  stockings, 
And  shining-shoes  ;  *  if  horsemen,  by  short  boots, 
And  riding-furniture  of  several  counties. 

2  Ban.  Not  one  of  the  list  escapes  us. 

Claud.    But  for  scholars. 
Whose  zvealth  lies  in  their  heads,  and  not  their  pockets, 
Soldiers  that  have  bled  in  their  country's  service; 
The  rent-rack''  d  farmer ,  needy  market  folks  ; 
The  szveaty  labourer,  carriers  that  transport 
The  goods  of  other  men,  are  privileged  ; 

as  they  shew  us  what  were  accounted  the  chief  grieTa.ices  of 
the  nation  at  that  fortunate  period. 

♦  And  shining  shoes  ;'\  Our  old  dramatists  make  themselves 
very  merry  with  these  shining  shoes,  which  appear,  in  their  time, 
to  have  been  one  of  the  characteristic  marks  of  a  spruce  citi- 
zen. Thus  Newcut,  rallying  Plotwell  for  becoming  a  merchant, 
exclaims : 

«'  Slid  !  his  shoes  shine  too  !"  The  City  Match. 

And  Kitely  observes  that  Wellbrcd's  acquaintance 

" ' —  mock  him  all  over, 

"  From  his  flat  cap  unto  hh  shining  shoes." 

Evert/  Man  in  his  Humour. 


THE    GUARDIAN.  1^7 

But  J  above  all^  let  none  presume  to  offer 
Violejice  to  women,  for  our  king  hath  sworn, 
fVho  that  way's  a  delinquent,  zvith-out  mercy 
Hangs  for' t,  by  martial  law. 

All.  Long  live  Severino, 
And  perish  all  such  cullions  as  repine' 
At  his  new  monarchy  ! 

Claud.  About  your  business, 
That  he  may  find,  at  his  return,  good  cause 
To  praise  your  care  and  discipline. 

All.  We'll  not  fail,  sir.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE    IV. 

Naples.     A  Street 
Enter  Laval  and  Calipso. 

Lav.  Thou  art  sure  mistaken  ;  'tis  not  possible 
That  I  can  be  the  man  thou  art  employ'd  to. 

Calip.  Not  you  the  man  !  you  are  the  man  of 
men, 
And  such  another,  in  my  lady's  eye, 
Never  to  be  discover'd. 

Laval.  A  mere  stranger, 
Newly  arrived  1 

Calip.  Still  the  more  probable. 
Since  ladies,  as  you  know,  affect  strange  dainties, 
And  brought  far  to  them.'    This  is  not  an  age 

i  Jnd  perish  all  such  cullions]  A  term  taken  from  the  Italians, 
and  strongly  expressive  of  contempt: — all  such  abject  wretches*  _ 
It  frequently  occurs  in  our  old  poets. 

*  Since  ladies,  sm  you  know,  <ifect  strange  dainties^ 
And  brought  far  to  them.]    This  is  proverbial;  but  it  may, 
perhaps,  allude  to  the  title  of  a  play,  by  Thomas  Hacket, 
it  ;parrg  fetched  and  dear  bought  ys  good  for  Ladies,"     It  wa» 
entered  at  Stationers'  Ilall,  1566. 


168  THE   GUARDIAN. 

In  which  saints  live;  but  women,  knowing  womeri^ 
That  understand  their  summiim  bonum  is 
Variety  of  pleasures  in  the  touch, 
Derived  from  several  nations;  and  if  men  would 
Be  wise  by  their  example — 

Lav.  As  most  are : 
*Tis  a  coupling  age  ! 

Calip.  Why,  sir,  do  gallants  travel? 
Answer  that  question  ;  but,  at  their  return, 
VVith  wonder  to  the  hearers,  to  discourse  of 
The  garb  and  difference  in  foreign  females, 
As  the  lusty  girl  of  France,  the  sober  Gern)an^ 
The  plump  Dutch  frow,  the  stateh'  dame  of  Spain, 
The  Roman  libertine,  and  sprightful  Tuscan, 
The  merry  Greek,  Venetian  courtezan, 
The  English  fair  companion,  that  learns  some-" 

thing 
From  every  nation,  and  will  fly  at  all : — 
I  say  again,  the  difference  betwixt  these 
And  their  own  country  gamesters. 

Lav.  Aptly  urged. 
Some  make  that  their  main  end  :  but  may  I  ask, 
Without  offence  to  your  gravity,  by  what  title 
Your  lady,  that  invites  me  to  her  favours, 
Is  known  in  the  city  ? 

Calip.  If  you  were  a  true-born  monsieur, 
You  would  do  the  business  first,  and  ask  that  after. 
If  you  only  truck  with  her  title,  I  shall  hardly 
Deserve  thanks  for  my  travail ;  she  is,  sir, 
No  single-ducat  trader,  nor  a  beldam 
So  frozen  up,  that  a  fever  cannot  thaw  her ; 
No  lioness  by  her  breath. 

Lav.  Leave  these  impertinencies. 
And  come  to  the  matter. 

Calip.  Would  you'd  be  as  forward, 
When  you  draw  for  the  upshot !  she  is,  sir,  a  Jady, 
A  rich,  lair,  well-complex ion'd,  and  what  is 


THE   GUARDIAN.  169 

Not  frequent  among  Venus'  votaries, 
tTpon  my  credit,  which  good  men  have  trusted, 
A  sound  and  wholesome  1  idy^  and  her. name  is 
Madonna  lolante.  —  u'-  ., 

Lav,  lolante/! 
I  have  heard  of  her;  for  chastity^  and  beauty, 
The  wonder  of  the  age.  ;>if,  .r,p  \      .a 

Calip.  Pray  you,  not  too  miich  ,,/ 

Of  chastity  ;  fair  and  free  I  do  s^twf^ril^e  tOj 
And  so  you'll  find  her.  'nri»«fcf   fvnit.^ 

Lav.  Come,  you  are  a  base  creature  ; 
And,  covering  your  foul  ends  with  her  fair  name, 
Give  me  just  reason  to  suspect  you  have  r 

A  plot  upon  my  life. 

Calip.  A  plot !   very  fine  ! 
Nay,  'tis  a  dangerous  one,  pray  you  beware  oft ; 
'Tis  cunningly  contriv'd  :   I  plot  to  bring  you 
Afoot,  with  the  travel  of  some  forty  paces, 
To  those  delights  which  a  man  not  made  of  snow- 
Would  ride  a  thousand  miles  for.    You  shall  be 
Received  at  a  postern  door,  if  you  be  not  cautious, 
By  one  whose  touch  would   make  old   Nestor 

young, 
And  cure  his  hernia;  a  terrible  plot! 
A  kiss  then  ravish'd  from  you  by  such  lips 
As  flow  with  nectar,  a  juicy  palm  more  precious 
Than  the  famed  Sibylla's  bough,  to  guide  you  safe 
Through  mists  of  perfumes  to  a  glorious  room. 
Where  Jove  might  feast  his  Juno  ;  a  dire  plot  I 
A  banquet  I'll  not  mention,  that  is  common : 
But  I  must  not  forget,  to  make  the  plot 
More  horrid  to  you,  the  retiring  bower, 
So  furnish'd  as  might  force  the  Persian's  envy, 
The  silver  bathing-tub,  the  cambric  rubbers, 
The  embroider'd  quilt,  the  bed  of  gossamer 
And  damask  roses ;  a  mere  powder  plot 
To  blow  you  up  !  and  last,  a  bed-fellow, 

VOL.  IV.  *  N 


170  THE    GUARDIAN. 

To  whose  rave  entcL'tainment  all  these  are 
Bat  foils  and  settings  oflp.  > 

Lav.  No  more ;  her  breath  ^  /• 

Would  warm  an  eunuch.  ^'^ 

Calip.  I  knew  I  should  heat  you:  ■--^ 

Now  he  begins  to  glow  !  ^'^^^,} 

Lav.  I  am  flesh  and  blood, 
And  I  were  not  man  if  I  should  not  run  the  hazard. 
Had  I  no  other  ends  in't.     I  have  consider'd 
Your  motion,  matron. 

Calip.  My  plot,  sir,  on  your  life, 
For  which  I  am  deservedly  suspected  'tA 

For  a  base  and  dangerous  woman !  Fare  you  well, 

sir, 
I'll  be  bold  to  take  my  leave. 

Lav.  I  will  along  too. 
Come,  pardon  my  suspicion :  I  confess 
My  error ;  and  eyeing  you  better,  I  perceivie^/. 
There's  nothing  that  is  ill  that  can  flow  from  yoii; 
I  am  serious,  and,  for  proof  of  it,  I'll  purchase 
Your  good  opinion.  '•  '^'^        {Gives  her  his  purse* 

Calip.  I  am  gentle  ti^tured, 
And  can  forget  a  greater  wrong  upon 
Such  terms  of  satisfaction. 
Lav.  What's  the  hour  ? 
Calip.  Twelve. 
Lav.  I'll  not  miss  a  minute. 
Calip,  I  shall  find  you 
At  your  lodging  ?  '^  ^* 

Lav.  Certainly ;  return  my  service, 
And  for  me  kiss  your  lady's  hands. 

Calip.  At  twelve 
I'll  be  your  convoy. 

Lav.  I  desire  no  better.  \EjceunU 


THE   GUARDIAN.  171 

.YBflf  UOY    .WftO 

•  ;::^'  -•'  r;  b>:;,  ,  ''  ^   '      '  ' 

A'0T'MtJ-^^'8CJENE  I.  ,      . 

t  -^mo^e  Country.  '^ 

Enter  Durazzo,  Caldouo,  and  Servant. 

Dur,  Walk  the  horses  do\vn  the  hill;  I  have 
a  little  '  -^^'^-^  r.i\-^'i(ir^^'t70^rj  -(fii  i\n  .nnU 

To  speak  in  private.  'l[&/f  5'erit>fl?«f. 

Cald.  Good  sir,  no  more  anger, 

Dur.  Love  do  you  call  it !    madness,  wilful 
madness ; 
'And  since  I  cannot  cure  it,  I  would  have  you 
Exactly  mad.    You  are  a  lover  already, 
Be  a  drunkard  too,  and  after  turn  small  poet, 
And  then  you  are  mad,  katexok^n  the  madman/ 

Cald,  Such  as  are  safe  on  shore  may  smile  at 
tempests; 
But  I,  that  am  embark'd,  and  every  minute 
Expect  a  shipwreck,  relish  not  your  mirth  : 
To  me  it  is  unseasonable. 

Dur.  Pleasing  viands 
Are  made  sharp  by  sick  palates.     I  affect 
A  handsome  mistress  in  my  gray  beard,  as  well 
:As  any  boy  of  you  all ;  and  on  good  terms 
Will  venture  as  far  i'  the  fire,  so  she  be  willing 
To  entertain  me ;  but  ere  I  would  dote. 
As  you  do,  where  there  is  no  flattering  hope 
Ever  t'  enjoy  her,  I  would  forswear  wine, 
And  kill  this  lecherous  itch  with  drinking  water, 
Or  live,  like  a  Carthusian,  on  poor  John, 

7  jind  then  you  are  mad,  katexok^n  th  madman.^  Kar't^oxn* 
i.  e.  svper-eminentlif  the  madman. 

*N2 


m  THE    GUARDIAN. 

Then  bathe  myself  night  by  night  iri  marble  devr, 
And  use  no  soap  but  camphire-balls. 

Cald.  You  may, 
(And  I  must  suffer  it,)  lik^  a  rough  surgeon, 
Apply  these  burning  caustics  to  my  wounds 
Already  gangrened,  when  soft  unguents  would 
Better  express  an  uncle  with  some  feeling 
Of  his  nephew's  torments. 

DuK  I  shall  melt,  and  cannot 
Hold  out  if  he  whimper.     C)  that  this  young 

fellov, 
Who,  on  my  knowledge,  is  able  to  beat  a  man^ 
Should  be  baffled  by  this  blind  imagined  boy, 
Or  fear  his  bird -bo  Its  !  *  [Aside, 

Cald.  You  have  put  yourself  already 
To  too  much  trouble,  in  bringing  me  thus  far: 
Now,  if  you  please,  with  your  good  wishes,  leave 

me 
To  my  hard  fortunes. 

Duj\  I'll  forsake  myself  first. 
Leave  thee  1  I  cannot,  will  not ;  thou  shalt  have 
No  cause  to  be  weary  of  my  company, 
For  I'll  be  useful ;  and,  ere  I  see  thee  perish^ 
Dispensing  with  my  dignity  and  candour,' 
I  will  do  something  for  thee,  though  it  savour 
Of  the  old  squire  of  Troy.*     As  we  ride,  we  will 
Consult  of  the  means  :  bear  up. 

■  Or  fear  his  bird-bolts!]  i.e.  his  blunt,  pointless  arrows; 
for  with  such  birds  were  brought  down. 

9  Dispensing  with  my  dig7iity  and  candour,]  This  expression 
reconciles  me  to  a  passage  in  the  Parliament  of  Love,  of  which, 
tboagh  copied  with  my  best  care,  I  was  extremely  doubtful : 

*'  And  might  I  but  persuade  you  to  dispense 
i  "  A  little  with  your  cant/our,  &c."  Vol.  ii.  p.  SM. 

It  now  appears  that  Massinger  uses  candour  in  both  places  as 
lynonymous  with  honour,  or  fairness  of  reputation. 

'  Of  the  old  aiiHiTG  of  Troy.]    The  Pandairas  of  Shakspeare* 


THE   GUARDIAN.  173 

Cald.  I  cannot  sink, 
Having  your  noble  aids  to  buoy  me  up ; 
Tiiere  was  never  such  a  guardian. 

Dur.  How  is  this?  vrjbv: 

Stale  compliments  to  me  !  when  my  work's  done, 
Commend  the  artificer,  and  then  be  thankful. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 

Naples.     A  Room  in  Severino's  House. 

Enter  Calista  richly  habited,  «wc?Mirtilla  m 
the  gown  which  Calista^r*^  wore, 

Calis,  How  dost  thou  like  my  gown? 

Mirt,  'Tis  rich  and  courtlike. 

Calis,  The  dressings  too  are  suitable? 

Mirt.  I  must  say  so, 
Or  you  might  blame  my  want  of  care. 

Calls.  My  mother 
Little  dreams  of  my  intended  flight,  or  tha( 
These  are  my  nuptial  ornaments. 

Mirt.  I  hope  so. 

Calis.  How  dully  thou  reply 'st !  thou  dost  not 
envy 
Adorio's  noble  change,  or  the  good  fortune 
That  it  brings  to  me  ? 

Mirt.  My  endeavours  that  way 
Can  answer  for  me. 

Calis.  True ;  you  have  discharged 

This  uncle  is  a  most  pleasant  character ;  it  is  impossible  not  to 
be  delighted  \rith  him,  notwithstanding  the  freedom  of  hit  Ian. 
f  uage.    As  Caldoro  justly  observe!^, 

There  was  never  such  a  guardian. 


174  THE   GUARDIAN. 

A  faithful  servant's  duty,  and  it  is 
By  me  rewarded  like  a  liberal  mistress  :  K 

I  speak  it  not  to  upbraid  you  with  my  bounties, 
Though  they  deserve  more  thanks  and  ceremony 
Than  you  have  yet  express'd. 

Mirt.  The  miseries  'ijtun*:  ^tii  Dujurr.v  > 

Which,  from  your  happiness,  I  am  sure  to  suffer. 
Restrain  my  forward  tongue;  and,  gentle  madam, 
Excuse  my  weakness,  though  I  do  appear 
A  little  daunted  with  the  heavy  burthen 
I  am  to  undergo;  when  you  are  safe. 
My  dangers,  like  to  roaring  torrents,  will 
Gush  in  upon  me;  yet  I  would  endure 
Your  mother's  cruelty  ;  but  l)ow  to  bear  ,  -tj^vwli 
Your  absence,  in  the  very  thought  confounds  me. 
Since  we  were  children  I.  have  loved  and  serv'd 

you  ;  Yo^i  yai  ^'AW  uoih  jgoh  -v/oH  m\^^^ 
I  willingly  learn'd  to  obey,  as  you 
Grew  up  to  knowledge,  that  you  might  command 

me;  ^.v.{n  I  ,Y\%\^ 

And  now  to  be  divorced^from  all  my  cbrhforts  1-^ ' 
Can  this  be  borne  with  patience? 

Calls.  The  necessity  i'iJfif  vm  to  Ria£5ib  fjUirw 
Of  my  strange  fate  commandsit;  bntiBTsotr^jdl 
By  my  Adorio's  love,  I  pity  thee.  i    '^  ^  VL 

Mirt.  Pity  me,  madam  !  a  cold  charity  ^dtO 
You  must  do  more,  and  help  me. 

Calls.  Ha!   what  said  you?  ohobA 

I  must?  is  this  fit  lansfuage  for  a  servant?  !  J^rCI 

Mirt.  For  one  that  would  continue  y^vrtr  p«or 
servant,  ni  "Cu  isv/enr,  fir.'..- 

And  cannot  live  that  day  in  which  she  is    ii':^-^ 
Denied  to  be  so.     Can  Mirtilla  sit 
Mourning  alone,  imagining  those  pleasures 
Which  you,  this  blessed  Hymeneal  night. 
Enjoy  in  the  embraces  of  your  lord, 
And  my  lord  too,  in  being  your's  r  (already 


THE   GUARDIAN.  175 

As  such  I  love  and  honour  him.)  Shall  a  stranger 
Sew  you  in  a  sheet,  to  guard  tha,t  maidenhead 
You  must  pretend  to  keep ;  and  'twill  becpnje 

you?  .  .    .- 

Shall  another  do  those  bridal  offices,    ,j53b  ,5ffio3 

Which  time  will  not  permit  me  to  remember,"      ' 

And  I  pine  here  with  envy?  pardon  me, — 

I  must  and  will  be  pardon'd, — for  my  passionS);  ■) 

Are  in  extremes;  and  use  some  speedy  means  ■) 

That  I  may  go  along  with  you,  and  share 

In  those  delights,  but  with  becoming  distance; 

Or  by  his  life,  which  as  a  saint  you  swear  by, 

I  will  discover  all ! 

Calls.  Thou  canst  not  be 
So  treacherous  and  cruel,  in  destroying 
The  building  thou  hast  raised. 

Mirt.  Pray  you  do  not  tempt  me, 
For  'tis  resolv'd. 

Calls.  I  know  not  what  to  think  oft. 
In  the  discovery  of  my  secrets  to  her, 
I  have  made  my  slave  my  mistress ;  I  must  sooth 

her, 
There's  no  evasion  else.  \_Aslde.']  Prithee,  Mirtilla, 
Be  not  so  violent,  I  am  strangely  taken 
With  thy  affection  for  me  ;  'twas  my  purpose 
To  have  thee  sent  for. 

Mlrt.  When? 

Calls,  This  very  night ; 
And  I  vow  deeply  I  shall  be  no  sooner 
In  the  desired  possession  of  my  lord, 

*  Which  time  will  not  permit  me  to  remember,]  i.  e.  to  bring 
to  your  remembrance,  to  remind  you  of:  so  the  word  is  fre- 
quently used.     See  vol.  ii.  p.  86. 

This  scene,  and  indeed  the  whole  of  this  play,  is  scandalously 
edited  by  Coxeter  as  well  as  Mr.  M.  Mason  ;  in  the  line  before 
us,  the  former  omits  me,  aod  the  latter,  timcj  so  that  the  metr* 
halts  miserably  in  both.jj^'^.^ 


17^  THE   GUARDIAN. 

But  by  some  of  his  servants  I  will  have  thee        '^' 

Convey 'd  unto  us. 

Mirt.  Should  you  break  ! 
Calls.  I  dare  not. 

Come,  clear  thy  looks,  for  instantly  we'll  prepare  ^ 

For  our  departure.  -  'Y 

Mirt.  Pray  you,  forgive  my  boldness,  ^ 

Growing  from  my  excess  of  zeal  to  serve  you.  >  I 
Cain.  I  thank  thee  for't.  \  oiA 

Mirt.  You'll  keep  your  word?  JhHT 

Calis.  Still  doubtful?  [E.viti^l 

Mirt.  'Twas  this  I  aim'd   at,   and   leave  thei^ 
rest  to  fortune*  \^Exit.  J'oUowin^^ 

SCENE    III. 

A  Room  in  Adorio's  House. 

JEnter  Adorio,   Camiillo,   Lentulo,    Donatq, 
C A  R I  o,  and  Ser'van  is.  '  1 

Ador.  Haste  you  unto  my  villa,  and  take  ^\\ 
Provision  along  with  you,  and  for  use  >ft  &Jli 

And  ornament,  the  shortness  of  the  time  'Jj 

Can  furnish  you  ;  let  my  best  plate  be  set  out,    f 
And  costliest  hangings;  and,  it't  he  possible,vfl 
With  a  merry  dance  to  entertain  the  iifride^^  „  > 
Provide  an  epithalamium.         •   fU^^yU  <t./fr,' 

Car.  Trust  me 
For  belly  timber :  and  for  a  song,  I  have 
A  paper- blurrer,  who  on  all  occasions, 
For  All  times,  and  all  seasons,  hath  such  trinketr" 
Ready  in  the  deck  ;'  it  is  but  altering  * 

3  Ready  in   the  deck  :]  Mr.  M.  IVIason  reads,  iq  the  (itsi;' 
and,  doubtlfss,  applauded  himself  for  the  emendation  ;  but  deck 
U  right :  it  means  the  heap,  or  technically  speaking,  the  gross. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  177 

The  names,  and  they  will  serve  for  any  bride, 
Or  bridegroom,  in  the  kingdom. 

Ador.  But  for  the  dance? 

Car.  I  will  make  one  myself,  and  foot  it  finely; 
And  summoning  your  tenants  at  my  dresser, 
Which  is,  indeed,  my  drum,*  make  a  rare  choice 
Of  the  able  youth,  such  as  shall  sweat  sufficiently, 
And  smell  too,   but  not  of  amber,   which,  you 

know,  is  ,.   ,r 

The  grace  of  the  country-hall.  vO 

Ador.  About  it,  Cario,  ;  U:}\  ^ 

And  look  you  be  careful.  ff    ifn 

Car,  For  mine  own  credit,  sir. 

[Exeunt  Cario  and  Servants. 

Ador.  Now,  noble  friends,  confirm  your  loves, 
and  think  not  nnl  ih 

Of  the  penalty  of  the  law,  that  does  forbid 
The  stealing  away  an  heir  :  I  will  secure  you, 
And  pay  the  breach  oft. 

Camit.  Tell  us  what  we  shall  do. 
We'll  talk  of  that  hereafter.  r 

Ador.  Pray  you  be  careful 
To  keep  the  west  gate  of  the  city  open. 

In  our  old  poets,  a  pack  of  cards  is  called  a  deck:  thus,  in  Sell- 
mus  Emperor  of  the  Turks,  1594  : 

:    *••  Well,  if  I  chance  but  once  to  get  the  deck, 
*'  To  deal  about  and  shuffle  as  I  would." 
*  And  summoning  your  tenants  at  my  dresser, 

Which  is^  indeed,  my  drum,]  Thus  the  servant,  in  the  Unna* 
iural  Combat  : 

"  When  the  dresser,  the  coof^s  drum,  thunders,  Come  ont" 

See  Vol.  I.  p.  166. 
And  thqs  Suckling ; 

''  Just  in  the  nick  the  cook  knqck'd  t/trice, 
^'  And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice 

"  His  summons  did  obey  ; 
"  Each  serving-man,  with  dish  in  hand, 
**  Marcb'd  boldly  up,  like  our  train'd  band, 
**  Presented,  and  away.''  The  IVedding, 


178  THE   GUARDIAN. 

That  our  passage  may  be  free,  and  bribe  the  watch  , 
With  any  sum  ;  this  is  all.  » 

Don.  A  dangerous  business  1 

Camil.  I'll    make  the    constable,   watch,   and 
porter  drunk;,  h 

Under  a  crown.  ntnb  v  >iu  7/ 

ijent.  And    then    you-  may  pass  while    they) 

^'         snore,  A 

Though  you  had  done  a  murder. 

Camil.  Get  but  your  mistress, 
And  leave  the  rest  to  us. 

Ador.  You  much  engage  me  r 
But  I  forget  myself. 

Camil.  Pray  you,  in  what,  sir  ? 

Ador.  Yielding  too  much  to  my  affection, 
Though  lawful  now,  my  wounded  reputation 
And  honour  suffer:  the  disgrace,  in  taking 
A  blow  in  public  from  Caldoro,  branded  ^ 

With  the  infamous  mark  of  coward,  in  delaying- \ 
To  right  myself,  upon  my  cheek  grows  fresher  ; 
That's  first  to  be  consider'd. 

Camil.  If  you  dare 
Trust  my  opinion,  (yet  I  have  had 
Some  practice  and  experience  in  duels,) 
You  are  too  tender  that  way :  can  you  answer 
The  debt  you  owe  your  honour  till  you  meet 
Your  enemy  from  whom  you  may  exact  it  ? 
Hath  he  not  left  the  city,  and  in  fear 
Conceal'd  himself,  for  aught  I  can  imagine  ? 
What  would  you  more  r 

Ador.  I  should  do. 

Camil.  Never  think  on't,  t  imlJ/ittS  audi  h«t 

Till  fitter  time  and  place  invite  you  to'it : 
I  have  read  Caranza,'  and  find  not  in  his  Grammar 

*  I  have  read  Caranza,]  This  great  man — "  great  let  me 
call  him,"  for  he  has  obtained  the  praise  of  Bobadill,  wrote  a 
systefliatic  treatise  on  duelling,  which  seems  to  have  been  the 


THE   GUARDIAN.  179 

Of  quarrels,  that  the  injured  man  is  bound 
To  seek  for  reparation  at  an  hour; 
But  may,  and  without  loss,  till  he  hath  settle(i  ^T 
More  serious  occasions  that  import  him,   -    \  ;\  ' 
For^a  day  or  two  defer  it.  ,^:  ^^^,1^^^^ ^u 

Ador.  You  11  subscribe  -       -  • 

Your  hand  to  this  ? 

Camil.  And  justify't  with  my  life  ;  S^^  ^^  ^'^ 
Presume  upon't.  -    - 

Ado7\  On,  then  ;  you  shall  o'er-rule  me. 

;dW'  ^u:  SCENE   IV.';" 
A  Room  in  Severino's  House, 

Enter  loLhiiTTL  and  Cki.iv&oY^''^ ^^'^^-^ 

Tol.  ril  ^iVe  thee  a  golden  tongue,  knd  hive 
it  hung  up, 
Over  thy  tomb,  for  a  monument.     "■'   '  s    n^ 

Lalip,  I  am  not  prepared  yet 
To  leave  the  world  ;  there  are  many  good  pranks 
I  must  dispatch  in  this  kind  before  I  die  : 
And  I  had  rather,  if  your  honour  please, 
Have  the  crowns  in  my  purse. 

Tol.  Take  that. 

Calls.  Magnificent  lady  ! 
May  you  live  long,  and,  every  moon,  love  change, 

Vade  Mecum  of  the  punctilious  gallants  about  the  court  of 
James  1.  He  is  frequently  mentioned  by  Beaumont  and  Flet- 
cher, Jonson,  and  our  author,  and  generally  with  the  ridiculft 
which  he  deserves.  From  a  passage  in  the  New  Inn^  it  should 
seem  that  his  reputation  did  not  long  outlive  their  sarcasms  : 
"  Host.  They  had  their  times,  and  we  can  say,  tltey  were: 
•'  So  had  Caranza  hi«." 


T80  THE   GUARDIAN.' 

That  I  may  have  fresh  employment !  You  knoTr 
what 

Remains  to  be  done  ? 

Tdl.  Yes,  yes  ;  I  will  command 

My  daughter  and  Mirtilla  to  their  chamber. 
Calip.  And  lock  them  up ;  such  liquorish  kit- 
lings  are  not 

To  be  trusted  with   our  cream.     Ere  I  go,  I'll 
help  you 

To  set  forth  the  banquet,  and  place  the  candied 
eringoes 

Where  he  may  be  sure  to  taste  them ;  then  un- 
dress you, 

For  these  things   are    cumbersome,   when   you 
should  be  active : 

A  thin  night  mantle  to  hide  part  of  your  smock. 

With  your  pearl- embroider'd  pantofles  on  your 
feet. 

And  then  you  are  arm'd  for  service!  nay,  no 
trifling, 

We  are  alone,  and  you  know  'tis  a  point  of  folly 

To  be  coy  to  eat  \vhen  ineat  is  set  before  you. 

SCENE  V. 

A  Street  before  Severino's  HousK.      .  V 
jBw/er  Adokio  aw^?  Servant. 

Ador.  Tis  eleven  by  my  watch,  the  hour  ap^ 
pointed. 
Listen  at  the  door — hear'st  thou  any  stirring? 

iS'ert?.  No,  sir; 
All's  silent  here. 

Ador.  Some  cursed  business  keeps 
Her  mother  up.     I'll  walk  a  little  circle. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  18i 

And  shew  where  you  shall  wait  us  with  the  horses, 
And  then  return.     This  short  delay  afflicts  me, 
And  I  presume  to  her  it  is  not  pleasing.  [Eveunt, 

Enter  Durazzo  and  Caldoro. 

i)ur.  "What's  now  to  be  done  ?  prithee  let's  to 
bed,  i  am  sleepy ; 
And  here*s  my  hand  on't,  without  more  ado, 
By  fair  or  foul  play  we'll  have  her  to  morrow 
In  thy  possession. 

Cald.  Good  sir,  give  me  leav^ 
To  taste  a  little  comfort  in  beholding 
The  place  by  her  sweet  presence  sanctified. 
She  may  perhaps,  to  take  air,  ope  the  casement, 
And  looking  out,  a  new  star  to  be  gazed  on 
By  me  with  adoration,  bless  these  eyes. 
Ne'er  happy  but  when  she  is  made  the  object. 

jDur.  Is  not  here  fine  fooling  ! 

Cald.  Thou  great  queen  of  love, 
Or  real  .or  imagined,  be  propitious 
To  me,  thy  faithful  votary  !  and  I  vow 
To  erect  a  statue  to  thee,  equal  to 
Thy  picture,  by  Apelles'  skillful  hand 
Left  as  the  great  example  of  his  art ; 
And  on  thy  thigh  I'll  hang  a  golden  Cupid, 
His  torches  flaming,  and  his  quiver  full, 
For  further  honour ! 

Dur.  End  this  waking  dream, 
And  let's  away. 

Enter  from  the  house  Calista  and  Mirtilla. 

Calls.  Mirtilla! 

Cald.  'Tis  her  voice  ! 

Calls.  You  heard  the  horses'  footing? 

Mirt.  Certainly. 


\ 


182  THE  GUARDIAN. 

Cttlis.  Speak  low.     My  lord  Adorio  ! 

Catd.  I  am  dumb. 
•^**Dm?\  The  darkness  friend  us  too !  Most  ho- 

nour'd  madam, 
Adorio,  your  servant. 

Calls.  As  you  are  so,  . 
1  do  command  your  silence  till  we  are  ,^ 

Further  remov'd  ;  and  let  this  kiss  assure  you 
(I  thank  the  sable  night  that  hides  my  blushes) 
I  am  wholly  yours. 

Dur.  Forward,  vqu  micher  1*  ,     ^^ 

Mirt,  Madam,    '■';  P'^'/^^'r- V'  ^^f^ 

Think  on  Mi rti  11a  I  [Goes  into  the  house. 

Dur.  I'll  not  now  enquire 
The  mystery  of  this,  but  bless  kind  fortune 
Favouring  us  beyond  our  hopes:  yet,  now  I  think 

on't, 
I  had  ever  a  lucky  hand  in  such  smock  night- 
work.  {^Exeunt. 

Enter  Adorio  and  Servant. 

Ador,  This  slowness  does  amaze  me:  she's  not 
alter'd 
In  her  late  resolution? 

Tol.  [within.l  Get  you  to  bed, 
And  stir  not  on  your  life,  till  I  command  you. 

Ador.  Her  mother's  voice  !  listen. 

Sero.  Here  comes  the  daughter. 

Re- ew/er  M I R  T I L  L  A  hastily. 
Mirt.  Whither  shall  I  fly  for  succour.? 

*  Forward,  you  micher !]  To  mich  is  to  lurk.  I  am  ashamed 
to  waste  a  word  on  what  is  known  to  crery  school-boy  in  the 
kingdom ;  but  I  am  told  that  there  are  some  grown  persons 
*'  who  will  be  thankful  for  the  information." 


THE   GUARDlA'N.  18$ 

A  dor.  To  these  arms, 
Your  castle  of  defence,  impregnable, 
And  not  to  be  blown  up :  how  your  heart  beats  J 
Take  comfort,  dear  Calista,  you  are  now 
In  his  protection  that  will  ne'er  forsake  you : 
Adorio,  your  changed  Adorio,  swears 
By  your  best  self,  an  oath  he  dares  not  break, 
He  loves  you,  loves  you  in  a  noble  way, 
His  constancy  firm  as  the  poles  of  heaven, 
I  will  urge  no  reply,  silence  becomes  you ; 
And  I'll  defer  the  music  of  your  voice,  oi 

Till  we  are  in  a  place  of  safety.  "'^ 

Mirt.  O  blest  error  !  [Aside,     Exeunt, 

Enter  Severino.  ~'^i 

Sev.,  'Tis  midnight:  how  my  f(?ar$,of  certain 
death,  *  ,:  V.  "^ 

Being  surprised,  combat  with  my  strong  hopes 
Raised  on  my  chaste  wife's  goodness!  lam  grown 
A  stranger  in  the  city,  and  no  wonder, 
I  have  too  long  been  so  unto  myself: 

Grant  me  a  little  truce,  my  troubled  soul 

I  hear  some  footing,  ha ! 

Enter  Laval  and  Calipso. 

Calip.  That  is  the  house, 
And  there's  the  key :  you'll  find  my  lady  ready 
To  entertain  you;  'tis  not  fit  I  should 
Stand  gaping  by  while  you  bill :  I  have  brought 

you  on. 
Charge  home,  and  come  off  with  honour.  [Exit. 

Set).  It  makes  this  way. 

Lav.  I  am  much  troubled,  and  know  not  what 
to  think 
Of  this  design. 

Sev,  It  still  comes  on. 


.184  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Lav.  The  watch  ! 
I  am  l)etray'(l. 

.    Sev.  Should  I  now  appear  fearful, 
It  would  discover  nie  ;  there's  no  retiring. 
My  confidence  must  protect  me;  I'll  appeat*.  ^ 
As  if  I  M'alk'd  the  round.' — Stand  huoY;\OhobA 

Lav.  I  am  lost. 

Sev.  The  word  ? 

Lav.  Pray  you  forbear ;  I  am  a  strahger, 
And  missing,  this  dark  stormy  night,  my  war 
To  my  lodging,  you  shall  do  a  courteous  office 
To  guide  me  to  it. 
.    Sev.  Do  ydu  think  I  stand  here 
For  a  page  or  a  porter  ? 

Lav.  Good  sir,  grow  not  so  hijjh  : 
I  can  justify  my  being  abroad;  I  am 
No  pilfering  vagabond,  and  what  you  are 
Stands  yet  in  supposition;  and  I  charge  you,.. 
If  you    are   an    officer,  bring   me  before    vouf 

captain ;  .    .        '   -. 

For  if  you  do  assault  me,  tnough  hot  in  fear 
Of  what  you  Can  do  alone,  I  will  cry  inufder, 
And  raise  the  streets. 

Sev.  Before  my  captain,  ha  ! 
And  bring  my  head  to  the  block.  Would  we  were 

parted, 
I  have  greater  cause  to  fear  the  watch  than  he. 

Lav.  Will  you  do  your  duty  ? 

Sev.  I  must  close  with  him  : — 
Troth,  sir,  whate'eryouare,  (yet  by  your  language. 
I  guess  you  a  gentleman,)  IMl  not  use  the  rigour 
Of  my  place  upon  you  :  only  quit  this  street, 
For  your  stay  here  will  be  dangerous ;  and  good 
night ! 


17/  appear 


As  if  T  walk'd  the  round.}  i.  e.  As  if  I  was  one  of  the 
watch.     See  Vol.  UI.  p.  141. 


THE    GUARDIAN.         .     185 

Lax).  The  like  to  you,  sir;  I'll  grope  out  my  way 
As  well  as  I  can.    O  damn'd  bawd! — Fare  you 

well,  sir.  iKvit, 

Sev,  I  am  glad  he's  gone;  there  is  a  secret 

passage, 
Unknown  to  my  wife,  through  which  this  key 

will  guide  me 
To  her  desired  embraces,  which  must  be, 
My   presence    being  beyond  her  hopes,    most 

welcome.  . '  ^-f';'  [Edit. 


SCENE   VI. 

A  Room  in  Severino's  House. 
loLANTE  is  heard  speaking  behind  a  curtain, 

lol.  I  am  full  of  perplex'd  thoughts.     Impe- 
rious blood, 
Thou  only  art  a  tyrant ;  judgment,  reason, 
To  whatsoever  thy  edicts  proclaim, 
With  vassal  fear  subscribe  against  themselves. 
I  am  yet  safe  in  the  port,  and  see  before  me. 
If  I  put  off,  a  rough  tempestuous  sea, 
The  raging  winds  of  infamy  from  all  quarters 
Assuring  my  destruction;  yet  my  lust.''  ^'*  , 
Swelling  the  wanton  sajls,  (my  understanding 
Stow'd  under  hatches,)  like  a  desperate  pilot. 
Commands  me  to  urge  on.    My  pride,  my  pride, 
Self-love,  and  over- value  of  myself. 
Are  justly  punish 'd  :  I,  that  did  deny 
My  daughter's  youth  allow'd  and  lawful  pleasures, 
And  would  not  suffer  in  her  those  desires 
She  suck'd  in  with  my  miJk,  now  in  my  waning 
An»  scorch'd  and  burnt  up  with  libidinous  fire, 

VOL.  IV.  *  O 


186  THE   GUARDIAN. 

That  must  consume  my  fame ;  yet  still  I  throw 
More  fuel  on  it. 

Enter  Severing  before  the  curtain. 

Sev,  'Tis  her  voice,  poor  turtle  : 
She's  now  at  her  devotions,  praying  for 
Her  banish'd  mate ;  alas,  that  for  my  guilt 
Her  innocence  should  suffer  !  But  I  do 
Commit  a  second  sin  in  my  deferring 
The  ecstasy  of  joy  that  will  transport  her 
Beyond  herself,  when  she  flies  to  my  lips, 
And  seals  my  welcome. — [Draws  the  curtain,  and 
discovers  lolante  seated,  with  a  rich  banquet^, 
and  taper Sy  setforth,^ — lolante  ! 

Ibl  Ha! 
Good  angels  guard  me  ! 

Sev.  What  do  I  behold  ! 
Some  sudden  flash  of  lightning  strike  me  blind, 
Or  cleave  the  centre  of  the  earth,  that! 
May  living  find  a  sepulchre  to  swallow 
Me  and  my  shame  together ! 

T6L  Guilt  and  horror 
Confound  me  in  one  instant;  thus  surprised, 
The  subtilty  of  all  wantons,  though  abstracted, 
Can  shew  no  seeming  colour  of  excuse, 
To  plead  in  my  defence.  \A.side, 

Sev.  Is  this  her  mourning  ? 
O  killing  object !  The  imprison'd  vapours 
Of  rage  and  sorrow  make  an  earthquake  in  me ; 
This  little  world,  like  to  a  tottering  tower, 
Not  to  be  underpropp'd ; — yet  in  my  fall, 
I'll  crush  thee  with  my  ruins.    [Draws  a  poniard, 

lol.  [kneeling.]  Good  sir,  hold  : 
For,  my  defence  unheard,  you  wrong  your  justice, 
If  you  proceed  to  execution  ; 
And  will,  too  late,  repent  it. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  187 

Sev.  Thy  defence ! 
To  move  it,  adds  (could  it  receive  addition) 
Ugliness  to  the  loathsome  leprosy 
That,  in  thy  being  a  strumpet,  hath  already 
Infected  every  vein,  and  spreads  itself 
Over  this  carrion,  which  would  poison  vultures 
And  dogs,  should  they  devour  it.    Yet,  to  stamp 
The  seal  of  reprobation  on  thy  soul, 
I'll  hear  thy  impudent  lies,  borrow'd  from  hell, 
And  prompted  by  the  devil,  thy  tutor,  whore  ! 
Then  send  thee  to  him.     Speak. 

lol.  Your  Gorgon  looks 
Turn  me  to  stone,  and  a  dead  palsy  seizes 
My  silenced  tongue. 

Sev.  O  Fate,  that  the  disease 
Were  general  in  women,  what  a  calm 
Should   wretched  men   enjoy!    Speak,    and  be 

brief. 
Or  thou  shalt  suddenly  feel  me. 

lol.  Be  appeased,  sir. 
Until  I  have  deliver'd  reasons  for 
This  solemn  preparation. 

Sev.  On,  I  hear  thee.    "  ^  » 

ToL  With  patience  ask  your  memory ;  'twill 
instruct  you. 
This  very  day  of  the  month,  seventeen  years  since, 
You  married  me. 

Sec.  Grant  it,  what  canst  thou  urge 
From  this? 

loL  That  day,  since  your  proscription,  sir, 
In  the  remembrance  of  it  annually, 
The  garments  of  my  sorrow  laid  aside, 
I  have  with  pomp  observed, 

Sev.  Alone  ! 

lol.  The  thoughts 
Of  my  felicity  then,  my  misery  now, 
Were  the  invited  guests  ;  imagina,tion 

♦OS 


188  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Teaching  me  to  believe  that  you  were  present. 
And  a  partner  in  it. 

Sev.  Rare  !  this  real  banquet 
To  feastyour  fancy :  fiend  !  could  fancy  drink  off 
These  flaggons  to  my  health,  or  the  idle  thought, 
Like  Baal,  devour  these  delicates  ?  the  room 
Perfumed  to  take  his  nostrils  !   this  loose  habit, 
Which  Messalina  would  not  wear,  put  on 
To  fire  his  lustful  eyes  !  Wretch,  am  I  grown 
So  weak  in  thy  opinion,  that  it  can 
Flatter  credulity  that  these  gross  tricks 
May  be  foisted  on  me?   Where's  my  daughter? 

where 
The  ba\rd  your  woman?  answer  me. — Calista! 
Mirtilla  !  they  are  disposed  of,  if  not  murder'd, 
To  make  all  sure ;  and  yet  methinks  your  neigh- 
bour, 
Your  whistle,  agent,  parasite,  Calipso, 
Should  be  within  call,  when  you  hem,  to  usher  in 
The  close  adulterer.  [Lai/s  hands  on  her. 

Tdl.  What  will  you  do  ? 

Sev.  Not  kill  theC;  do  not  hope  it ;  I  am  not 
So  near  to  reconcilement.  Ha!  this  scarf, 
The  intended  favour  to  your  stallion,  now 
Is  useful :  do  not  strive  ; — [//c  binds  ^er.]— thus 

bound,  expect 
All  studied  tortures  my  assurance,  not  >]r\zin 
My  jealousy,  thou  art  false,  can  pour  upon  thee. 
In  darkness  howl  thy  mischiefs  ;  and  if  rankness 
Of  thy  imagination  can  conjure 
The  ribald  [hither,"]  glut  thyself  with  him  ; 
I  will  cry  Aim  !  and  in  another  room 
Determine  of  my   vengeance.     Oh,   my  heart- 
strings !  [Exit  with  the  tapers. 

*  The  ribald  [hither,]  glut  thyself  taith  him;']  The  word  in- 
closed in  brackets,  or  one  of  a  similar  meaning,  seems  necessary 
to  complete  the  sense  as  well  as  the  metre. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  189 

Tol.  Most  miserable  woman  !  and  yet  sitting 
A  judge  in  mine  own  cause  upon  myself, 
I  could  not  mitigate  the  heavy  doom 
My  incens'd  husband  must  pronounce  upon  me. 
In  my  intents  I  am  guilty,  and  for  them 
Must  suffer  the  same  punishment,  as  if 
I  had,  in  fact,  offended. 

Calip.  \within.']  Bore  my  eyes  out, 
If  you  prove  me  faulty  :  I'll  but  tell  my  lady 
What  caused  your  stay,  and  instantly  present  you. 

Enter  Calipso. 

How's  this  ?  no  lights  !  What  new  device  ?  will 

she  play 
At  blindman's-buff? — Madam  ! 

Tol.  Upon  thy  life, 
Speak  in  a  lower  key. 

Calip.  The  mystery 
Of  this,  sweet  lady  ?  where  are  you  ? 

Tol.  Here,  fast  bound. 

Calip.  By  whom  ? 

I'dl.  I'll  whisper  that  into  thine  ear, 
And  then  farewell  for  ever. 

Calip.  How  !  my  lord  ? 
I  am  in  a  fever :  horns  upon  horns  grow  on  him  ! 
Could  he  pick  no  hour  but  this  to  break  a  bargain 
Almost  made  up  ? 

lol.  What  shall  we  dor 

Calip.  Betray  him  ; 
I'll  instantly  raise  the  watch. 

lol.  And  so  make  me 
For  ever  infamous. 

Calip.  The  gentleman,  ' 

The  rarest  gentleman  is  at  the  door. 
Shall  he  lose  his  labour?    Since  that  you  must 
perish, 


190  THE   GUARDIAN. 

'Twill  shew  a  woman's  spleen  in  you  to  fall 
Deservedly  ;  give  him  his  answer,  madam. 
I  have  on  the  sudden  in  my  head  a  strange  whim; 
But  I.  will  first  unbind  you.  [Frees  I'dl. 

lol.  Now  what  follows  ? 

Calip.  I  will  supply  your  place ;  [I'dl.  binds  CalipJ] 
and,  bound,  give  me 
Your  mantle,  take  my  night-gown  ;  send  away 
The  gentleman  satisfiied.     I  know  my  lord 
Wants  power  to  hurt  you,  I  perhaps  may  get 
A  kiss  by  the  bargain,  and  all  this  may  prove 
But   some  neat  love-trick  :    if  he  should  grow 

furious, 
And  question  me,  I  am  resolv'd  to  put  on 
An  obstinate    silence.     Pray  you  dispatch   the 

gentleman, 
His  courage  may  cook 

lol.  I'll  speak  with  him,  but  if 
To  any  base  or  lustful  end,  may  mercy 
At  my  last  gasp  forsake  me  !  [Eait, 

Calip.  1  was  too  rash, 
And  have  done  what  I  wish  undone :    say  he 

should  kill  me  ? 
I  have  run  my  head  in  a  fine  noose,  and  I  smell 
The  pickle  I  am  in  !  'las,  how  I  shudder 
Still  more  and  more  !  would  I  were  a  she  Priapus, 
Stuck  up  in  a  garden  to  fright  away  the  crows, 
So  I  were  out  of  the  house  1  she's  at  her  pleasure, 
Whate'ershe  said;  and  I  must  endure  the  torture — 
He  comes  ;  I  cannot  pray,  my  fears  will  kill  me. 

Re-enter  Seveeino  with  a  knife  in  his  handy  throw-' 
ing  open  the  doors  violent  ly. 

Sev.  It  is  a  deed  of  darkness,  and  I  need 
No  light  to  guide  me;  there  is  something  tells  me 
I  am  too  slow-paced  in  my  wreak,  and  trifle 


THE  GUARDIAN.  191 

In  my  revenge.  All  hush'd  !  no  sigh  nor  groan, 
To  witness  her  compunction  !  can  guilt  sleep, 
And  innocence  be  open-eyed  ?  even  now. 
Perhaps,  she  dreams  of  the  adulterer, 
And  in  her  fancy  hugs  him.  Wake,  thou  strumpet, 
And  instantly  give  up  unto  my  vengeance 
The  villain  that  defiles  my  bed  ;  discover 
Both  what  and  where  he  is,  and  suddenly. 
That  I  may  bind  you  face  to  face,  then  sew  you 
Into  one  sack,  and  from  some  steep  rock  hurl  you 
Into  the  sea  together  ;  do  not  play  with 
The  lightning  of  my  rage;  break  stubborn  silence, 
And  answer  my  demands ;   will  it  not  be  ? 
I'll  talk  no  longer ;  thus  I  mark  thee  for 
A  common  strumpet. 

[Strikes  at  her  with  the  knife, 

Calip.  Oh  ! 

Se*c.  Thus  stab  these  arms 
That  have  stretch'd  out  themselves  to  grasp  a 
stranger. 

Calip.  Oh! 

Sev.  This  is  but  an  induction  ;  I  will  draw 
The  curtains  of  the  tragedy  hereafter ; 
Howl  on,  'tis  music  to  me.  \_Exit, 

Calip.  He  is  gone. 
A  kisSj  and  love-tricks  !  he  hath  villainous  teeth, 
May  sublimed  mercury  draw  them  !  if  all  dealers 
In  my  profession  were  paid  thus,  there  would  be 
A  dearth  of  cuckolds.    Oh  my  nose  !  I  had  one  : 
My  arms,  my  arms !  I  dare  not  cry  for  fear ; 
Cursed  desire  of  gold,  how  art  thou  punish'd  1 

Re-enter  Iolante. 

loL  Till  now  I  never  truly  knew  myself. 
Nor  by  all  principles  and  lectures  read 
In  chastity's  cold  school,  was  so  instructed 


192  THE   GUARDIAN. 

As  by  her  contrary,  how  base  and  deformed 

Loose  appetite  is;  as  in  a  few  short  minutes 

This  stranger  hath,  and  feelingly,  deliver'd. 

Oh  !  that  I  could  recall  my  bad  intentions. 

And  be  as  I  was  yesterday,  untainted 

In  my  desires,  as  lam  still  in  fact, 

I  thank  his  temperance  !  I  could  look  undaunted 

Upon  my  husband's  rage,  and  smile  at  it, 

So  strong  the  guards  and  sure  defences  are 

Of  armed  innocence;  but  I  will  endure 

The  penance  of  my  sin,  the  only  means 

Is  left  to  purge  it.    The  day  breaks.— Calipso  ! 

Calip.  H6re,  madam,  here. 

I'dl.  Hath  my  lord  visited  thee? 

Calip.  Hell  take  such   visits  !    these   stabb'd 
arms,  and  loss 
Of  my  nose  you  left  fast  on,  may  give  you  a  relish 
What  a  night  I  have  had  oft,  and  what  you  had 

suffered. 
Had  I  not  supplied  your  place. 

Tdl.  I  truly  grieve  for't; 
Did  not  my  husband  speak  to  thee  ? 

Calip.  Yes,  I  heard  him, 
And  felt  him,  ecct  signuniy  with  a  mischief ! 
But  he  knew  not  me ;  like  a  true-bred  Spartan 

;       boy,' 
With  silence  I  endured  it ;  he  could  not  get 
One  syllable  from  me. 

Tdl.  Something  may  be  fashion'd 
From  this ;  invention  help  me !  I  must  be  sudden. 

[Unbinds  her. 
Thou  art  free,  exchange,  quick,  quick  !  now  bind 

me  sure, 
And  leave  me  to  my  fortune. 

like  a  true-bred  Spartan  boy,]  The  old  copy 


reads/oi.    The  amendment  by  Mr.  M.  Mason 


THE  GUARDIAN.  193 

Calip.  Pray  you  consider 
The  loss  of  my*  nose  ;  had  I  been  but  carted  for 

Though  wash'd  with  mire  and  chamber-lie,  I  had 
Examples  to  excuse  me  :   but  my  nose, 
My  nose,  dear  lady  ! 

Tol.  Get  off,  I'll  send  to  thee.      [Exit  Calipso, 
If  so,  it  may  take  ;  if  it  fail,  I  must 
Suffer  whatever  follows. 

Re-enter  Severing  with  the  knife  and  taper*,' 1 

Sev.  I  have  search'd 
In  every  corner  of  the  house,  yet  find  not 
My  daughter,  nor  her  maid  ;  nor  any  print 
Of  a  man's  footing,  which,  this  wet  night,  would 
Be  easily  discern'd,  the  ground  being  soft, 
At  his  coming  in  or  going  out. 
•  loL  'Tis  he, 

And  within  hearing;  heav'n  forgive  this  feigning,' 
I  being  forced  to't  to  preserve  my  life, 
To  be  better  spent  hereafter  ! 

Sev.  I  begin 
To  stagger,  and  my  love,  if  it  knew  how, 
(Her  piety  heretofore,  and  fame  remembered,) 
Would  plead  in  her  excuse. 

*  161.  'Tis  he, 

And  -within  hearing :  heaven  forgive  this  feigning^l    All  the 
editions  read : 

'Tis  he, 

And  I'm  within  hearing;  heaven,  &c. 
The  unmetrical  turn  of  the  line  shews  that  something  is  wrong  ; 
and,  indeed,  what  lolantc  wanted  was,  that  her  husband  should 
be  within  hearing,  that  she  might  begin  her  adjurations.  "  To 
remark,"  as  Johnson  says,  (on  another  occasion,)  *'  the  inipro> 
babilily  of  the  fiction,  or  the  absurditj  of  the  conduct  of  this 
strange  interlude,  were  to  waste  criticism  upon  unresisting  im- 
becility." 


194  THE   GUARDIAN, 

lol.  \aloud.'\  You  blessed  gjuardians 
Of  matrimonial  faith,  and  just  revengers 
Of  such  as  do  in  fact  offend  against 
Your  sacred  rites  and  ceremonies  ;  by  all  titles 
And  holy  attributes  you  do  vouchsafe 
To  be  invoked,  look  down  with  saving  pity 
Upon  my  matchless  sufferings  ! 

Sev.  At  her  devotions : 
Affliction  makes  her  repent. 

lol.  Look  down 
Upon  a  wretched  woman,  and  as  I 
Have  kept  the  knot  of  wedlock,  in  the  temple 
By  the  priest  fastened,  firm ;  (though  in  loose 

wishes 
I  yield  I  have  offended;)  to  strike  blind 
The  eyes  of  jealousy,  that  see  a  crime 
I  never  yet  committed,  and  to  free  me 
From  the  unjust  suspicion  of  my  lord. 
Restore  my  martyr'd  face  and  wounded  arms 
To  their  late  strength  and  beauty. 

Sev,  Does  she  hope 
To  be  cured  by  miracle  ? 

Tdl.  This  minute  I 
Perceive  with  joy  my  orisons  heard  and  granted. 

You  ministers  of  mercy,  who  unseen, 
And  by  a  supernatural  means,  have  done 
This  work  of  heavenly  charity,  be  ever 
Canonized  for't  1 

Sev,  I  did  not  dream,  I  heard  her, 
And  I  have  eyes  too,  they  cannot  deceive  me : 
If  I  have  no  belief,  in  their  assurance,* 
I  must  turn  sceptic.    Ha  !   this  is  the  hand, 
And  this  the  fatal  instrument:  these  drops 

*  If  I  have  no  belief  in  their  assurance,]  So  the  quarto, 
Coxeter  misprinted  it— in  their  assistance^  and  Mr.  M.  Mason, 
as  usual,  followed  him. 


THE  GUARDIAN.  195 

Of  blood,  that  gush'd  forth  from  her  face  and 

arms, 
Still   fresh  upon  the  floor.     This  is  something 

more 
Than  wonder  or  amazement ;  I  profess 
I  am  astonish'd.' 

lol.  Be  incredulous  still, 
And  go  on  in  your  barbarous  rage,  led  to  it 
By  your  false  guide,  suspicion  ;  have  no  faith 
In  my  so  long  tried  loyalty,  nor  believe 
That  which  you  see  ;  and  for  your  satisfaction, 
My  doubted  innocence  cleared  by  miracle, 
Proceed ;  these  veins  have  now  new  blood,  if  you 
Resolve  to  let  it  out. 

Sev.  I  would  not  he  fool'd 
With  easiness  of  belief,  and  faintly  give 
Credit  to  this  strange  wonder ;  'tis  now  thought 

on : 
In  a  fitter  place  and  time  I'll  sound  this  further. 

[Aside, 
How  can  I  expiate  my  sin?  or  hope,   \Unties her. 
Though  now  I  write  myself  thy  slave,  the  service 
Of  my  whole  life  can  win  thee  to  pronounce 
Despair'd-of   pardon?     Shall    I    kneel?     that's 

poor, 
Thy  mercy  must  urge  more  in  my  defence, 
Than  I  can  fancy  ;  wilt  thou  have  revenge? 
My  heart  lies  open  to  thee. 

Tdl.  This  is  needless 
To  me,  who  in  the  duty  of  a  wife. 
Know  I  must  suffer. 

Sev.  Thou  art  made  up  of  goodness, 
And  from  my  confidence  that  I  am  alone 
The  object  of  thy  pleasures,  until  death 
Divorce  us,  we  will  know  no  separation. 
Without  inquiring  why,  as  sure  thou  wilt  not, 
Such  is  thy  meek  obedience,  thy  jewels 


196  THE  GUARDIAN. 

And  choicest  ornaments  pack'd  up,  thou  shalt 
Along  with  me,  and  as  a  queen  be  honour'd 
By  such  as  style  me  sovereign.     Already 
My  banishment  is  repeal'd,  thou  being  present; 
The  Neapolitan  court  a  place  of  exile 
When  thou  art  absent :  my  stay  here  is  mortal, 
Of  which  thou  art  too  sensible,  1  perceive  it; 
Come,  dearest  lolante,  with  this  breath 
All  jealousy  is  blown  away.  [Embraces  her. 

loL  Be  constant.  [Exeunt. 


A  C  T  IV.    S  C  E  N  E   I. 

The  Country » 

A  Noise  mthin,  as  of  a  horse  fallen ; — then  enter 
DuRAzzo,  Caldoro,  andServant,  with  Calista 
in  their  arms. 

Dur.  Hell  take  the  stumbling  jade! 

Cald.  Heaven  help  the  lady  ! 

Serv.  The  horse  hath  broke  his  neck. 

Dur.  Would  thine  were  crack'd  too, 
So  the  lady  had  no  harm !  Give  her  fresh  air, 
'TIS  but  a  swoon. 

Cald.  'Tis  more,  she's  dead. 

Dm\  Examine 
Her  limbs  if  they  be  whole :  not  too  high,  not 

too  high. 
You  ferret ;  this  is  no  coney-burrow  for  you. 
How  do  you  find  her? 

Cald.  No  breath  of  com.fort,  sir:  too  cruel  fate ! 
Had  I  still  pined  away,  and  linger'd  under 
The  modesty  of  just  and  honest  hopes 


THE   GUARDIAN.  197 

After  a  long  consumption,  sleep  and  death 
To  me  had  been  the  same ;  bat  now,  as  'twere, 
Possess'd  of  all  my  wishes,  in  a  moment 
To  have  them  ravish'd  from  me!  suffer  shipwreck 
In   view  of  the  port!   and,   like  a  half-starv'd 

beggar, 
No  sooner  in  compassion  clothed,  but  coffin'd  ! — 
M^^voient  destinies,  too  cunning  in 
Wretched  Caldoro's  tortures !  O  Calista, 
If  thy  immortal  part  hath  not  already 
Left  this  fair  palace,  let  a  beam  of  light 
Dawn  from  thine  eye,  in  this  Cimmerian  darkness, 
To  guide  my  shaking  hand  to  touch  the  anchor 
Of  hope  in  thy  recovery. 

Calls.  Oh  ! 

Dur.  She  lives;  c  Bi'i 

Disturb  her  not:  she  is  no  right-bred  woman. 
If  she  die  with  one  fall;  some  of  my  acquaintance 
Have  ta'en  a  thousand  merrily,  and  are  still 
Excellent  wrestlers  at  the  close  hug.  ' 

Cald.  Good  sir — 

Dur,  Prithee  be   not  angry,  I  should  speak 
thus  if 
My  mother  were  in  her  place. 

Cald.  But  had  you  heard 
The  music  of  the  language  which  she  used 
To  me,  believed  Adorio,  as  she  rode 
Behind  me;  little  thinking  that  she  did 
Embrace  Caldoro — 

Calis.  Ah,  Adorio  ! 

Dur.  Leave  talking,  I  conceive  it. 

Calis.  Are  you  safe? 

Cald.  And  raised,  like  you,  from  death  to  life, 
to  hear  you. 

Calis.  li car  my  defence  then,  ere  I  take  my 
veil  off, 


198  THE   GUARDIAN. 

A  simple  maid's  defence,  which,  looking  on  you, 
I  faintly  could  deliver;  willingly 
I  am  become  your  prize,  and  therefore  use 
Your  victory  nobly ;  heaven's  bright  eye,  the 

sun, 
Draws  up  the  grossest  vapours,  and  I  hope 
I  ne'er  shall  prove  an  envious  cloud  to  darken 
The  splendour  of  your  merits.     I  could  urge 
With  what  disdain,  nay  scorn,  I  have  declined 
The  shadows  of  insinuating  pleasures 
Tendered  by  all  men  else,  you  only  being 
The  object  of  my  hopes:  that  cruel  prince 
To  whom  the  olive-branch  of  peace  is  ofFer'd, 
Is  not  a  conqueror,  but  a  bloody  tyrant, 
If  he  refuse  it;  nor  should  you  wish  a  triumph. 
Because  Calista's  humble :  I  have  said, 
And  now  expect  your  sentence. 

JDur.  What  a  throng 
Of  clients  would  be  in  the  court  of  Love, 
Were  there  many  such  she-advocates!  Art  thou 

dumb? 
Canst  thou  say  nothing  for  thyself? 

Cald.  \^Kneels.1  Dear  lady. 
Open  your  eyes,  and  look  upon  the  man, 
The  man  you  have  elected  for  your  judge. 
Kneeling  to  you  for  mercy. 

Calls.  I  should  know 
This  voice,  and  something  more  than  fear  I  am 
Deceived ;  but  now  I  look  upon  his  face, 
I  am  assured  I  am  wretched. 

Dur.  Why,  good  lady  ? 
Hold  her  up,  she'll  fall  again  before  her  time 

else. 
The  youth's  a  well-timber'd  youth,  look  on  his 

making  ; 
His  hair  curl'd  naturally;  he's  whole-chested  too, 


THE  GUARDIAN.  199 

And  will  do  his  work  as  well,  and  go  through 

stitch  with't, 
As  any  Adorio  in  the  world,  my  state  on't ! 
A  chicken  of  the  right  kind ;  and  if  he  prove  not 
A  cock  of  the  game,  cuckold  him  first,  and  after 
Make  a  capon  of  him. 

Calls.  I  II  cry  out  a  rape. 
If  thou  unhand  me  not :  would  I  had  died 
In  my  late  trance,  and  never  lived  to  know 
I  am  hetray'd ! 

Dur.  To  a  young  and  active  husband  ! 
Call  you  that  treachery  ?  there  are  a  shoal  of 
Young  wenches  i'the  city,  would  vowa  pilgrimage 
Beyond  Jerusalem,  to  be  so  cheated. — 
To  her  again,  you  milk-sop  !   violent  storms 
Are  soon  blown  over. 

Calls.  How  could 'st  thou,  Caldoro, 
With  such  a  frontless  impudence  arm  thy  hopes 
So  far,  as  to  believe  I  might  consent 
To  this  lewd  practice?  have  I  not  often  told  thee, 
Howe'er  I  pitied  thy  misplaced  affection, 
I  could  not  answer  it;  and  that  there  was 
A  strong  antipathy  between  our  passions, 
Not  to  be  reconciled  ? 

Cald.  Vouchsafe  to  hear  me 
With  an  impartial  ear,  and  it  will  take  from 
The  rigour  of  your  censure.     Man  was  mark'd 
A  friend,  in  his  creation,  to  himself, 
And  may  with  fit  ambition  conceive 
The  greatest  blessings,  and  the  highest  honours 
Appointed  for  him,  if  he  can  achieve  them 
The  right  and  noble  way  :  I  grant  you  were 
The  end  of  my  design,  but  still  pursued 
With  a  becoming  modesty,  heaven  at  length 
Being  pleased,  and  not  my  arts,  to  further  it. 

Dur.  Now  he  comes  to  her:  on,  boy ! 

Cald,  I  have  served  you 


200  THE  GUARDIAN, 

With  a  religious  zeal,  and  born  the  burthen 

Of  your  neglect,  if  I  may  call  it  so, 

Beyond  the  patience  of  a  man :  to  prove  this, 

I  have  seen  those  eyes  with  pleasant  glances  play' 

Upon  Adorio's,  like  Phcebe's  shine, 

Gilding  a  crystal  river;  and  your  lip 

Rise  up  in  civil  courtship  to  meet  his, 

While  I  hit  mine  with  envy :  yet  these  favours, 

Howe'er  my  passions  raged,  could  not  provoke  me 

To  one  act  of  rebellion  against 

My  loyalty  to  you,  the  sovereign 

To  whom  I  owe  obedience. 

Calls.  My  blushes 
Confess  this  for  a  truth. 

Dur.  A  flag  of  truce  is 
Hung  out  in  this  acknowledgment. 

Cald.  I  could  add, 
But  that  you  may  interpret  what  I  speak 
The  malice  of  a  rival,  rather  than 
My  due  respect  to  your  deserts,  how  faintly 
Adorio  hath  return'd  thanks  to  the  bounty 
Of  your  affection,  ascribing  it 
As  a  tribute  to  his  worth,  and  not  in  you 
An  act  of  mercy  :  could  he  else,  invited 
(As  by  your  words  I  understood)  to  take  you 


J     I  have  seen  those  eyes  -with  pleasant  glances  play 

Upon  Adorio's,  &c. 
This  is  a  beautiful  simile ;  in  the  Winter's  Tale  we  have  one 
Tery  much  like  it : 

" He  saySj  he  loves  my  daughter; 

**  I  think  so  too :  for  never  gaz'd  the  moon 
"  Upon  the  viater,  as  he'll  stand,  and  read, 
*'  As  'twere,  my  daughter's  eyes."     Coxeter. 
I  would  not  deprive  the  reader  of  these  pretty  lines;  though 
I  cannot  avoid  observing,  that  they  present  an  image  totally 
distinct  from  that  -which  they  are  cited  to  exemplify.     One  is 
the  picture  of  complacent  affection,  the  other  of  rapturous  de- 
light :  the  language  of  both  is  singularly  happy. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  201 

To  his  protection,  grossly  neglect  i  4.,a"   Vv^  ^ 
So  gracious  an  offer,  or  give  power 
To  Fate  itself  to  cross  him  ?  O,  dear  madam, 
We  are  all  the  balls  of  time,  toss'd  to  and  fro, 
From  the  plough  unto  the  throne,  and  back  again: 
Under  the  swing  of  destiny  mankind  suffers, 
And  it  appears,  by  an  unchanged  decree, 
You  were  appointed  mine ;  wise  nature  always 
Aiming  at  due  proportion  :  and  if  so, 
I  may  believe  with  confidence,  heaven,  in  pity 
Of  my  sincere  affection,  and  long  patience, 
Directed  you,  by  a  most  blessed  error, 
To  your  vow'd  servant's  bosom. 

Dur.  By  my  holidam, 
Tickling  philosophy  ! 

Calls.  I  am,  sir,  too  weak 
To  argue  with  you  ;  but  my  stars  have  better, 
I  hope,  provided  for  me. 

Cald.  If  there  be 
Disparity  between  us,  'tis  in  your 
Compassion  to  level  it. 

Dur.  Give  fire  * 

To  the  mine,  and  blow  her  up. 

Calls,  I  am  sensible 
Of  what  you  have  endured ;  but  on  the  sudden, 
With  my  unusual  travel,  and  late  bruise, 
I  am  exceeding  weary.     In  yon  grove. 
While  I  repose  myself,  be  you  my  guard ; 
My  spirits  with  some  little  rest  revived. 
We  will  consider  further:  for  my  part, 
You  shall  receive  modest  and  gentle  answers 
To  your  demands,  though  short;  perhaps,  to  make 

you 
Full  satisfaction. 

Cald.  I  am  exalted 
In  the  employment ;  sleep  secure,  I'll  be 
Your  vigilant  centinel. 

VOL.  IV.  *  P 


;£02  THE  GUARDIAN. 

Calls.  But  I  command  you,  '      ' ... 

And  as  you  hope  for  future  grace,  obey  nife,'*'  ^^^' 
Presume  not  with  one  stolen  kiss  to  disturb 
The  quiet  of  my  slumbers;  let  your  temperancd, 
And  not  your  lust,  watch  o'er  me.  . , 

Cald.  My  desires 
Are  frozen,  till  your  pity  shall  dissolve  them. 

Dur.  Frozen  !  think  not  of  frost,  fool,  in  the 
dog-days. 
Reinember  the  old  adage,  and  make  use  oft, 
Occasion's  bald  behind. 

Calls.  Is  this  your  uncle  ? 

Cald.  And  guardian,  madam  :  at  your  better 
leisure. 
When  I  have  deserved  it,  you  may  give  him  thanks 
For  his  many  favours  to  me. 

Calls.  He  appears 
A  pleasant  gentleman. 

[Ea^eunt  Caldoro  and  Calista. 

Dur.  You  should  find  me  so, 
But  that  I  do  hate  incest.     I  grow  heavy  ; 
Sirrah,  provide  fresh  horses ;  I'll  seek  out 
Some  hollow  tree,  and  dream  till  you  return. 
Which  I  charge  you  to  hasten. 

Serxi.  With  all  care,  sir.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 

The  Country.     A  Room  in  Adorio's  House. 

Enter  Cario  "with  se*ceral  Villager s^  Musicians ^  S^c. 

Car.  Let  your  eyes  be  rivetted  to  my  heels, 
and  miss  not 
A  hair's  breadth  of  my  footing;  our  dance  has 
A  most  melodious  note^  and  1  command  you 


THE    GUARDIAN.  303 

To  have  ears  like  hare$  this  night,  for  my  lord's 

honour, 
And  something  for  my  worship  :  your  reward  is 
To  be  drunk-blind  like  moles,  in  the  wine-cellar; 
And  though  you  ne'er  see  after,  'tis  the  better; 
You  were  born  for  this  night's  service.    And,  do 

you  hear, 
Wire-string    and    cat-gut    ipen,    and     strong- 

breath'd  hoboys,         j,     •'{ 
For  the  credit  of  your  calling,  have  not  your 

instruments 
To  tune  when  you  should  strike  up;   but  twang 

it  perfectly, 
As  you  would  read  your  neck-verse :  and  you, 

warbler,  '■  i 

Keep  your  wind  pipe  moist,  that  you  may  not 

spit  and  hem, 
When  you  should  make  division.     How  I  sweat ! 
Authority  is  troublesome: — [A  horn  within.] — 

they  are  come, 
I  know  it  by  the  cornet  :liat  I  placed 
On  the  hill  to  give  me  notice :  marshal  yourselves 
Fthe  rear;  the  van  is  yours. 

Enter  Adorio,  Mi  rt  ill  a,  Camillo,  Lentuio, 
and  DoNATO. 

Now  chant  it  sprightly. 

A  SONG.* 

j4dor.  A  well-penn'd  ditty. 
Camil.  Not  ill  sung. 

Ador.  What  follows?  [to  the  dancers. 

Car.    Use   your   eyes.     If  ever  —  now   your 
master-piece  ! 

♦  See  this  Song,  with  that  p.  211,  at  the  conclusion  of  th« 
play. 

*P2 


204  THE    GUARDIAN. 

A  DANCE. 

Ador,  'Tis  well  perform*d :  take  that,  but  not 
from  me, 
'Tis  your  new  lady's  bounty,  thank  her  for  it; 
All  that  I  have  is  her"s. 

Car,  I  must  have  three  shares 
For  my  pains  and  properties,  the  rest  shall  be 
Divided  equally.      [^Exeunt  Cario,  Villagers,  Sgc. 

Mirt.  My  real  fears  ■'■vl 

Begin,  and  soon  my  painted  comforts  vanish, 
In  my  discovery. 

Ador.  Welcome  to  your  own  ! 
You  have  (a  wonder  in  a  woman)  kept 
Three    long    hours   silence;    and   the  greater, 
Jon        holding         .i^iorrr  fjqi<7  fmiv/   :n.'^v  <jf)M>< 
Your  own  choice  in  your  arms;  a  blessing  for 
'  which 

I  will  be. thankful  to  you  :  nay,  unmask. 
And  let  mine  eye  and  ears  together  feast. 
Too  long  by  you  kept  empty.    Oh,  you  want 
Your  woman's  help,  I'll  do  her  office  for  you.;(^ 

\Takes  off  her  mask, 
Mirtilla  ! 

..  Camil.  It  is  she,  and  wears  the  habit 
in  which  Calista  three  days  since  appeared. 
As  she  came  from  the  temple. 

Lent.  All  this  trouble 
For  a  poor  waiting-maid  ! 

Don.  We  are  grossly  guU'd. 

Ador.  Thou  child  of  impudence,  answer  me, 
and  truly, 
Or,  though  the  tongues  of  angels  pleaded  mercy, 
Tortures  shall  force  it  from  thee. 

Mirt.  Innocence 
Is  free,  and  open-breasted  ;  of  what  crime 
Stand  I  accused,  my  lord  ? 


THE   GUARDIAN.  205 

Ador.  What  crime  !  no  language 
Can  speak  it  to  the  height ;  I  shall  become 
Discourse  for  fools  and  drunkards     How  was  this 
Contrived  ?  who  help'd  thee  in  the  plot  ?  dis- 
cover. 
Were  not  Calista's  aids  in't  ? 

Mirt.  No,  on  my  life ; 
Nor  am  I  faulty. 

Ador.  No  !   what  May-game's  this  ? 
Didst  thou  treat  with  me  for  thy  mistress'  favours. 
To  make  sale  of  thine  own  ? 

Mirt.  With  her  and  you 
I  have  dealt  faithfully :'  you  had  her  letter 
With  the  jewel  I  presented  :  she  received 
Your  courteous  answer,  and  prepared  herself 
To  be  removed  by  you  :  and  howsoever 
You  take  delight  to  hear  what  you  have  done, 
From  my  simplicity,  and  make  my  weakness 
The  subject  of  your  mirth,  as  it  suits  well 
With  my  condition,  I  know  you  have  her 
In  your  possession. 

Ador.  How  !  has  she  left 
Her  mother's  house? 

Mirt.  You  drive  this  nail  too  far. 
Indeed  she  deeply  vow'd,  at  her  departure. 
To  send  some  of  your  lordship's  servants  for  me, 
(Though  you  were  pleased  to  take  the  pains 

yourself,) 
That  I  might  still  be  near  her,  as  a  shadow 
To  follow  her,  the  substance. 
^    Ador.  She  is  gone  then  ? 

Mirt.  This  is  too  much ;  but,  good  my  lord, 
forgive  me. 


J  I  have  dealt  faithfully  ;]  So  the  old  copy.  Coxeter  and 
Mr.  M.  Mason  rc&d  faithful,  which  utterly  destroys  the  metre: 
but  thers  is  no  end  of  these  blunders. 


206  THE    GUARDIAN. 

I  come  a  virgin  hither  to  at^end 
My  noble  mistress,  though  1  must  confess, 
I  lobk  with  sore  eyes  upon  her  good  fortune, 
And  wish  it  were  mine  own. 

Ador.  Then,  as  it  seems. 
You  do  yourself  affect  me  ? 

Mirt.  Should  she  hear  me. 
And  in  her  sudden  fury  kill  me  for't, 
I  durst  not,  sir,  deny  it ;  since  you  are 
A  man  so  form'd,  that  not  poor  I  alone, 
But  all  our  sex  like  me,  I  think,  stand  bound 
To  be  enamour'd  of  you. 

Ador.  O  my  fate ! 
How  justly  am  I  punish'd,  in  thee  punish'd, 
For  my  defended  wantonness  !*  I,  that  scorn'd 
The  mistress  when  she  sought  me,  now  I  would 
Upon  my  knees  receive  her,  am  become 
A  prey  unto  her  bondwoman,  my  honour  too 
Neglected  for  this  purchase.     Art  thou  one  of 

those 
Ambitious  servingwomen,  who,  contemning 
The  embraces  of  their  equals,  aim  to  be 
The  wrong  way  ladyfied,  by  a  lord  ?  was  there 
No  forward  page  or  footman  in  the  city. 
To  do  the  feat,  that  in  thy  lust  I  am  chosen 
To  be  the  executioner  ?  dar'st  thou  hope 
I  can  descend  so  low? 

Mirt.  Great  lords  sometimes 
For  change  leave  calver'd  salmon,  and  eat  sprats  •/ 
In  modesty  I  dare  speak  no  more. 

Camil.   If  'twere 
A  fish-day,  though  you  like  it  not,  I  could  say 

*  For  my  defended  -wantonness  /]  i.  e.  forbidden,  interdicted. 
The  word  occurs,  in  this  sense,  in  many  of  our  old  writers. 

'     Mirt.  Great  lords  sumetimts 

-For  change  leave  calver'd  salmon,  and  eat  sprats :']  See  Vol. 
III.  p.  54. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  207 

I  have  a  stomach,  and  would  content  myself 
With  this  pretty  whiting-mop.' 

Ador.  Discover  yet 
How  thou  cam'st  to  my  hands. 

Mirt.  My  lady  gone, 
Fear  of  her  mother's  rage,  she  being  found  absent, 
Moved  me  to  fly  ;  and  quitting  of  the  house, 
You  were  pleased,   unask'd,  to  comforjfc  me ;  (I 

used 
No  sorceries  to  bewitch  you  ;)  then  vouchsafed 
(Thanks  ever  to  the  darkness  of  the  night !) 
To  hug  me  in  your  arms  ;  and  I  had  wrong'd 
My  breeding  near  the  court,  had  I  refused  it. 

Ador.  This  is  still  more  bitter.     Canst  thou 
guess  to  whom 
Thy  lady  did  commit  herself? 

Mirt.  They  were 
Horsemen,  as  you  are. 

Ador.   In  the  name  of  wonder. 
How  could  they  pass  the  port,  where  you  expected 
My  coming? 

' and  -would  content  myself 

With   this  pretty  whiting-mop.]    This  word   occurs  in  the 
soblimc  strains  of  Bustopha  : 

*'  The  thundering  seas,  whose  watry  fire 
"  Washes  the  ■whiting.mups.''^     Maid  in  the  Mill, 
And  again, 

"  — They  will  swim  their  measures 

*'  Like  •whiting-7nopSf  as  it  their  feet  were  fins,"  &c. 

Martial  Maid. 
"  A  •whiting-mop,^''  says  the  editor,  "  is  a  sort  of  fix h  so 
called."  But  whether  it  is  a  seal  or  a  soland-goose,  he  does  not 
determine.  And  so  notes  are  written !  A  whiting~mop  is  a  young 
whiting.  Puttenham,  in  his  Art  (f  English  Poesie,  illustrates  the 
figure  "  raeiosis,  or  the  di^abler,"  by  terming  his  muse  his 
prettie  moppe  ;  understanding,  he  says,  "  by  this  moppe  a  little 
prety  lady,  or  tender  yoang  thing.  For  so  we  ca;!  little  (ishes, 
that  be  not  come  to  their  full  growth,  moppes ;  as,  whiting-muppes, 
gixmsLrd-moppes,  &c."  p.  184. 


206  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Camil.  Now  I  think  upon't,  there  came 
Three  mounted  by,  and,  behind  one,  a  woman 
Embracing  fast  the  man  that  rode  before  her. 

Lent.  I  knew  the  men  ;  but  she  was  veil'd. 

Ador.  What  were  they  ? 

Lmt.  The  first  the  lord  Durazzo,  and  the  second. 
Your  rival,  young  Caldoro  ;  it  was  he 
That  carried  the  wench  behind  him. 

Don.  The  last  a  servant. 
That  spurr'd  fast  after  them. 

Adoj\  Worse  and  worse !  'twas  she  ! 
Too  much  assurance  of  her  love  undid  me. 
Why  did  you  not  stay  them? 

Don.  We  had  no  such  commission. 

Camil.  Or  say  we  had,  who  durst  lay  fingers  on 
The  angry  old  ruffian  ? 

Lent.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather 
Take  a  baited  bull  by  the  horns. 

Ador.  You  are  sure  friends 
For  a  man  to  build  on  ! 

Camil.  They  are  not  far  otf, 
Their  horses  appear'd  spent  too  ;  let's  take  fresh 

ones, 
And  coast  the  country ;  ten  to  one  we  find  them. 

Ador.  I  will  not  eat  nor  sleep,  until  I  have 
them : 
Moppet,  you  shall  along  too. 

Mirt.  So  you  please 
I  may  keep  my  place  behind  you,  I'll  sit  fast, 
And  ride  with  you  ail  the  world  o'er. 

Camil,  A  good  girl !  [^Exeunt, 


THE  GUARDIAN.  269 

SCENE   III. 

Naples.     A  Street, 
Enter  Laval  and  Calypso. 

Lav.  Her  husband  ?  Severino? 
Calip,  You  may  see  m?.:^c 
His  handy  work  by  my  flat  face ;  no  bridge 
Left  to  support  my  organ,  if  I  had  one ; 
The  comfort  is,  I  am  now  secure  from  the  crln- 

comes, 
I  can  lose  nothing  that  way.' 
Laval.  Dost  thou  not  know 
What  became  of  the  lady? 

Calip.  A  nose  was  enough  to  part  with, 
I  think,  in  the  service  ;  I  durst  stay  no  longer : 
But  I  am  full  assured  the  house  is  empty, 
Neither  poor  lady,  daughter,  servant  left  there. 
I  only  guess  he  hath  forced  them  to  go  with  him 
To  the  dangerous  forest,  where  he  lives  like  a 

king, 
Among  the  banditti ;  and  how  there  he  hath  used. 

them. 
Is  more  than  to  be  fear'd. 

Lav.  I  have  play'd  the  fool. 
And  kept  myself  too  long  conceal'd,  sans  question, 

With  the  danger  of  her  life.     Leave  me the 

king  ! 


/  am  now  secure  from  tlie  crincomes, 


/  can  lose  nothing  that  way^  This  passage  scarcely  deserves 
a  note:  but  Calipso's  meaning  is,  that,  by  the  previous  loss  of 
her  nose,  she  is  secured  from  one  of  the  evils  attendant  on  the 
disease  yet  known  among  the  vulgar  by  the  name  which  she 
assigns  to  it. 


210  THE  GUARDIAN. 


Enter  Alphonso  and  Captain. 

Calip.  The  surgeon  must  be  paid. 
Lav.  Take  that,  [Gives  her  money, 

Calip.  I  thank  you ; 
I  have  got  enough  by  my  trade,  and  I  will  build 
An  hospital  only  for  noseless  bawds, 
(*Twill  speak  my  charity,)  and  be  myself 
The  governess  of  the  sisterhood.  \F,xit, 

Alph.  I  may 
Forget  this  in  your  vigilance  hereafter ; 
But  as  I  am  a  king,  if  you  provoke  me 
The  second  time  with  negligence  of  this  kind, 
You  shall  deeply  smart  for't. 
Lav.  The  king's  moved. 
Alph.  To  suffer 
A  murderer,  by  us  proscribed,  at  his  pleasure 
To  pass  and  repass  through  our  guards ! 

Capt.  Your  pardon 
For  this,  my  gracious  lord,  binds  me  to  be 
More  circumspect  hereafter. 

Alph.   Look  you  be  so  : 
Monsieur  Laval,  you  were  a  suitor  to  me 
For  Severino's  pardon. 

Lav,  I  was  so,  my  good  lord. 
Alph.  You  might  have  met  him  here,  to  have 
thank 'd  you  for't, 
As  now  I  understand. 

Lav.  So  it  is  rumour'd  ; 
And  hearing  in  the  city  of  his  boldness, 
I  would  not  say  contempt  of  your  decrees. 
As  then  I  pleaded  mercy,  under  pardon, 
I  now  as  much  admire  the  slowness  of 
Your  justice  (though  it  force  you  to  some  trou- 
ble) 
In  fetching  him  in.  - 


THE   GUARDIAN.  211 

Alph.  I  have  consider'd  it. 

Lav.  He  bath  of  late,  as  'tis  suspected,  done 
An  outrage  on  his  wife,  forgetting  nature 
To  his  own  daughter;  in  whom,  sir,  I  have 
Some  nearer  interest  than  I  stand  bound  to 
In  my  humanity,  which  I  gladly  would 
Make  known  unto  your  highness. 

Alph.  Go  along, 
You  shall  have  opportunity  as  we  walk  : 
See  you  what  I  committed  to  your  charge, 
In  readiness,  and  without  noise. 

Capt.  I  shall,  sir.  [ExeunU 


ACT  V.     SCENE  I. 

Tlie  Forest, 

Enter  Claudio  and  all  the  Banditti,  making  a 
guard;  Severing  and  Iolante  with  oaken- 
leaved  garlands ;  Singers. 

A  song. 

Sev.  Here,  as  a  queen,  share  in  my  sovereignty : 
The  iron  toils  pitch'd  by  the  law  to  take 
The  forfeiture  of  my  life,  I  have  broke  through, 
And  secure  in  the  guards  of  these  ffw  subjects, 
Smile  at  Alphonso's  fury  ;  thougli  I  grieve  for 
The  fatal  cause,  in  your  good  brother's  loss, 
That  does  compel  me  to  this  course. 

lol.  Revive  not 
A  sorrow  long  since  dead,  and  so  diminish 
The  full  fruition  of  those  joys,  which  now 


212  THE  GUARDIAN. 

I  stand  possess'd  of:  womanish  fear  of  danger 
That  may  pursue  us,  I  shake  off,  and  with 
A  masculine  spirit.  r,iA  u 

Sev.  'Tis  well  said.  '    ir,J; 

I'dl.  In  you,  sir, 
I  live;  and  when,  or  by  the  course  of  nature, 
Or  violence,  you  must  fall,  the  end  of  my 
Devotions  is,  that  one  and  the  same  hour 
May  make  us  fit  for  heaven.  / 

iSev.  I  join  with  you  -^ 

In  my  votes  that  way  :*  but  how,  lolante. 
You  that  have  spent  your  past  days,  slumbering 

in 
The  down  of  quiet,  can  endure  the  hardness 
And  rough  condition  of  our  present  being, 
Does  much  disturb  me. 

Tdl.  These  woods,  Severino, 
Shall  more  than  seem  to  me  a  populous  city. 
You  being  present;  here  are  no  allurements 
To  tempt  my  frailty,  nor  the  conversation 
Of  such  whose  choice  behaviour,  or  discourse, 
May  nourish  jealous  thoughts. 

Sev.  True,  lolante ; 
Nor  shall  suspected  chastity  stand  in  need  here, 
To  be  clear'd  by  miracle. 

J'dl.  Still  on  that  string ! 
It  yields  harsh  discord. 

Sev.  I  bad  forgot  myself, 
And  wish  I  might  no  more  remember  it. 
The  day  wears,  sirs,  without  one  prize  brought  in 
As  tribute  to  your  queen:  Claudio,  divide 
Our  squadron  in  small  parties,  let  them  watch 
All  passages,  that  none  escape  without 
The  payment  of  our  customs. 

'  In  my  votes  that  waj/:}  i.  e.  in  my  prayers;  I  know  not  who 
led  the  way  to  this  pedantic  adoption  of  the  Latin  word,, 
Cvotuniy)  but  I  find  it  in  Jonson,  and  others,  before  his  time. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  213 

Claud,  Shall  we  bring  in 
The  persons,  with  the  pillage  ? 

Sev.  By  all  means  ; 
Without  reply,  about  it:  we'll  retire 

[E.veunt  Claudio  and  the  rest. 
Into  my  cave,  and  there  at  large  discourse 
Our  fortunes  past,  and  study  some  apt  means 
To  find  our  daughter;  since,  she  well  disposed  of, 
Our  happiness  were  perfect. 

lol.  We  must  wait 
With  patience  heaven's  pleasure. 

Sev.  'Tis  my  purpose.  [Ej'emif, 


SCENE   11. 

-■    <   •  - 

Another  part  of'  the  Forest, 
jEJw/er  Lentulo  flfwJ  Camillo. 

Lent.  Let  the  horses  graze,  they  are  spent. 

Camil.  I  am  sure  I'm  sleepy. 
And  nodded  as  I  rode:  here  was  a  jaunt 
r  the  dark  through  thick  and  thin,  and  all  to  no 
purpose  I  '. 

What  a  dulness  grows  upon  me  1 

Lent.   I  can  hardly 
Hold  ope  mine  eyes  to  say  so.    How  did  we  lose 
Adorio  ?  \They  sit  down. 

CamiL  He,  Donate,  and  the  wench, 
That  cleaves  to  him  like  birdlime,  took  the  right 

hand  : 
But  this  place  is  our  rendezvous. 

Lent.  No  matter. 
We'll  talk  of  that  anon heigh  ho!  [Falls  asleep, 

Camil.  He's  fast  already. 
Lentulo  ! — I'll  take  a  nap  too.  [Falls  asleep. 


£14  THE   GUARDIAN. 

jE«/cr  Adorio,  Mirtilla,  a?idT>o^ATO. 

Ador,  Was  ever  man  so  crost  ? 

Mirt.  So  blest ;  this  is 
Tiie  finest  wild-goose  chase !  [Aside, 

Ador.  What's  that  you  mutter  ? 

Mirt.  A  short  prayer,  that  you  may  find  your 
wish'd-for  love, 
Though  I  am  lost  for  ever. 

Don.  Prettv  fool  ! 
Who  have  we  here  ? 

Adoi\  This  is  Camillo. 

Mirt.  This  signior  Lentulo. 

Ador,  Wake  them. 

Don.  They'll  not  stir, 
Their  eyelids  are  glued,  and  mine  too:  by  your 

favour, 
I'll  follow  their  example.  [^Lies  down. 

Ador.  Are  you  not  weary  ? 

Mirt.  I  know  not  what  the  word  means,  while 
I  travel  ■:''  ■  ' 

To  do  you  service. 

Ador.  You  expect  to  reap 
The  harvest  of  your  flattery  ;  but  your  hopes 
Will  be  blasted,  I  assure  you. 

Mirt.  So  you  give  leave 
To  sow  it,  as  in  me  a  sign  of  duty. 
Though  you  deny  your  beams  of  gracious  favour 
To  ripen  it,  with  patience  I  shall  suffer. 

Ador.  No  more ;  my  resolution  to  find 
Calista,  by  what  accident  lost  I  know  not, 
Binds  me  not  to  deny  myself  what  nature 
Exacteth  from  me  :  to  walk  alone  afoot 
(For  my  horse  is  tired)  were  madness,  1  must  sleep. 
You  could  lie  down  too  ? 

Mirt.  Willingly  ;  so  you  please 
To  use  me — 


THE   GUARDIAI^.  215 

Ador.  Use  thee  ! 

Mirt.  As  your  pillow,  sir ; 
I  dare  presume  no  further.     Noble  sir, 
Do  not  too  much  contemn  me;  generous  feet 
Spurn  not  a  fawning  spaniel. 

Ador.  Well;  sit  down. 

Mirt.  I  am  ready,  sir. 

Ador,  So  nimble  ! 

Mirt.   Love  is  active. 
Nor  would  I  be  a  slow  thing :  rest  secure,  sir  ; 
On  my  maidenhead,  I'll  not  ravish  you. 

Ador.  For  once, 
So  far  I'll  trust  you.        \^Lays  his  head  on  her  lap, 

Mirt.  All  the  joys  of  rest 
Dwell  on  your  eyelids;  let  no  dream  disturb 
Your  soft  and  gentle  shimbers  !   I  cannot  sing, 
But  I'll  talk  you  asleep ;  and  I  beseech  you 
Be  not  offended,  though  I  glory  in 
My  being  thus  employ'd  ;  a  happiness 
That  stands  for  more  than  ample  satisfaction 
For  all  I  have,  or  can  endure. — He  snores. 
And  does  not  hear  me  ;  would  his  sense  of  feeling 

Were  bound  up  too  !  I  should 1  am  all  fire. 

Such  heaps  of  treasure  offer'd  as  a  prey, 
Would  tempt  a  modest  thief;  I  can  no  longer 
Forbear — I'll  gently  touch  his  lips,  and  leave 
No  print   of  mine; — \^Kisses  him.\   ah  1 — I  have 

heard  of  nectar, 
But  till  now  never  tasted  it ;  these  rubies 
Are  nor  clouded  by  my  breath  :  if  once  again 
I  steal  from  such  a  full  exchequer,  trifles 
Will   not   be  miss'd  ;  —{Kisses  hitn  again.'] — I  am 

entranced  :  our  fancy, 
Some  say,  in  sleep  works  stronger ;   I  will  prove 
How  far  my \FaUs  asleep. 


^l&  THE  GUARDIAN. 


Enter  Durazzo. 

Dur.  My  bones  ache, 
I  am  exceeding  cold  too  ;  I  must  seek  out 
A   more    convenient    truckle-bed.      Ha !    do  I 

dream  ? 
No,  no,  I  wake.     Camillo,  Lentulo, 
Donato  this,  and,  as  I  live,  Adorio 
In  a  handsome  wench's  lap  !  a  whoreson  !  you  are 
The  best  accommodated.   I  will  call 
My  nephew  and  his  mistress  to  this  pageant ; 
The  object  may  perhaps  do  more  upon  her, 
Than  all  Caldoro's  rhetoric.  With  what 
Security  they  sleep  !  sure  Mercury 
Hath  travell'd  this  way  with  bis  charming-rod. 
Nephew  !  Calista  !  Madam  ! 

Enter  Caldoro  and  Calista. 

Cald.  Here,  sir.  Is 
Your  man  return'd  with  horses  ? 

Dur.  No,  boy,  no  ;  .  ; 

But  here  are  some  you  thought  not  of. 

Calis.  Adorio  ! 

Dur.  The  idol  that  you  worshipped. 

Calls.  This  Mirtilla ! 
I  am  made  a  stale. 

Dur.  I  knew  'twould  take.  [Jside. 

Calls.  False  man  ! 
But  much  more  treacherous  woman  !    'Tis  appa- 
rent. 
They  jointly  did  conspire  against  my  weakness. 
And  credulous  simplicity,  and  have 
Prevail'd  against  it. 

Cald.  rii  not  kill  them  sleeping; 
But  if  you  please,  I'll  wake  them  first,  and  after 


THE  GUARDIAN.  217 

Offer  them,  as  a  fatal  sacrifice, 
To  your  just  anger. 

Dur.  You  are  a  fool  ;  reserve 
Your  blood  for  better  uses. 

Calls.  My  fond  love 
Is  changed  to  an  extremity  of  hate ; 
His  very  sight  is  odious. 

Dur.  I  have  thouglit  of 
A  pretty  punishment  for  him  and  his  comrades, 
Then  leave  him  to  his  harlotry  ;  if  she  prove  not 
Torture  enough,  hold  me  an  ass.  Their  horses 
Are  not  far  otf,  I'll  cut  the  girts  and  bridles. 
Then  turn  them  into  the  wood ;  if  they  can  run. 
Let  them  follow  us  as  footmen.    Wilt  thou  fight 
For  what's  thine  own  already  ! 

Calls.  In  his  hat 
He  wears  a  jewel,'  which  this  faithless  strumpet. 
As  a  salary  of  her  lust,  deceived  me  of; 
He  shall  not  keep't  to  my  disgrace,  nor  will  I 
Stir  till  I  have  it. 

Dur,  I  am  not  good  at  nimming  ;* 
And  yet  that  shall  not  hinder  us  :  by  your  leave, 

sir; 
'Tis  restitution  :  pray  you  all  bear  witness 
I  do  not  steal  it ;  here  'tis. 

[Takes  off  A  dor  id's  hatj  and  remo'ces  the 
jewel,  which  he  gives  to  Calista. 


In  his  hat 


He  wears  a  jewel,]  This  is  in  conformity  to  the  custom  which 
then  prevailed  of  wearing  brooches  (gems  set  in  goltl  or  silver) 
in  the  hat.  Our  ancestors  gave  the  name  oi jewels,  not  so  much 
to  a  single  stone,  as  to  a  cluster  of  them  set  in  order  by  the 
lapidary,  and,  in  general,  to  any  little  trinket  or  ornament  of 
gold  and  precious  stones.  See  p.  148,  and  160. 

*  Duraz.  /  am  not  good  at  nimming  ;]  i.  e.  at  stealing.  The 
word  is  pure  Saxon,  and  means  to  takty  to  seize,  it  is  found  in 
all  our  old  writers ;  and,  indeed,  is  still  in  use,  as  a  caal  term 
for  stealing. 

VOL,  IV.  *  Q 


2i8  THE  GUARDIAN. 

Calls.  Take  it, — not  i'^ 

As  a  mistress'  favour,  but  a  strong  assurance 
I  am  your  wife.  \Gives  it  to  Caldoro. 

Cald  O  heaven  ! 

Dur,  Pray  in  the  church. 
Let  lis  away.  Nephew,  a  word  ;  have  you  not 
Been  billing  in  the  brakes,  ha  !  and  so  deserv'd 
This  unexpected  favour  ? 

Cald.  You  are  pleasant. 

[Ed'eunt  Durazzo,  Caldoro ^  and  Calista, 

Ador,  As  thou  art  a  gentleman,  kill  me  not 

basely;  \_Starts  up ;  the  rest  awake. 

Give  me  leave  to  draw  my  sword.  I (VMi'i 

Camil.  Ha  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Lent.  He  talk'd  of's  sword. 

Don.  I  see  no  enemy  near  us. 
That  threatens  danger. 

Mirt.  Sure  'twas  but  a  dream. 

Ador.  A  fearful   one.     Methought    Caldoro's 
sword 
Was  at  my  throat,  Calista  frowning  by, 
Commanding  him,  as  he  desired  her  favour, 
To  strike  my  head  off. 

Camil,  Mere  imagination 
Of  a  disturbed  fancy. 

Mirt.  Here's  your  hat,  sir, 

Ador..  But  where's  my  jewel  ? 

Camil.  By  all  likelihood  lost, 
This  troublesome  night. 

Don.  I  saw  it  when  we  came 
Unto  this  place. 

Mirt.  I  look'd  upon't  myself, 
When  you  reposed. 

Ador.  What  is  become  of  it  ? 
Restore  it,  for  thou  hast  it ;  do  not  put  mc 
To  the  trouble  to  search  you. 

Mirt.  Search  me  ! 


THE   GUARDIAN.  219 

Ador.  You  have  been, 
Before  your  lady  gave  you  entertainment, 
A  night-walker  in  the  streets. 

Mirt.   How,  my  good  lord  ! 

Ador.  Traded  in  picking  pockets,  when  tame 
gulls, 
Charm'd  with  your  prostituted  flatteries, 
Deign'd  to  embrace  you.  ''''\'^'',  ' 

Mirt.   Love,  give  place  to  anger. 
Charge  me  with  theft,  and  prostituted  baseness! 
Were  you  a  judge,  nay  more,  the  king,  thus  urged. 
To  your  teeth  I  would  say,  'tis  false. 

Ador.  This  will  not  do. 

Camil.  Deliver  it  in  private. 

Mirt.  You  shall  be 
In  public  hang'd  first,  and  the  whole  gang  of  you. 
I  steal  what  I  presented  ! 

Lent.  Do  not  strive. 

Ador.  Though  thou  hast  swallow'd  it,  I'll  rip 
thy  entrails, 
But  I'll  recover  it.  [Seizes,  her. 

Mirt.  Help,  help  ! 

Claudio  and  two  Banditti  rush  upon  them  with 
pistols, 

Ador.  A  new  plot ! 

Claud.  Forbear,  libidinous  monsters  1  if  you 
offer 
The  least  resistance,  you  are  dead.     If  one 
But  lay  his  hand  upon  his  sword,  shoot  all. 
Ador.  Let  us  fight  for  what  we  have,  and  if 
you  can 
Win  it,  enjoy  it. 
.     Claud.  We  come  not  to  try 
Your  valour,  but  for  your  money ;  throw  down 
your  sword, 

*Q2 


220  THE    GUARDIAN. 

Or  I'll  begin  with  you  ;  so  !   if  you  will 
Walk  quietly  without  bonds,  you  may,  if  not 
We'll  force  you. — [Fear  not,]  thou  shalt  have  no 

wrong,* 
But  justice  against  these.  [To  Mirtilla. 

1  Ban.  We'll  teach  you,  sir, 

To  meddle  with  wenches  in  our  walks. 

2  Ban.  It  being 
Against  our  canons. 

Camil.  Whither  will  you  lead  us?  . 

Claud.  You  shall  know  that  hereafter. — Guard 

them  sure.  [^Exeunt. 


SCENE   III. 

Another  part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Alphonso  disguised  as  an  old  Man,  Laval, 
and  Captain. 

Alph.  Are  all  the  passages  stopp'd  ? 

Capt,  And  strongly  mann'd  ; 
They  must  use  wings,  and  fly,  if  they  escape  us. 

Lav.  But  why,  great  sir,  you  should  expose 
your  person 
To  such  apparent  danger,  when  you  may 
Have  them  brought  bound  before  you,  is  beyond 
My  apprehension. 

Alph.  I  am  better  arm'd 
Than  you  suppose  :  besides,  it  is  confirm 'd 
By  all  that  have  been  robb'd,  since  Severino 
Commanded  these  banditti,  (though  it  be 
Unusual  in  Italy,)  imitating 

♦  We'll  force  you. — [Fear  not^  thou  shalt  have  no  rvrong,']  I 
have  added  the  words  in  brackets  to  supply  a  foot  which  wai;^ 
probably  lost  at  the  press. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  221 

The  courteous  English  thieves,  for  so  they  call 

them, 
They  have  not  done  one  murder:  I  must  add  too, 
That,  from  a  strange  relation  I  have  heard 
Of  Severino's  justice,  in  disposing 
The  preys  hrought  in,  I  would  be  an  eye-witness 
Of  what  I  take  up  now  but  on  report : 
And  therefore  'tis  my  pleasure  that  we  should, 
As  soon  as  they  encounter  us,  without 
A  shew  of  opposition,  yield. 

Lav.  Your  will 
Is  not  to  be  disputed. 

Alph.  You  have  placed 
Your  ambush  so,  that,  if  there  be  occasion, 
They  suddenly  may  break  in  ? 

Capt.  My  life  upon't. 

Alph,  We  cannot  travel  far,  but  we  shall  meet 
With  some  of  these  good  fellows ;'  and  be  sure 
You  do  as  I  command  you. 

Lav.  Without  fear,  sir.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE   IV. 

Another  part  of  the  Forest, 

Enter  Severing  and  Iolante. 

Sev.  'Tis  true  ;  I  did  command  Calista  should 
not, 
Without  my  knowledge  and  consent,  assisted 
By  your  advice,  be  married ;  but  your 
Restraint,  as  you  deliver  it,  denying 
A  grown-up  maid  the  modest  conversation 
Of  men,  and  warrantable  pleasures,  relish'd 

'  With  tome  of  these  good  fellows;]  See  p.  229. 


222  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Of  too    much    rigour,    which,    no   doubt,   hath 

driven  her 
To  take  soidc  desperate  course. 

Tul.  What  then  I  did 
Was,  in  my  care,  thought  best. 

Sev.  So  I  conceive  it; 
But  where  was  your  discretion  to  forbid 
Access,  and  fit  approaches,  when  you  knew 
Her  suitors  noble,  either  of  which  I  would 
Have  wish'd  my  son-in  law?  Adorio, 
However  wild,  a  young  man  of  good  parts, 
But  better  fortunes  :  his  competitor, 
Caldoro,  for  his  sweetness  of  behaviour, 
Staidness,  and  temperance,  holding  the  first  place 
Among  the  gallants  most  observed  in  Naples; 
His  own  revenues  of  a  large  extent, 
But  in  the  expectation  of  his  uncle 
And  guardian's  entradas,'  by  the  course 
Of  nature  to  descend  on  him,  a  match 
For  the  best  subject's  blood,  I  except  none 
Of  eminence  in  Italy. 

loL  Your  wishes, 
Howe'er  a  while  delay'd,  are  not,  I  hope, 
Impossibilities. 

Sev.  Though  it  prove  so, 
Yet  'tis  not  good  to  give  a  check  to  fortune, 
When  she    comes    smiling   to   us. — Hark  !    this 
cornet  [Cornet  within* 

Assures  us  of  a  prize;  there  sit  in  state, 
'Tis  thy  first  tribute. 

161.  Would  we  might  enjoy 
Our  own  as  subjects  ! 

*  And  guardian's  entradas,]  So  the  old  copy.  Coxeter  (not 
understanding  the  word,  perhaps,)  discarded  it  for  estates^  which 
utterly  destroys  the  metre.  Mr.  M.  Mason  implicitly  relies  on 
his  guidance,  scquiiurque  patrcniy  as  usual.  Entradas  are  rents, 
reyenues. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  233 

Sev.  "What's  got  by  the  sword, 
Is  better  than  inheritance :  all  those  kingdoms 
Of  Alexander  were,  by  force,  extorted,' 
Though  gilded  o'er  with  glorious  styles  of  con- 
quest : 
His  victories  but  royal  robberies, 
And  his  true  definition  a  thief, 
When  circled  with  huge  navies,  to  the  terror 
Of  such  as  plough'd  the  ocean,  as  the  pirate, 
Who,  from  a  narrow  creek,  puts  off  for  prey 
In  a  small  pinnace  : — [Cornet  within.^ — From  a 

second  place 
New  spoil  brought  in  ! — [CGrnet  within.'] — from 

a  third  party  !   brave ! 
This  shall  be  register'd  a  day  of  triumph, 
Design'd  by  fate  to  honour  thee. 

Enter  Claudio. 

Welcome,  Claudio ! 
Good  booty,  ha? 

Enter  at  different  sides,  "various  parties  of  the 
Banditti ;  one  with  ATtonio,  Lentulo,  Don/.to, 
Camillo,  Mibtilla;  another  with  D\j rax zo, 
Caldoro,  Calista;  and  the  rest  with  Al- 
PHONso,  Laval,  and  Captain. 

Claud.  Their  outsides  promise  so  ; 
But  yet  they  have  not  made  discovery 
Of  what  they  stand  possest  of. 

7  Of  Alexander  uere,  by  forced,  extorted^]  As  this  line  stands  in 
the  old  copy,  it  is  cTidently  corrupt : 

Subdued  by  Alexander,  xvere  by  force  extorted. 
This  does  not  read  to  mc  like  Massingcr's :  the  small  change 
which  I  have  hazarded  restores  it,  at  least,  to  metre.  The 
remark  which  follows  is  taken  from  history;  and  is  said  to  have 
been  actually  made  to  this  prince,  by  a  pirate  whom  he  wai 
about  to  execute. 


S24.  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Sev.  Welcome  all ; 
Good  boys  !  you  have  done  bravely,  if  no  blood 
Be  shed  in  the  service. 

]  Ban.' On  our  lives,  no  drop,  sir. 

Sev,  'Tis  to  my  wish. 

Idl.  My  lord  ! 

Sev.  No  more ;  I  know  them. 

Tdi.  My  daughter,  and  her  woman  too  1 

Sev.  Conceal 
Your  joys. 

Dur.  Fallen  in  the  devil's  mouth  ! 

Calls.  My  father, 
And  mother!  to  what  fate  am  I  reserved? 

Calci  Continue  mask'd  ;  or  grant  that  you  be 
known, 
From  whom  can  you  expect  a  gentle  sentence, 
If  you  despair  a  father's  ? 

Ador.  I  perceive  now 
Which  way  I  lost  my  jewel. 

Mirt.  I  rejoice 
I'm  clear'd  from  theft ;  you  have  done  me  wrong, 

but  I, 
Unask'd,  forgive  you. 

Dur.   'Tis  some  comfort  yet. 
The  rivals,  men  and  women,  friends  and  foes,  are 
Together  in  one  toil. 

Sev.  You  all  look  pale, 
And  by  your  private  whisperings  and  soft  mur- 
murs. 
Express  a  general  fear  :  pray  you  shake  it  off; 
For  understand  you  are  not  fallen  into 
The  hands  of  a  Busiris  or  a  Cacus, 
Delighted  more  in  blood  than  spoil,  but  given  up 
To  the  power  of  an  unfortunate  gentleman. 
Not  born  to  these  low  courses,  howsoever 
My  fate,  and  just  displeasure  of  the  king, 
Design'd  me  to  it :  you  need  not  to  doubt 


THE    GUARDIAN.  225 

A  sad  captivity  here,  and  much  less  fear, 
For  profit,  to  be  sold  for  slaves,  then  shipp'd 
Into  another  country  ;  in  a  word, 
You  know  the  proscribed  Severino,  he, 
Not  unacquainted,  but  familiar  with 
The  most  of  you. — ^Want  in  myself  I  know  not; 
But  for  the  pay  of  these  my  squires,  who  eat 
Their  bread  with  dana^er  purchased,  and  must  be 
With  others'  fleeces  clothed,  or  live  exposed 
To  the  summer's  scorching  heat  and  winter's  cold; 
To  these,  before  you  be  compel  I'd,  (a  word 
I  speak  with  much  unwillingness,)  deliver 
Such  coin  as  you  are  furnish'd  with. 

Dur.  A  fine  method  ! 
This  is  neither  begging,  borrowing,  nor  robbery  ; 
Yet  it  hath  a  twang  of  all  of  them  :  but  one 
word,  sir. 

Sev,  Your  pleasure. 

Dur.  When  we  have  thrown  down  our  muck, 
What  follows?     ■*  1    !  -yy^-  • 

Sev.  Liberty,  with  a  safe  convoy, 
To  any  place  you  choose,  t 

IXur.  By  this  hand,  yoti  are 
A  fair  fraternity  !  for  once  I'll  be 
The  first  example  to  relieve  your  convent. 
There's  a  thousand  crowns,  my  vintage,  harvest, 

profits, 
Arising  from  my  herds,  bound  in  one  bag, 
Share  it  among  you. 

Sev.  You  are  still  the  jovial. 
And  good  Durazzo. 

Dur.  To  the  offering ;  nay, 
No  hanging  an  a — ,  this  is  their  wedding-day: 
What  you  must  do  spite  of  your  hearts,  do  freely 
For  your  own  sakes. 

Camil.  There's  mine. 

Lent.  Mine. 


226  TIIK    GUARDIAN.      ^ 

Don.  All  that  I  have. 

Cald.  This,  to  preserve  my  jewel. 

Ado7\  Which  I  challenge  : 
Let  me  have  justice,  for  my  coin  I  care  not. 

Lav.  I  will  not  weep  for  mine. 

Capt,  Would  it  were  more. 

[They  all  throw  down  their  purses. 

Sev.  Nay,   you  are  privileged ;  but  why,  old 
father,  [To  the  King, 

Art  thou  so  slow  ?  thou  hast  one  foot  in  the  grave, 
And,  if  desire  of  gold  do  not  increase 
With  thy  expiring  lease  of  life,  thou  shouldst 
Be  forward  est. 

jilph.  In  what  concerns  myself, 
I  do  acknowledge  it;  and  I  should  lie, 
A  vice  I  have  detested  from  my  youth, 
If  I  denied  my  present  store,  since  what 
I  have  about  me  now  weighs  down  m  value, 
Almost  a  hundred  fold,  whatever  these 
Have  laid  before  you:  see  1  I  do  groan  under 

Rfvh  fr.  [Throws  down  three  bags. 
The  burthen  of  my  treasure  :  nay,  'tis  gold  ; 
And  if  your  hunger  of  it  be  not  sated 
With  what  already  I  have  shewn  unto  you. 
Here's  that  shall  glut  it.     In  this  casket  are 
Inestimable  jewels,  diamonds 
Of  such  a  piercing  lustre,  as  struck  bljnd 
The  amazed  lapidary,  while  he  labour'd 

[Opens  the  casket. 
To  honour  his  own  art  in  setting  them  : 
Some  orient  pearls  too,  which  the  queen  of  Spain 
Might  wear  as  ear-rings,  in  remembrance  of 
The  day  that  she  was  crown'd. 

Sev.  The  spoils,  I  think. 
Of  both  the  Indies  ! 

Dur.  The  great  sultan's  poor, 
If  parallel'd  with  this  Croesus. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  227 

Sev.  Why  dost  thou  weep  ? 

j^lph.  From  a  most  fit  consideration  of 
My  poverty  ;  this,  though  restored,  will  not 
Serve  my  occasions. 

Sev.  Impossible  ! 

Dur.  May  be  he  would  buy  his  passport  up  to 
heaven  ; 
And  then  this  is  too  little;  though,  inthejourney, 
It  were  a  good  viaticum. 

Alph.  I  would  make  it 
A  means  to  help  me  thither:  not  to  wrong  you 
With  tedious  expectation,  I'll  discover 
What  my  wants  are,  and  yield  my  reasons  for 

them. 
I  have  two  sons,  twins,  the  true  images 
Of  what  I  was  at  their  years  ;  never  father 
Had  fairer  or  more  promising  hopes  in  his 
Posterity :  but,  alas  I  these  sons,  ambitious 
Of  glittering  honour,  and  an  after-name. 
Achieved  by  glorious,  and  yet  pious  actions, 
(For  such  were  their  intentions,)  put  to  sea : 
They  had  a  well-rigg'd  bottom,  fully  mann'd, 
An  old  experienced  master,  lusty  sailors. 
Stout  landmen,  and  what's  something  more  than 

rare. 
They  did  agree,  had  one  design,  and  that  was 
In  charity  to  redeem  the  Christian  slaves 
Chain'd  in  the  Turkish  servitude. 

Sev.  A  brave  aim  ! 

Dur.  A  most  heroic  enterprise  ;  I  languish 
To  hear  how  they  succeeded. 

Alph.  Prosperously, 
At  first,  and  to  their  wishes  :  divers  gallies 
They  boarded,  and  some  strong  forts  near  the 

shore 
They  suddenly  surprised  ;  a  thousand  captives, 


S28  THE   GUARDIAN. 

Redeem'd  from  the  oar,  paid  their  glad  vows  and 

prayers 
For  their  deliverance  :  their  ends  acquired, 
And  making  homeward  in  triumphant  manner. 
For  sure  the  cause  deserved  it — 

Dur.  Pray  you  end  here  ; 
The  best,  I  fear,  is  told,  and  that  which  follows 
Must  conclude  ill. 

Alph.  Your  fears  are  true,  and  yet 
I  must  with  grief  relate  it.  Prodigal  fame, 
In  every  place,  with  her  loud  trump,  proclaiming 
The  greatness  of  the  action,  the  pirates 
Of  Tunis  and  Argiers  laid  wait  for  them 
At  their  return  :  to  tell  you  what  resistance 
They  made,  and  how  my    poor    sons    fought, 

would  but 
Increase  my  sorrow,  and,  perhaps,  grieve  you 
To  hear  it  passionately  described  unto  you. 
In  brief,  they  were  taken,  and  for  the  great  loss 
The  enemy  did  sustain,  their  victory 
Being  with  much  blood  bought,  they  do  endure 
The  heaviest  captivity  wretched  men 
Did  ever  suffer.     O  my  sons  !    my  sons ! 
To  me  for  ever  lost !  lost,  lost  for  ever  ! 

Sev.  Will  not  these  heaps  of  gold,  added  to 
thine. 
Suffice  for  ransome  ? 

Alph.  For  my  sons  it  would ; 
But  they  refuse  their  liberty,  if  all 
That  were  engaged  with  them,  have  not  their 

irons, 
With  theirs,  struck  off,  and  set  at  liberty  with 

them  ; 
Which  these  heaps  cannot  purchase. 

Se'o.  Ha!  the  toughness 
Of  my  heart  melts.  Be  comforted,  old  father ; 


THE   GUARDIAN.  229 

I  have  some  hidden  treasure,  and  if  all 

I  and  my  squires  these  three  years  have  laid  up, 

Can  make  the  sum  up,  freely  take't. 

Dur.  I'll  sell 
Myself  to  my  shirt,  lands,  moveables  ;  and  thou 
Shalt  part  with  thine  too,  nephew,  rather  than 
Such  brave  men  shall  live  slaves. 

2  Ban,  We  will  not  yield  to't. 

3  Ban.  Nor  lose  our  parts. 
Sev.  How's  thisl 

2  Ban.  You  are  fitter  far 
To  be  a  churchman,  than  to  have  command 
Over  good  fellows.' 

Sev.  Thus  I  ever  use  [^Strikes  them  down. 

Such  saucy  rascals ;  second  me,  Claudio. — 
Rebellious  !  do  you  grumble  ?  I'll  not  leave 
One  rogue  of  them  alive. 

Alph.  Hold  ; — give  the  sign.  [Discovers  himself . 

All.  The  king! 

Sev.  Then  I  am  lost. 

Claud.  The  woods  are  full 
Of  armed  men, 

Alph.  No  hope  of  your  escape 
Can  flatter  you. 

Sev.  Mercy,  dread  sir!  [Kneels. 

Alph.  Thy  carriage 
In  this  unlawful  course  appears  so  noble, 
Especially  in  this  last  trial,  which 

•  Oxer  good  fellows-]  A  cant  name  by  which  highwaymen 
and  thieves  have  been  long  pleased  to  denominate  themselves ; 
and  which  has  been  given  them,  in  courtesy,  by  others.  Thus 
Hey  wood  :  • 

King.  If  thou  be  a  goodjelloto,  let  mc  borrow  a  word. 

Hobbs.  I  am  no  good  fellow,  and  I  pray  heaven  thou  be'st 
not  one. 

King.  Why  ?  dost  thou  not  love  good  fellows  ? 

Hobbs.  No  ;  Uis  a  bye- word  :  good/cllows  be  thieves. 

Edward  IV.  Part  I. 


230  THE   GUARDIAN. 

I  put  upon  you,  that  I  wish  the  mercy 

You  kneel  in  vain  for  might  fall  gently  on  you  : . 

But  when  the  holy  oil  was  pour'd  upon 

My  head,  and  I  anointed  king,  I  swore 

Never  to  pardon  murder.     I  could  wink  at 

Your  robberies,  though  our  laws  call  them  death, 

But  to  dispense  with  Monteclaro's  blood 

Would  ill  become  a  king ;  in  him  I  lost 

A  worthy  subject,  and  must  take  from  you 

A  strict  account  oft.   'Tis  in  vain  to  move ; 

My  doom's  irrevocable. 

Lav.  Not,  dread  sir, 
If  Monteclaro  live. 

Alph.  If !  good  Laval. 

Lav,  He  lives  in  him,  sir,  that  you  thought 
Laval.  [Discovers  himself'. 

Three  years  have  not  so  alter'd  me,  but  you  may 
Remember  Monteclaro. 

Dur.  How  ! 

ToL  My  brother  ! 

Calis.  Uncle  ! 

Mont.  Give  me  leave  :  I  was 
Left  dead  in  the  field,  but  by  the  duke  Mont- 

pensier. 
Now  general  at  Milan,  taken  up, 
And  with  much  care  recovered. 

Alph.  Why  lived  you 
So  long  conceal'd  ? 

Mont.  Confounded  with  the  wrong 
I  did  my  brother,  in  provoking  him 
To  fight,  I  spent  the  time  in  France  that  I 
Was  absent  Prom  the  court,  making  my  exile 
The  punishment  imposed  upon  myself, 
For  my  offence. 

lol.  Now,  sir,  I  dare  confess  all : 
This  was  the  guest  invited  to  the  banquet, 
That  drew  on  your  suspicion. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  231 

Sev,  Your  intent,    ;f*Tf*nf 
Though  it  was  ill  in  you,  I  do  forgive ; 
The  rest  I'll  hear  at  leisure.  Sir,  your  sentence. 

Alph.  It  is  a  general  pardon  unto  all, 
Upon  my  hopes,  in  your  fair  lives  hereafter, 
You  will  deserve  it. 

Sev.  Claud,  and  the  rest.     Long    live   great 
Alphonso  1 

Dur.  Your  mercy  shewn  in  this;  now,  if  you 
please, 
Decide  these  lovers'  difference. 

Alph.  That  is  easy  ; 
I'll  put  it  to  the  women's  choice,  the  men 
Consenting  to  it..l|^"<>''  •' 

Calls,  Here  I  fi'sf  then,  never 
To  be  removed.  [E?nbraces  Caldoro, 

Cald.  Tis  my  nil  ultra,  sir.        »>  >*  » 

Mirt.  O,  that  I  had  the  happiness  to  say 
So  much  to  you  1  I  dare  maintain  my  love 
Is  equal  to  my  lady's. 

Ador.  But  my  mind 
A  pitch  above  yours  :  marry  with  a  servant 
Of  no  descent  or  fortune  ! 

Sexi.  You  are  deceived  : 
Howe'er  she  has  been  train 'd  up  as  a  servant, 
She  is  thd* daughter  of  a  noble  captain. 
Who,  in  his  voyage  to  the  Persian  gulf, 
Perish'd  hy  shipwreck;  one  I  dearly  loved. 
He  to  my  care  intrusted  her,  having  taken 
My  word,  if  he  return'd  not  like  himself, 
I  never  should  discover  what  she  was; 
But  it  being  for  her  good,  I  will  dispense  with't. 
So  much,  sir,  for  her  blood  ;  now  for  her  portion: 
So  dear  I  hold  the  memory  of  my  friend, 
It  shall  rank  with  my  daughter's. 

Ador.  This  made  good, 
I  will  not  be  perverse. 


232  THE  GUARDIAN. 

Dur.  With  a  kiss  confirm  it. 

Ador.  I  sign  all  concor4  here ;   but  must  t© 
you,  sir, 
For  reparation  of  my  wounded  honour, 
The  justice  of  the  king  consenting  to  it, 
Denounce  a  lawful  war. 

Alph.  This  in  our  presence ! 

Ador.  The    cause,   dread    sir,    commands    it: 
though  your  edicts 
Call  private  combats,  murders  ;  rather  than 
Sit  down  with  a  disgrace,  arising  from 
A  blow,  the  bonds  of  my  obedience  shook  off, 
I'll  right  myself. 

Cald.  I  do  confess  the  wrong, 
Forgetting  the  occasion,  and  desire 
Remission  from  you,  and  upon  such  terms 
As  by  his  sacred  majesty  shall  be  judged 
Equal  on  both  parts. 

Ador.  I  desire  no  more. 

Alph.  All  then  are  pleased  ;  it  is  the  glory  of 
A  king  to  make  and  keep  his  subjects  happy: 
For  us,  we  do  approve  the  Roman  maxim, 
To  save  one  citizen  is  a  greater  prize 
Than  to  have  kill'd  in  war  ten  enemies.  [Exeunt, 


Song,  between  Juno  and  Hymen. 
Juno  to  the  Bride. 

Enter  a  maid ;  but  made  a  bride ^ 

Be  bold,  and  freely  taste 
The  marriage  banquet,  ne'er  denied 

To  such  as  sit  down  chaste. 


THE   GUARDIAN.  «33 

Though  he  unloose  thy  virgin  zone. 

Presumed  against  thy  will, 
Those  joys  reser>oed  to  him  alone. 

Thou  art  a  virgin  still. 

Hymen  to  the  Bridegroom^ 

Hail,  bridegroom,  hail !  thy  choice  thus  made, 

As  thou  wouldst  have  her  true, 
Thou  must  give  o'er  thy  wanton  trade, 

And  hid  loose  fires  adieu. 
That  husband  who  would  have  his  wife 

To  him  continue  chaste. 
In  her  embraces  spends  his  life. 

And  makes  abroad  no  waste. 

Hymen  and  Juno. 

Sport  then  like  turtles,  and  bring  forth 

Such  pledges  as  may  be 
Assurance  of  thefother's  worth. 

And  mother's  purity? 
Juno  doth  bless  the  nuptial  bed; 

Thus  Hymens  torches  burn. 
Live  long,  and  may,  when  both  are  dead. 

Your  ashes  fill  one  urn  ! 

*  Assurance  of  the  father's  worth, 
And  mother's  purity  J]    Meaning,  like  their  parents;    the 
thought  is  from  Catullus  : 

Sit  suo  simtHs  patri 
Manlio,  et  facile  insciis 
Noscitetur  ab  omnibus, 
Et  pudicitiam  suae 
Mat r  is  indicet  ore. 
There  is  little  to  be  said  for  this  song,  (which  is  to  be  referred 
to  Act  iv.  sc.  2,)  or  for  that  in  the  following  page;  they  are, 
howcTer,  among  the  best  scattered  through  the  plays  of  Mas- 
singer,  who,  as  Mr.  M.  Mason  justly  observes,  is  a  wretched 
ballad-maker. 

VOL.  IV.  *  R  . 


8$4  THE   GUARDIAN. 


Song,  Entertainment  of  the  Forest's  Queen, 

IVelcome^  thrice  welcome  to  this  shady  green^ 
Our  long-wish'' d  Cynthia,  theforesfs  queen. 
The  trees  begin  to  bud,  the  glad  birds  sing 
In  winter,  changed  by  her  into  the  spring. 

We  know  no  night, 

Perpetual'light 

Dawns  from  your  eye. 

You  being  near. 

We  cannot  jeaj\ 

Though  Death  stood  by. 
From  you  our  swords  take  edge,  our  hearts  grow  bold; 
From  you  in  fee  their  lives  your  liegemen  hold. 
These  groves  your  kingdom,  and  our  law  your  will; 
Smile,  and  we  spare;  but  if  you  frown,  we  kill. 

Bless  then  the  hour 

That  gives  the  power 
In  which  you  may, 

At  bed  and  board. 

Embrace  your  lord 
Both  night  and  day. 
Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  this  shady  green. 
Our  long-wished  Cynthia,  theforesfs  queen  t 


THE  GUARDIAN.  235 


EPILOGUE. 

/  am  left  to  enquire,  then  to  relate 
To  the  still-doubtful  author,  at  what  rate 
Hia  merchandise  are  valued.     If'  they  prove 
Staple  commodities,  in  your  grace  and  love 
To  this  last  birth  of  his  Minerva,  he 
Voivs  (and  li^e  do  believe  him)  seriously. 
Sloth  cast  off,  and  all  pleasures  else  declined, 
He'll  search  with  his  best  care,  until  he  find 
New  ways,  and  make  good  in  some  laboured  song. 
Though  he  grow  old,  Apollo  still  is  young. 
Cherish  his  good  intentions,  and  declare 
By  any  signs  of  favour,  that  you  are 
Well  pleased,  and  with  a  general  consent; 
And  he  desires  no  more  encour^agement.* 

*  It  is  not  improbable  that,  after  a  temporary  suspension  of 
his  unsuccessful  labours  for  the  stage,  Massinger  might  hope  to 
secure  himself  against  future  disappointment  by  writing  for  the 
taste  of  the  public  rather  than  his  own.  Whatever  be  the  cause, 
this  Comedy  is  distinguished  by  a  few  new  features,  which  shew 
themselves  sometimes  in  an  excess  of  his  usual  manner,  and 
sometimes  in  a  departure  from  it.  An  instance  or  two  of  each 
will  be  sufficient.  In  general,  when  he  determines  to  intro- 
duce any  change  not  yet  matured  by  circumstances,  he  endea- 
vours to  reconcile  us  to  it  through  an  opinion  or  wish  dropped 
b>  one  of  the  speakers  in  a  preceding  scene.  This  method  is 
profusely  indulged  in  the  present  Play  ;  and  these  brief  antici- 
pations of  unexpected  incidents  seem  to  be  regarded  by  him  as 
sufficient  apologies  for  the  extraordinary  precipitation  of  the 
business  of  the  stage. 

Again,  in  his  other  Plays  he  is  often  irregular,  and  sometimes 
involved :  the  present  piece  is  conceived  with  unusual  wildness 
ot  plot,  and  intricacy  of  management.  One  event  thrusts  out 
another  with  little  intermission  or  probability  ;  and  the  change 
of  situations  is  so  rapid  and  strange,  that  the  reader  is  in  dan- 
ger of  mistaking  the  object  to  which  they  tend.  And  here 
occurs  a  departure  from  his  usual  manner.     By  pushing  these 

*  R2 


236        .     THE   GUARDIAN. 

surprising  incidents  too  far,  he  has  straitened  himself  in  the  de- 
Telopenient  of  his  plot.  The  consequence  is,  that  (he  conclusion 
of  the  piece  is  brief  and  forced  ;  and  presents  little  else  than  a 
sudden  and  violent  solution  of  difficulties  too  luxuriantly  created. 
I  wish  it  were  not  necessary  to  mention  a  novelty  of  another 
kind.  Too  much  laxity  is  indulged  in  his  other  plays  :  the  pe. 
culiarity  here  is,  that  though  it  abounds,  and  forms  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  story  itself,  it  is  not  punished  at  the  conclusion 
with  that  justice  for  which  Massinger  is  generally  to  be  com- 
mended, and  with  that  remembrance  of  the  claims  of  yirtue  for 
■which  he  elsewhere  assumes  a  proper  credit. 

These  improprieties  may,  perhaps,  be  attributed  to  the  cir- 
cumstances, under  which  the  Play  was  written.  Yet  it  contains 
scattered  beauties  of  no  ordinary  value-  The  style  of  it  indeed 
is  almost  every  where  flowing  and  harmonious;  and  there  are 
occasional  scenes  which  will  charm  the  imagination  and  touch 
the  heart.  Durazzo's  description  of  his  rural  sports  is  highly 
beautiful  and  enlivening,  and  has  been  commended  by  others. 
I  do  not  know  that  proper  praise  has  been  bestowed  on  another 
scene,  at  which  the  reader  of  sensibility  will  certainly  stop  with 
delight.  There  is  a  moral  melancholy  in  Severino's  appearance, 
A.  ii.  sc.  4,  which  is  extremely  touching.  In  the  Picture^  Mas- 
singer  has  made  Mathias  express  some  just  sentiments  against 
too  great  a  fondness  for  a  perishable  life.  Here  we  see  a  weari- 
ness of  existence  and  a  contempt  of  danger  heightened  by  the 
peculiar  situation  of  Severino,  yet  mixed  with  tenderness  and 
compunction.  In  other  parts  of  the  Play  we  find  maxims  justly 
conceived  and  beautifully  expressed.  They  may  be  easily  sepa- 
rated from  the  incidents  which  give  rise  to  them,  and  be  advan- 
tageously remembered  for  our  prudential  or  moral  guidance. 


VERY    WOMAN; 


OR,  THE 


PRINCE    OF    TARJNT. 


A  Very  Woman.]  This  Tragi-Comedy,  as  it  is  called,  was 
licensed  for  the  stage  Jiwie  6th,  1634.  From  the  prologue  it 
appears  to  be  a  revision  of  a  former  play,  which  had  been  well 
received,  and  which  the  author  modestly  insinuates  that  he  was 
induced  to  review  by  the  command  of  his  patron.  If  this  patron 
was,  as  it  has  been  supposed,  the  earl  of  Pembroke,  we  are 
indebted  to  him  for  one  of  the  most  delightful  compositions  in 
the  English  language. 

We  learn  from  the  OfiSce-book  of  sir  Henry  Herbert,  that  a 
play  of  Massinger's,  called  the  Spanish  Viceroy^  was  acted  in 
16*24:  this  was  not  improbably  the  piece  alluded  to  in  the 
prologue.  But  this  is  not  all.  In  the  MS.  Register  of  lord 
Stanhope  of  Harrington,  the  play  of  Cardenes,  or  Cardenio,  is 
said  to  have  been  performed  at  Court,  in  1613.  Mr.  Malone, 
who  furnishes  me  with  this  notice,  conjectures  that  this  might 
have  been  the  first  sketch  of  what  Massinger  improved  and 
brought  out  in  1624,  and  finally  completed  as  we  now  have  it. 
Change  of  name  is  no  argument  against  this  conclusion;  for, 
besides,  that  nothing  was  more  common  upon  the  revival  of 
plays,  it  should  be  recollected,  that  those  who  spoke  of  them, 
seldom  concefned  themselves  with  the  author's  titles,  but  gave 
them  such  names  as  pleased  themselves,  and  which  were 
generally  assumed  from  one  or  other  of  the  more  prominent 
characters. 

However  this  may  be,  the  present  Play  was  most  favourably 
received;  and  often  acted,  the  old  title-page  says,  ''  at  the 
private  house  in  Black  Friars,  by  his  late  Majesty's  servants, 
with  great  applause."  Its  popularity  seems  to  have  tempted 
the  author's  good  friend,  sir  Aston  Cockaine,  to  venture  on 
an  imitation  of  it,  which  he  has  executed,  not  very  happily,  in 
his  comedy  of  the  Obstinate  Ladjf. 


[  23C)  ] 


PROLOGUE. 


To  such,  and  some  there  are,  no  question,  here. 

Who,  happy  in  their  memories,  do  bear 

This  subject,  long  since  acted,  and  can  say. 

Truly,  we  have  seen  something  like  this  play. 

Our  author,  with  becoming  modesty, 

(For  in  this  kind  he  ne'er  was  bold,)  by  me, 

In  his  defence  thus  answers,  By  command. 

He  undertook  this  task,  nor  could  it  stafid 

With  his  low  fortune  to  refuse  to  do 

What,  by  his  patron,  he  was  calVd  unto  : 

For  whose  delight  and  yours,  we  hope,  with  care 

He  hath  reviewed  it ;  and  with  him  we  dare 

Maintain  to  any  man,  that  did  allow 

^Twas  good  before,  it  is  much  bettered  now  : 

Nor  is  it,  sure,  against  the  proclamation 

To  raise  new  piles  upon  an  old  foundation,* 

So  much  to  them  delivered;  to  the  rest, 

To  whom  each  scene  is  fresh,  he  doth  protest. 

Should  his  Muse  fail  now  a  fair  fight  to  make, 

He  cannot  fancy  what  will  please  or  take. 

*  This  seems  to  allude  to  king  James's  proclamation,  to  for- 
bid the  increase  of  building  in  London.     Da  ties. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 

Viceroy  0/ Sicily. 

Don  Pedro,  his  son. 

Duke  of  Messina. 

Don  Marti  no  Cardenes,  his  son. 

Don  John  Antonio,  prince  o/'Tarent. 

Captain  of  the  castle  o/"  Palermo. 

Paulo,  a  physician. 

Cuculo,  the  Viceroy's  steward. 

Two  Surgeons. 

Apothecary. 

Citizens. 

Slave-merchant. 

Servant. 

Page. 

An  English  Slave, 

Slaves, 

Moors. 

Pirates, 

Sailors. 

Almira,  the  Viceroy*s  daughter. 

Leonora,  duke  of  Messina's  niece. 

Borachia,  wife  to  Cuculo,  governess  of  Leonora 

and  Almira. 
Two  Waiting  Women, 

A  good  and  evil  Genius,  Servants,  Guard, 
Attendants,  S^c. 

SCENE, -Palermo. 


VERY    WOMAN. 


ACT  T.    SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  the  Viceroy's  Palace, 
Enter  Pedro  meeting  Leonora. 

Pedro.  My  worthiest  mistress  !  this  day  can- 
not end 
But  prosperous  to  Fedro,  that  begins 
With  this  so  wish'd  encounter. 

Leon.  Only  servant, 
To  give  you  thanks  in  your  own  courtly  language, 
Would  argue  me  more  ceremonious 
Than  heartily  affected ;  aiid  you  are 
Too  well  assured,  or  I  am  miserable, 
Our  equal  loves  have  kept  one  rank  too  long, 
To  sta*' J  at  distance  now. 

Pedrj.  You  make  me  happy 
In  this  so  wise  reproof,  which  I  receive 
As  a  chaste  favour  from  you,  and  will  ever 
Hold  such  a  strong  command  o'er  my  desires, 
That  though  my  blood  turn  rebel  to  my  reason, 
I  never  shall  presume  to  seek  aught  from  you, 
But  what  (your  honour  safe)  you  well  may  grant 

me, 
And  virtue  sign  the  warrant. 

Leon.  Your  love  to  me 
So  limited,  will  still  preserve  your  mistress 


242  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

Worthy  her  servant,  and  in  your  restraint 
Of  loose  affections,  bind  me  faster  to  you  : 
But  there  will  be  a  time  when  we  may  welcome 
Those  wish'd  for  pleasures,  as  heaven's  greatest 

blessings. 
When  that  the  viceroy,  your  most  noble  father, 
And  the  duke  my  uncle,  and  to  that,  my  guardian, 
Shall  by  their  free  consent  confirm  them  lawful. 

Pedro,  You  ever  shall  direct,  and  I  obey  you  : 
Is  my  sister  stirring  yet  ? 

Leon.  Long  since. 

Pedro.  Some  business 
With  her,  join'd  to  my  service  to  yourself. 
Hath  brought  me  hither ;  pray  you  vouchsafe 

the  favour 
To  acquaint  her  with  so  much. 

Leon.  I  am  prevented. 

Enter  Almira,  and  two  Waiting  TVomen  dressing 

her. 

Aim.  Do  the  rest  here,  my  cabinet  is  too  hot ; 
This  room  is  cooler.     Brother  ! 

Pedro.  Morrow,  sister ! 
Do  I  not  come  unseasonably  ? 

Aim.  Why,  good  brother? 

Pedro.  Because  you  are  not  yet  fully  made  up, 
Nor  fit  for  visitation.     There  are  ladies. 
And  great  ones,  that  will  hardly  grant  access, 
On  any  terms,  to  their  own  fathers,  as 
They  are  themselves,  nor  willingly  be  seen 
Before  they  have  ask'd  counsel  of  their  doctor 
How  the  ceruse  will  appear,  newly  laid  on. 
When  they  ask  blessing. 

Aim.  Such,  indeed,  there  are 
That  would  be  still  young,  in  despite  of  time ; 
That  in  the  wrinkled  winter  of  their  age 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  243 

Wauld  force  a  seeming  April  of  fresh  beauty, 

As  if  it  were  within  the  power  of  art 

To  frame  a  second  nature ;  but  for  me, 

And  for  your  mistress  I  dare  say  as  much, 

The  faces,  and  the  teeth  you  see,  we  slept  with. 

Pedro.  Which  is  not  frequent,  sister,  with  some 
ladies. 

Aim.  You  spy  no  sign  of  any  night-mask  here, 
(Tie  on  my  carcanet,*)  nor  does  your  nostril 
Take  in  the  scent  of  strong  perfumes,  to  stifle 
The  sourness  of  our  breaths  as  we  are  fasting : 
You're  in  a  lady's  chamber,  gentle  brother, 
And  not  in  your  apothecary's  shop. 
We  use  the  women,  you  perceive,  that  serve  us, 
Like  servants,  not  like  such  as  do  create  us : — 
Faith,  search  our  pockets,  and,  if  you  find  there 
Comfits  of  ambergris  to  help  our  kisses. 
Conclude  us  faulty. 

Pedro,  You  are  pleasant,  sister. 
And  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  disposed  ; 
You  will  the;  better  hear  me. 

Aim.  What  you  please,  sir. 

Pedro.  I  am  entreated  by  the  prince  of  Tarent, 
Don  John  Antonio — 

Aim.  Would  you  would  choose 
Some  other  subject. 

Pedro.  Pray  you,  give  me  leave. 
For  his  desires  are  fit  for  you  to  hear. 
As  for  me  to  prefer.    This  priuce  of  Tarent 

^  (Tie  on  my  carcanet,)]  Carcanet  (dimin.  of  carcan^  a  chain) 
n  a  necklace,  in  which  sense  it  occurs  in  most  of  our  old 
writers : 

''  ril  clasp  that  neck,  where  should  be  set 

"  A  rich  and  orient  carcanet : 

''  But  swains  are  poor,  admit  of,  then, 
''  More  natural  chains,  the  arms  of  men." 

Randolph's  Poems. 


SI44  .  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Let  it  not  wrong  him  that  I  call  him  friend) 
Finding  youT  choice  of  don  Cardenes  liked  of 
By  both  your  fathers,  and  his  hopes  cut  off. 
Resolves  to  leave  Palermo. 

Aim.  He  does  well  ; 
That  I  hear  gladly. 

Pedro.  How  this  prince  came  hither, 
How  bravely  furnish'd,  how  attended  on, 
How  he  hath  born  himself  here,  with  what  charge 
He  hath  continued  ;  his  magnificence 
In  costly  banquets,  curious  masques,  rare  presents, 
And  of  all  sorts,  you  cannot  but  remember. 

Aim.  Give  me  my  gloves. 

Pedro.  Now,  for  reward  of  all 
His  cost,  his  travel,  and  his  duteous  service, 
He  does  entreat  that  you  will  please  he  may 
Take  his  leave  of  you,  and  receive  the  favour 
Of  kissing  of  your  hands. 

Aim.  You  are  his  friend, 
And  shall  discharge  the  part  of  one  to  tell  him 
That  he  may  spare  the  trouble  ;  I  desire  not 
To  see  or  hear  more  of  him. 

Pedro.  Yet  grant  this. 
Which  a  mere  stranger,  in  the  way  of  courtship," 
Might  challenge  from  you. 

Aim.  And  obtain  it  sooner. 

Pedro.  One  reason  for  this  would  do  well. 

Aim.  My  will 
Shall  now  stand  for  a  thousand.    Shall  I  lose 
The  privilege  of  my  sex,  which  is  my  will, 
To  yield  a  reason  like  a  man  ?  or  you, 
Deny  your  sister  that  which  all  true  women 
Claim  as  their  first  prerogative,  which  nature 
Gave  to  them  for  a  law,  and  should  I  break  it, 
I  were  no  more  a  woman  ? 

In  the  way  o/" courtship,]    i.  e.  as  has  been  more 


than  once  obserred,  in  the  way  of  good  breeding,  of  civility,  &c. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  245 

Pedro.  Sure,  a  good  one 
You  cannot  be,  if  you  put  oflf  that  virtue 
Which  best  adorns  a  good  one,  courtesy 
And  affable  behaviour.     Do  not  flatter 
Yourself  with  the  opinion  that  your  birdi, 
Your  beauty,  or  whatever  false  ground  else 
You  raise  your  pride  upon,  will  stand  against 
The  censure  of  just  men. 

Aim.  Why,  let  it  fall  then ; 
I  still  shall  be  unmoved. 

Leon.  And,  pray  you,  be  you  so. 

\_Aside  to  Pedro. 

Aim.  What  jewel's  that  ? 

]  JVom.  That  which  the  prince  of  Tarent 

Aim.  Left  here,  and  you  received  without  my 
knowledge  ! 
I  have  use  oft  now.   Does  the  page  wait  without, 
My  lord  Cardenes  sent  to  enquire  my  health? 

1  IVom.  Yes,  madam. 

Aim.  Give  it  him,  and,  with  it,  pray  him 
To  return  my  service  to  his  lord,  and  mine. 

Pedro,  Will  you  so  undervalue  one  that  has 
So  truly  loved  you,  to  bestow  the  pledge 
Of  his  affection,  being  a  prince,  upon 
The  servant  of  his  rival  ? 

Leon.  'Tis  not  well. 
Faith,  wear  it,  lady  :  send  gold  to  the  boy, 
'Twill  please  him  better. 

Aim.  Do  as  I  command  you. 

\^E.vit  TVaiting  Woman. 
I  will  keep  nothing  that  may  put  me  in  mind 
Don  John  Antonio  ever  loved,  or  was ; 
Being  wholly  now  Cardenes'. 

Pedro.   In  another 
This  were  mere  barbarism,  sister ;  and  in  you, 
(For  I'll  not  sooth  you,)  at  the  best,  'tis  rudeness. 

Aim.  Rudeness ! 


246  A   VERY    WOMAN. 

Pedro.  Yes,  rudeness ;  and,  what's  worse,  the 
want 
Of  civil  manners;  nay,  ingratitude 
tJnto  the  many  and  so  fair  deservings 
Of  don  Antonio.   Does  this  express 
Your  breeding  in  the  court,  or  that  you  call 
The  viceroy  father?  a  poor  peasant's  daughter. 
That  ne'er  had  conversation  but  with  beasts. 
Or  men  bred  like  them,  would  not  so  far  shame 
Her  education. 

Aim.  Pray  you,  leave  my  chamber ; 
I  know  you  for  a  brother,  not  a  tutor. 

Leon.  You  are  too  violent,  madam. 

Aim.  Were  my  father 
Here  to  command  me,  (as  you  take  upon  you 
Almost  to  play  his  part,)  I  would  refuse  it. 
Where  I  love,  I  profess  it ;  where  I  hate, 
In  every  circumstance  I  dare  proclaim  it. 
Of  all  that  wear  the  shapes  of  men,  I  loath 
That  prince  you  plead  for ;  no  antipathy 
Between  things  most  averse  in  nature,  holds 
A  stronger  enmity  than  his  with  mine ; 
With  which  rest  satisfied  : — If  not,  your  anger 
May  wrong  yourself,  not  me. 

Leon.  My  lord  Cardenes! 

Pedro.  Go  :  in  soft  terms,  if  you  persist  thus, 
you     • 
Will  be  one 


Enter  Cardenes. 


Aim.  What  one?  pray  you,  out  with  it. 
Pedro.  Why,  one  that  I  shall  wish  a  stranger 
to  me, 

That  I  might  curse  you  ;  but 

Car.  Whence  grows  this  heat  ? 

Pedro.  Be  yet  advised,  and  entertain  him  fairly, 


A  VERY   WOMAN.     ,        247 

For  I  will  send  him  to  you ;  or  no  more 
Know  me  a  brother. 

Aim.  As  you  please. 

Pedro.  Good  morrow.  [Erit. 

Car,  Good  morrow,  and  part  thus  !    you  seem 
moved  too : 
What  desperate  fool  durst  raise  a  tempest  here, 
To  sink  himself? 
,    Aim.  Good  sir,  have  patience  ; 
The  cause,  though  I  confess  I  am  not  pleased. 
No  way  deserves  your  anger. 

Car.  Not  mine,  madam, 
As  if  the  least  offence  could  point  at  you, 
And  I  not  feel  it:  as  you  have  vouclisa  ed  me 
The  promise  of  your  heart,  conceal  it  not, 
Whomsoever  it  concerns. 

Aim.  It  is  not  worth 
So  serious  an  enquiry  ;  my  kind  brother 
Had  a  desire  to  learn  me  some  new  courtship, 
Which  I  distasted  ;  that  was  all. 

Car,  Your  brother ! 
In  being  yours,  with  more  security 
He  might  provoke  you  ;  yet,  if  he  hath  past 
A  brother's  bounds 

Leon.  What  then,  my  lord  ? 

Car.  Believe  it, 
I'll  call  him  to  accompt  for't. 

Zeon.  Tell  him  so. 

Aim.  No  more. 

Leon.  Yes,  thus  much  ;  though  my  modesty 
Be  call'd  in  question  for  it,  in  his  abs^  nee 
I  will  defend  him  :  he  hath  said  nor  done. 
But  what  don  Pedro  well  might  say  or  do  ; 
Mark  me,  don  Pedro!  in  which  understand 
As  worthy,  and  as  well  as  can  be  hoped  for 
Of  those  that  love  him  best — from  don  Cardenes. 

Car,  This  to  me,  cousin ! 


548  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

Aim,  You  forget  yourself.  ,.? 

Zeo/?.  No,  nor  the  cause  in  which  you  did  so,  lady. 
Winch  is  so  just  that  it  needs  no  concealing 
On  Pedro's  part. 

Aim    What  mean  you  ? 

Leon.  I  dare  speak  it, 
If  you  dare  hear  it,  sir  :  he  did  persuade 
Almira,  your  Almira,  to  vouchsafe 
Some  little  conference  with  the  prince  of  Tarent, 
Before  he  left  the  court ;  and,  that  the  world 
Might  take  some  notice,  though  he  prosper'd  not 
In  his  so  loved  design,  he  was  not  scorn'd, 
He  did  desire  the  kissing  of  her  hand, 
And  then  to  leave  her : — this  was  much  ! 

Car.  'Twas  more 
Than  should  have   been    urged  by  him  ;     well 

denied, 
On  your  part,  madam,  and  I  thank  you  for't. 
Antonio  had  his  answer,  I  your  grant ; 
And  why  your  brother  should  prepare  for  him 
An  after-interview,  or  private  favour, 
I  can  find  little  reason. 

Leon.  None  at  all, 
Why  you  should  be  displeased  with*t. 

Car.  His  respect 
To  me,  as  things  now  are,  should  have  weigh'd 

down 
His  former  friendship:  'twas  done  indiscreetly, 
I  would  be  loath  to  say,  maliciously,_ 
To  build  up  the  demolish'd  hopes  of  him 
That  was  my  rival.     What  had  he  to  do, 
If  he  view  not  my  happiness  in  your  favour 
With  wounded  eyes,  to  take  upon  himself 
An  office  so  distasteful  ? 

Leon.  You  may  ask 
As  well,  what  any  gentleman  has  to  do 
With  civil  courtesy. 


A    VERY   WOMAN.  249 

Aim.  Or  you,  with  that 
Which  at  no  part  concerns  you.    Good  my  lord, 
Rest  satisfied,  that  I  saw  him  not,  nor  will ; 
And  that  nor  father,  brother,  nor  the  world. 
Can  work  me  unto  any  thing  but  what 
You  give  allowance  to — in  which  assurance. 
With  this,  I  leave  you. 

Leon.  Nay,  take  me  along ; 
You  are  not  angry  too  ? 

Aim.  Presume  on  that. 

\^Exit  J  followed  by  Leonora. 

Car.   Am  I  assured  of  her,  and  shall  again 
Be  tortured  with  suspicion  to  lose  her, 
Before  I  have  enjoy'd  her  !   the  next  sun 
Shall  see  her  mine;  why  should  I  doubt,  then? 

yet. 

To  doubt  is  safer  than  to  be  secure. 

But  one  short  day  !  Great  empires  in  less  time 

Have   suffer'd   change :    she's    constant — but  a 

woman ; 
And  what  a  lover's  vows,  persuasions,  tears, 
May,  in  a  minute,  work  upon  such  frailty. 
There  are  too  many  and  too  sad  examples. 
The  prince  of  Tarent  gone,  all  were  in  safety ; 
Or  not  admitted  to  solicit  her. 
My  fears  would  quit  me  :  'tis  my  fault,  if  I 
Give  way  to  that;  and  let  him  ne'er  desire 
To  own  what's  hard  [to  win,]'  that  dares  not 

guard  it. 

Who  waits  there  ? 

'  To  own  -what^s  hard  [to  win,]  that  dares  not  guard  it."]  A 
foot  is  lost  here,  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  supply,  by  the 
addition  of  the  words  in  brackets.  The  defect  was  noticed  by 
Mr.  M.  Mason,  who  proposed  to  complete  the  line  by  reading, 
to  keep. 

\ 
VOL.  IV.  *  S 


250  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

Enter  Servants  and  Page. 

Serv.  Would  your  lordship  aught  ? 
Cat\  'Tis  well 
You  are  so  near. 

Enter  Antonio  and  a  Servant. 

Ayit.  Take  care  all  things  be  ready 
For  my  remove. 

Serv.  They  are.  {Exit, 

Car,  We  meet  like  friends, 
No  more  like  rivals  now :  my  emulation 
Puts  on  the  shape, of  love  and  service  to  you. 

Ant.  It  is  return'd. 

Car.  'Twas  rumour'd  in  the  court 
You  were  to  leave  the  city,  and  that  won  me 
To  find  you  out.    Your  excellence  may  wonder 
That  I,  that  never  saw  you,  till  this  hour, 
But  that  I  wish'd  you  dead,  so  willingly 
Should  come  to  wait  upon  you  to  the  ports  ; 
And  there,  with  hope  you  never  will  look  back, 
Take  my  last  farewell  of  you. 

A7it.  Never  look  back  ! 

Car.  I  said  so ;  neither  is  it  fit  you  should ; 
And  may  I  prevail  with  you  as  a  friend, 
You  never  shall;  nor,  while  you  live,  hereafter 
Think  of  the  viceroy's  court,  or  of  Palermo, 
But  as  a  grave,  in  which  the  prince  of  Tarent 
Buried  his  honour. 

Ant.  You  speak  in  a  language 
I  do  not  understand. 

Car.  No  !  I'll  be  plainer. 
What  madman,  that  came  hither  with  that  pomp 
Don  John  Antonio  did,  that  exact  courtier 
Don  John  Antonio,  with  whose  brave  fame  only 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  251 

Great  princesses  have  fall'n  in  love,  and  died ; 
That  came  with  such  assurance,  as  young  Paris 
Did  to  fetch  Helen,  being  sent  back,  conremn'd, 
Disgraced,  and  scorn'd,  his  large  expense  laugh 'd 

at, 
His  bravery  scoff 'd,  the  lady  that  he  courted 
Left  quietly  in  possession  of  another, 
(Not  to  be  named  that  day  a  courtier 
Where  he   was    mention'd,)   the  scarce-known 

Cardenes, 
And  he  to  bear  her  from  him  ! — that  would  ever 
Be  seen  again  (having  got  fairly  off) 
By  such  as  will  live  ready  witnesses 
Of  his  repulse,  and  scandal  ? 

Ant.  The  grief  of  it. 
Believe  me,  will  not  kill  me  :  all  man's  honour 
Depends  not  on  the  most  uncertain  favour 
Of  a  fair  mistress. 

Car.  Troth,  you  bear  it  well. 
You  should  have  seen  some  that  were  sensible 
Of  a  disgrace,  that  would  have  raged,  and  sought 
To  cure  their  honour  with  some  strange  revenge : 
But  you  are  better  temper'd ;  and  they  wrong 
The  Neapolitans  in  their  report. 
That  say  they  are  fiery  spirits,  uncapable 
Of  the  least  injury,  dangerous  to  be  talk'd  with 
After  a  loss ;  where  nothing  can  move  you,* 
But,  like  a  stoic,  with  a  constancy 
-Words  nor  affronts  can  shake,  you  still  go  on, 
And  smile  when  men  abuse  you. 

♦  After  a  loss  ;  where  nothing  can  move  you,']  Where^  for 
•whereas^  occurs  so  frequently  in  these  plays,  that  it  seems 
scarcely  possible  to  escape  the  notice  of  the  most  incurious 
reader;  yet  the  last  editor  has  ovt-rlooked  it,  and,  in  his  at- 
tempt to  make  the  author  speak  English,  produced  a  line  of 
unparalleled  neatness  and  harmony: 

After  a  loss  ;  for  whereas  nothing  can  move  you  ! 
*  S2 


252  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Ant.  If  they  wrong 
Themselves,  I  can  ;  yet,  I  would  have  you  know, 
I  dare  be  angry. 

Car.  'Tis  not  possible. 
A  taste  oft  would  do  well ;  and  I'd  make  trial 
What  may  be  done.     Come  hither,  boy. — You 

have  seen 
This  jewel,  as  I  take  it? 

Ant.  Yes ;  'tis  that 
I  gave  Almira. 

Car.  And  in  what  esteem 
She  held  it,  coming  from  your  worthy  self, 
You  may  perceive,  that  freely  hath  bestow'd  it 
Upon  my  page. 

Ant.  When  I  presented  it, 
I  did  not  indent  with  her,  to  what  use 
She  should  employ  it. 

Car.  See  the  kindness  of 
A  loving  soul !  who,  after  this  neglect. 
Nay,  gross  contempt,  will  look  again  upon  her. 
And  not  be  frighted  from  it. 

Ant,  No,  indeed,  sir; 
Nor  give  way  longer — give  way,  do  you  mark, 
To  your  loose  wit,  to  run  the  wild-goose  chase. 
Six  syllables  further.     I  will  see  the  lady. 
That  lady  that  dotes  on  you,  from  whose  hate 
My  love  increases,  though  you  stand  elected 
Her  porter,  to  deny  me. 
Car.  Sure  you  will  not. 

Ant.  Yes,  instantly:  your  prosperous  success 
Hath  made  you  insolent;  and  for  her  sake 
I  have  thus  long  forborn  you,  and  can  yet 
Forget  it  and  forgive  it,  ever  provided. 
That  you  end  here;  and,  for  what's  past  recalling, 
That  she  make  intercession  for  your  pardon, 
Which,  at  her  suit,  I'll  grant. 
Car.  I  am  much  unwilling 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  253 

To  move  her  for  a  trifle — bear  that  too, 

[Strikes  him. 
And  then  she  shall  speak  to  you. 

j^nt.  Men  and  angels, 
Take  witness  for  me,  that  I  have  endured 
More  than  a  man  ! —  [Thtyjight;  Car  denes  falls. 

O  do  not  fail  so  soon, 
Stand   up — take   my   hand — so  !     when   I   have 

printed, 
For  every  contumelious  word,  a  wound  here, 
Then  sink  for  ever. 
.   Car,  Oh,  I  suffer  justly  ! 

1  Serv.  Murder!  murder!  murder!  [Exit, 

2  Serv.  Apprehend  him. 

3  Serv.  We'll  all  join  with  you. 
Ant,  I  do  wish  you  more; 

My  fury  will  be  lost  else,  if  it  meet  not 
Matter  to  work  on  ;  one  life  is  too  little 
For  so  much  injury. 

Re-enter  Ai^MiVi A,  Leonora,  aw^  Servant. 

Aim.  O  my  Cardenes  ! 
Though    dead,    still    my    Cardenes !     Villains, 

cowards, 
What  do  ye  check  at  ?  can  one  arm,  and  that 
A  murderer's,  so  long  guard  the  curs'd  master, 
Against  so  many  swords  made  sharp  with  justice? 

1  Serv.  Sure  he  will  kill  us  all ;  he  is  a  devil. 

2  Serv.  He  is  invulnerable. 
Aim.  Your  base  fears 

Beget  such  fancies  in  you.     Give  me  a  sword, 

{Snatches  a  sword  from  the  Servant. 
This  my  weak  arm,  made  strong  in  my  revenge, 
Shall  force  a  way  to't.  [IVounds  Antonio. 

Ant.  Would  it  were  deeper,  madam  ! 
The  thrust,  which  I  w  ould  not  put  by,  being  yours, 


254  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Of  greater  force,  to  have  pierced  through  that 

,  heart 
Which  still  retains  your  figure! — weep  still,  lady; 
For  every  tear  that  flows  froin  those  grieved  eyes, 
Some  part  of  that  which  maintains  life,  goes  from 

me; 
And  so  to  die  were  in  a  gentle  slumber 
To  pass  to  paradise  :  but  you  envy  me 
So  quiet  a  departure  from  my  world, 
My  world  of  miseries;  therefore,  take  my  sword, 
And,  having  kill'd  me  with  it,  cure  the  wounds* 
It  gave  Cardenes.  [Gives  Almira  his  sword. 

Re-enter  Pedro. 

Pedro.  'Tis  too  true  :  was  ever 
Valour  so  ill  employed  ! 

Ant.  Why  stay  you,  lady? 
Let  not  soft  pity  work  on  your  hard  nature; 
You  cannot  do  a  better  office  to 
The  dead  Cardenes,  and  I  willingly 
Shall  fall  a  ready  sacrifice  to  appease  him, 
Your  fair  hand  offering  it. 

Aim.  Thou  couldst  ask  nothing 
But  this,  which  I  would  grant. 

{^Attempts  to  xvound  him. 

Leon.  Flint-hearted  lady  ! 

Pedro.  Are  you  a  woman,  sister  ! 

\Takes  the  sword  from  her. 

Aim.  Thou  art  not 
A  brother,  I  renounce  that  title  to  thee; 
Thy  hand  is  in  this  bloody  act ;  'twas  this, 

i  And  having  kill'd  me  with  it,  cure  the  wounds,  &c.]  This 
alludes  to  the  grange  notions  then  in  fashion,  respecting  the 
cure  of  wounds  by  sympathies  and  antipathies,  of  which  sir 
Kenelm  Digby  and  others  have  a  yast  deal  of  incomprehcnsibls 
matter. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  9.55 

For  which  that  savage  homicide  was  sent  hither. 
Thou  equal  Judge  of  all  things  !*  if  that  blood, 
And  innocent  blood 

Pedro.  [Best  sister.] 

Aim.  Oh,  Garden es !  * 

How  is  my  soul  rent  between  rage  and  sorrow, 
That  it  can  be  that  such  an  upright  cedar 
Should  violently  be  torn  up  by  the  roots, 
Without  an  earthquake  in  that  very  moment 
To  swallow  them  that  did  it ! 

Ant.  The  hurt's  nothing ;' 
But  the  deep  wound  is  in  my  conscien9e,  friend, 
Which  sorrow  in  death  only  can  recover. 

Pedro.  Have  better  hopes. 

t 

Enter  Viceroy,  Duke  of  Messina,  Captain, 
Guard,  and  Servants. 

Duke.  My  son,  is  this  the  marriage 

*  Thou,  equal  judge  of  all  things  !  if  that  blood 

And  innocent  blood 

Pedro.  {Best  sister."] 
Aim.  Oh,  Cardenes! 
How  is  my  soul,  &c.]  So,  with  the  exception  of  Best  sister, 
reads  the  old  copy.  The  modern  editors  strangely  give  this  last 
speech  to  Pedro,  without  noticing  how  ill  it  agrees  with  his 
sentiments  on  the  occasion,  or  with  don  John's  answer.  The 
fact  seems  to  be,  that  Pedro,  alarmed  at  the  solemn  adjuration 
of  his  sister,  abruptly  checked  her  (in  the  old  copy  her  speech 
is  marked  as  unfinished)  by  a  short  address,  which  changed  her 
train  of  thinking,  and  produced  the  succeeding  apostrophe  to 
her  lover.  I  am  far  from  giving  the  passage  in  brackets  as  the 
genuine  one,  though  something  of  the  like  nature  apparently 
once  stood  there :  at  any  rate,  I  am  confident  of  having  done 
well  in  following  the  old  copy  and  restoring  the  speech  to 
Almira. 

7  Ant.  The  hurt's  nothing;  &c.]  From  thif  it  appears  that, 
during  Almira's  impassioned  speech,  don  Pedro  had  been 
condoling  with  his  friend  on  his  wound ;  another  proof  of  ths 
inattention  of  the  modern  editors. 


956  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

I  came  to  celebrate?   false  hopes  of  man  ! 
I  come  to  find  a  grave  here. 

Aim.  I  have  wasted 
My  stock  of  tears,  and  now  just  anger  help  me 
To  pay,  in  my  revenge,  the  other  part 
Of  duty,  which  I  owe  thee.     O,  great  sir, 
Not  as  a  daughter  now,  but  a  poor  widow, 
Made  so  before  she  was  a  bride,  I  fly 
To  your  impartial  justice  :  the  offence 
Is  death,  and  death  in  his  most  horrid  form ; 
Let  not,  then,  title,  or  a  prince's  name, 
(Since  a  great  crime  is,  in  a  great  man,  greater,)* 
Secure  the  ofl[^"ender. 

Duke.  Give  me  life  for  life, 
,  As  thou  wilt  answer  it  to  the  great  king, 
Whose  deputy  thou  art  here. 

Aim.  And  speedy  justice. 

Duke.  Put  the  damn'd  wretch  to  torture. 

Aim.  Force  him  to 
Reveal  his  curs*d  confederates,  which  spare  not, 
Although  you  find  a  son  among  them. 

Vice.  How ! 

Duke*  Why  bring  you  not  the  rack  forth? 

Aim.  Wherefore  stands 
The  murderer  unbound? 

Vice.  Shall  I  have  hearing:? 

Duke.  Excellent  lady,  in  this  you  express 
Your  true  love  to  the  dead. 

Aim.  All  love  to  mankind 
From  me,  ends  with  him. 

Vice.  Will  you  hear  me  yet? 
And  first  to  you ;  you  do  confess  the  fact 
-    With  which  you  stand  charged? 

•  C Since  a  great  crime,  in  a  great  man,  is  greater,) 
Omne  animi  vitium  tanto  conspectius  in  se 
Crimen  habet,  quanto  major  qui  peccat,  hobetur. 

Juv.  Sat.  viii.  v.  140. 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  257 

Ant.  I  will  not  make  worse 
What  is  already  ill,  with  vain  denial. 

Vice.  Then  understand,  though  you  are  prince 
ofTarent, 
Yet,  being  a  subject  to  the  king  of  Spain, 
No  privilege  of  Sicily  can  free  you 
(Being  convict  by  a  just  form  of  law) 
From  the  municipal  statutes  of  that  kingdom, 
But  as  a  common  man,  being  found  guilty, 
Must  suffer  for  it. 

Ant.  I  prize  not  my  life 
So  much,  as  to  appeal  from  any  thing 
You  shall  determine  of  me. 

Vice.  Yet  despair  not 
To  have  an  equal  hearing ;  the  exclaims 
Of  this  grieved  father,  nor  my  daughter's  tears. 
Shall  sway  me  from  myself;  and,  where  they  urge 
To  have  you  tortured,  or  led  bound  to  prison, 
I  must  not  grant  it. 

Duke.  No  ! 

Vice.  I  cannot,  sir ; 
For  men  of  his  rank  are  to  be  distinguish'd 
From  other  men,  before  they  are  condemn'd. 
From  which  (his  cause  not  heard)  he  yet  stands 

free  : 
So  take  him  to  your  charge,  and,  as  your  life, 
See  he  be  safe. 

Capt.  Let  me  die  for  him  else, 
[Ea:eunt  Pedro,  and  Capt.  and  Guard  with  Ant. 

Duke.  The  guard  of  him  should  have  been  given 
to  me. 

Aim.  Or  unto  me. 

Duke.   Bribes  may  corrupt  the  captain. 

Aim.  And  our  just  wreak,  by  force,  or  cunning 
practice, 
With  scorn  prevented. 

Car.  Oh! 


258  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

j4im.  What  groan  is  that  ? 

Vice.  There  are  apparent  signs  of  life  yet  in  him. 

Aim,  Oh  that  there  were  !  that  I  could  pour 
my  hlood 
Into  his  veins ! 

Car.  Oh,  oh ! 

Vice.  Take  him  up  gently. 

Duke,  Run  for  physicians. 

Aim.  Surgeons. 

Duke.  All  helps  else. 

rice.  This  care  of  his  recovery,  timely  prac- 
tised, 
Would  have  express'd  more  of  a  father  in  you, 
Than  your  impetuous  clamours  for  revenge. 
But  I  shall  find  fit  time  to  urge  that  further. 
Hereafter,  to  you  ;  'tis  not  fit  for  me 
To  add  weight  to  oppress'd  calamity.     [Exeunt. 


ACT   II.     SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Pedro,  Antonio,  and  Captain. 

Ant,  Why  should   your  love  to  me,   having 
already 
So  oft  endured  the  test,  be  put  unto 
A  needless  trial?  have  you  not,  long  since. 
In  every  circumstance  and  rite  of  friendship, 
Outgone  all  precedents  the  ancients  boast  of, 
And  will  you  yet  move  further? 

Pedro.  Hitherto 
I  have  done  nothing  (howsoe'er  you  value 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  259 

My  weak  endeavours)  that  may  justly  claim 
A  title  to  your  friendship,  and  much  less 
Laid  down,  the  debt,  which,  as  a  tribute  due 
To  your  deservings,  not  I,  but  mankind 
Stands  bound  to  tender. 

Ant.  Do  not  make  an  idol 
Of  him  that  should,  and  without  superstition, 
To  you  build  up  an  altar.    O  my  Pedro  ! 
When  I  am  to  expire,  to  call  you  mine, 
Assures  a  future  happiness  :  give  me  leave 
To  argue  with  you,  and,  the  fondness  of 
Affection  struck  blind,  with  justice  hear  me  : 
Why  should  you,  being  innocent,  fling  your  life 
Into  the  furnace  of  your  father's  anger. 
For  my  offence  ?  or,  take  it  granted  (yet 
'Tis  more  than  supposition)  you  prefer 
My  safety  'fore  your  own,  so  prodigally 
You  waste  your  favours,  wherefore  should  this 

captain. 
His  blood  and  sweat  rewarded  in  the  favour 
Of  his  great  master,  falsify  the  trust 
Which,  from  true  judgment,  he  reposes  in  him, 
For  me,  a  stranger? 

Pedro.  Let  him  answer  that, 
He  needs  no  prompter :  speak  your  thoughts,  and 
freely.  . 

Capt.  I  ever  loved  to  do  so,  and  it  shames  not 
The  bluntness  of  my  breeding:  from  my  youth 
I  was  train'd  up  a  soldier,  one  of  those 
That  in  their  natures  love  the  dangers  more, 
Than  the  rewards  of  danger.     I  could  add, 
My  life,  when  forfeited,  tiie  viceroy  pardon'd 
But  by  his  intercession  ;  and  therefore, 
It  being  lent  by  him,  I  were  ungrateful, 
Which  I  will  never  be,  if  I  refused 
To  pay  that  debt  at  any  time  demanded. 

Pedro.  I  hope,  friend,  this  will  satisfy  you. 


260  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Ant.  No,  it  raises 
More  doubts  Avithin  me.  Shall  I,  from  the  school 
Of  gratitude,  in  which  this  captain  reads 
The  text  so  plainly,  learn  to  be  unthankful? 
Or,  viewing  in  your  actions  the  idea 
Of  perfect  friendship,  when  it  does  point  to  me 
How  brave  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  friend. 
Turn  from  the  object?  Had  I  never  loved 
The  fair  Almira  for  her  outward  features, 
Nay,  were  the  beauties  of  her  mind  suspected. 
And  her  contempt  and  scorn  painted  before  me, 
The  being  your  sister  would  anew  inflame  me, 
With  much  more  impotence'  to  dote  upon  her  : 
No,  dear  friend,  let  me  in  my  death  confirm, 
(Though  you  in  all  things  else  have  the  prece- 
dence,) 
I'll  die  ten  times,  ere  one  of  Pedro's  hairs 
Shall  suffer  in  my  cause. 

Pedro.  If  you  so  love  me, 
In  love  to  that  part  of  my  soul  dwells  in  you, 
(For  though  two  bodies,  friends  have  but  one 

soul,) 
Lose  not  both  life  and  me. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  The  prince  is  dead.  [Eait, 

Ant.  If  so,  shall  I  leave  Pedro  here  to  answer 

For  my  esca[)e?  as  thus  I  clasp  thee,  let 

The  viceroy's  sentence  find  me. 
Pedro.  FI3',  for  heaven's  sake  ! 

.  *  With  much  more  impotence  to  dote  vpon  her:']  So  the  old 
copy,  Coxeter  dislikes  impotence,  for  which  he  would  read  im- 
patience ;  and  Mr.  M.  Mason,  I  know  not  lor  what  reason, 
omits  »nt/cA,  which  destroys  the  metre.  It  requires  no  words  to 
prove  the  text  to  be  genuine.  For  impotence^  see  the  Unnatu- 
ral Combat,  vol.  i.  p.  173. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  261 

Consider  the  necessity  ;  though  now 
We  part,  Antonio,  we  may  meet  again, 
But  death's  division  is  for  ever,  friend. 

Enter  another  Servant. 

Serv.  The    rumour   spread,   sir,   of  Martino's 
death. 
Is  check'd  ;  there's  hope  of  his  recovery.   \_E.vit, 
Ant.  Why  should  I  fly,  then,  when  I  may  en- 

With  mine  own  life,  my  friend  ? 
Pedro.  That's  still  uncertain. 
He  may  have  a  relapse;  for  once  be  ruled,  friend: 
He's  a  good  debtor  that  pays  when  'tis  due ; 
A  prodigal,  that,  before  it  is  required, 
Makes  tender  of  it. 

Enter  Sailors. 

1  Sail.  The  bark,  sir,  is  ready. 

2  Sail.  The  wind  sits  fair. 

3  Sail.  Heaven  favours  your  escape. 

[fVhistle  within. 
Capt.  Hark,  how  the  boatswain  whistles  you 
aboard ! 
Will  nothing  move  you? 

Ant.  Can  I  leave  my  friend  ? 

Pedro.  I  mustdelaynolonger:  force  him  hence. 

Capt.  I'll  run  the  hazard  of  my  fortunes  with 

you. 
Ant.    What  violence  is  this  ? — hear  but  my 

reasons. 
Pedro.  Poor  friendship  that  is  cool'd  with  ar- 
guments ! 
Away,  away ! 
Capt.  For  Malta. 


862  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

Pedro,  You  shall  hear 
All  our  events. 

Ant.  I  may  sail  round  the  world, 
But  never  meet  thy  like.     Pedro  ! 

Pedro.  Antonio! 

Ant.  I  breathe  my  soul  back  to  thee. 

Pedro.  In  exchange, 
Bear  mine  along  with  thee. 

Capt.  Cheerly,  my  hearts  ! 

[E.reunt  Captain  and  Sailors  with  Antonio. 

Pedro.  He's  gone:    may  pitying  heaven  his 
pilot  be, 
And  then  I  weigh  not  what  becomes  of  me.  [Enf. 

SCENE    II. 

A  Room  in  the  Viceroy's  Palace. 
Enter  Viceroy,  Duke  o/"  Messina,  and  Attendants. 

Vice.  I  tell  you  right,  sir. 

Duke.  Yes,  like  a  rough  surgeon. 
Without  a  feeling  in  yourself  you  search 
My  wounds  unto  the  quick,  then  pre-declarc 
The  tediousness  and  danger  of  the  cure. 
Never  remembering  what  the  patient  suffers. 
But  you  preach  this  philosophy  to  a  man 
That  does  partake  of  passion,  and  not 
To  a  dull  stoic. 

Vice.  I  confess  you  have 
Just  cause  to  mourn  your  son;  and  yet,  if  reason 
Cannot  yield  comfort,  let  example  cure. 
I  am  a  father  too,  my  only  daughter 
As  dear  in  my  esteem,  perhaps  as  worthy, 
As  your  Martino,  in  her  love  to  him 
As  desperately  ill,  cither's  loss  equal ; 
And  yet  I  bear  it  with  a  better  temper : 


A  YERY   WOMAN.  Q63 


Enter  Pedro. 

Which,  if  you  please  to  imitate,  'twill  not  wrong 
Your  piety,  nor  your  judgment. 

Duke.  We  were  fasliion'd 
In  different  moulds.    I  weep  with  mine  own  eyes, 

sir, 
Pursue  my  ends  too ;  pity  to  you's  a  cordial. 
Revenge  to  me;  and  that  I  must  and  will  have, 
If  my  Martino  die. 

Pedro.  Your  must  and  will, 
Shall  in  your  full-sail'd  confidence  deceive  you, 

{Aside, 
Here's  doctor  Paulo,  sir. 

Enter  Paulo  and  two  Surgeons. 

Duke.  My  hand  !  you  rather 
Deserve  my  knee,  and  it  shall  bend  as  to 
A  second  father,  if  your  saving  aids 
Restore  my  son. 

Vice.  Rise,  thou  bright  star  of  knowledge,. 
Thou  honour  of  thy  art,  thou  help  of  nature. 
Thou  glory  of  our  academies ! 

Paul.  If  I  blush,  sir, 
To  hear  these  attributes  ill-placed  on  me. 
It  is  excusable.     I  am  no  god,  sir, 
Nor  holy  saint  that  can  do  miracles, 
But  a  weak,  sinful  man :  yet,  that  I  may. 
In  some  proportion,  deserve  these  favours 
Your  excellencies  please  to  grace  me  with, 
I  promise  all  the  skill  1  have  acquired 
In  simples,  or  the  careful  observation 
Of  the  superior  bodies,  with  my  judgment 
Derived  from  long  experience;  stand  ready 
To  do  you  service. 


264  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Duke,  Modestly  replied. 

Vice.  How  is  it  with  your  princely  patient? 

Duke.  Speak, 
But  speak  some  comfort,  sir. 

Paul.  I  must  speak  truth  : 
His  wounds  though  many,  heaven  so  guided  yet 
Antonio's  sword,  it  pierced  no  part  was  mortal. 
These  gentlemen,  who  worthily  deserve 
The  names  of  surgeons,  have  done  their  duties: 
The  means  they. practised,  not  ridiculous  charms 
To  stop  the  blood ;  no  oils,  nor  balsams  bought 
Of  cheating  quack-salvers,  or  mountebanks. 
By  them  applied:  the  rules  by  Chiron  taught. 
And  iEsculapius,  which  drew  upon  him 
The  Thunderer's  envy,  they  with  care  pursued, 
Heaven  prospering  their  endeavours. 

Duke.  There  is  hope,  then. 
Of  his  recovery  ? 

Paul.  But  no  assurance  ; 
I  must  not  flatter  you.     That  little  air 
Of  comfort  that  breathes  towards  us  (for  I  dare  not 
Rob  these  t*enrich  myself)  you  owe  their  care ; 
For,  yet,  I  have  done  nothing. 

Duke.  Still  more  modest; 
I  will  begin  with  them :  to  either  give 
Three  thousand  crowns. 

Vice.  I'll  double  your  reward  ; 
See  them  paid  presently. 

1  Surg.  This  magnificence 

With  equity  cannot  be  couferr'd  on  us ; 
'Tis  due  unto  the  doctor. 

2  Surg.  True  ;  we  were 

But  his  subordinate  ministers,  and  did  only 
Follow  his  grave  directions. 

Paul.  'Tis  your  own  : 
I  challenge  no  part  in  it. 

Vice.  Brave  on  both  sides  ! 


A   VERY  WOMAN.  265 

Paul.  Deserve  this,  with  the  honour  that  will 
follow, 
In  your  attendance. 

2  Surg.  If  both  sleep  at  once, 
Tis  justice  both  should  die.      [^Exeunt  Surgeom^ 

Duke.  For  you,  grave  doctor, 
We  will  not  in  such  petty  sums  consider 
Your  high  deserts  ;  our  treasury  lies  open, 
Command  it  as  your  own. 

Vice.  Choose  any  castle, 
Nay,  city,  in  our  government,  and  be  lord  oft. 

Paul,  Of  neither,  sir ;  I  am  not  so  ambitious  : 
Nor  would  I  have  your  highnesses  secure. 
We  have  but  faintly  yet  begun  our  journey ; 
A  thousand  difficulties  and  dangers  must  be 
Encounter'd,  ere  we  end  it :  though  his  hurts, 
I  mean  his  outward  ones,  do  promise  fair, 
There  is  a  deeper  one,  and  in  his  mind, 
Must  be  with  care  provided  for  :  melancholy. 
And  at  the  height,  too,  near  akin  to  madness, 
Possesses  him  ;  his  senses  are  distracted, 
Not  one,  but  all ;  and,  if  I  can  collect  them, 
With  all  the  various  ways  invention 
Or  industry  e'er  practised,  I  shall  write  it 
My  masterpiece. 

Duke.  You  more  and  more  engage  me. 

Vice.  May  we  not  visit  him  ? 

Paul.  By  no  means,  sir; 
As  he  is  now,  such  courtesies  come  untimely : 
I'll  yield  you  reason  for't.  Should  he  look  on  you, 
It  will  renew  the  memory  of  that 
Which   I  would    have    forgotten;     your    good 

prayers. 
And  those  I  do  presume  shall  not  be  wanting 
To  my  endeavours,  are  the  utmost  aids 
I  yet  desire  your  excellencies  should  grant  me, 
So,  with  my  humblest  service 

VOL.  IV.  *  T 


266  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Duke.  Go,  and  prosper.  [E.rit  Paulo. 

Vice.  Observehis  piety ! — I  have  heard,  how  true 
I  know  not,  most  physicians,  as  they  grow 
Greater  in  skill,  grow  less  in  their  religion  ; 
Attributing  so  much  to  natural  causes, 
That  they  have  little  faith  in  that  they  cannot 
Deliver  reason  for  :*  this  doctor  steers 
Another  course — but  let  this  pass.    If  you  please, 
Your  company  to  my  daughter. 

Duke,  I  wait  on  you.  [Ej;eunt. 

'  • I  hate  heard,  how  true 

I  know  not,  most  physicians,  as  they  grow 
Greater  in  skill,  grow  less  in  their  religion  ; 
Attributing  so  much  to  natural  causes, 
That  they  have  little  faith  in  that  they  cannot 
Deliver  reason  for ;]  The  history   of  mankind  unfortunateljr 
furnishes  too  many  instances  of  this  melancholy  fact,  to  permit 
a  doubt  on  the  subject.     Let  it  be  added,  however,  that  they 
chiefly  occur  aowng  the  half-informed  of  the  profession  :  several 
of  A?hom,  as  they  have  grown  yet  greater  in  skill,  have,  to  their 
praise,  renounced  their  scepticism  with   their  confidence,  and 
increased  no  less  in  piety  than  in  knowledge.    Jonson  observes, 
with  his  usual  force  and  perspicuity  : 

"  Rot  is  a  young  physician  to  the  family, 
"  That,  letting  God  alone,  ascribes  to  nature 
"  More  than  her  share  ;  licentious  in  discourse, 
"  And  in  his  life  a  profest  voluptuary  ; 
"  The  slave  of  money,  a  buffoon  in  manners, 
"  Obscene  in  language,  which  he  vents  for  wit, 
**  And  saucy  in  his  logics  and  disputing." 

Magnetic  Lady.. 
I  have  no  propensity  to  personal  satire,  nor  do  I  think  it  just 
to  convert  an  ancient  author  into  a  libellist,  by  an  appropriation 
of  his  descriptions  to  modern  characters ;  yet  I  must,  for  once, 
be  indulged  with  saying,  that  almost  every  word  here  delivered 
applies  so  forcibly  to  a  late  physician,  that  it  requires  some 
evidence  to  believe  the  lines  were  written  nearly  two  centuries 
ago.  To  lessen  the  wonder,  however,  it  may  be  observed  that, 
from  the  days  of  Dr.  Rut  to  those  of  Dr.  D n,  that  de- 
scription of  meji  who,  letting  God  alone,  ascribe  to  nature  more 
than  her  share,  have  been  commonly  licentious^  petulant y  and  ob- 
scene buffoons. 


A   VERY    WOMAN.  267 

SCENE    III. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Leonora  and  Waiting  Womeij. 

Leon.  Took  she  no  rest  to  night  ? 

1  JVom.  Not  any,  madam  ; 

I  am  sure  she  slept  not.  If  she  slumber'd,  straight^ 
As  if  some  dreadful  vision  had  appear'd, 
She  started  up,  her  hair  unbound,  and,  with 
Distracted  looks  staring  about  the  chamber, 
She  asks  aloud,  Where  is  Martino  ?  where 
Have  you  conceaVdhim  ?  sometimes  names  Antonio, 
Trembling  in  every  joint,  her  brows  contracted, 
Her  fair  face  as  'twere  changed  into  a  curse, 
Her  hands  held  up  thus  ;  and,  as  if  her  words 
Were  too  big  to  find  passage  through  her  mouth. 
She  groans,  then  throws  herself  upon  her  bed, 
Beating  her  breast. 

Leon.  'Tis  wonderous  strange. 

2  JVom.  Nay,  more  ; 

She  that  of  late  vouchsafed  not  to  be  seen, 
But  so  adorn'd  as  if  she  were  to  rival 
Nero's  Popptea,  or  the  Egyptian  queen. 
Now,  careless  of  her  beauties,  when  we  offer 
Our  service,  she  contemns  it. 

Leon.  Does  she  not 
Sometimes  forsake  her  chamber? 

2  IVom.  Much  about 
This  hour ;  then,  with  a  strange  unsettled  gait, 
She  measures  twice  or  thrice  tlie  gallery. 
Silent,  and  frowning,  (we  dare  not  speak  to  her,) 
And  then   returns. — She's  come,  pray  you,  now 
observe  her. 

*T2 


£68  '  A    VERY   WOMAN. 

Enter  Almira  in  black,  carelessly  habited. 

Aim.  Why  are  my  eyes  fix'tl  on  the  ground, 
and  not 
Bent  upwards  ?  ha  !   that  which  was  mortal  of 
My  dear  Martino,  as  a  debt  to  nature, 
I  know  this  mother  earth  hath  sepulchred  ; 
But  his  diviner  part,  his  soul,  o'er  which 
The  tyrant  Death,  nor  yet  the  fatal  sword 
Of  curs'd  Antonio,  his  instrument. 
Had  the  least  power,  born  upon  angels'  wings 
Appointed  to  that  office,  mounted  far 
Above  the  firmament. 

Leon.  Strange  imagination  ! 
Dear  cousin,  your  Martino  lives. 

Aim.  I  know  you. 
And  that  in  this  you  flatter  me;  he's  dead, 
As  much  as  could  die  of  him  : — but  look  yonder  \ 
Amongst  a  million  of  glorious  lights 
That  deck  the  heavenly  canopy,  I  have 
Discern'd  his  sou^,  transform'd  into  a  star. 
Do  you  not  see  it? 

Leon.  Lady  ! 

Aim.  Look  with  my  eyes. 
What  splendour  circles  it !  the  heavenly  archer, 
Not  far  off  distant,  appears  dim  with  envy. 
Viewing  himself  outshined.   Bright  constellation! 
Dart  down  thy  beams  of  pity  on  Almira, 
And,  since   thou  find'st  such  grace  where  now 

thou  art, 
As  I  did  truly  love  thee  on  the  earth, 
Like  a  kind  harbinger,  prepare  my  lodging, 
And  place  me  near  thee  ! 

Leon.   I  much  more  than  fear 
She'll  grow  into  a  frenzy. 

Aim.  How  !  what's  this  ? 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  269 

A  dismal  sound  !  come  nearer,  cousin ;  lay 
Your  ear  close  to  the  ground, — closer,  I  pray  you. 
Do  you  howl?  are  you  there,  Antonio? 

Leon.  Where,  sweet  lady  ? 

Aim.  In  the  vault,  in  hell,  on  the  infernal  rack, 
Where    murderers    are    tormented  : — yerk   him 

soundly, 
'Twas  Rhadamanth's  sentence  ;  do  your  office, 

Furies. — 
How  he  roars !  What!  plead  to  me  to  mediate  for 

you! 
I'm  deaf,  I  cannot  hear  you. 

Leon.  'Tis  but  fancy. 
Collect  yourself. 

Aim.  Leave  babbling;  'tis  rare  music ! 
Rhamnusia  plays  on  a  pair  of  tongs 
Red  hot,  and  Proserpine  dances  to  the  consort ; 
Pluto  sits  laughing  by  too.*     So!  enough: 
I  do  begin  to  pity  him. 

Leon.  I  wish,  madam, 
You  would  shew  it  to  yourself. 

2  TVom.  Her  fit  begins 
To  leave  her. 

Aim,  Oh  my- brains  !  are  you  there,  cousin  ? 
'Leon,  Now  she  speaks  temperately.    I  am  ever 
ready 
To  do  you  service  :  how  do  you  ? 

Aim.  Very  much  troubled. 
I  have  had  the  strangest  waking  dream  of  hell 
And  heaven — I  know  not  what. 

Leon.  My  lord  your  father 
Is  come  to  visit  you ;  as  you  would  not  grieve  him 


^  This  is  not  madness,  but  light-headcdness :  but  such  in- 
deed, is  the  malady  of  Almira.  Later  writers  have  mistaken 
its  characteristics,  and  copied  them  (a  wonderful  easy  matter^ 
for  madness. 


1170  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

That  is  so  tender  of  you,  entertain  him 
With  a  becoming  duty. 

Enter  Viceroy,  Duke  of  Messina,  Pedro,  ami 
Attendants. 

Vice.  Still  forlorn  ! 
No  comfort,  my  Almira  ? 

Duke.  In  your  sorrow, 
For  my  Martino,  madam,  you  have  express'd 
All  possible  love  and  tenderness  ;  too  much  of  it 
Will  wrong  yourself,  and  him.  He  may  live,  lady, 
(For  we  are  not  past  hope,)  with  his  future  service, 
In  some  part  to  deserve  it. 

Aim.  If  heaven  please 
To  be  so  gracious  to  me,  I  will  serve  him 
With  such  obedience,  love,  and  humbleness, 
That  I  will  rise  up  an  example  for 
Good  wives  to  follow:  but  until  I  have 
Assurance  what  fate  will  determine  of  me, 
Thus,  like  a  desolate  M'idow,  give  me  leave 
To  weep  for  him ;  for,  should  he  die,  I  have  vow'd 
Not  to  outlive  him ;  and  my  humble  suit  is. 
One  monument  may  cover  us,  and  Antonio 
(In  justice  you  must  grant  me  that)  be  offered 
A  sacrifice  to  our  ashes.' 

Vice.  Prithee  put  off 
These  sad  thoughts ;  both  shall  live,  I  doubt  it 

not, 
A  happy  pair. 

Enter  Cuculo,  ^w^Borachia, 

Cue.  O  sir,  the  foulest  treason 
That  ever  was  discover'd  ! 

'  Queen.  "  The  ladj  doth  protest  too  much,  mcthinks. 
Hamlet.  O,  but  she'll  keep  her  word  I" 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  271 

Vice.  Speak  it,  that 
We  may  prevent  it. 

Cue.  Nay,  'tis  past  prevention  : 
Though  you  allow  me  wise,  (in  modesty, 
I  will  not  say  oraculous,)  I  cannot  help  it. 
I  am  a  statesman,  and  some  say  a  wise  one; 
But  I  could  never  conjure,  nor  divine 
Of  things  to  come. 

Vice.  Leave  fooling  :  to  the  point ; 
What  treason  ? 

Cue.  The  false  prince,  don  John  Antonio, 
Is  fled. 

Vice,  Tt  is  not  possihle. 

Pedro.  Peace,  screech-owl. 

Cue.  I  must  speak,  and  it  shall  out,  sir ;  the 
captain 
You  trusted  with  the  fort  is  run  away  too. 

Aim.  O  miserable  woman !  I  defy 
All  comfort :  cheated  too  of  my  revenge  ! 
As  you  are  my  father,  sir,  and  you  my  brother, 
I  will  not  curse  you ;  but  I  dare,  and  will  say, 
You  are  unjust  and  treacherous. — If  there  be 
A  way  to  death,  I'll  find  it.  [ExiU 

Vice.  Follow  her. 
She'll  do  some  violent  act  upon  herself; 
'Till  she  be  better  temper'd,  bind  her  hands, 
And  fetch  the  doctor  to  her. — 

[Ej:eunt  Leonora,  and  Waiting  JVomen, 
Had  not  you 
A  hand  in  this  ? 

Pedro.  I,  sir !  I  never  knew 
Such  disobedience. 

Vice.  My  honour's  touch'd  in't : 
Let  gallies  be  mann'd  forth  in  his  pursuit, 
Search  every  port  and  harbour ;  if  I  live, 
He  shall  not  'scape  thus. 

Duke.  Fine  hypocrisy  ! 


S72  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

Away,  dissemblers  !   'tis  confederacy 

Betwixt  thy  son,  and  self,  and  the  false  captain, 

He  could  not  thus  have  vanish'd  else.    You  have 

niurder'd 
My  son  amongst  you,  and  now  murder  justice : 
You  know  it  most  impossible  he  should  live, 
Howe'er  the  doctor,  for  your  ends,  dissembled, 
And  you  have  shifted  hence  Antonio. 

Vice.  Messina,  thou'rt  a  crazed  and   grieved 
old  man, 
And  being  in  my  court,  protected  by 
The  law  of  hospitality,  or  I  should 
Give  you  a  sharper  answer :  may  I  perish, 
If  I  knew  of  his  flight ! 

Duke.  Fire,  then,  the  castle. 
Hang  up  the  captain's  wife  and  children. 

Vice.  Fie,  sir ! 

Pedro.  My  lord,  you  are  uncharitable  ;  capital 
treasons 
Exact  not  so  much. 

Duke.  Thanks,  most  noble  signior! 
We  ever  had  your  good  word  and  your  love. 
.    Cue.  Sir,  I  dare  pass  my  word,  my  lords  are 

clear 
Of  any  imputation  in  this  case 
You  seem  to  load  them  with. 

Duke.  Impertinent  fool ! 

No,  no;  the  loving  faces  you  put  on, 
Have  been  but  grinning  visors :  you  have  jug- 
gled me 
Out  of  my  son,  and  out  of  justice  too  ; 
But  Spain  shall  do  me  right,  believe  me,  Viceroy: 
There  I  will  force  it  from  thee  by  the  king. 
He  shall  not  eat  nor  sleep  in  peace  for  me. 
Till  I  am  righted  for  this  treachery. 

Vice.  Thy  worst,  Messina!  since  no  reason  can 
Qualify  thy  intemperance;  the  corruption 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  273 

Of  my  subordinate  ministers  cannot  wrong 
My  true  integrity.     Let  privy  searchers 
Examine  all  the  land. 

Pedro.  Fair  fall  Antonio !  [Aside, 

[Euceunt  Viceroy^  Pedro,  and  Attendants, 

Cue.  This  is  my  wife,  my  lord ;  troth  speak 
your  conscience, 
Is't  not  a  goodly  dame  ? 

Duke.  She  is  no  less,  sir ; 
I  will  make  use  of  these :  may  I  entreat  you' 
To  call  my  niece. 

Bora.  With  speed,  sir.  [Exit  Borachia. 

Cue.  You  may,  my  lord,  suspect  me 
As  an  agent  in  these  state-conveyances : 
Let  signior  Cuculo,  then,  be  never  more. 
For  all  his  place,  wit,  and  authority. 
Held  a  most  worthy,  honest  gentleman. 

Re-enter  Borachia  with  Leonora. 

Duke.  I  do  acquit  you,  signior.     Niece,  you 

see 
To  what  extremes  I  am  driven ;   the  cunning 

viceroy,  ^ 

And  his  son  Pedro,  having  express'd  too  plainly 
Their  cold  affections  to  my  son  Martino : 
And  therefore  I  conjure  thee,  Leonora, 
By  all  thy  hopes  from  me,  which  is  my  dukedom 
If  my  son  fail, — however,  all  thy  fortunes; 
Though  heretofore  some  love  hath  past  betwixt 
Don  Pedro,  and  thyself,  abjure  him  now: 
And  as  thou  keep'st  Almira  company, 

'  Twill  make  use  of  these  :  may  1  entreat  you]  So  the  old  copy: 
Mr.  M.  Mason  chooses  to  read, 

I  ■will  make  use  o/ Cuculo  and  Borachia.     May  I  intreat  you. 
If  Such  portentous  lines  as  these  may  be  introduced  without 
reason,  and  without  authority,  tliere  is  an  end  of  all  editorship. 


274  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

In  this  her  desolation,  so  in  hate 

To  this  young  Pedro,  for  thy  cousin's  love, 

Be  her  associate ;  or  assure  thyself, 

I  cast  thee  like  a  stranger  from  my  hlood. 

If  I  do  ever  hear  thou  see'st,  or  send'st 

Token,  or  receiv'st  message —by  yon  heaven, 

I  never  more  will  own  thee  ! 

Leon.  O,  dear  uncle  ! 
You  have  put  a  tyrannous  yoke  upon  my  heart, 
And  it  will  break  it.  {Eait, 

Duke.  Gravest  lady,  you 
May  be  a  great  assister  in  my  ends. 
I  buy  your  diligence  thus  : — divide  this  couple, 
Hinder  their  interviews;  feign  'tis  her  will 
To  give  him  no  admittance,  if  he  crave  it; 
And  thy  rewards  shall  be  thine  own  desires: 
Whereto,  good  sir,  but  add  your  friendly  aids, 
And  use  me  to  my  uttermost. 

Cue.  My  lord. 
If  my  wife  please,  I  dare  not  contradict. 
Borachia,  what  do  you  say? 

Bora.  I  say,  my  lord, 
I  know  my  place  ;^  and  be  assured,  I  will 
Keep  fire  and  tow  asunder. 

Duke.  You  in  this 
Shall  much  deserve  me*  \EMt. 

Cue.  We  have  ta'en  upon  us 
A  heavy  charge  :  I  hope  you'll  now  forbear 
The  excess  of  wine. 

Bora.  I  will  do  what  I  please. 
This  day  the  market's  kept  for  slaves ;  go  you, 
And  buy  me  a  fine-timber'd  one  to  assist  me; 
I  must  be  better  waited  on. 

Cue.  Any  thing, 
So  you'll  leave  wine. 

Jiora.  Still  prating! 

Cue,  I  am  gone,  duck.  [^E:vit^ 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  375 

Bora,  Pedro!  so  hot  upon  the  scent!  1*11  fit  him. 
Re-enter  Pedro. 

Pedro.  Donna  Borachia,  you  most  happily 
Are  met  to  pleasure  me. 

Bora.  It  may  be  so  ; 
I  use  to  pleasure  many.     Here  lies  my  way, 
I  do  beseech  you,  sir,  keep  on  your  voyage. 

Pedro.  Be  not  so  short,  sweet  lady,  I  must  with 
you. 

Bora.  With  me,  sir!  I  beseech  you,  sir — why, 
what,  sir, 
See  you  in  me? 

Pedro.  Do  not  mistake  me,  lady  ; 
Nothing  but  honesty. 

Bora,  Hang  honesty  ! 
Trump  me  not  up  with  honesty :  do  you  mark, 

sir, 
I  have  a  charge,  sir,  and  a  special  charge,  sir, 
And  'tis  not  honesty  can  win  on  me,  sir, 

Pedro.  Prithee  conceive  me  rightly. 

Bora.  I  conceive  you  I 

Pedro.  But  understand. 

Bora.  I  will  not  understand,  sir, 
I  cannot,  nor  I  do  not  understand,  sir. 

Pedro.    Prithee,    Borachia,    let    me    see    my 
mistress, 
But  look  upon  her ;  stand  you  by. 

Bora.  How's  this  ! 
Shall  I  stand  by  ?  what  do  you  think  of  me  ? 
Now,  by  the  virtue  of  the  place  I  hold, 
You  are  a  paltry  lord  to  tempt  my  trust  thus : 
I  am  no  Helen,  nor  no  Hecuba, 
To  be  deflowcr'd  of  my  loyalty 
With  your  fair  language. 

Pedro.  Thou  mistak'st  me  still. 


276  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

JBora.  It  may  be  so,  my  place  will  bear  me  out 

in't, 

And  will  mistake  you  still,  make  you  your  best 

on't. 

Pedro.  A  pox  upon  thee!  let  me  but  behold  her. 

Bora.  A  plague  upon  you!  you  shall  never  see 

her. 
Pedro.  This  is  a  crone  in  grain  !  thou  art  so 
testy — 
Prithee,  take  breath,  and  know  thy  friends. 

Bora.  I  will  not, 
I  have  no  friends,  nor  I  will  have  none  this  way: 
And, now  I  think  on't  better,  why  will  you  see  her? 
Pedro.  Because   she  loves  me  dearly,   I   her 

equally. 
Bora.  She  hates  you  damnably,  most  wickedly. 
Build  that  upon  my  word,  most  wickedly; 
And  swears  her  eyes  are  sick  when  they  behold 

you. 
How  fearfully  have  I  heard  her  rail  upon  you, 
And  cast  and  rail  again  ;  and  cast  again  ; 
Call  for  hot  waters,  and  then  rail  again  ! 
Pedro.  How  !  'tis  not  possible. 
Bora.  I  have  heard  her  swear 
(How  justly,  you  best  know,  and  where  the  cause 

lies) 
Thatyou  are — I  shame  to  tell  it  —but  it  mustout — 
Fie,  fie!  why,  how  have  you  deserved  it? 
Pedro.  I  am  what  ? 

Bora.  The  beastliest  man — why,  what  a  grief 
must  this  be  ? 
(Sir-reverence  of  the  company) — a  rank  whore- 
master  : 
Ten  livery  whores,  she  assured  me  on  her  credit. 
With  weeping  eyes  she  spake  it,  and  seven  citizens. 
Besides  all  voluntaries  that  serve  under  you. 
And  of  all  countries. 


.A   VERY   WOMAN.  277 

Pedro.  This  must  needs  be  a  lie. 

Bora.  Besides,  you  are  so  careless  of  your  body, 
Which  is  a  foul  fault  in  you. 

Pedro.  Leave  your  fooling, 
For  this  shall  be  a  fable  :  happily, 
My  sister's  anger  may  grow  strong  against  me, 
Which  thou  mistak'st. 

Bora.  She  hates  you  very  well  too. 
But  your  mistress  hates  you  heartily  : — look  upon 

you! 
Upon  my  conscience,  shewould  seethe  devil  first, 
With  eyes  as  big  as  saucers ;  when  I  but  named 

you. 
She  has  leap'd  back  thirty  feet :  if  once  she  smell 

you, 
For  certainly  you  are  rank,  she  says,  extreme  rank, 
And  the  wind  stand  with  you  too,  she's  gone  for 
ever  ! 

Pedro.  For  all  this,  I  would  see  her. 

Bora.  That's  all  one. 
Have  you  new   eyes  when  those  are  scratch'd 

out,  or  a  nose 
To  clap  on  warm  ?  have  you  proof  against  a  piss- 
pot, 
Which,  if  they  bid  me,  I  must  fling  upon  you? 

Pedro.  I  shall  not  see  her,  then,  you  say  ? 

Bora.  It  seems  so. 

Pedro.  Prithee,  be  thus  far  friend  then,  good 
Borachia, 
To  give  her  but  this  letter,  and  this  ring, 
And  leave  thy  pleasant  lying,  which  I  pardon  : 
But  leave  it  in  her  pocket ;  there's  no  harm  in't. 
I'll  take  thee  up  a  petticoat,  will  that  please  thee  ? 

Bora.  Take  up  my  petticoat!  I  scorn  the  motion, 
I  scorn  it  with  my  heels  ;  take  up  my  petticoat  ! 

Pedro.  And  why  thus  hot? 


278  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Bora.  Sir,  you  shall  find  me  hotter, 
If  you  take  up  my  petticoat, 

Pedro.  I'll  give  thee  a  new  petticoat. 

Bo7^a.  I  scorn  the  gift — take  up  my  petticoat ! 
Alas  !  my  lord,  you  are  too  young,  my  lord, 
Too  young,  my  lord,  to  circumcise  me  that  way. 
Take  up  my  petticoat  1   I  am  a  woman, 
A  woman  of  another  way,  my  lord, 
A  gentlewoman  :  he  that  takes  up  my  petticoat. 
Shall  have  enough  to  do,  I  warrant  him. 
I  would  fain  see  the  proudest  of  you  all  so  lusty. 

Pedro.  Thou  art  disposed  still  to  mistake  me. 

Bora.  Petticoat  ! 
You  shew  now  what  you  are  ;  but  do  your  worst, 
sir. 

Pedro.  A  wild-fire  take  thee  ! 

Bora.  I  ask  no  favour  of  you. 
And  so  I  leave  you ;  and  withal,  I  charge  you 
In  my  own  name,  for,  sir,  I'd  have  you  know  it, 
In  this  place  I  present  your  father's  person. 
Upon  your  life,  not  dare  to  follow  me. 
For  if  you  do —  [Ej^it. 

Pedj'o.  Go!  and  the  pox  go  with  thee, 
If  thou  hast  so  much  moisture  to  receive  them  1 
For  thou  wilt  have  them,  though  a  horse  bestow 

them. 
I  must  devise  a  way —for  I  must  see  her, 
And  very  suddenly  ;  and,  madam  petticoat, 
If  all  the  wit  I  have,  and  this  can  do,* 
I'll  make  you  break  your  charge,  and  your  hope 
too.  [E.vit. 

and  this  can  do,]  i.  e.  either  th«  ring  or  th« 


letter,  with  which  Borachia  had  refused  to  charge  herself, 


A   VERY    WOMAN.  9,79 

ACT    III.      SCENE    I. 

The  Slave  Market. 

Enter  Slave-merchant  and  Servant,  with  Anton  lo 
and  Captain  disguised,  and  dressed  as  Slaves, 
English  Slave,  and  divers  other  Slaves. 

Merck.  Come,  rank  yourselves,  and  stand  out 

handsomely. 
— Now  ring  the  bell,  that  they  may  know  my 

market. 
Stand  you  two  here;  [To  Antonio  and  the  Captain.'\ 

you  are  personable  men, 
And  apt  to  yield  good  sums,  if  women  cheapen. 
Put  me  that  pig-complexion'd  fellow  behind, 
He  will  spoil  my  sale  else ;  the  slave  looks  like 

famine. 
Sure  he  was  got  in  a  cheese-press,  the  whey  runs 

out  on's  nose  yet. 
He  will  not  yield  above  a  peck  of  oysters — 
If  I  can  get  a  quart  of  wine  in  too,  you  are  gone, 

sir  : 
Why  sure,  thou  hadst  no  father. 
1  Slave.  Sure  I  know  not. 
Merch.  No,  certainly ;  a  March  frog  [leap'd]* 

thy  mother; 
Thou'rt   but    a   monster-paddock.  —  Look  who 

comes,  sirrah. —  [Exit  Servant, 

And  next  prepare  the  song,  and  do  it  lively. — 
Your  tricks  too,  sirrah,  they  are  ways  to  catch 

the  buyer,  [jTo  the  English  Slave, 

*  Old  copy  J  "  kept  thy  mother." 


280  A   VERY    WOMAN. 

And  if  you  do  them  well,  they'll  prove   good 

dowries. — 
How  now  ? 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Sere.    They  come,   sir,    with   their   bags  full 

loaden. 
Merch.  Reach  me  my  stool,     O  !   here  they 

come. 

£«/er  Paulo,  Apothecary,  Cuculo,  ««^ Citizens. 

Cue.  That's  he. 
He  never  fails  monthly  to  sell  his  slaves  here ; 
He  buys  them  presently  upon  their  taking, 
And  so  disperses  them  to  every  market. 

Merch.  Begin  the  song,  and  chant  it  merrily. 

A  SONG,  by  one  of  the  Slaves. 

Well  done. 

Paul.  Good  morrow  ! 

Merch.  Morrow  to  you,  signiors  ! 

Paul.  We  come  to  look  upon  your  slaves,  and 
buy  too. 
If  we  can  like  the  persons^  and  the  prices. 

Cue.  They  shew  tine  active  fellows. 

Merch.  They  are  no  less,  sir. 
And  people  of  strong  labours. 

Paul.  That's  in  the  proof,  sir. 

Apoth.    Pray   what's    the    price    of  this  red- 
bearded  fellow? 
If  his  gall  be  good,  I  have  certain  uses  for  him. 

Merch.  My  sorrel  slaves  are  of  a  lower  price, 
Because  the  colour's  faint : — fifty  chequins,  sir. 

Apoth.  What  be  his  virtues  ? 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  281 

Merch.  He  will  poison  rats  ; 
Make  him  but  angry,  and  his  eyes  kill  spiders  ; 
Let  him  but,  fasting,  spit  upon  a  toad, 
And  presently  it  bursts,  and  dies ;  his  dreams  kill: 
He'll  run  you  in  a  wheel,  and  draw  up  water, 
But  if  his  nose  drop  in't,  'twill  kill  an  army. 
When  you  have  worn  him  to  the  bones  with  uses, 
Thrust  him  into  an  oven  luted  well. 
Dry  him,  and  beat  him,  flesh  and  bone,  to  powder, 
And  that  kills  scabs,  and  aches  of  all  climates. 
Apoth.  Pray  at  what  distance  may  I  talk  to 

him  ? 
Merch.  Give  him  but   sage  and   butter  in  a 
morning. 
And  there's   no  fear :     but  keep   him  from  all 

women. 
For  there  his  poison  swells  most". 

Apoth.  I  will  have  him. 
Cannot  he  breed  a  plague  too  ? 

Merch.  Yes,  yes,  yes, 
Feed  him  with  fogs  ;   probatum. — Now  to  you, 

sir. 
Do  you  like  this  slave?         [Pointing  to  Antonio. 
Cue.  Yes,  if  I  like  his  price  well. 
Merch.  The  price  is  full  an  hundred,  nothing 
bated. 
Sirrah,  sell  the  Moors  there  :— feel,  he's  high  and 

lusty. 
And  of  a  gamesome  nature  ;  bold,  and  secret, 
Apt  to  win  favour  of  the  man  that  owns  him. 
By  diligence  and  duty  :  look  upon  him. 
Paul.   Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 
Merch.  Til  be  with  you  presently. — 
Mark   hut  his   limbs,    that   slave   will   cost  you 
fourscore ;  [Pointing  to  the  Captain, 

An  easy  price — turn  him  about,  and  view  him. — 

VOL.    IV.  *  U 


282  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

For  these  two,  sir?  why,  they  are  the  finest  chil- 
dren  

Twins,  on  my  credit,  sir. — Do  you  see  this  boy, 
sir  ? 

He  will  run  as  far  from  you  in  an  hour 

1  Cit.  Will  he  so,  sir? 

Merck.    Conceive    me    rightly, — if   upon    an 
errand, 
As  any  horse  you  have. 

2  Cit.  What  will  this  girl  do  ? 
Merck.  Sure  no  harm  at  all,  sir, 

For  she  sleeps  most  an  end.' 

Cit.  An  excellent  housewife. 
Of  what  religion  are  they  ? 

Merck.  What  you  will,  sir, 

'  Merch.  Sure  no  hlfrm  at  all,  sir, 

For  she  sleeps  most  an  end.]  i.  e.  Almost  perpetually,  without 
intermission.  In  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Proteus  says  of 
Launce : 

*'  A  slave  that  still  an  end  turns  me  to  shame." 
That  is,  says  Steevens,  ''  at  the  conclusion  of  every  business  he 
undertakes."!  He  was  set  right  by  Mr.  M.  Mason ;  but  he 
persisted  in  his  erroneous  explanation: — aliter  non [fit,  Avite^ 
liber. — ^To  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  blunder,  (of  which,  how- 
ever, in  the  present  state  of  "  commentating,''  there  is  little 
hope,)  I  will  subjoin  a  few  examples,  and  place  the  meaning  of 
the  words  beyond  all  question. 

"  Now  help,  good  heaven !  'tis  such  an  uncouth  thing 

*'  To  be  a  widow  out  of  term  time !  I 

*'  Do  feel  such  aguish  qualms,  and  dumps,  and  fits, 

"  And  shakings  still  an  end."  The  Ordinary. 

**  Greatheart.  I  perceive  you  know  Mr.  Fearing,  for  you  have 
given  a  very  right  character  of  him. 

Honesty.  Know  him  ?  I  was  a  great  companion  of  his.  I  was 
with  him  most  an  end."     Pil.  Prog. 

"  He  runs  on  in  a  strange  jumbled  character ;  but  has  most 
an  end,  a  strong  disposition* to  make  a  farce  of  it."  Divine  Leg. 
P.  xi.  . 

The  expression,  which  is  not  yet  worn  out,  is  of  great  anti- 
quity ;  for  I  meet  with  it  in  some  of  our  earliest  writers. 


A    VERY   WOMAN.  283 

So  there  be  meat  and  drink  in't  :  they'll  do  little 
That  shall  offend  you,  for  their  chief  desi-re     ' 
Is  to  do  nothing  at  all,  sir. 

Cue.  A  hundred  is  too  much. 

Merck.  Not  a  doit  bated  : 
He's  a  brave  slave,  his  eye  shews  activeness ; 
Fire  and  the  mettle  of  a  man  dwell  in  him. 
Here  is  one  you  shall  have 

Cue.  For  what? 

Mereh.  For  nothing, 
And  thank  you  too. 

Paul.  What  can  he  do  ? 

Merck.  Why,  any  thing  that's  ill. 
And  never  blush  at  it :  he's  so  true  a  thief, 
That  he'll  steal  from  himself,  and  think  he  has 

got  by  it. 
He  stole  out  of  his  mother's  belly,  being  an  infant  ; 
And  from  a  lousy  nurse  he  stole  his  nature, 
From  a  dog  his  look,  and  from  an  ape  his  nimble- 

ness  ; 
He  will  look  in  your  face  and  pick  your  pockets, 
Rob  ye  the  most  wise  rat  of  a  cheese-paring ; 
There,  where  a  cat  will  go  in,  he  will  follow. 
His  body  has  no  back-bone.  Into  my  company 
He  stole,  for  I  never  bought  him,  and  will  steal 

into  yours. 
An  you  stay  a  little  longer.  Now,  if  any  of  you 
Be  given  to  the  excellent  art  of  lying. 
Behold,  before  you  here,  the  masterpiece  ! 
He'll  outlie  him  that  taught  him,  monsieur  devil, 
Offer  to  swear  he  has  eaten  nothing  in  a  twelve- 
month. 
When  his  mouth's  full  of  meat. 

Cue.  Pray  keep  him,  he's  a  jewel; 
And  here's  your  money  for  this  fellow. 

Mereh.  He's  yours,  sir. 

Cue.  Come,  follow  me.         [Exit  with  Antonio, 
*U2 


284  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Cit.  Twenty  chequins  for  these  two. 
Merch.  For  five  and  twenty  take  them. 
Cit.  There's  your  money  ; 
I'll  have  them,  if  it  be  to  sing  in  cages. 

Merch.  Give  them  hard  eggs,  you  never  had 

such  blackbirds. 
Cii.  Is  she  a  maid,  dost  think  ? 
Merch.  I  dare  not  swear,  sir  : 
She  is  nine  year  old,  at  ten  you  shall  find  few 
here. 
Cit,  A  merry  fellow  !  thou  say'st  true.  Come, 
children.  [Exit  with  the  two  Moors. 

Paul.  Here,  tell  your  money;    if  his  life  but 
answer 
His  outward  promises,  I  have  bought  him  cheap, 
sir. 
Merch.  Too  cheap,  o'conscience  :  he's  a  preg- 
nant knave  ; 
Full  of  fine  thought,  I  warrant  him. 
Paul.  He's  but  weak-timber'd.' 
Merch.  'Tis  the  better,  sir  ; 
He  will  turn  gentleman  a  great  deal  sooner. 
Paul.  Very  weak  legs. 
Merch.  Strong,  as  the  time  allows  sir. 
Pfltt/.  What's  that  fellow? 
Merch.  Who,  this  ?  the  finest  thing  in  all  the 
world,  sir, 


'     Paul.  Ht^s  but  weak-timber^d, 
Merch.  "Tis  the  better^  sir  ; 

He  wilt  turn  gentleman  a  great  deal  sooner.^  Small  legs  seem, 
at  this  time,  to  have  been  considered  as  one  of  the  characteris- 
tic marks  of  a  fine  gentleman.  Thus  Jonson  : 

Chlo.  Are  you  a,  gentlemjin  born  ? 

Cris.  That  I  am,  lady  ;  you  shall  see  my  arms,  if  it  please  you. 

Chlo.  No ;  your  legs  do  sufficiently  shew  you  are  a  gentle- 
man born,  sir ;  for  a  man  borne  upon  little  legs,  is  always  a 
gentleman  born.     Poetaster. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  285 

The  punctuallest,  and  the  perfectest ;  an  English 

metal, 
But  coin'd  in  France :  Youn servant's  servant,  sir  / 
Do  you  understand  that?  or  your  skadozt/s  servant  f 
Will  you  buy  him  to  carry  in  a  box  ?   Kiss  your 

hand,  sirrah  ; — 
Let  fall  your  cloak  on  one  shoulder; — face  to 

your  left  hand  ; — 
Feather  your  hat ; — slope  your  hat ; — now  charge. 

— Your  honour, 
What  think  you  of  this  fellow  ? 

Paul.  Indeed,  I  know  not ; 
I  never  saw  such  an  ape  before :  but,  hark  you, 
Are  these  things  serious  in  his  nature  ? 

Merch.  Yes,  yes ; 
Part  of  his  creed  :  come,  do  some  more  devices.' 
Quarrel  a  little,  and  take  him  for  your  enemy. 
Do  it  in  dumb  show.    Now  observe  him  nearly, 
\The  English  Slave  practises  his  postures, 
Paul.  This  fellow's  mad,  stark  mad. 
Merch.  Believe  they  are  all  so  : 
I  have  sold  a  hundred  of  them. 

Paul.  A  strange  nation  ! 
What  may  the  women  be? 
Merch.  As  mad  as  they. 
And,   as  I   have  heard  for  truth,   a  great  deal 

madder  : 
Yet,  you  may  find  some  civil  things  amongst  them, 
But  they  are  not  respected.    Nay,  never  wonder ; 

9  _ come^  do  some  more  devices,  &c.J    This 

must  have  been  a  most  diverting  scene:  the  ridicule  on  the 
French,  or  rather  on  the  travelled  English,  who  caricatured, 
while  they  aped,  the  foppish  manners  of  the  continent,  was 
never  more  exquisitely  pointed  :  indeed,  I  recollect  nothing  on 
the  subject,  in  any  of  our  old  dramatists,  that  can  be  said  to 
come  near  it.  What  follows  is  in  a  higher  tone.  This  slave 
merchant  is  one  of  the  most  sprightly  active  characters  which 
the  English  stage  can  boast. 


g85  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

They  have  a  city,  sir, — I  have  been  in  it, 
And  therefore  dare  affirm  it,  where,  if  you  saw 
With  what  a  load  of  vanity  'tis  fraughtcd, 
Hovv'  lilce  an  everlasting  morris  dance  it  looks, 
Nothing  but  hobby-horse,  and  maid  Miirian, 
You  would  start  indeed. 

Paul.  They  are  handsome  men? 

Merch.  Yes,  if  they  would  thank  their  maker, 
And  seek  no  further;  but  they  have  new  creators, 
God-tailor,  and  god-mercer:  a  kind  of  Jews,  sir, 
But  fall'n  into  idolatry  ;  for  they  worship 
Nothing  with  so  much  service,  as  the  cow-calves, 

Paul.  What  do  you  mean  by  cow-calves? 

Merch.  Why,  their  women. 
Will  you  see  him  do  any  more  tricks? 

Paul.  'Tis  enough,  I  thank  you  ; 
But  yet  I'll  buy  him,  for  the  rareness  of  him : 
He  may  make   my  princely  patient  mirth,  an 

that  done, 
I'll  chain  him  in  my  study,  that  at  void  hours 
I  may  run  o'er  the  story  of  his  country. 

Merch.  His  price  is  forty. 

Paul.  Hold — I'll  once  be  foolish, 
And  buy  a  lump  of  levity  to  laugh  at. 

Apoth.  Will  your  worship  walk  ? 

Paul.  How  now,  apothecary, 
Have  you  been  buying  too  ? 

Apoth.  A  little,  sir, 
A  dose  or  two  of  mischief. 

Paul.  Fare  ye  well,  sir; 
As  these  prove,  we  shall  look  the  next  wind  for 
,^    you. 

Merch,  I  shall  be  with  you,  sir. 

Pflw/.  Who  bought  this  fellow? 

2  Cit.  Not  I. 

Apoth.  Nor  I. 

Paul.  Why  does  he  follow  us,  then  ? 


A  VERY    WOMAN.  287 

Merch.  Did  not  I  tell  you  he  would  steal  to  you? 

2  Cit.  Sirrah, 
You  mouldy-chaps  !    know  your  crih,  I  would 

wish  you, 
And  get  from  whence  you  came. 

1  Slave*  I  came  from  no  place. 

Paul.  Wilt  thou  be  my  fool  ?  for  fools,  they 
say,  will  tell  truth. 

1  Slave.  Yes,  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  sir,  to 
abuse  you, 
For  I  can  do  that  naturally. 

Paul.  And  I  can  beat  you. 

1  Slave.  I  should  be  sorry  else,  sir. 

Merch.  He  looks  for  that,  as  duly  as  his  vic- 
tuals. 
And  will  be  extreme  sick  when  he  is  not  beaten. 
He  will  be  as  wanton,  when  he  has  a  bone  broken. 
As  a  cat  in  a  bowl  on  the  water. 

Paul.  You  will  part  with  him  ? 

Merch.  To  such  a  friend  as  you,  sir. 

Paul.  And  without  money  ? 

Merch,  Not  a  penny,  signior ; 
And  would  he  were  better  for  you  ! 

Paul.  Follow  me,  then ; 
The  knave  may  teach  me  something. 

1  Slave.  Something  that 
You  dearly  may  repent ;  howe'er  you  scorn  me. 
The  slave  may  prove  your  master. 

Paul.  Farewell  once  more  ! 

Merch.  Farewell !  and  when  the  wind  serves 
next,  expect  me.  [Exeunt, 


288  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

SCENE   II. 

A  Room  in  the  Viceroy's  Palace. 

Enter  Cuculo  and  Antonio. 

Cue.  Come,  sir,  you  are  mine,  sir,  now ;  you 
serve  a  man,  sir. 
That,  when  you  know  more,  you  will  find — 
Ant,  I  hope  so. 
Cue.  What  dost  thou  hope  ? 
Ant.  To  find  5  ou  a  kind  master. 
Cue.  Find  you  yourself  a  diligent  true  servant, 
And  take  the  precept  of  the  wise  hefore  you. 
And  then  you  may  hope,  sirrah.    Understand, 
You  serve  me' — what  is  me  ?  a  man  of  credit. 
Ant.  Yes,  sir. 

Cue.  Of  special  credit,  special  office  ;  hear  first 
And  understand  again,  of  special  office  : 
A  man  that  nods  upon  the  thing  he  meets, 
And  that  thing  bows. 

Ant.  'Tis  fit  it  should  be  so,  sir. 
Cue.  It  shall  be  so :  a  man  near  all  importance. 
Dost  thou  digest  this  truly? 
Ant,  I  hope  I  shall,  sir. 

Cue.  Besides,  thou  art  to  serve  a  noble  mistress, 
Of  equal  place  and  trust.    Serve  usefully. 
Serve  all  with  diligence,  but  her  delights; 
There  make  your  stop.    She  is  a  woman,  sirrah, 
And  though  a  cuU'd  out  virtue,  yet  a  woman. 
Thou  art  hot  troubled  with  the  strength  of  blood, 
And  stirring  faculties,  for  she'll  shew  a  fair  one  ? 

*  You  serve  me — ]  So  the  old  copy  ;  the  modern  editors  omit 
the  pronoun,  which  reduces  the  passage  to  nonsense. 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  £89 

Ant,  As  I  am  a  man,  I  may  ;  but  as  I  am  youfV. 
man, 
Your  trusty,  useful  man,  those  thoughts  shall 
perish. 
Cue.  'Tis  apt,  and  well  distinguish'd.  The  next 
precept, 
And  then,  observe  me,  you  have  all  your  duty ; 
Keep,  as  thou'dst  keep  thine  eye-sight,  all  wine 

from  her. 
All  talk  of  wine. 

Ant.  Wine  is  a  comfort,  sir. 
Cue.  A  devil,  sir!  let  her  not  dream  of  wine; 
Make  her  believe  there  neither  is,  nor  was  wine; 
Swear  it. 

Ant.  Will  you  have  me  lie? 
Cue.  To  my  end,  sir; 
For  if  one  drop  of  wine  but  creep  into  her, 
She  is  the  wisest  woman  in  the  world  straight, 
And  all  the  women  in  the  world  together 
Are  but  a  whisper  to  her ;  a  thousand  iron  mills 
Can  be  heard  no  further  than  a  pair  of  nut- 
crackers. 
Keep  her  from  wine;  wine  makes  her  dangerous. 
Fall  back — my  lord  don  Pedro ! 

Enter  Pedro. 

Pedro.  Now,  master  Office, 
What  is  the  reason  that  your  vigilant  Greatness, 
And  your  wife's  wonderful  Wiseness,  have  lock'd 

up  from  nie 
The  way  to  see  my  mistress  ?  Whose  dog's  dead 

now, 
That  you  observe  these  vigils  ? 

Cue.  Very  well,  my  lord. 
Belike,  we  observe  no  law  then,  nor  no  order, 


290  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

•Nor  feel  no  power,  nor  will,  of  him  that  made 
them, 

When  state-commands  thus  slightly  are  disputed. 
Pedro.  What  state-command  ?  dost  thou  think 
any  state 

Would  give  thee  any  thing  but  eggs  to  keep,  • 

Or  trust  thee  with  a  secret  above  lousing  ? 
Cue.  No,  no,  my  lord,  I  am  not  passionate ; 

You  cannot  work  me  that  way,  to  betray  me. 

A  point  there  is  in't,  that  you  must  not  see,  sir, 

A  secret  and  a  serious  point  of  state  too  ; 

And  do  not  urge  it  further,  do  not,  lord. 

It  will  not  take;  you  deal  with  them  that  wink  not. 

You  tried  my  wife.    Alas  !  you  thought  she  was 
foolish, 

Won  with  an  empty  word;  you  have  not  found  it. 
Pedro.  I  have  found  a  pair  of  coxcombs,  that 

I  am  sure  on. 
Cue.  Your  lordship  may  say  three : — I  am  not 

passionate. 
Pedro.  How's  that  ? 

Cue.  Your  lordship  found   a  faithful  gentle- 
woman, 

Strong,  and  inscrutable  as  the  viceroy's  heart ; 

A  woman  of  another  making,  lord : 

And,  lest  she  might  partake  with  woman's  weak- 
ness, 

IVe  purchased  her  a  rib  to  make  her  perfect, 

A  rib  that  will  not  shrink,   nor  break  in  the 
bending. 

This  trouble  we  are  put  to,  to  prevent  things, 

Which  your  good  lordship  holds  but  necessary. 
Pedro.  A  fellow  of  a  handsome  and  free  promise, 

And  much,  methinks,  I'm  taken  with  his  coun- 
tenance.— 

Do  you  serve  this  yeoman,  porter  ?  \To  Antonio. 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  ^ 


291 


Cue.  Not  a  word. 
Basta!  Your  lordship  may  discourse  yourfreedom ; 
He  is  a  slave  of  state,  sir,  so  of  silence. 

Pedro.  You  are  very  punctual,  state-cut,  fare 
ye  well ; 
I  shall  find  time  to  fit  you  too,  I  fear  not.  [Exit. 

Cue.  And  I  shall  fit  you,  lord :  you  would  be 
billing  ; 
You  are  too  hot,  sweet  lord,  too  hot. — Go  you 

home. 
And  there  observe  these  lessons  I  first  taught  you, 
Look  to  your  charge  abundantly  ;  be  wary. 
Trusty  and  wary  ;  much  weight  hangs  upon  me. 
Watchful  and  wary  too  !  this  lord  is  dangerous, 
Take  courage  and  resist :  for  other  uses. 
Your  mistress  will  inform  you.    Go,  be  faithful. 
And,  do  you  hear?  no  wine. 

Ant,  I  shall  observe,  sir.  [Exeunt* 


SCENE   III. 
Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Paulo  and  Surgeons.  • 

Paul.  He  must  take  air. 

1  Surg.  Sir,  under  your  correction. 
The  violence  of  motion  may  make 
His  wounds  bleed  fresh. 

2  Surg.  And  he  hath  lost  already 
Too  much  blood,  in  my  judgment. 

Paul.  I  allow  that ; 
But  to  choke  up  his  spirits  in  a  dark  room. 
Is  far  more  dangerous.    He  comes;  no  questions. 


922         /    A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Enter  Cardenes. 

Car.  Certain  we  have  no  reason,  nor  that  soul 
Created  of  that  pureness  books  persuade  us  : 
We  understand  not,  sure,  nor  feel  that  sweetness 
That  men  call  virtue's  chain  to  link  our  actions. 
Our  imperfections  form,  and  flatter  us; 
A  will  to  rash  and  rude  things  is  our  reason. 
And  that  we  glory  in^,  that  makes  us  guilty. 
Why  did  T  wrong  this  man?  unmanly  wrong  him? 
Unmannerly  ?  He  gave  me  no  occasion. 
In  all  my  heat  how  noble  was  his  temper  1 
And,  when  I  had  forgot  both  man  and  manhood, 
With  what  a  gentle  bravery  did  he  chide  me  ! 
And,  say  he  had  kill'd  me,  whither  had  I  travell'd? 
Kill'd  me  in  all  my  rage — oh,  how  it  shakes  me! 
Why  didst  thou  do  this,  fool?  a  woman  taught  me, 
The  devil  and  his  angel,  woman,  bade  me. — 
I  am  a  beast,  the  wildest  of  all  beasts. 
And  like  a  beast  1  make  my  blood  my  master. 
Farewell,  farewell,  forever,  name  of  mistress  ! 
Out  of  my  heart  I  cross  thee;  love  and  women 
Out  of  my  thoughts. 

Paul.  Ay,  now  you  shew  your  manhood. 

Car.  Doctor,  believe  me,  I  have  bought  my 
knowledge, 

And    dearly,    doctor : they    are    dangerous 

creatures. 
They   sting   at    both   ends,    doctor;    worthless 

creatures. 
And  all  their  loves  and  favours  end  in  ruins. 

Paul.  To  man,  indeed. 

Car.  Why,  now  thou  tak'st  me  rightly. 
What  can  they  shew,  or  by  what  act  deserve  us. 
While  we  have  Virtue,  and  pursue  her  beauties ! 

Paul.  And  yet  I've  heard  of  many  virtuous 
women. 


'     A   VERY   WOMAN.  293 

Car.  Not  many,  doctor ; 'there  your  reading- 
fails  you : 
Would  there  were  more,  and  in  their  loves  less 
dangers  ! 
Paul.  Love  is  a  noble  thing  without  all  doubt, 

sir. 
Car.  Yes,  and  an  excellent — to  cure  the  itch. 

[Exit. 

1  Surg.  Strange  melancholy  ! 
Paul.  By  degrees  'twill  lessen  : 

Provide  your  things. 

2  Surg.  Our  care  shall  not  be  wanting. 

\_Exeunt. 


SCENE    IV. 

A  Room  in  Cuculo's  House. 

Enter  Leonora  and  Almira. 

Leon.  Good   madam,   for   your  health's   sake 

clear  those  clouds  up, 
That  feed  upoti  your  beauties  like  diseases. 
Time's  hand  will  turn  again,  and  what  he  ruins 
Gently  restore,  and  wipe  off  all  your  sorrows. 
Believe  you  are  to  blame,  much  to  blame,  lady; 
You  tempt  his  loving  care  whose  eye  has  num- 

ber'd 
All  our  afflictions,  and  the  time  to  cure  them : 
You  rather  with  this  torrent  choak  his  mercies, 
Than  gently  slide  into  his  providence. 
Sorrows  are  well  allow'd,  and  sweeten  nature, 
Where  they  express  no  more  than  drops  on  lilies; 
But,  when  they  fall  in  storms,  they  bruise  our 

hopes; 
Make  us  unable,  though  our  comforts  meet  us, 


S94  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

To  hold  our  heads  up :   Come,  you  shall  take 

comfort ; 
This  is  a  sullen  grief  becomes  condemned  men, 
That  feel  a  weight  of  sorrow  through  their  souls : 
Do  but  look  up.     Why,  so  ! — is  not  this  better, 
Than  hanging  down  your  head  still  like  a  violet, 
And  dropping  out  those  sweet  eyes  for  a  wager?* 
Pray  you,  speak  a  little. 

Aim.  Pray  you,  desire  no  more ; 
And,  if  you  love  me,  say  no  more. 

Leon.  How  fain, 
If  I  would  be  as  wilful,  and  partake  in't, 
Would  you  destroy  yourself!  how  often,  lady, 
Even  of  the  same  disease  have  you  cured  me. 
And  shook  me  out  on't;  chid  me,  tumbled  me, 
And  forced  my  hands,  thus? 

Aim.  By  these  tears,  no  more. 

Leon.  You  are  too  prodigal  of  them.     Well,  I 
will  not; 
For  though  my  love  bids  me  transgress  your  will, 
I  have  a  service  to  your  sorrows  still.     [^Exeunt. 


SCENE   V. 

A  Hall  in  the  same. 

Enter  Pedro  aw^  Antonio. 

Ant.  Indeed,  my  lord,  my  place  is  not  so  near : 
I  wait  below  stairs,  and  there  sit,  and  wait 
Who  comes  to  seek  accesses ;  nor  is  it  fit,  sir, 
My    rudeness    should    intrude    so    near    their 
lodgings. 


■  -■  for  a  wager]    i.  e.  as  if  yon  had 

•wagered  to  weep  them  out.    This  short  scene  is  exquisitely 
beautiful  both  in  sentiment  and  language. 


A   VERY  WOMAN.  295 

Pedro.  Thou  mayst  invent  a  way,  'tis  but  a 
trial, 
But  carrying  up  this  letter,  and  this  token,* 
And  giving  them  discreetly  to  my  mistress, 
The  lady  Leonora:  there's  my  purse, 
Or  any  thing  thou'lt  ask  me;  if  thou  knew'st  me, 
And  what  I  may  be  to  thee  for  this  courtesy-— 
Ant.  Your  lordship  speaks  so  honestly,  and 
freely. 
That  by  my  troth  I'll  venture. 
Pedro.  I  dearly  thank  thee. 
Ant.  And  it  shall  cost  me  hard;  nay,  keep 
your  purse,  sir. 
For,  though  my  body's  bought,  my  mind  was 

never. 
Though  I  am  bound,  my  courtesies  are  no  slaves. 
Pedro.  Thou  shouldst  be  truly  gentle. 
Ant.  If  I  were  so, 
The  state  I  am  in  bids  you  not  believe  it. 
But  to  the  purpose,  sir;^  give  me  your  letter, 
And  next  your  counsel,  for  I  serve  a  crafty  mis- 
tress. 
Pedro.  And  she  must  be  removed,  thou  wilt 

else  ne'er  do  it. 
Ant.  Ay,  there's  the  plague :  think,  and  I'll 

think  awhile  too. 
Pedro.  Her  husband's  suddenly  fallen  sick? 
Ant.  She  cares  not ; 
If  he  were  dead,  indeed,  it  would  do  better. 
Pedro.  Would  he  were  hang'd  ! 
Ant.  Then  she  would  run  for  joy,  sir.' 


* and  this  token,]  i.  e.  the  ring  men- 
tioned p.  278. 

^  Ant.  Then  she  would  run  for  joy ,  «>.]  Coxeter  and  M.  Mason 
read 

Then  she  would  run  mzd  for  Joj/,  sir. 
This  interpolatioD,  which  destroys  the  metre,  seems  to  have 


9.96  A  VERY    WOMAN. 

Pedro.  Some  lady  crying  out  ? 

Ant.  She  has  two  already. 

Pedro.  Her  house  afire  ? 

Ant.  Let  the  fool,  my  husband,  quench  it. 
This  will  be  her  answer. — This  may  take ;  it  will, 

sure. 
Your  lordship  must  go  presently,  and  send  me 
Two  or  three  bottles  of  your  best  Greek  wine, 
The  strongest  and  the  sweetest. 

Pedro.  Instantly : 
But  will  that  do? 

Ant.   Let  me  alone  to  work  it.      [^E.vit  Pedro. 
Wine  I  was  charged  to  keep  by  all  means  from 

her; 
All  secret  locks  it  opens,  and  all  counsels, 
That  I  am  sure,  and  gives  men  all  accesses. 
Pray  heaven  she  be  not  loving  when  she's  drunk 

now! 
For  drunk   she  shall  be,  though  my  pate  pay 

for  it. 
She'll  turn  my  stomach  then  abominably. 
She  has  a  most  wicked  face,  and  that  lewd  face 

Being  adrunken  face,  what  face  will  there  be ! 

She  cannot  ravish  me.     Now,  if  my  master 
Should  take  her  so,  and  know  I  minister'd, 
What  will  his  wisdom  do  ?   I  hope  be  drunk  too, 
And  then  all's  right.     Well,   lord,    to  do  thee 
service 

Above  these  puppet-plays,  I  keep  a  life  yet 

Here  come  the  executioners. 

originated  io  a  misapprehension  of  the  passage.  The  object  is 
to  get  Borachia  out  of  the  way,  and  the  expedients  which  suggest 
themselyes  are  mentioned  in  order : 

Pedro.   Would  he  were  hang'd! 

Ant.  Then  she  -would  run  for  joy,  sir. 
\.  e.  this  might  do,  for  then  she  would  leave  her  charge,  and 
joyfully  run  to  witness  his  execution.     Such,  appears  to  be  the 
purport  of  Antonio's  observation.    The  whole  of  this  admirable 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  ^^1 


Enter  Servant  with  bottles. 

You  are  welcome ; 
Give  me  your  load,  and  tell  my  lord  I  am  at  it. 
Serxi.  I  will,  sir;  speed  you,  sir.  \Exit, 

Ant.  Good  speed  on  all  sides  ! 
'Tis  strong,  strong  wine :  O,  the  yaws  that  she 

will  make!  * 
Look  to  your  stern,  dear  mistress,  and  steer  right, 
Here's  that  will  work  as  high  as  the  Bay  of  Por- 
tugal. 
Stay,  let  me  see — I'll  try  her  by  the  nose  first; 
For,  if  she  be  a  right  sow,  sure  she'll  find  it. 
She  is  yonder  by  herself,  the  ladies  from  her. 
Now  to  begin  my  sacrifice  :' — [pours  out  some  of 
the  wine.] — she  stirs,  and  vents  it. 

^cene  is  most  shamefully  given  in  the  modern  editions,  scarcely 
a  single  speech  being  without  an  error  or  an  omission. 

*  ^Tis  strong,  strong  wine:  0,  the  yaws  that  she  will  mahell 
The  old  copy  reads, 

0  the  yauns  that  she  rvillmake, 
and  was  followed  by  Coxeter.  Mr.  M.  Mason,  attentive  to  the 
spelling  of  his  author,  but  careless  of  his  sense,  corrected  it  to 
yawns  ;  though  to  make  yawns  appears  an  expression  sufficiently 
singular  to  excite  a  doubt  of  its  authenticity  :  and  thus  it  has 
hitherto  stood  !  The  genuine  word,  as  is  clear  from  the  context, 
is  undoubtedly  that  which  I  have  given.  A  yaw  is  that  unsteady 
motion  which  a  ship  makes  in  a  great  swell,  when,  in  steering, 
she  inclines  to  the  right  or  left  of  her  course.  The  sea  runa 
proverbially  high  in  the  Bay  of  Portugal. 

5  h^ow  to  begin  my  sacrifice: — ]  This  is  imitated,  but  with  ex- 
quisite humour,  from  a  very  amusing  scene  in  the  Curculio  of 
Plautus,  where  a  lover  draws  the  keeper  of  his  mistress  out  of 
the  house,  by  a  similar  stratagem.  The  reader  may  not  dislike, 
perhaps,  to  compare  the  rapturous  expressions  of  the  two  ladies 
on  scenting  the  wine.  The  madam  IJiba  of  the  old  comedy  comes 
on  the  stage  holding  up  her  nostrils,  and  snuffing. 

Huh  !  huh  1  the  flower,  the  sweet  flower  of  old  wine, 
Salutes  my  nostrils  ;  and  my  passion  for  it 

VOL.  IV.  *  X 


298  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

O,  bow  she  holds  her  nose  up  like  a  jennet 

In  the  wind  of  a  grass-mare  !  she  has  it  full  now, 

And  now  she  comes. — I'll  stand  aside  awhile. 

Enter  Borachia. 

Bora.  [s7iuffing.'\  'Tis  wine  !  ay,  sure  'tis  wine  ! 

excellent  strong  wine  ! 

In  the  must,  I  take  it :  very  wine  !  this  way  too. 

^w^.  How  true  she  hunts!  I'll  make  the  train 

a  little  longer,  [Pours  out  more  wine. 

Bora.  Stronger  and  stronger  still !  still!  blessed 

wine  ! 
Aiit.  Now  she  hunts  hot. 
Bora.  All  that  I  can  for  this  wine  1 
This  way  it  went,  sure. 

Ant.  Now  she's  at  a  cold  scent. 
Make  out  your  doubles,  mistress.  O,  well  hunted! 
That's  she !  that's  she  ! 

Bora.  O,  if  I  could  but  see  it  1 
oh  what  a  precious  scent  it  has  ! — but  handle  it! 
Ant.  Now  X'll  untappice.* 

[Comes  forward  with  the  bottle. 
Bora.  What's  that  ?  still  'tis  stronger. 
Why,  how  now,   sirrah  !    what's  that  ?    answer 

quickly, 
And  to  the  point. 

Hurries  me,  darkling,  hither :  where,  O  where, 
Is  the  dear  object  ?  sure  'tis  near. — Ye  gods  ! 
Ye  gracious  gods !  I  have  it.     Life  of  my  life  ! 
Soul  of  my  Bacchus  !  how  I  doat  upon 
Thy  ripe  old  age!  the  fragrance  of  ail  spices 
Is  puddle,  filth,  to  thine.  Thou,  thou,  to  me, 
Art  roses,  saffron,  spikenard,  cinnamon, 
Frankincense,  oil  of  myrrh  !  where  thou  art  found, 
There  would  I  live  and  die,  and  there  be  buried! 

A.  I.  S.  2. 
*  Ncm  I'll  untappice.]  i.e.  discover  myself,  A  hunting  phrase, 
for  turning  the  game  out  of  a  bag,  or  driving  it  out  of  a  cover. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  299 

Ant.  'Tis  wine,  forsooth,  good  wine, 
Excellent  Candy  wine. 

Bora.  'Tis  well,  forsooth  !  • 
Is  this  a  drink  for  slaves  ?  why,  saucy  sirrah, 
(Excellent  Candy  wine  !)  draw  nearer  to  me, 
Reach  me  the  bottle  :   why,  thou  most  debauch'd 
slave — 

Ant.  Pray  be  not  angry,  for  with  all  my  ser- 
vice 
And  pains,  I  purchased  this  for  you,  (I  dare  not 

drink  it,) 
For  you  a  present ;  only  for  your  pleasure; 
To  shew  in  little  what  a  thanks  I  owe 
The  hourly  courtesies  your  goodness  gives  me. 

Bora.  And  I  will  give  thee  more;    there,  kiss 
my  hand  on't. 

Ant*  I   thank     you    dearly — for    your    dirty 
favour : 
How  rank  it  smells  ?  [Aside, 

Bora.  By  thy  leave,  sweet  bottle. 
And  sugar-candy  wine,  I  now  come  to  thee ; 
Hold  your  hand  under. 

Ant.  How  does  your  worship  like  it? 

Bora.    Under  again — again — and    now   come 
•     kiss  me  ; 
I'll  be  a  mother  to  thee  :  come,  drink  to  me. 

Ant.  I  do  beseech  your  pardon. 

Bora.  Here's  to  thee,  then  ; 
I  am  easily  entreated  for  thy  good. 
'Tis  naught  for  thee,  indeed  ;  'twill  make  thee 

break  out ; 
Thou  hast  a  pure  complexion  :  now,  for  me 
'Tis  excellent,  'tis  excellent  for  mc. 
Son  slave,  I've  a  cold  stomach,  and  the  wind — 

Ant,  Blows  out  a  cry  at  both  ends. 


Bora.  Kiss  again. 


X2 


300  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

Cherish  thy  lips,  for  thou  shalt  kiss  fair  ladies : 
Son  slave,  I  have  them  for  thee;  I'll  shew  thee  all. 

Afjt.  Heaven  bless  mine  eyes  ! 

Bo7^a.  Even  all  the  secrets,  son  slave, 
In  my  dominion.  •■'J  ^: 

Aftt.  Oh  !  here  come  the  ladiefe  ; 
Now  to  my  business. 

Enter  Leonora  and  Almira  behind. 

Leon.  This  air  will  much  refresh  you. 
Aim.  I  must  sit  down. 
Leon.   Do,  and  take  freer  thoughts, 
The  place  invites  you ;    I'll  walk  by  like  your 
sentinel. 
Bora.  And   thou  fehalt  be  my  heir,  I'll  leave 
thee  all, 
Heaven  knows  to  what  'twill  mount  to  f    but 
abundance :  ^ 

'  Heaven  knows  to  what  'twill  mount  to  ;]  Of  this  mode  of 
speech,  innumerable  instances  have  already  occurred  ;  yet  it  is 
corrupted  by  Mr.  M.  Mason,  with  his  usual  oscitancy,  into 

Heaven  knows  what  'twill  amount  to  ! 
But  this  gentleman  does  not  appear  to  have  profited  greatly  by 
his  "  reading  of  our  old  poets :"  twenty  years  after  he  had  edited 
Massinger,  he  stumbled  upon  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  where  he 
found  this  line : 

"  And  through  what  seas  of  hazard  I  sail'd  through.'^ 

Humourous  Lieutenant^ 
Through^  the  editors,  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  phraseology  of 
the  author's  times,  absurdly  changed  to  too^  because,  forsooth, 
*'  such  disagreeable  tautology  was  more  likely  to  proceed  from 
the  press  than  the  author.''  Upon  which  Mr.  M.  Mason  says, 
*'  I  agree  with  them  in  thinking  the  old  reading  erroneous^  but 
not  in  their  amendment.  The  line  should  run  thus  : 

"  And  through  what  seas  of  hazard  I  sail'd  thorough.^' 
Which  avoids  the  repetition  of  the  word  through."  Comments 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  SOI 

I'll  leave  thee  two  young  ladies — what  think  you 

of  that,  boy  ! —     [Anionio  goes  to  Leonora. 

Where    is    the    bottle? — two    delicate    young 

ladies  : 
But  first  you  shall  -commit   with  me  ;    do  you 

mark,  son  ? 
And  shew  yourself  a  gentleman,  that's  the  truth, 
son. 
Ant.  Excellent  lady,  kissing  your  fair  hand, 
And  humbly  craving  pardon  for  intruding, 

This  letter,  and  this  ring 

Leon.  From  whom,  I  pray  you,  sir? 
Ant.  From   the  most  noble,  loving  lord,  don 
Pedro, 
The  servant  of  your  virtues.  *i 

Bora.  And   prithee,   good   son  slave,   be  wise 
and  circumspect. 
And  take  heed  of  being  o'ertaken  with  too  much 

drink  ; 
For  it  is  a  lamentable  sin,  and  spoils  all : 
Why,  'tis  the  damnablest  thing  to  be  drunk,  son ! 
Heaven  can't  endure   it.     And   hark    you,   one 

thing  I'd  have  done  : 
Knock  my  husband  on  the  head,  as  soon  as  may 
be, 

For  he  is  an  arrant  puppy,  and  cannot  perform 

Why,  where  the  devil  is  this  foolish  bottle  ? 

Leon.  I  much  thank  you  ; 
And  this,  sir,  for  your  pains.  [Offers  him  her  purse. 
Ant.  No,  gentle  lady ; 

on  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  p.  104.  When  it  is  considered  tha* 
the  repetition  so  sedulously  remoyed,  was  as  anxiously  sought 
after  by  our  old  writers,  and  was,  indeed,  characteristic  of  their 
style  and  manner,  we  may,  perhaps,  be  indulged  in  forming  a 
wish  that  those  who  undertake  to  revive  and  explain  them,  were 
somewhat  more  competent  to  the  office.  A  good  edition  of 
these  excellent  dramatists  is  much  wanted. 


302  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

That  I  can  do  him  service  is  my  merit, 
My  faith,  my  full  reward. 

Leon    Once  more,  I  thank  you. 
Since  I  have  met  so  true  a  friend  to  goodness, 
I  dare  deliver  to  your  charge  my  answer: 
Pray  you,  tell  him,  sir,  this  night  1  do  invite  him 
To  meet  me  in  the  garden;  means  he  may  find. 
For  love,  they  say,  wants  no  abilities. 

Anti  Nor  shall  he,  madam,  if  my  help  may 
prosper; 
So  everlasting  love  and  sweetness  bless  you  !-h 
She's  at  it  stiii,  I  dare  not  now  appear  to  her. 

Jim.  What  fellow's  that? 

Leon.   Indeed  I  know  not,  madam ; 
It  seems  of  some  strange  country  by  his  habit; 
Nor  can  I  shew  you  by  what  mystery 
He  wrought  himself  into  this  place,  prohibited. 

Al??i.  A  handsome  man. 

Leon.  But  of  a  mind  more  handsome. 

Jim.  Was  his  business  to  you? 

Leon.  Yes,  from  a  friend  you  wot  of. 

Aim.  A  very  handsome  fellow, 
And  well  demean 'd.       ,4?  <jv , 

Leon.  Exceeding  well ;  and  speaks  well. 

Aim.  And  speaks  well,  too  ? 

Leon.  Ay,  passing  well,  and  freely, 
And,  as  he  promises,  of  a  most  clear  nature ; 
Brought  np,  sure,  far  above  his  shew. 

Ahn.  It  seems  so : 
T  would  I'd  heard  him,  friend.    Comes  he  again? 

Leon.  Indeed  I  know  not  if  he  do. 

Aim.  'Tis  no  matter. 
Come  let's  walk  in. 

Leon.  I  am  glad  you  have  found  your  tongue 
yet.  \Exeunt  Leonora  and  Almira. 

B0RACHIA.si72£*. 


A   VERY  WOMAN.  305 

Cue.  Iwithin.l  My  wife  is  very   merry;  sure 
'twas  her  voice : 
Pray  heaven  there  be  no  drink  in't,  then  I  allow 
it. 
Ant,   'Tis  sure  my  master. 

Enter  Cuculo. 

Now  the  game  begins  ; 
Here  will  be  spitting  of  fire  o'  both  sides  presently; 
Send  me  but  safe  deliver'd  ! 

Cue.  O,  my  heart  aches  ! 
My  head  aches  too;  mercy  o'me,  she's  perish'd  ! 
She  has  gotten  wine  !  she  is  gone  for  ever  ! 

Bora.  Come  hither,  ladies,  carry  your  bodies 
swimming; 
Do  your  three  duties,  then — then  fall  behind  me. 

Cue.  O,  thou  pernicious  rascal !  what  hast  thou 
done  ? 

Ant,  1  done !  alas,  sir,  I  have  done  nothing. 

Cue.  Sirrah, 
How  came  she  by  this  wine  ? 

Ant.  Alas,  I  know  not. 

Bora.  Who's  that,  that  talks  of  wine  there? 

Ant.  Forsooth,  my  master. 

Bora.  Bring  him  before  me,  son  slave. 

Cue.  I  will  know  it, 
This  bottle,  how  this  bottle  ? 

Bora.  Do  not  stir  it ; 
For,  if  you  do,  by  this  good  wine,  I'll  knock  you, 
I'll  beat  you  damnably,  yea  and  nay,  I'll  beat  you  ; 
And,  when  I  have  broke  it  'bout  your  head,  do 

you  mark  me? 
Then  will  I  tie  it  to  your  worship's  tail, 
And  all  the  dogs  in  the  town  shall  follow  you. 
No  question,  I  would  advise  you,  how  I  came  by  it; 
I  will  have  none  of  these  points  handled  now. 


304  A  VERY'WOMAN. 

Cue,  She'll  ne'er  be  well  again  while  the  world 

stands. 
Ant.  I  hope  so.  '     \_Aside. 

Cue.   How  dost  thou,  lamb  ? 
Bora.  Well,  God-a-iuercy. 
Belvvether,  how  dost  thou  ?  Stand  out,  son  slave, 
Sit  you  here,  and  before  this  worshipful  audience 
Propound  a  doubtful  question;  see  who's  drunk 
now. 
Cue.  Now,  now  it  works;  the  devil  now  dwells 

in  her. 
Bora.  Whether  the  heaven  or  the  earth  be 
nearer  the  moon  ? 
Or  what's  the  natural  reason,  why  a  woman  longs 
To  make  her  husband  cuckold  ?  Bring  me  your 

cousin 
The  curate  now,  that  great  philosopher. 
He  that  found  out  a  pudding  had  two  ends, 
That  learned  clerk,  that  notable  gymnosophist; 
And  let  him  with  his  Jacob's-staff  discover 
What  is  the  third  part  of  three  farthings, 
Three  halfpence  being  the  half,  and  I  am  satisfied. 
Cue.  You  see  she  hath  learning  enough,  if  she 

could  dispose  it. 
Bora,  Too  much  for  thee,  thou  loggerhead, 

thou  bull-head ! 
Cue.  Nay,  good  Borachia. 
Bora,  Thou  a  sufficient  statesman  ! 
A  gentleman  of  learning!  hang  thee,  dogwhelp; 
Thou  shadow  of  a  man  of  action. 
Thou  scab  o'the  court !  go  sleep,  you  drunken 
vi.        rascal, 
You  debauch'd  puppy ;  get  you  home,  and  sleep, 

sirrah  ; 
And  so  will  I :  son  slave,  thou  shalt  sleep  with  me. 
Cue.  Pritbee,  look  to  her  tenderly. 
Bora.  No  words,  sirrah, 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  305 

Of  any  wine,  or  any  thing  like  wine,  i£.f  y^. . 

Or  any  thing  concerning  wine,  or  by  wine, 

Or  from,  or  with  wine.'     Come,  lead  me  like  a 

countess. 
Cue.  Thus  must  we  bear,  poor  men  !  there  is 

a  trick  in't; 
But,  when  she  is  well  again,  I'll  trick  her  for  it. 


ACT   IV.    SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  the  Viceroy's  Palaee. 

Enter  Pedro. 

Pedro.  Now,  if  this  honest  fellow  do  but  prosper, 
I  hope  I  shall  make  fair  return.     I  wonder 
I  hear  not  from  the  prince  of  Tarent  yet, 
I  hope  he's  landed  well,  and  to  his  safety; 
The  winds  have  stood  most  gently  to  his  purpose. 

Enter  Antonio, 

My  honest  friend ! 

Ant.  Your  lordship's  poorest  servant, 
Pedro.  How  hast  thou  sped? 
Ant»  My  lord,  as  well  as  wishes.* 

' or  by  XDwey 

Or  from,  or  with  wine,  &c.]  More  traits  of  Borachia's 
"  learning"!  she  is  running  through  the  signs  of  the  ablative 
case. 

*  Ant.  My  lord,  as  well  as  wishes:]    i    e.  as  well  as  you 
could  wish :  or,  as  well  as  if  your  wishes  had  been  effectual :  it 


S06  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

My  way  hath  reach'd  your  mistress,  and  deliver*d 
Your  loveletter,  and  token  ;  who,  with  all  joy, 
And  virtuous  constancy,  desires  to  see  you  : 
Commands  you  this  night,  by  her  loving  power. 
To  meet  her  in  the  garden. 

Pedro.  Thou  hast  made  me  ; 
Redeem'd  me,  man,  again  from  all  my  sorrows ; 
Done  above  vi^onder  for  me.     Is  it  so  ? 

Ant.  I  should  be  now  too  old  to  learn  to  lie,  sir. 
And,  as  I  live,  I  never  was  good  flatterer." 

Pedro.  I  do  see  something  in  this  fellow's  face 
still, 
That  ties  my  heart  fast  to  him.     Let  me  love  thee. 
Nay,  let  me  honour  thee  for  this  fair  service  : 
And  if  I  e'er  forget  it 

Ant.  Good  my  lord. 
The  only  knowledge  of  me  is  too  much  bounty  : 
My  service,  and  my  life,  sir. 

Pedro.  I  shall  think  on't ; 
But  how  for  me  to  get  access? 

Ant.  'Tis  easv  : 
I'll  be  your  guide,  sir,  all  my  care  shall  lead  you ; 
My  credit's  better  than  you  think. 

Pedi'o.  I  thank  you. 
And  soon  I'll  wait  your  promise. 

Ant.  With  all  my  duty.  \_Ejeeunt, 

is  a  colloquial  phrase,  and  is  found  in  many  of  our  old  drama, 
lists.     Thus  Beaumont  and  Fletcher : 

**  Timan.  There's  a  messenger,  madam,  come  from  the  prince, 
**  with  a  letter  to  Ismenes. 

**  Bacha.  This  comes  as  pat  as  wishes."  Cupid's  Revenge. 

*  ^nd,  as  I  live^  I  never  was  goodjlatterer.}  This  is  the  language 
of  the  time  :  the  modern  editors  carefully  interpolate  the  article 
before goorf,  though  it  spoils  the  metre:  and  in  the  next  line 
omit  still  J  though  it  be  necessary  to  the  sense. 


A   VERY  WOMAN.  507 

SCENE   II. 

A  Bed-room  in  the  same* 
Enter  Viceroy,  Duke^  Paulo,  and  Cuculo. 

Paulo.  All's  as  I  tell  you,  princes ;  you  shall 
here 
Be  witness  to  his  fancies,  melancholy, 
And  strong  imagination  of  his  wrongs. 
His  inhumanity  to  don  Antonio 
Hath  rent  his  mind  into  so  many  pieces 
Of  various  imaginations,  that, 
Like  the  celestial  bow,  this  colour  now's 
The  object,  then  another,  till  all  vanish. 
He  says  a  man  might  watch  to  death,  or  fast, 
Or  think  his  spirit  out;  to  all  which  humours 
I  do  apply  myself,  checking  the  bad. 
And  cherishing  the  good.    For  these,  I  have 
Prepared  my  instruments,  fitting  his  cha»iber 
With  trapdoors,  and  descents ;  sometimes  pre- 
senting 
Good  spirits  of  the  air,  bad  of  the  earth, 
To  pull  down  or  advance  his  fair  intentions. 
He's  of  a  noble  nature,  yet  sometimes 
Thinks  that  which,  by  confederacy,  I  do, 
Is  by  some  skill  in  magic. 

Enter  Garden es,  a  book  in  his  hand.* 

Here  he  comes 
Unsent.    I  do  beseech  you,  what  do  you  read, 
sir  ? 

'  Enter  Cardenes,  a  book  in  his  hand.]  The  book  appears  to 
be  Plato.    The  marginal  direction  in  the  old  copy,  ^hich  is 


308  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

Car.  A  strange  position,  which  doth  much  per- 
plex me : 
That  every  soul's  alike  a  musical  instrument, 
The  faculties  in  all  men  equal  strings, 
Well  or  ill  handled ;  and  those  sweet  or  harsh. 

[Edit  Paulo. 
How  like  a  fiddler  I  have  play'd  on  mine  then  ! 
Declined  the  high  pitch  of  my  birth  and  breeding, 
Like  the  most  barbarous  peasant;  read  my  pride 
Upon  Antonio's  meek  humility, 
Wherein  he  was  far  valianter  than  I. 
Meekness,  thou  wait'st  upon  courageous  spirits, 
Enabling  sufferance  past  inflictions. 
In  patience  Tarent  overcame  me  more 
Than  in  my  wounds  :  live  then,  no  more  to  men. 
Shut  daylight  from  thine  eyes,  here  cast  thee 
down,  [Falls  on  the  bed. 

And  with  a  sullen  sigh  breathe  forth  thy  soul — 

Re-enter  Paulo  disguised  as  a  Friar, 

What  art?  an  apparition,  or  a  man? 

Paul.  A  man,  and  sent  to  counsel  thee. 

Ca?\  Despair 
Has  stopt  mine  ears  ;  thou  seem'st  a  holy  friar. 

Paul.  I  am  ;  by  doctor  Paulo  sent,  to  tell  thee 
Thou  art  too  cruel  to  thyself,  in  seeking 
To  lend  compassion  and  aid  to  others. 
My  order  bids  me  comfort  thee.    I  have  heard  all 


followed  by  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason,  is  somewhat  curious : 
A  bed  drawn  fort/i,  Martino  upon  it,  a  book  in  his  hand;  this 
must  have  contrasted  in  a  singular  manner  with  the  doctor's 
exclamation :  Here  he  comes  unsent !  The  poorest  strolling 
company  in  the  poorest  barn  would  not  now  be  reduced  to  such 
shifts,  as  *'  those  of  his  Majesty's  servants"  who  performed 
this  most  excellent  Comedy  at  the  private-housc  in  Black- 
friars. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  309 

Thy  various,  troubled  passions  :     hear  but  my 

story. 
In  way  of  youth  I  did  enjoy  one  friend,"* 
As  good  and  perfect  as  heaven  e'er  made  man ; 
This  friend  was  plighted  to  a  beauteous  woman, 
(Nature  proud  of  her  workmanship,)  mutual  love 
Possess'd  them  both,  herheartin  hisbreastlodged. 
And  his  in  hers. 

Cur.  No  more  of  love,  good  father, 
It  was  my  surfeit,  and  I  loath  it  now, 
As  men  in  fevers  meat  they  fell  sick  on. 

Paul.  Hovve'er,  'tis  worth  your  hearing.    This 
betroth'd  lady, 
(The  ties  and  duties  of  a  friend  forgotten,) 
Spurr'd  on  by  lust,  I  treacherously  pursued  ; 
Contemn'd  by  her,  and  by  my  friend  reproved, 

♦  In  way  of  youth  I  did  enjoy  one  friend,]  There  Is  no  passage 
in  Shakspeare  on  which  more  has  been  written  than  the  follow- 
ing one  in  Macbeth  : 

*'  I  have  lived  long  enough,  ray  toai/  of  life 
"  Is  fallen  into  the  sere,  the  yellow  leaf,"  &c. 
For  uay  of  life  Johnson  would  read  May  of  life;  in  which  he  is 
followed  by  Colman,  Langton,  Steevens,  and  others;  and  Mr. 
Henley,  a  very  confident  gentleman,  declares  that  he  "  has  now 
no  doubt  that  Shakspeare  wrote  May  qflifej"  which  is  also  the 
''settled  opinion"  of  Mr.  Davies  1  At  a  subsequent  period 
Steevens  appears  to  have  changed  his  opinion,  and  acquiesced  in 
the  old  reading,  way  of  life ^  which  he  interprets,  with  Mr.  M. 
Mason,  course  or  progress,  precisely  as  Warburton,  whom 
every  mousing  owl  hawks  at,  had  done  long  before  them.  Mr. 
Malone  follows  the  same  track,  and  if  the  words  had  signified 
what  he  supposed  them  to  do,  nothing  more  would  be  necessary 
on  the  subject.  The  fact,  however,  is,  that  these  ingenious  writer* 
have  mistaken  the  phrase,  which  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
simple  periphrasis  i^or  life;  as  way  of  youth,  in  the  text,  is  for 
youth.     A  few  examples  will  make  this  clear : 

"  If  that,  when  I  was  mistress  of  myself, 
"  And  in  my  way  of  youth,  pure  and  untainted, 
"  The  emperor  had  vouchsafed,"  &c.         Roman  Actor* 
i.  0.  in  my  youth. 


310  A    VERY    WOMAN. 

Despised  by  lionest  men,  my  conscience  sear'd 

up,  " 
Love  I  converted  into  frantic  rage ; 
And  by  tbat  false  guide  led,  I  summon'd  him 
In  this  bad  cause,  his  sword 'gainst  mine,  to  prove 
If  he  or  I  mii^ht  claim  most  right  in  love. 
But  fortune,  that  does  seld  or  never  give 
Success  to  right  and  virtue,  made  him  fall 
Under  my  sword.     Blood,  blood,  a  friend's  dear 

blood, 
A  virtuous  friend's,  shed  by  a  villain,  me, 

*'  So  much  nobler 

"  Shall  be  your  way  of  justice."     Thierry  and  Theodnret. 
i.  e.  your  justice. 

"  Thus  ready  for  the  -way  of  death  or  life, 

*'  I  wait  the  sharpest  blow."  Pericles. 

L  e.  for  death  or  life. 
-^  "If  all  the  art  I  have  or  power  can  do  it, 

"  He  shall  be  found,  and  such  a  way  of  justice 

"  Inflicted  on  him  I"  Q.iieen  of  Corinth. 

i.  e.  such  justice.     "  Probably,"  say  the  editors,  *'  we  should 
read  "weight  of  justice ;  way  is  very  flat."  ! 

"  If  we  can  wipe  out 

*'  The  way  of  your  offences,  we  are  yours,  sir." 

Valentinian. 
i.  e.  your  offences.  *'  To  wipe  out  the  way,"  the  same  editors 
again  remark,  "  seems  a  strange  phrase  ;  stain,  we  apprehend, 
will  be  allowed  a  better  word  ;  yet  we  should  not  have  substi- 
tuted it,"  (they  actually  foist  it  into  the  text,)  "  had  we  not 
been  persuaded  that  the  old  reading  was  corrupt."!  And  thus 
our  best  poets  are  edited  ! 

It  is  unnecessary  to  proceed  any  further  : — indeed  I  should 
have  been  satisfied  with  fewer  examples,  had  not  my  respect  for 
Shakspearc  made  me  desirous  of  disencumbering  his  page,  by 
ascertaining  beyond  the  possibility  of  cavil,  the  meaning  of  an 
expression  so  long  and  so  laboriously  agitated.  To  return  to 
Macbeth  :  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf  is  the  commencement  of  the 
winter  of  life,  or  of  old  age ;  to  this  he  has  attained,  and  he 
laments,  in  a  strain  of  inimitable  pathos  and  beauty,  that  it  is 
unaccompanied  by  those  blessings  which  render  it  supportable. 
At  his  manhood  was  without  virtue,  so  he  has  now  before  him 
the  certain  prospect  of  an  old  age  without  honour. 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  311 

In  such  a  monstrous  and  unequal  cause, 
Lies  on  my  conscience. 

Car.  And  durst  thou  live, 
After  this,  to  be  so  old  ?   'tis  an  illusion 
Raised  up  by  charms  :  a  man  would  not  have 

lived. 
Art  quiet  in  thy  bosom  ? 

Paul.  As  the  sleep 
Of  infants. 

Car.   My  fault  did  not  equal  this  ; 
Yet  I  have  emptied  my  heart  of  joy, 
Only  to  store  sighs  up.    What  were  the  arts 
That  made  thee  live  so  long  in  rest? 

Faul.  Repentance 
Hearty,  that  cleansed  me  ;  reason  then  confirm 'd 

me, 
I  was  forgiven,  and  took  me  to  my  beads.  \E,xit, 
Car»  I  am  in  the  wrong  path  ;    tender  con- 
science 
Makes  me  forget  mine  honour:  I  have  done 
No  evil  like  this,  yet  I  pine;  whilst  he, 
A  few  tears  of  his  true  contrition  tender'd, 
Securely   sleeps.     Ha  !    where  keeps   peace   of 

conscience, 
That  I  may  buy  her? — no  where;  not  in  life. 
'Tis  feign'd  that  Jupiter  two  vessels  placed, 
The  one  with  honey  fill'd,  the  other  gall, 
At  the  entry  of  Olympus  ;  Destiny, 
There  brewing  these  together,  suffers  not 
One  man  to  pass,  before  he  drinks  this  mixture. 
Hence  is  it  we  have  not  an  hour  of  life 
In  which  our  pleasures  relish  not  some  pain. 
Our  sours  some  sweetness.     Love  doth  taste  of 

both  ; 
Revenge,  that  thirsty  dropsy  of  our  souls, 
Which  makes  us  covet  that  which  hurts  us  most, 
Is  not  alone  sweet,  but  partakes  of  tartness. 


312  A    VERY   WOMAN. 

Duke.  Is't  not  a  strange  effect  ? 

Vice,  Past  precedent. 

Cue.  His  brain-pan's  perish'd  with  his  wounds: 
go  to, 
I  knew  'twould  come  to  this. 

Vice.  Peace,  man  of  wisdom. 

Car.  Pleasure's  the  hook  of  evil ;  ease  of  care, 
And  so  the  general  object  of  the  court ; 
Yet  some  delights  are  lawful.     Honour  is 
Virtue's  allow'd  ascent;  honour,  that  clasps 
All-perfect  justice  in  her  arms,  that  craves 
No  more  respect  than  what  she  gives,  that  does 
Nothing  but  what  she'll  suffer. — Thisdistractsme; 
But  I  have  found  the  right:  had  don  Antonio 
Done  that  to  me,  I  did  to  him,  I  should  have 

kill'd  him ; 
The  injury  so  foul,  and  done  in  public. 
My  footman  would  not  bear  it ;  then  in  honour 
Wronging  him  so,  I'll  right  him  on  myself: 
There's  honour,  justice,  and  full  satisfaction 
Equally  tender'd;  'tis  resolved,  I'll  do  it. 

[They  rush  forward  and  disarm  him. 
They  take  all  weapons  from  me. 

Duke.  Bless  my  son  ! 

Re-enter  Paulo,  dressed  like  a  Soldier,  and  the 
English  Slave  like  a  Courtier. 

Vice.  The  careful  doctor's  come  again. 

Duke.  Rare  man  ! 
How  shall  I  pay  this  debt? 

Cue.  He  that  is  with  him, 
Is  one  o'  the  slaves  he  lately  bought,  he  said, 
To  accommodate  his  cure  :  he's  English  born, 
But  French  in  his  behaviour;  a  delicate  slave. 

Vice.  The  slave  is  very  fine. 

Cue.  Your  English  slaves 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  ^13 

Are  ever  so ;  I  have  seen  an  English  slave 
Far  finer  than  his  master:  there's  a  state-point, 
Worthy  your  observation. 

Paul,  On  thy  life, 
Be  perfect  in  thy  lesson  :  fewer  legs,  slave. 
Car.  My  thoughts  are  search'd  and  answer'd  ; 
for  I  did 
Desire  a  soldier  and  a  courtier. 
To  yield  me  satisfaction  in  some  doubts 
Not  yet  concluded  of. 

Paul.  Your  doctor  did 
Admit  us,  sir. 

Slave.  And  we  are  at  your  service ; 
Whate'er  it  be,  command  it. 

Car.  You  appear 
A  courtier  in  the  race  of  Love  ;  how  far 
In  honour  are  you  bound  to  run  ?     .  • 

Slave,  I'll  tell  you. 
You   must   not  spare   expense,    but   wear  gay 

clothes, 
And  you  may  be,  too,  prodigal  of  oaths. 
To  win  a  mistress'  favour  ;  not  afraid 
To  pass  unto  her  through  her  chambermaid. 
You  may  present  her  gifts,  and  of  all  sorts. 
Feast,  dance,  and  revel ;  they  are  lawful  sports : 
The  choice  of  suitors  you  must  not  deny  her, 
Nor  quarrel,  though  you  find  a  rival  by  her : 
Build  on  your  own  deserts,  and  ever  be 
A  stranger  to  love's  enemy,  jealousy. 

For  that  draws  on 

Car.  No  more ;  this  points  at  me ; 

[Ej:it  English  Slave. 
I  ne'er  observed  these  rules.     Now  speak,  old 

soldier, 
The  heiiirht  of  Honour  ? 

Paul.  No  man  to  offend. 
Ne'er  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  a  friend ; 
VOL.  iv,  *  Y 


314  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

Rather  to  suffer  than  to  do  a  wrong ; 

To  make  the  heart  no  stranger  to  the  tongue ; 

Provoked,  not  to  betray  an  enemy, 

Nor  eat  his  meat  T  choak  with  flattery ; 

Blushless  to  tell  wherefore  I  wear  my  scars, 

Or  for  my  conscience,  or  my  country's  wars; 

To  aim  at  just  things  ;  if  we  have  wildly  run 

Into  offences,  wish  them  all  undone : 

'Tis  poor,  in  grief  for  a  wrong  done,  to  die, 

Honour,  to  dare  to  live,  and  satisfy. 

Ficc.  Mark,  how  he  winds  him. 

Duke.  Excellent  man ! 

Paul.  Who  fights- 
Will)  passions,  and  o'ercomes  them,  is  endued 
With  the  best  virtue,  passive  fortitude.      [Ea^it. 

Car.  Thou  hast  touch'd  me,  soldier;  oh  !  this 
honour  bears 
The  right  stamp;  would  all  soldiers  did  profess 
Thy  good  religion  !  The  discords  of  my  soul 
Are  tuned,  and  make  a  heavenly  harmony  : 
What  sweet  peace  feel   I  now  1    I  am   ravish'd 
with  it. 

Vice,  How  still  he  sits !  [Music, 

Cue.  Hark  !  music. 

Duke.  How  divinely 
This  artist  gathers  scatter'd  sense;  with  cunning 
Composing  the  fair  jewel'  of  his  mind, 
Broken  in  pieces,  and  nigh  lost  before. 

lie-enter  Vavlo,  dressed  like  a  Philosopher,  accom- 
panied  by  a  good  and  evil  Genius,  in  ho  sing  a  song 
in  alternate  stanzas :  during  the  perj'ormance  of 
which  Paulo  goes  off^  and  returns  in  his  own 
shape. 

Vice.  See  Protean  Paulo  in  another  shape. 

s  Composing  the  fair  jewel  of  kis  mind,  &c.]  By  jewel  our  old 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  315 

Paul.  Away,  I'll  bring  him  shortly  perfect, 
doubt  notv 

Duke.  Master  of  thy  great  art ! 

Vice.  As  such  we'll  hold  thee. 

Duke.  And  study  honours  for  him. 

Cue.  I'll  be  sick 
On  purpose  to  take  physic  of  this  doctor. 

[E.ieunt  all  but  Cardenes  and  Paulo, 

Car.  Doctor,    thou   hast   perfected    a    body's 
cure 
To  amaze  the  world,  and  almost  cured  a  mind 
Near  frenzy.     With  delight  I  now  perceive, 
You,  for  my  recreation,  have  invented 
The  several  objects,  which  my  melancholy 
Sometimes  did  think  you  conjured,  otherwhiles 
Imagined  them  chimseras.     You  have  been 
My  friar,  soldier,  philosopher, 
My  poet,  architect,  physician  ; 
Labour'd  for  me,  more  than  your  slaves  for  you, 
In  their  assistance  :  in  your  moral  song* 
Of  my  good  Qenius,  and  my  bad,  you  have  won 

me 
A  cheerful  heart,  and  banish'd  discontent; 
There  being  nothing  wanting  to  my  wishes. 
But  once  more,  were  it  possible,  to  behold 
Don  John  Antonio. 

Paul.  There  shall  be  letters  sent 
Into  all  parts  of  Christendom,  to  inform  him 
Of  your  recovery,  which  now,  sir,  I  doubt  not. 

writers  meant, -as  is  already  observed,  not  so  much  a  single  pre- 
cious stone,  as  a  trinket  formed  of  several,  or  what  we  call  a, 
piece  of  jeweUwork. 

* in  your  moral  song 

Of  imj  good  Genius,  and  my  bad,  &c.]  This  long  is  not  given  ; 
I  do  not  know  that  it  is  much  to  be  regretted,  and  yet  it  pro. 
mises  better  than  many  of  those  with  which  we  have  been  fa- 
Youicd. 

*  Y2 


516  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

Car,  What  honours,  what  rewards  can  I  Heap 

on  you ! 
Paul.  That  my  endeavours  have  so  well  suc- 
ceeded, 
Is  a  sufficient  recompense.    Pray  you  retire,  sir; 
Not  too  much  air  so  soon. 

Car.  I  am  obedient.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE   III. 

A  Room  in  Cuculo's  House. 

Enter  Almira  and  Leonora. 

Leon.  How  strangely 
This  fellow  runs  in  her  mind  !  [Aside. 

Jim.  Do  you  hear,  cousin? 

Leon.  Her  sadness  clean  forsaken  ! 

Aim.  A  poor  slave 
Bought  for  my  governess,  say  you? 

Leon.  I  hear  so. 

Aim.  And,  do  you  think,  a  Turk  ? 

Leon.  His  habit  shews  it; 
At  least  bought  for  a  Turk. 

Aim.  Ay,  that  may  be  so. 

Leon.  What  if  he  were  one  naturally  ? 

Aim.  Nay,  'tis  nothing, 
Nothing  to  the  purpose ;  and  yet,  methinks,  'tis 

strange 
Such  handsomeness  of  mind,  and  civil  outside, 
Should  spring  from  those  rude  countries. 

Leon.  If  it  be  no  more, 
I'll  call  our  governess,  and  she  can  shew  you. 

Aim.  Why,  do  you  think  it  is? 

Leon.  I  do  not  think  so. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  317 

Aim.  Fie  !  no,  iio,  by  no  means ;  and  to  tell 
thee  truth,  wench, 
I  am  truly  glad  he  is  here,  be  what  he  will : 
Let  him  be  still  the  same  he  makes  a  shew  of; 
For  now  we  shall  see  somethiug  to  delight  us. 

Leon.  And  heaven  knows,  we  have  need  on't. 

*Alm.  Heigh  ho  !  my  heart  aches. 
Prithee,  call  in  our  governess. — [£.r/V  Leonora.^ 

Plague  o'this  iPellow ! 
Why  do  I  think  so  much  of  him  r  how  the  devil 
Creep'd  he  into  my  head  ?  and  yet,  beshrew  me, 
Methinks  I  have  not  seen — I  lie,  I  have  seen 

A  thousand  handsomer,  a  thousand  sweeter. 

But  say  this  fellow  were  adorn 'd  as  they  are, 
Set  oft"  to  shew  and  glory  ! — What's  that  to  me? 
Fie,  what  a  fool  am  1 !  what  idle  fancies 
Buz  in  my  brains  ! 

i2e-e;?^er  Leonora  with  Borachia. 

Bora.  And  how  doth  my  sweet  lady  ? 

Leon.  She  wants  your  company  to  make  her 

merry. 
Bora.  And  how  does  master  Pug,  I  pray  you, 

madam  ? 
Leon.  Do  you  mean  her  little  dog? 
Bora.  I  mean  his  worship. 
Leon.  Troubled  with  fleas  a  little. 
Bora.  Alas,  poor  chicken  ! 
Leon.  She's  here,  and  drunk,  very  fine  drunk, 
I  take  it; 
I  found  her  with  a  bottle  for  her  bolster. 
Lying  along,  and  making  love. 

Aim.  Borachia, 
Why,  where  hast  thou  been,  wench  ?  she  looks 

not  well,  friend. 
Art  not  with  child  ? 


318  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

Bora.  I  promise  ye,  I  know  not ; 
I  am  sure  my  belly's  full,  and  that's  a  shrewd  sign: 
Besides  I  am  shrewdly  troubled  with  a  tiego 
Here  in  my  head,  madam  ;  often  with  this  tiego, 
It  takes  me  very  often. 

Leon.  I  believe  thee. 

Aim.  You  must  drink  wine. 

Bora.  A  little  would  do  no  harm,  sure. 

Leon.  'Tis  a  raw  humour  blows  into  your  head  ; 
Which  good  strong  wine  will  temper. 

Bora.  I  thank  your  highness. 
I  will  be  ruled,  though  much  against  my  nature; 
For  wine  I  ever  hated  from  my  cradle  : 
Yet,  for  my  good 

Leon.  Ay,  for  your  good,  by  ail  means. 

Aim.  Borachia,  what  new  fellow's   that   thou 
hast  gotten  ? 

(Nowshewillsurebefree)thathandsomestranger? 
Bora.  How  much  Mane  must  I  drink,  an't  please 

your  ladyship  ? 
Aim.  She's  finely  greased  !— Why  two  or  three 

round  draughts,  wench. 
Bora.  Fasting? 
Aim.  At  any  time. 
Bora.  I  shall  hardly  do  it : 
But  yet  I'll  try,  good  madam. 
Leon.  Do  ;  'twill  work  well. 
Altn.  But,  prithee    answer    me,   what  is  this 

fellow  ? 
Bora.  I'll  tell  you  tSvo :  but  let  it  go  no  further. 
Leon.  No,  no,  by  no  means. 
Bora.  May  I  not  drink  before  bed  too  ? 
Leon.  At  any  hour. 

Bora.  And  say  in  the  night  it  take  me  ? 
Aim.  Drink  then  :  but  what's  this  man  ? 
Bora.  I'll  tell  ye,  madam, 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  31ft 

But  pray  you  be  secret ;    he's  the  great  Turk's 

son,  for  certain, 
And  a  fine  Christian  ;    my  husband  bought  him 

for  me  : 
He's  circumsinged. 

Leon.  He's  circumcised,  thou  wouldst  say. 
Aim.  How  dost  thou  know  ? 
Bora.  I  had  an  eye  upon  him  : 
But  even  as   sweet  a  Turk,  an't  like  your  lady- 
ship, 
And  speaks  ye  as  pure  pagan  : — I'll  assure  ye, 
My  husband  had  a  notable  pennyworth  of  him  ; 
And  found  me  but  the  Turk's  own  son,  his  own 

son 
By  father  and  mother,  madam  ! 
Leon.  She's  mad-drunk. 

Aim.  Prithee,  Borachia,  call  him  ;  I  would  see 
him. 
And  tell  thee  how  I  like  him. 
Bora.  As  fine  a  Turk,  madam, 

For  that  which  appertains  to  a  true  Turk 

Aim.   Prithee,  call  him. 

Bora.  He  waits  here  at  the  stairs  : — Son  slave  ! 
come  hither. 

Enter  Antonio. 

Pray  you  give  me  leave  a  little  to  instruct  him, 
He's  raw  yet  in  the  way  of  entertainment. 
Son  slave,  where's  the  other  bottle  ? 

Ant.  In  the  bedstraw ; 
I  hid  it  there. 

Bora.  Go  up,  and  make  your  honours. 
Madam,  the  tiego  takes  me  now,  now,  madam ; 
I  must  needs  be  unmannerly. 

Aim.  Pray  you  be  so. 

Leon.  You  know  your  cure. 


320  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Bora,  In  the  bedstraw  ? 

AiU.  There  you'll  find  it.  [E.vif  Borachia. 

Abu.  Come  hither,  sir:    how  long  have   you 
served  here  ? 

Ant.  A  poor  time,   madam,  yet,  to  shew  my 
service. 

Aim.  I  see  thou  art  diligent. 

Ant.  I  would  be,  madam ; 
'Tis"  all  the  portion  left  me,  that  and  truth. 

Aim.  Thou  art  but  young. 

Ant.  Had  fortune  meant  me  so,' 
Excellent  lady,  time  had  not  much  wrong'd  me. 

Aim.  Wilt  thou  serve  me  ? 

Ant.  In  all  my  prayers,  madam, 
Else  such  a  misery  as  mine  but  blasts  you. 

Aim.  Beshrew  my  heart;  he  speaks  well ;  won- 
drous honestly.  [Aside. 

Ant.  Madam,  your  loving  lord  stays  for  you. 

Leon.  I  thank  you. 
Your  pardon  for  an  hour,  dear  friend. 

Aim.  Your  pleasure. 

Leon.  I  dearly  thank  you,  sir.  \_E.vit. 

Ant.  My  humbl.est  service. 
She  views  me  narrowly,  yet  sure  she  knows  me 

not : 
I  dare  not  trust  the  time  yet,  nor  I  must  not. 

[Aside. 

Aim.  You  are  not  as  your  habit  shews  ? 

Ant.  No,  madam. 
His  hand,  that,  for  my  sins,  lies  heavy  on  me, 

7  Ant.  Had  fortune  meant  me  so, 

Excellent  ladj/,  time  had  not  much  wrong'd  ;«e.]  For  so,  Mr. 
M.  Mason  would  road  good,  because,  as  he  says,  "  a  man's 
youth  does  not  depend  on  fortune:"  but  this  is  not  Masstn- 
ger's  meaning,  which  is,  that  if  fortune  had  done  him  no  wrong 
(referring  to  the  concluding  part  of  the  sentence,)  he  would 
have  had  but  little  to  complain  of  time.  lu  other  words,  that 
he  was  "  but  youn§,"  as  Almira  had  observed. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  321 

I  hope  will  keep  me  from  being  a  slave  to  the 
devil.' 

Aim.  A  brave  clear  mind  he  has,  and  nobly 
season'd. 
What  country  are  you  of? 

Ant.  A  Biscan,'  lady. 

Aim.  No  doubt,  a  gentleman. 

Ant.  My  father  thought  so. 

Aim.  Ay,  and  I  warrant  thee,  a  right  fair  woman 
Thy  mother  was : — he  blushes,  that  confirms  it. 
Upon  my  soul,  I  have  not  seen  such  sweetness  ! 
I  prithee,  blush  again. 

Ant.  Tis  a  weakness,  madam, 
I  am  easily  this  way  woo'd  to. 

Aim.  I  thank  you. 
Of  all  that  e'er  I  saw,  thou  art  the  perfectest. 

{Aside 
Nowyoumusttellme,  sir,  fornow  I  longfor't. 

Ant.  What  would  she  have  ? 

Aim.  The  story  of  your  fortune, 
The  hard  and  cruel  fortune  brought  you  hither. 

Ant.  That  makes  me  stagger  ;    yet  I  hope  I'm 
hid  still. —  [Aside. 

That  I  came  hither,  madam,  was  the  fairest. 

Aim.  But  how  this  misery  you  bear,  fell  on  you? 

Ant.  InJ'andum,  regina,jubes  renovare  dolor  em. 

Aim.  Come,  I  will  have  it;    1   command  you 
tell  it. 
For  such  a  speaker  I  would  hear  for  ever. 

Ant..  Sure,  madam,  'twill  but  make  you  sad  and 
heavy, 

*  — from  being  a  slave  to  the  devil.']     That  is, 

from  being  a  Mahommedan  :  his  dress,  it  appears,  was  that  of 
a  Turk. 

9  Ant,  A  Biscan,  lady.']  Here  Mr.  M.  Mason,  for  no  better 
rea!>on,  that  I  can  find,  than  spoiling  the  metre,  reads,  A  Bis. 
cayan,  lady. 


322  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

Because  I  know  your  goodness  full  of  pity ; 
And  'tis  so  poor  a  subject  too,  and  to  your  ears, 
That  are  acquainted  with  things  sweet  and  easy, 
So  harsh  a  harmony. 

Aim.  I  prithee  speak  it. 
-    Ant.  I  ever  knew  obedience  the  best  sacrifice. 
Honour  of  ladies,  then,  first  passing  over 
Some  few  years  of  my  youth,  that  are  impertinent, 
Let  me  begin  the  sadness  of  my  story, 
Where  I  began  to  lose  myself,  to  love  first. 
Aim.  Tis  well,  go  forward  ;  some  rare  piece  I 

look  for. 
Ant.  Not  far  from  where  my  father  lives,  a 

lady, 
A  neighbour  by,  bless'd  with  as  great  a  beauty 
As  nature  durst  bestow  without  undoing,* 
Dwelt,  and  most  happily,  as  I  thought  then. 
And  bless'd  the  house  a  thousand  times  she  dwelt 

in. 
This  beauty,  in  the  blossom  of  my  youth, 
When  my  first  fire  knew  no  adulterate  incense, 
Nor  I  no  way  to  flatter,  but  my  fondness  ; 
In  all  the  bravery  my  friends  could  shew  me, 
In  all  the  faith  my  innocence  could  give  me. 
In  the  best  language  my  true  tongue  could  tell 

me. 
And  all  the  broken  sighs  my  sick  heart  lend  me, 
I  sued,  and  serv'd :  long  did  I  love  this  lady. 
Long  was  my  travail,  long  my  trade  to  win  her ; 
With  all  the  duty  of  my  soul,  I  served  her. — 

*  As  nature  durst  bestow  without  undoing,} — herself,  as  I  sup- 
pose ;  for  that  is  a  frequent  sentiment  in  these  plays.  The  re- 
mainder of  this  speech,  and,  indeed,  of  the  whole  scene,  is  beau- 
tiful beyond  expression.  The  English  language  does  not  furnish 
a  more  complete  specimen  of  sweetness,  elegance,  and  siD)pli- 
city,  of  all  that  is  harmonious  in  poesie,  tender  in  sentiment, 
and  ardent  in  affection,  than  the  passage  beginning, 
This  beautt/y  in  the  blossom  of  my  youth,  &c. 


A    VERY   WOMAN.  323 

Aim.  How  feelingly  lie  speaks  !  \_Aside.'\ — And 
she  loved  you  too  ? 
It  must  be  so. 

Ant.  I  would  it  had,  dear  lady; 
This  story  had  been  needless,  and  this  place, 
I  think,  unknown  to  me. 

Aim.  Were  your  bloods  equal  ? 
Ant.  Yes,  and  I  thought  our  hearts  too. 
Aim.  Then  she  must  love. 
Ant.  She  did — but  never  me;  she  could  not 
love  me, 
She  would  not  love,  she  hated  :  more,  she  scorn'd 

me. 
And  in  so  poor  and  base  a  way  abused  me, 
For  all  my  services,  for  all  my  bounties. 
So  bold  neglects  flung  on  me. 

Aim.  An  ill  woman  ! 
Belike  you  found  some  rival  in  your  love,  then? 
Ant.  How  perfectly  she  points  me  to  my  story  ! 

\_Aside. 
Madam,  I  did  ;  and  one  whose  pride  and  anger, 
111  manners,  and  worse  mien,  she  doted  on, 
Doled  to  my  undoing,  and  my  ruin. 
And,  but  for  honour  to  your  sacred  beauty, 
And  reverence  to  the  noble  sex,  though  she  fall, 
As  she  must  fall  that  durst  be  so  unnoble, 
I  should  say  something  unbeseeming  me. 
What  out  of  love,  and  worthy  love,  I  gave  her, 
Shame  to  her  most  unworthy  mind!  to  fools, 
To  girls,  and  fiddlers,  to  her  boys  she  flung. 
And  in  disdain  of  me. 

Aim.  Pray  you  take  me  with  you.' 
Of  what  complexion  was  she? 

*  Aim.  Fray  you  take  me  with  you.']  i.  e.  let  me  understand 
you.  The  last  circumstance  mentioned  in_^  don  John's  speech 
seems  to  have  recalled  to  her  mind  thejlinging  of  the  jewel  with 
which  he  had  presented  her,  to  Cardenes'  i>age. 


524  A   VERY   WOMAN.  ' 

Ant.  But  that  I  dare  not 
Commit  so  great  a  sacrilege  gainst  virtue,   , 

She  look'd  not  much  unlike though  far,  far 

short. 
Sometliing,  I  see,  appears — your  pardon,  madam — 
Her  eyes  would  smile  so,  but  her  eyes  would 

cozen ; 
And  so  she  would  look  sad  :  but  yours  is  pity, 
A  noble  chorus  to  my  wretched  story ; 
Hers  was  disdain  and  cruelty. 

Aim.  Pray  heaven. 
Mine  be  no  worse!  he  has  told  me  a  strange 
story,  [Aside. 

And  said  'twould  make  me  sad  !  he  is  no  liar. — 
But  where  begins  this  poor  state?  I  will  have  all, 
For  it  concerns  me  truly. 

Ant.  Last,  to  blot  me 
From  all  remembrance  what  I  had  been  to  her. 
And  how,  how  honestly,  how  nobly  served  her, 
'Twas  thought  she  set  her  gallant  to  dispatch  me. 
'Tis  true,  he  quarrell'd  without  place  or  reason  : 
We  fought,  I  kiU'd  him  ;  heaven's  strong  hand 

was  with  me. — 
For  which  I  lost  ray  country,  friends,  acquaint- 
ance. 
And  put  myself  to  sea,  where  a  pirate  took  me, 
Forcing  this  habit  of  a  Turk  upon  me,' 
And  sold  me  here. 

Aim.  Stop  there  awhile ;  but  stay  still. 

\JValks  aside. 
In  this  man*s  story,  how  I  look,  how  monstrous  ! 
How  poor  and  naked  now  I  shew  !  what  don  John, 
In  all  the  virtue  of  his  life,  but  aim'd  at, 

'  Forcing  this  habit  of  a  Turk  upon  wzc,]  This  line,  which  is 
of  the  more  importance,  as  it  furnishes  the  only  reason  why  don 
John  appeared  in  such  a  dress,  is  wholly  omitted  by  both  the 
modern  editors ! 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  325 

This  thing  hath  conquer'd  with  a  tale,  and 
carried. 

Forgive  me,  thou  that  guid'st  me !  never  con- 
science 

Touch'd  me  till  now,  nor  true  love  :  let  me  keep 
it. 

Re-enter  Leonora  with  Pedro. 

Leon.  She  is  there.     Speak  to  her,  you  will 

find  her  alter'd. 
Pedro.  Sister,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  but  far 
gladder, 
To  see  you  entertain  your  health  so  well. 

Aim.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  too,  sir,  and  shall  be 
gladder 
Shortly  to  see  you  all. 

Pedro.  Now  she  speaks  heartily. 
What  do  you  want  ? 

Aim.  Only  an  hour  of  privateness ; 
I  have  a  few  thoughts — 

Pedro.  Take  your  full  contentment. 
We'll  walk  aside  again  ;  but  first  to  you,  friend, 
Or  I  shall  much  forget  myself:  my  best  friend, 
Command  me  ever,  ever — you  have  won  it."* 
Ant.  Your  lordship  overflows  me. 
Leon.  'Tis  but  due,  sir. 

[Ei'eunt  Leonora  and  Pedro. 
Aim.  He's  there  still.    Come,  sir,  to  your  last 
part  now. 
Which  only  is  your  name,  and  I  dismiss  you. 
Why,  whither  go  you  r 


♦ you  have  won  it.]    So  the  old  copy ; 

which  I  prefer  as  the  simpler  reading  :  the  modern  editors  have 
you  have  won  me.  Some  act  of  kindness  must  be  supposed  to 
pass  on  the  side  of  don  Pedro. 


3S6  A   VERY    WOMAN. 

^nt.  Give  iiie  leave,  good  madam, 
Or  I  must  be  so  seeming  rude  to  take  it. 

Aim.  You  shall  not  go,  I  swear  you  shall  not 
go : 
I  ask  you  nothing  bat  your  name ;  you  have  one, 
And  why  should  that  thus  fright  you  ? 

Ant.  Geiule  madam, 
I  cannot  speak ;  pray  pardon  me,  a  sickness, 
That  takes  me  often,  ties  my  tongue :  go  from 

me, 
My  fit's  infectious,  lady. 

Aim.  Were  it  death 
In  all  his  horrors,  I  must  ask  and  know  it; 
Your  sickness  is  unwillingness.     Hard  heart, 
To  let  a  lady  of  my  youth,  and  place, 
Beg  thus  long  for  a  trifle  ! 

Ant.  Worthiest  lady. 
Be  wise,  and  let  me  go  ;  you'll  bless  me  for  it ; 
Beg  not  that  poison  from  me  that  will  kill  you. 

Aim.  I  only  beg  your  name,  sir.  , 

Ant,  That  will  choak  you; 
I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me. 

Aim.  I  will  not.* 

Ant.  You'll  curse  me  when  you  hear  it. 

Aim.  Rather  kiss  thee  ; 
Why  shouldst  thou  think  so  ? 

Ant.  Why  !  I  bear  that  name, 
And  most  unluckily  as  now  it  happens, 
(Though  I  be  innocent  of  all  occasion,) 
That,  since  my  coming  hither,  people  tell  me 
You    hate    beyond    forgiveness :    now,    heaven 
/  knows 

s     Ant.  That  will  choak  you  ; 

I  do  beseech  you  pardon  me. 

Aim,  I  -will  not.']  These  two  speeches  are  also  omitted,  not 
only  by  Coxeter,  but  by  the  "  correctest"  of  editors,  Mr.  M. 
Mason. 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  327 

So  much  respect,  although  I  am  a  stranger, 

Duty,  and  humble  zeal,  I  bear  your  sweetness, 

That  for  the  world  I  would  not  grieve  your  good- 
ness : 

I'll  change  my  name,  dear  madam. 
Aim.  People  lie, 

And  wrong  thy  name;  thy  name  may  save  all 
others, 

And  make  that  holy  to  me,  that  I  hated  : 

Prithee»  what  is't  ? 

Ant.  Don  John  Antonio. 

VVhat  will  this  woman  do,  what  thousand  changes 

Run   through  her  heart  and  hands?*   no  fix'd 
thought  in  her  ! 

She  loves  for  certain  now,  but  now  I  dare  not. 

Heaven  guide  me  right !  [Aside. 

Aim.  I  am  not  angry,  sir, 

With  you,  nor  with  your  name ;  I  love  it  rather, 

And  shall  respect  you — you  deserve — for  this 
time 

I  license  you  to  go :  be  not  far  from  me, 

I  shall  call  for  you  often. 

Ant.  I  shall  wait,  madam.  [E.vit, 

Enter  Cuculo. 

Aim.  Now,  what's  the  news  with  you? 

Cue.  My  lord  your  father 
Sent  me  to  tell  your  honour,  prince  Martino 
Is  well  recover'd,  and  in  strength. 

^  Run  through  her  heart  and  hands  ?]  For  hands^  Mr.  M, 
Mason  Tc?n\shead.  Hands  is  not  likely  to  have  been  corrupted, 
and  is  besides  as  proper  as  the  word  which  he  arbitrarily  intro. 
duces.  It  is  v^ry  strange  that  this  gentleman  should  give  his 
reader  no  notice  of  his  variations  from  Coxeter,  although  he 
professes  to  do  it  in  his  preface,  and,  stranger  still,  that  he 
should  presume  them  to  be  genuine,  and  agreeable  to  the  old 
copy,  which  he  never  deigns  to  consult. 


528  A  VERY  WOMAN. 

Jl?n.  Why,  let  him. — 
The  stories  and  the  names  so  well  agreeing, 
And  hoth  so  noble  gentlemen.  [Aside, 

Cue.  And  more,  an't  please  you — 
Aim.  It  doth  not  please  me,  neither  more  nor 

less  on't. 
Cue.  They'll  come  to  visit  you. 
Aim.  They  shall  break  through  the  doors  then. 

[Kvit. 

Cue.  Here's  a  new  trick  of  state ;  this  shews 

foul  weather; 

But  let  her  make  it  when  she  please,  I'll  gain  by 

it.  [Ej:it. 


ACT  V.     SCENE  I. 

A  Street, 

Enter  Pirates,  and  the  Slave  that  followed  Paulo  . 

1  Pir.  Sold  for  a  slave,  say'st  thou  ? 

Slave.  'Twas  not  so  well : 
Though  I  am  bad  enough,  I  personated 
Such  base  behaviour,  barbarism  of  manners, 
With  other  pranks,  that  might  deter  the  buyer, 
That  the  market  yielded  not  one  man  that  would 
Vouchsafe  to  own  me. 

1  Pir.  What  was  thy  end  in  it  ? 

Slave.  To  be  given  away  for  nothing,  as  I  was 
To  the  viceroy's  doctor ;  with  him  I  ha  ve  continued 
In  such  contempt,  a  slave  unto  his  slaves ; 
His  horse  and  dog  of  more  esteem  :  and  from 
That  villainous  carriage  of  myself,  as  if 
I'd  been  a  lump  of  flesh  without  a  soul, 


A   VERY  WOMAN.  329 

I  drew  such  scorn  upon  me,  that  I  pass'd, 
And  pried  in  every  place,  without  observance. 
For  which,  if  you  desire  to  be  made  men, 
And  by  one  undertaking,  and  that  easy. 
You  are  bound  to  sacrifice  unto  my  sufferings, 
The  seed  I  sow'd,  and  from  which  you  shall  reap 
A  plentiful  harvest. 

1  Pir.  To  the  point ;  I  like  not 
These  castles  built  in  the  air. 

Slave.  I'll  make  them  real, 
And  you  the  Neptunes  of  the  sea;  you  shall 
No  more  be  sea-rats.' 

1  Pir.  Art  not  mad  ? 

Slave.  You  have  seen 
The  star  of  Sicily,  the  fair  Almira, 
The  viceroy's  daughter,  and  the  beauteous  ward 
Of  the  duke  of  Messina  ? 

1  Pit\  Madam  Leonora. 

Slave.  What  will  you  say,  if  both  these  prin- 
cesses. 
This  very  night,  for  I  will  not  delay  you, 
Be  put  in  your  possession  ? 

1  Pir.  Now  I  dare  swear 
Thou  hast  maggots  in  thy  brains,  thou  wouldst 

not  else, 
Talk  of  impossibilities. 

Slave.  Be  still 
Incredulous. 

1  Pir.  Why,  canst  thou  think  we  are  able 
To  force  the  court  ? 

Slave.  Are  we  able  to  force  two  women, 
And  a  poor  Turkish  slave?  Where  lies  your  pin- 
nace? 

1  Pir.  In  a  creek  not  half  a  league  hence. 


you  shall 


No  more  be  sea-rats.]  "  There  be  land-rats  and  water^atSy 
(says  Shyluck,)  1  volhoxi  pirates."  Hence,  I  suppose,  the  allusion. 
VOL.  IV.  *  Z 


330  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

Slave.  Can  you  fetch  ladders, 
To  mount  a  garden  wall  ? 

2  P'n\  They  shall  be  ready. 

Slave.  No  more  words  then,  but  follow  me; 
and  if 
I  do  not  make  this  good,  let  my  throat  pay  for't. 

1  Fir.  What  heaps  of  gold  these  beauties  would 
bring  to  us 
From  the  great  Turk,  if  it  were  possible 
That  this  could  he  effected  ! 

Slave.  If  it  be  not, 
I  know  the  price  on't. 

J  Pir,  And  be  sure  to  pay  it.  [^Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 

A  Room  in  Cuculo's  House, 

Enter  Antonio  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

Ant.  Her  f^ir  hand  threw  this  from  the  win- 
dow to  me, 
And  as  I  took  it  up,  she  said,  Peruse  ity 
And  entertain  a  fortune  offer  d  to  thee. — 
What  may  the  inside  epeak  ? — 

[Breaks  it  open,  and  reads. 
For  satisfoction 
Of  the  contempt  I  shew' d  don  John  Antonio, 
Who.sc  name  thou  bear'st,  and  in  that  dearer  to  me, 
I  do  profess  I  love  thee — How  ! — 'tis  so — 
/  love  thee  ;  this  night  wait  me  m  the  garden, 
There  thou  shalt  know  more — subscribed. 

Thy  Almira. 
Can  it  be  possible  such  levity 
Should  wait  on  her  perfections  I  when  I  was 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  $iV 

Myself,  set  off  with  all  the  grace  of  greatness, 
Pomp,  bravery,  circumstance,  she  hated  me, 
And  did  profess  it  openly  ;   yet  now, 
Being  a  slave,  a  thing  she  should  in  reason 
Disdain  to  look  upon  ;  in  this  base  shape, 
And,  since  I  wore  it,  never  did  her  service. 
To  dote  thus  fondly  ! — and  yet  I  should  glory 
In  her  revolt  from  constancy,  not  accuse  it, 
Since  it  makes  for  me.    But,  ere  I  go  further, 
Or  make  discovery  of  myself,  I'll. put  her 
To  the  utmost  trial.  In  the  garden  /  well. 
There    I    shall    learn     more.       Women,    giddy 

women  ! 
In  her  the  blemish  of  your  sex  you  prove. 
There  is  no  reason  for  your  hate  or  love.    [E:vit, 


SCENE    III. 

A  Garden  belonging  to  the  same. 

Enter  Almiua,  Leonora,  and  two  Waiting 
Women, 

Leon.  At  this 
Unseasonal)le  time  to  be  thus  brave,' 
No  visitants  expected  !  you  amaze  me. 

Aim,  Are  these  jewels  set  forth  to  the  best 
advantage, 
To  take  the  eye  ? 

• to  be  thus  brave,]  i.  e.  thus  su- 
perbly drcst.  I  shall  be  blamed  for  recurring  so  frequently  to 
the  ancitMit  meaning  of  this  expression  ;  but  as  it  is  used  in  a 
diflercnt  sense  at  present,  there  may  be  some  small  plea  offered, 
perhaps,  lor  recalling  the  reader's  attention,  at  iatervals,  to  it» 
original  signification. 

•  Z  2 


333  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

1  JVom.  With  our  best  care. 

2  JVom.  We  never 
Better  discharged  our  duties. 

Aim.  In  my  sorrows, 
A  princess'  name  (I  could  perceive  it)  struck 
A  kind  of  reverence  in  him,  and  my  beauty, 
As  then  neglected,  forced  him  to  look  on  me 
With  some  sf  arks  of  affection  ;  but  now, 
When  I  would  fan  them  to  a  glorious  flame, 
I  cannot  be  t09  curious.  I  wonder 
He  stays  so  long.  [Aside, 

Leon.  These  are  strange  fancies. 

Aim.  Go, 
Entreat — I  do  forget  myself — command 
My  governess'  gentleman — her  slave,   I  should 

.say, 
To  wait  me  instantly  ; — [Ea^it  1  JVoman.] — and  yet 

already 
He's  here  ;   his  figure  graven  on  my  heart, 
Never  to  be  razed  out. 

Enter  Pirates,  and  the  Slave. 

Slave.  There  is  the  prize. 
Is  it  so  rich  that  you  dare  not  seize  upon  it? 
Here  I  begin.  [Seizes  Almira. 

Aim.  Help  !  villain  ! 

1  Fir.  You  are  mine.  [Seizes  Leonora, 

2  Pir.  Though  somewhat  coarse,  you'll  serve, 

after  a  storm. 
To  bid  fair  weather  welcome.     [^Seizes  2  Woman, 

Leon.  Ravisher ! 
Defend  me,  heaven ! 

Aim.  No  aid  near  ! 

2  JVom.  Help  ! 

Slave.  Dispatch. 
No  glove  nor  handkerchief  to  stop  their  mouths? 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  333 

Their  cries  will  reach  the  guard,  and  then  we 
are  lost. 

Re-enter  1  TVoman,with  Antonio. 

Ant.  What  shrieks  are  these  ?  from  whence  ? 
O  blessed  saints, 
What  sacrilege  to  beauty  1  do  I  talk, 
When  'tis  almost  too  late  to  do  ! — [Forces  a  sxvord 
from  the  Slave.l — Take  that. 
Slave.  All  set  upon  him. 
]  Pir.  Kill  him. 
Ant.  You  shall  buy 
My  life  at  a  dear  rate,  you  rogues. 

Filter  Pedro,  Cuculo,  Borachia,  and  Guard. 

Cue.  Down  with  them  ! 

Pedro.  Unheard-of  treason  ! 

Bora,  Make  in,  loggerhead ; 
My  son  slave  fights  like  a  dragon  :  take  my  bottle, 
Drink  courage  out  on't. 

Ant.  Madam,  you  are  free. 

Pedro,  Take  comfort,  dearest  mistress. 

Cue,  O  you  micher, 
Have  you  a  hand  in  this  ? 

Slave,  My  aims  were  high ; 
Fortune's  my  enemy  :  to  die's  the  worst, 
And  that  I  look  for. 

1  Pir.  Vengeance  on  your  plots  ! 

Pedro.  The  rack  at  better  leisure  shall  force 
from  them 
A  full  discovery  :  away  with  them. 

Cue.  Load  them  with  irons. 

Bora.  Let  them  have  no  wine 

[Ej;it  Guard  with  Pirates  and  Slave, 
To  comfort  their  cold  hearts. 


534  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

Pedro*  Tliou  man  of  men  1 

Leon.  A  second  Hercules. 

Aim.  An  angel  thus  disguised. 

Pedro.   V\'l)at  thanks? 

Leon.  What  service  ? 

Bora.  He  shall  serve  me,  by  your  leave,  no  ser- 
vice else. 

Ant.  I  have  done  nothing  but  my  duty,  madam; 
And  if  the  little  you  have  seen  exceed  it, 
The  thanks  due  for  it  pay  my  watchful  master. 
And  this  my  sober  niistres^. 

Bora,  He  speaks  truth,  madam, 
I  am  very  sober. 

Pedro.  Far  beyond  thy  hopes 
Expect  reward. 

Aim.  We'll  straight  to  court,  and  there 
It  is  resolved  what  I  will  say  and  do. 
I  am  faint,  support  me. 

Pedro.  This  strange  accident 
Will  be  heard  with  astonishment.    Come,  friend, 
You  have  made  yourself  a  fortune,  and  deserve 
it.  \E.veunt, 

SCENE    IV. 

A  Room  in  the  Viceroy's  Palace, 
Enter  Viceroy,  Duke  o/" Messina,  and  Paulo. 

Duke.  Perfectly  cured  ! 

Paul.  As  such  I  will  present  him : 
The  thanks  be  given  to  heaven. 

Duke.  Thrice-reverend  man. 
What  thanks  but  will  come  short  of  thy  desert? 
Or  bounty,  though  all  we  possess  were  given  thee, 
Can  pay  thy  merit?  I  will  have  thy  statue 
Set  up  in  brass. 


A  VERY   WOMAN.  335 

Pice.  Thy  name  made  the  sweet  subject 
Of  our  best  poems;  thy  unequall'd  cures 
Recorded  to  posterity. 

Paul.   Such  false  glories 
(Though  the  desire  of  fame  be  the  last  weakness 
Wise  men  put  off')  are  not  the  marks  I  shoot  at: 
But,  if  I  have  done  any  thing  that  may  challenge 
Your  favours,  mighty  princes,  my  request  is, 
That  for  the  good  of  such  as  shall  succeed  me, 
A  college  for  physicians  may  be 
With  care  and  cost  erected,  in  which  no  man 
May  be  admitted  to  a  fellowship, 
But  such  as  by  their  vigilant  studies  shall 
Deserve  a  place  there;  this  magnificence, 
Posterity  shall  thank  you  for. 

Vice.  Rest  assured, 
In  this,  or  any  boon  you  please  to  ask, 
You  shall  have  no  repulse. 

Paul.  My  humblest  service 
Shall  ne'er  be  wanting.     Now,  if  you  so  please, 
I'll  fetch  my  princely  patient,  and  present  him. 

Duke.  Do ;  and  imagine  in  what  I  may  serve 
you. 
And,  by  my  honour;  with  a  willing  hand 
I  will  subscribe  to't.  [Ej^it  Paulo. 

9  (Though  the  desire  of  fame  be  the  last  weakness 

Wise  men  put  off)"]  So  Milton  beautifully  calls  fame,  "  That 
last  infirmity  of  noble  mind  :"  q,  thought  for  which  he,  as  well 
as  Massinger  was  probably  indebted  to  Tacitus:  Quando  etiam 
sapientibus  cupido  glorioe  noxissima  exuitur.  Hist.  11.  6.  Or 
rather  to  Simplicius:  Aw  xat  t(r%aT0j  Xty^rat  t«»  nta^ut  xP"*  *> 
^tXo^olta,  ^iVTi  rut  oiXAwy  moT^axis  ^iavlnt  ano^voij.ttut  »v\rt  7goat(7^iTat 
Ti)  ^'''PC'     Comm.  ad  Epict.  xlviii. 


336  A  VERY   WOMAN. 


Enter  Vedro,  Almira,  Leonora,  Antonio, 
CucuLo,  BoRACHiA,  and  Guard, 

Cue.  Make  way  there. 

Vice.  My  daughter  ! 
How's  this!  a  slave  crown'd  with  a  civic  garland ! 
The  mystery  of  this  ? 

Pedro.  It  will  deserve 
Your  hearing  and  attention  :  such  a  truth 
Needs  not  rhetorical  flourishes,  and  therefore 
With  all  the  brevity  and  plainness  that 
I  can,  I  will  deliver  it.     If  the  old  Romans, 
When  of  most  power  and  wisdom,  did  decree 
A  wreath  like  this  to  any  common  soldier 
■That  saved  a  citizen's  life,  the  bravery 
And  valour  of  this  man  may  justly  challenge 
Triumphant  laurel.     This  last  night  a  crew 
Of  pirates  brake  in  signior  Cuculo's  house, 
With  violent  rudeness  seizing  on  my  sister, 
And  my  fair  mistress  ;  both  were  in  their  power, 
And  ready  to  be  forced  hence,  when  this  man, 
Unarm'd,  came  to  their  rescue,  but  his  courage 
Soon  furnish'd  him  with  weapons ;  in  a  word, 
The  lives  and  liberties  of  these  sweet  ladies, 
You  owe  him  for:  the  rovers  are  in  hold, 
And  ready,  when  you  please,  for  punishment. 

Vice.  As  an  induction  of  more  to  come, 
Receive  this  favour. 

Duke.  With  myself,  my  son 
Shall  pay  his  real  thanks.   He  comes;  observe  now 
Their  amorous  meeting. 

Re-enter  Paulo  with  Cardenes. 

Car.  I  am  glad  you  are  well,  lady. 
Aim.  I  grieve  not  your  recovery. 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  337 

Vice.  So  coldly  ! 
Duke,  Why  fall  you  off? 
Car.  To  shun  captivity,  sir. 
I  was  too  long  a  slave,  I'll  now  be  free. 

Aim.   'Tis  my  desire  you  should.     Sir,  my  af- 
fection 
To  him  was  but  a  trifle,  which  I  play'd  with 
In  the  childhood  of  my  love;  which  now,  grown 

older, 
I  cannot  like  of. 

Vice.  Strange  inconstancy  ! 
Car.  'Tis  judgment,  sir,  in  me,  or  a  true  debt 
Tender'd  to  justice,  rather.     My  first  life, 
.Loaden  with  all  the  follies  of  a  man. 
Or  what  could  take  addition  from  a  woman, 
Was  by  my  headstrong  passions,  which  o'er-ruled 
My  understandings  forfeited  to  death  : 
But  this  new  being,  this  my  second  life. 
Begun  in  serious  contemplation  of 
What  best  becomes  a  perfect  man,  shall  never 
Sink  under  such  weak  frailties. 
Duke,  Most  unlook'd  for  1 
Paul,  It  does  transcend  all  wonders. 
Car,  'Tis  a  blessing 
I  owe  your  wisdom,  which  I'll  not  abuse : 
But  if  you  envy  your  own  gift,  and  will 
Make  me  that  wretched  creature  which  I  was, 
You  then  again  shall  see  me  passionate, 
A  lover  of  poor  trifles,  confident 
In  man's  deceiving  strength,  or  falser  fortune ; 
Jealous,  revengeful,  in  unjust  things  daring. 
Injurious,  quarrelsome,  stored  with  all  diseases 
The  beastly  part  of  man  infects  his  soul  with, 
And  to  remember  what's  the  worst,  once  more 
To  love  a  woman;  but  till  that  time  never.  [Esit. 
Vice.  Stand  you  afi'ected  so  to  men,  Almira  ? 
Aim,  No,  sir;  if  so,  I  could  not  well  discharge 


338  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

What  I  stand  bound  to  pay  you,  and  to  nature. 
Though  prince  Martino  does  profess  a  hate 
To  womankind,  'twere  a  poor  world  for  women, 
Were  there  no  other  choice,  or  all  should  follow 
The  example  of  this  new  Hippolytus: 
There  are  men,  sir,  that  can  love,  and  have  loved 

truly ; 
Nor  am  I  desperate  but  I  may  deserve 
One  that  both  can  and  will  so. 

Vice.  My  allowance 
Shall  rank  with  your  good  liking,  still  provided 
Your  choice  be  worthy. 

Aim,  In  it  I  have  used 
Thejudgmentof  my  mind,  and  that  made  clearer 
With  calling  oft  to  heaven  it  might  be  so. 
I  have  not  sought  a  living  comfort  from 
The  reverend  ashes  of  old  ancestors  ; 
Nor  given  myself  to  the  mere  name  and  titles 
Of  such  a  man,  that,  being  himself  nothing, 
Derives  his  substance  from  his  grandsire's  tomb  : 
For  wealth,  it  is  beneath  my  birth  to  think  on't, 
Since    that    must   wait    upon    me,    being   your 

daughter; 
No,  sir,  the  man  I  love,  though  he  wants  all 
The  setting  forth  of  fortune,  gloss  and  greatness, 
Has  in  himself  such  true  and  real  goodness. 
His  parts  so  far  above  his  low  condition. 
That  he  will  prove  an  ornament,  not  a  blemish, 
Both  to  your  name  and  family. 

Pedro.  What  strange  creature 
Hath  she  found  out  ? 

Leon.  I  dare  not  guess. 
-    Aim.  To  hold  you 

No  longer  in  suspense,  this  matchless  man, 
That  saved  my  life  and  honour,  is  my  husband, 
Whom  I  will  serve  with  duty. 

Bora.  My  son  slave  ! 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  339 

Vice.  Have  you  your  wits  ? 

Bora.  I'll  not  part  with  him  so. 

Cue.  This  I  foresaw,  too. 

Vice.  Do  not  jest  thyself 
Into  the  danger  of  a  father's  anger. 

Aim.  Jest,  sir!  by  all  my  hope  of  comfort  in 
him, 
I  am  most  serious.    Good  sir,  look  upon  him ; 
But  let  it  be  with  my.  eyes,  and  the  care 
You  should  owe  to  your  daughter's  life  and  safety, 
Of  which,  without  him,  she's  uncapable, 
And  you'll  approve  him  worthy. 

Vice.  O  thou  shame 
Of  women  !  thy  sad  father's  curse  and  scandal ! 
With  what  an  impious  violence  thou  tak'st  from 

him^ 
His  few  short  hours  of  breathing! 

Paul.  Do  not  add,  sir. 
Weight  to  your  sorrow  in  the  ill-bearing  of  it. 

Vice.  From   whom,   degenerate  monster,   flow 
these  low 
And  baseaffectionsin  thee?  what  strange  philtres 
Hast  thou  received  ?   what  witch  with  damned 

spells 
Deprived  thee  of  thy  reason  ?  Look  on  me, 
Since  thou  art  lost  unto  thyself,  and  learn. 
From  what  I  suffer  for  thee,  what  strange  tortures 
Thou  dost  prepare  thyself. 

Duke.  Good  sir,  take  comfort; 
The  counsel  you  bestow'd  on  me,  make  use  of. 

Paul.  This  villain,  (for  such  practices  in  that 
nation 
Are  very  frequent,)  it  may  be,  hath  forced. 
By  cunning  potions,  and  by  sorcerous  charms, 
This  frenzy  in  her. 

Vice.  Sever  them. 

Aim.  I  grow  to  him. 


340  A  VERY   WOMAN. 

Vice.  Carry  the  slave  to  torture,  and  wrest 
from  him, 
By  the  most  cruel  means,  a  free  confession 
Of  his  impostures. 

Jim.  I  will  follow  him, 
And  with  him  take  the  rack. 

Bora.  No;  hear  me  speak, 
I  can  speak  wisely  :  hurt  not  my  son  slave, 
But  rack  or  hang  my  husband,  and  I  care  not; 
For  I'll  be  bound  body  to  body  with  him. 
He's  very  honest,  that's  his  fault. 

Vice.  Take  hence 
This  drunken  beast. 

Bo7'a.  Drunk  !  am  I  drunk  ?  bear  witness. 

Cue.  She  is  indeed  distemper'd. 

Vice.  Hang  them  both. 
If  e'er  more  they  come  near  the  court. 

Cue.  Good  sir, 
You  can  recover  dead  men ;  can  you  cure 
A  living  drunkenness? 

Paul.  'Tis  the  harder  task  : 
Go  home  with  her,  I'll  send  you  something  that 
Shall  once  again  bring  her  to  better  temper, 
Or  make  her  sleep  for  ever. 

Cue.  Which  you  please,  sir. 

[^Exeunt  Cuculo  and  Borachia. 

Vice.  Why  linger  you?    rack  him  first,   and 
after  break  him 
Upon  the  wheel. 

Pedro.  Sir,  this  is  more  than  justice. 

Ant.  Is't  death  in  Sicily  to  be  beloved 
Of  a  fair  lady  ? 

Leon.  Though  he  be  a  slave, 
Remember  yet  he  is  a  man. 

Vice.  I  am  deaf 
To  all  persuasions  : — drag  him  hence. 

\The  Guard  carry  off  Antonio. 


A  VERY    WOMAN.  341 

Aim.  Do,  tyrant, 
No  more  a  father,  feast  thy  cruelty 
Upon  thy  daughter;  but  hell's  plagues  fall  on  me. 
If  I  inflict  not  on  myself  whatever 
He  can  endure  for  me  ! 

Vice.  Will  none  restrain  her? 

Aim.  Death  hath  a  thousand  doors  to  let  out 
life, 
I  shall  find  one.     If  Portia's  burning  coals, 
The  knife  of  Lucrece,  Cleopatra's  aspics, 
Famine,  deep  waters,  have  the  power  to  free  me 
From  a  loath'd  life,  I'll  not  an  hour  outlive  him. 

Pedro.  Sister ! 

Leon    Dear  cousin  ! 

\_Exit  Almira,  followed  by  Pedro,  and  Leon, 

Vice.  Let  her  perish. 

Paul.  Hear  me : 
The  effects  of  violent  love  are  desperate. 
And  therefore  in  the  execution  of 
The  slave  be  not  too  sudden.     I  was  present 
When  he  was  bought,  and  at  that  time  myself 
Made  purchase  of  another;  he  that  sold  them 
Said  that  they  were  companions  of  one  country; 
Something  may   rise   from    this   to  ease   your 

sorrows. 
By  circumstance  I'll  learn  what's  his  condition ; 
In  the  mean  time  use  all  fair  and  gentle  means, 
To  pacify  the  lady. 

Vice.  I'll  endeavour, 
As  far  as  grief  and  anger  will  give  leave, 
To  do  as  you  direct  me. 

Duke.  I'll  assist  you.  [E.vcunt, 


342  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

SCENE   V. 

A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Pei>ro  and  Keeper. 

Pedro.  Hath  he  been  visited  already  ? 

Keep.  Yes,  sir, 
Like  one  of  better  fortune ;  and  to  increase 
My  wonder  of  it,  such  as  repair  to  him, 
In  their  behaviour  rather  appear 
Servants,  than  friends  to  comfort  him. 

Pedro.  Go  fetch  him.  \_Exit  Keeper. 

I  am  bound  in  gratitude  to  do  more  than  wish 
The  life  and  safety  of  a  man  that  hath 
So  well  deserved  me. 

Re-enter  Keeper  with  Antonio  in  his  former 
dress,  and  Servant. 

Keep.  Here  he  is,  my  lord. 
Pedro.  Who's  here?  thou  art  no  conjurer  to 
raise 
A  spirit  in  the  best  shape  man  e'er  appear'd  in, 
My  friend,  the  prince  of  Tarent !  doubts,  forsak« 

me! 
I  must  and  will  embrace  him. 

Ant.  Pedro  holds 
One  that  loves  life  for  nothing,  but  to  live 
To  do  him  service. 

Pedro.  You  are  he,  most  certain. 
Heaven  ever  make  me  thankful  for  this  bounty. 
Run  to  the  Viceroy,  let  him  know  this  rarity. 

[EAit  Keeper. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  343 

But  bow  you  came  here  thus — yet,  since  I  have 

you, 
Is't  not  enough  I  bless  tlie  prosperous  means 
That  brought  you  hither? 

Jnt.  Dear  friend,  you  shall  know  all ; 
And  though,  in  thankfulness,  I  should  begin 

Where  you  deliver'd  me 

Pedro.  Pray  you  pass  that  over, 
That's  not  worth  the  relation. 

Ant.  You  confirm 
True  friends  love  to  do  courtesies,  not  to  hear 

them. 
But  I'll  obey  you.     In  our  tedious  passage 
Towards  Malta — I  may  call  it  so,  for  hardly 
We  had  lost  the  ken  of  Sicily,  but  we  were 
Becalm'd,  and  hull'd  so   up  and  down  twelve 

hours  ; 
When,  to  our  more  misfortunes,  we  descried 
Eight  well-mann'd  gallies  making  amain  for  us, 
Of  which  the  arch  Turkish  pirate,  cruel  Dragut, 
Was  admiral  :  I'll  not  speak  what  I  did 
In  our  defence,  but  never  man  did  more 
Than  the  brave  captain  that  you  sent  forth  with 

me  : 
All  would  not  do;  courage  oppress'd  with  number, 
We  were  boarded,  pillaged  to  the  skin,  and  after 
Twice  sold  for  slaves ;  by  the  pirate  first,  and 

after 
By  a  Maltese  to  signior  Cuculo, 
Which  I  repent  not,  since  there  'twas  my  for- 
tune 
To  be  to  you,  my  best  friend,  some  ways  useful — 
I  thought  to  cheer  you  up  with  this  short  story. 
But  you  grow  sad  on't. 

Pedro.   Have  I  not  just  cause, 
When  I  consider  I  could  be  so  stupid. 
As  not  to  see  a  friend  through  all  disguises ; 


344  A   VERY  WOMAN. 

Or  he  so  far  to  question  n^iy  true  love, 
To  keep  himself  conceal'd  ? 

Jnt.  Twas  fit  to  do  so, 
And  not  to  grieve  you  with  the  knowledge  of 
What  then  I  was ;  where  now  I  appear  to  you,* 
Your  sister  loving  me,  and  Martino  safe, 
Like  to  myself  and  birth. 

Pedro.  May  you  live  long  so ! 
How  dost  thou,  honest  friend  ?   (your  trustiest 

servant) 
Give  me  thy  hand  : — I  now  can  guess  by  whom 
You  are  thus  furnish'd. 

Ant.  Troth  he  met  with  me 
As  I  was  sent  to  prison,  and  there  brought  me 
Such  things  as  I  had  use  of. 

Pedro,  Let's  to  court, 
My  father  never  saw  a  man  so  welcome. 
As  you'll  be  to  him. 

Ant.  May  it  prove  so,  friend  !  [Exeunt. 

'  What  then  I  was  ;  where  now  J  appear  to  yoM,]  Ten  times, 
in  the  course  of  this  very  play,  to  say  n'Dthing  of  all  the  rest, 
where  occurs  in  the  sense  of  whereas:  yet  Mr.  M.  Mason  profits 
nothing  by  it.  He  alters,  and  interpolates  at  will,  and  fabri- 
cates a  Wne,  which  can  only  be  matched  by  that  which  I  have 
already  noticed,  p.  251 : 

What  then  I  was  ;  for  whereas  now  I  appear  to  you  ! 
To  use  his  just  and  modest  reproof  to  the  editors  of  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  :  "  The  mode  of  expression  is  so  common,  that  I 
am.  surprised  that  the  gentleman  should  hare  arrived  at  the  last 
volume  without  being  better  acquainted  with  it!"  p.  187. 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  345 

SCENE  Vt. 

A  Room  in  the  Viceroy's  Palace. 

Mnier  Viceroy^  Duke  o/".  Messina,  Cardenes, 
Paulo,  Captain,  Almira,  Leonora,  fVaiting 
fVomen,  and  Attendants. 

Vice.  Tlie  slave  changed  to  the  prince  of  Ta* 
rent,  says  he  ? 

Capt,  Yes,  sir,  and  I  the  captain  of  the  fort, 
Worthy  of  your  displeasure,  and  the  effect  oft, 
For  my  deceiving  of  that  trust  your  excellency 
Reposed  in  me. 

Paul.  Yet  since  all  hath  fallen  out 
Beyond  your  hopes,  let  me  become  a  suitor, 
And  a  prevailing  one,  to  get  his  pardon. 

Aim.  O,  dearest  Leonora,  with  what  forehead 
Dare  I  look  on  him  now  ?  too  powerlul  Love, 
The  best  strength  of  thy  unconfined  empire 
Lies  in  weak  women's  hearts:  thou  art  feign'd 

blind. 
And  yet  we  borrow  our  best  sight  from  thee. 
Could  it  be  else,  the  person  still  the  same, 
Affection  over  me  such  power  should  have. 
To  make  me  scorn  a  prince,  and  love  a  slave  ? 

Car.  But  art  thou  sure  'tis  he  ? 

Capt.  Most  certain,  sir. 

Car.  Is  he  in  health,  strong,  vigorous,  and  as 
able 
As  when  he  left  me  dead  ? 

Capt.  Your  own  eyes,  sir. 
Shall  make  good  my  report. 

Car.  I  am  glad  of  it, 

VOL.  IV.  *  A  a 


346  A   VERY   WOMAN. 

And  take  you  comfort  in  it,  sir,  there's  hope, 
Fair  hope  left  for  me,  to  repair  mine  honour. 

Duke.  What's  that  ? 

Car.  I  will  do  something,  that  shall  speak  mc 
Messina's  son. 

Duke.  I  like  not  this : — one  word,  sir. 

\JVIiispers  the  Viceroy, 

Vice.  We'll  prevent  it. — 
Nay,  look  up  my  Almira;  now  I  approve 
Thy  happy  choice ;  I  have  forgot  my  anger ; 
I  freely  do  forgive  thee. 

Aim.  May  I  find 
Such  easiness  in  the  wrong'd  prince  of  Tarent! 
I  then  were  happy. 

Leon.  Rest  assured  you  shall. 

Enter  Antonio,  Pedro,  and  Servant. 

Vice.  We  all  with  open  arms  haste  to  embrace 
you. 

Duke,  Welcome,  most  welcome  ! 

Car.  Stay. 

Duke.  'Twas  this  I  fear'd. 

Car,  Sir,  'tis  best  known  to  you,  on  what  strict 
terms 
The  reputation  of  men's  fame  and  honours 
Depends  in  this  so  punctual  age,  in  which 
A  word  that  may  receive  a  harsh  construction, 
Is  answer'd  and  defended  by  the  sword : 
And  you,  that  knovv  so  much,  will,  T  presume, 
Be  sensibly  tender  of  another's  credit, 
As  you  would  guard  your  own. 

Ant,  I  were  unjust  else. 

Car.  I  have  received  from  your  hands  wounds, 
and  deep  ones, 
My  honour  in  the  general  report 
Tainted  and  soil'd,  for  which  I  will  demand 


A  VERY  WOMAN.  347 

This  satisfaction — that  you  would  forgive 
My  contumelious  words  and  hlovv,  my  rash 
And  unadvised  wildness  first  threw  on  you. 
Thus  I  would  teach  the  world  a  better  way, 
For  the  recovery  of  a  wounded  honour, 
Than  with  a  savage  fury,  not  true  courage. 
Still  to  run  headlong  on. 

Ant.  Can  this  be  serious  ? 
•    Car.  I'll  add  this,  he  that  does  wrong,  not  alone 
Draws,  but  makes  sharp,  his  enemy's  sword  against 
His  own  life  and  his  honour.     1  have  paid  for't; 
And  wish  that  they  who  dare  most,  would  learn 

from  me. 
Not  to  maintain  a  wrong,  but  to  repent  it. 

Paul.  Why,  this  is  like  3'ourself* 

Car.  For  further  proof. 
Here,  sir,  with  all  my  interest,  I  give  up 
This  lady  to  you. 

Vice.  Which  I  make  more  strong 
With  my  free  grant. 

Aim.  I  bring  mine  own  consent. 
Which  will  not  weaken  it. 

All.  All  joy  confirm  it! 

Ant.  Your  unexpected  courtesies  amaze  me, 
Which  I  will  study  with  all  love  and  service 
To  appear  worthy  of. 

Paul.  Pray  you,  understand,  sir, 
There  are  a  pair  of  suitors  more,  that  gladly 
Would  hear  from  you  as  much  as  the  pleased 

viceroy 
Hath  said  unto  the  prince  of  Tarent. 

Duke.  Take  her; 
Her  dowry  shall  be  answerable  to 
Her  birih,  and  your  desert. 

Pedro.  You  make  both  happy. 

Ant,  One  only  suit  remains;  that  you  would 
please 

*  A  a  2 


348  A   V£RY   WOMAN. 

To  take  again  into  your  liigliness'  favour, 
This  honest  captain  :  let  him  have  your  grace; 
Wiiat's  due  to  his  much  merit,  shall  from  me 
Meet  liberal  rewards. 
Vice,  Have  your  desire. 

^nt.  Now  may  all  here  that  love,  as  they  are 
friends 
To  our  good  fortunes,  find  like  prosperous  ends. 

[E^veunt, 


A   VERY   WOMAN.  349 


EPILOGUE. 

Custoniy  and  that  a  law  we  must  obeyj 

In  the  xoay  of  epilogue  bids  me  something  say, 

Howe'er  to  tittle  purpose,  since  we  know. 

If  you  are  pleased,  unbeggdyou  will  bestow 

A  gentle  censure:  on  the  other  side, 

Jf  that  this  play  deserve  to  be  decried 

In  your  opinions,  all  that  I  can  say 

Will  never  turn  the  stream  the  other  way. 

Your  gracious  smiles  will  render  us  secure  ; 

Your  frowns  without  despair  we  must  endure. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  productions  of  Massinger. 
However  extravagant  the  principal  event  may  appear,  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  is  conducted  is  sufficiently  regular.  With  such 
occasional  interruptions  as  must  be  expected  and  pardoned  ia 
all  these  dramas,  (for  the  interludes  will  have  their  admittance,) 
it  maintains  its  predominance,  and  proceeds  to  the  conclusion, 
which  is  provided  for  it  at  the  commencement.  The  interme- 
diate parts  are  a  mixture  of  affecting  seriousness,  strong  though 
frequently  coarse  humour,  and  elegant  tenderness.  The  reader 
must  have  particularly  remarked  these  qualities  in  the  opening 
of  the  second  act,  in  the  sale  of  the  slaves,  and  the  charming, 
but  too  short,  scene  in  which  Lepnora  endeavours  to  sooth  the 
agitations  of  Almira.  Act  III.  sc.  iv.  The  last  of  these  is  a 
happy  specimen  of  genuine  feeling  supporting  itself  on  the 
justest  principle ;  and  it  will  be  difficult  to  produce  from  any 
of  our  poets  a  passage  written  with  more  beauty  of  expression, 
or  more  delicacy  and  elevation  of  thought.  The  scene  first 
mentioned  has  a  secret  connexion  with  this :  and  it  is  honour- 
able to  the  discernment  of  Massinger  that  he  has  represented 
the  feelings  of  friendship  with  equal  truth  and  variety  in  the 
tender  solicitude  of  Leonora,  and  the  magnanimous  proposal  of 
Pedro. 

Every  reader  must  feel  the  peculiar  charms  of  the  scene  in 
which  don  John  relates  to  Almira  his  real  history  under  the 
appearance  of  another  person.  Her  strong  curiosity  prompted 
by  her  love,  the  growing  conviction  of  her  own  misconduct, 
and  the  effect  of  his  discovery^  are  represented  in  the  liveliest 


350  A  VERY    WOMAN. 

manner  ;  and  this  is  the  more  remarkable,  as  Massin^er  is  not 
generally  happy  in  the  management  of  artificial  meanings  and 
double  situations. 

The  cliaractcrs  are  studiously  contrasted,  and  throw  vivid 
lights  on  each  other  by  their  opposing  qualities.  The  di^jnity 
and  motieration  of  the  viceroy,  (till  he  loses  his  ow^n  constancy 
in  his  supposed  misfortunes,)  shew  with  encreased  effect  the 
unadvised  impatience  of  the  duke:  the  courageous  calmness  of 
don  John  heightens  the  olTence  of  the  insulting  temper  of  Car. 
denes, — and  the  vehemence  of  A^lmira  becomes  more  alarming 
through  the  very  checks  oifered  to  it  by  the  prudence  of  Leo- 
nora. There  is  a  further  contriyance  in  the  violence  of  spirit 
•which  marks  Cardenes  and  Almira  :  that  of  the  former,  while  it 
indisposes  us  towards  him,  makes  him  more  liable  to  the  strong 
impression  which  ends  in  the  abandonment  of  his  passion  ; — and 
thus  a  double  facility  is  created  for  the  success  of  don  John. 
Almira  too  prepares  for  her  own  change  of  mind  through  the 
very  intemperance  with  which  she  declares  her  fixed  resolution. 
This  is  one  of  the  familiar  expedients  of  Massinger.  Constancy 
does  not  long  dwell  with  the  outrageous  assertion  of  it ;  and  the 
practised  reader  knows,  from  the  very  first  act,  that  Cardenes, 
thus  •violently  favoured  and  indiscretely  proclaimed,  is  certainly 
to  be  abandoned.  ^ 

I  will  not  dwell  on  the  maxim  upon  •which  this  Play  is  founded, 
that  women  have  no  reason  for  their  "  love  or  hate."  If  its 
severity  is  complained  of,  let  it  be  remembered  that  Massinger 
exposes,  with  much  more  frequency,  the  wrong  conduct  of  the 
men  ;  and  that  he  seems  to  take  a  pleasure  in  punishing  them 
for  their  unreasonable  suspicions  and  jealousies.  This  has  been 
already  observed  in  the  Bondman.  Notwithstanding  this  differ- 
ence in  their  object,  the  two  Plays  have  several  points  of  re- 
semblance. The  reader  will  remember  Cleora's  resolution  to 
marry  a  supposed  slave,  the  consternation  of  her  friends,  the 
reservation  of  the  true  character  of  Pisander,  and  the  effect  of 
its  final  disclosure.  The  peculiarity  of  the  present  play  is  the 
double  appearance  of  don  John,  and  Almira's  whimsical  rejec- 
tion and  unconscious  acceptance  of  the  same  person  :  and  this  is  * 
contrived  with  equal  skill  and  novelty  of  effect, 


• 

THE 


BASHFUL    LOVER 


The  Bashful  Lover.")  This  Tragi. comedy  was  licensed  by 
the  Master  of  the  Revels  May  9th,  1636.  It  is  the  latest  of 
Massinger's  pieces  which  are  come  down  to  us,  though  he  con- 
tinued to  write  for  the  stage  to  the  period  of  his  death,  which 
happened  about  tour  years  after  the  date  of  the  present  play. 

The  plot  is  wild  but  pleasing.  It  probably  originated  from 
some  forgotten  collection  of  Italian  tales  ;  where  the  events  bore 
nearly  the  same  proportion  to  the  true  history  of  that  country,  as 
the  circumstances  recorded  by  the  supposititious  Dares  Phrygius 
and  Dictys  Cretensis  bear  to  what  actually  took  place  in  the 
•wars  of  Troy. 

The  Bashful  Lover  was  extremely  well  received  at  its  first 
appearance  :  it  continued  to  be  a  favourite,  and  was  **  often 
acted,"  the  old  copy  says,  "  by  his  late  Majesty's  servants,  with 
great  applause."     It  was  performed  at  Blackiriars. 

This  Play,  together  with  the  Guardian  and  A  Very  Woman^ 
was  printed  in  o(;tavoj  by  |I.  Mosely,  1655.  I  ^inow  of  up 
prior  edition. 


[  353  I 


PROLOGUE. 


This  from  our  author^  far  from  all  offence 

To  abler  writers,  or  the  audience 

Met  here  to  judge  his  poem.     He,  by  mCy 

Presents  his  service,  with  such  modesty 

As  well  becomes  his  weakness.  'Tis  no  crime, 

He  hopes,  as  we  do,  in  this  curious  time, 

To  be  a  little  diffident,  when  we  are 

To  please  so  many  with  one  bill  of  fare. 

Let  others,  building  on  their  merit,  say 

You're  in  the  wrong,  if  you  move  not  that  xvay 

Which  they  prescribe  you ;  as  you  were  bound  to  learn 

Their  maxims,  but  uncapable  to  discern 

'Twixt  truth  and  falsehood    Our's  had  rather  be 

Censured  by  some  for  too  much  obsequy, 

Than  tax'd  of  self  opinion.    If  he  hear 

That  his  endeavours  thrived,  and  did  appear 

Worthy  your  view,  (though  made  so  by  your  grace, 

With  some  desert, )  he,  in  another  place, 

Will  thankfully  report,  one  leaf  of  bays 

Truly  confer rd  upon  this  work,  will  raise\ 

More  pleasure  in  him,  you  the  givers  free, 

Than  garlands  ravisKdfrom  the  virgin  tree. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Gonzaga,  duke  o/' Mantua. 

Lorenzo,  duke  o/' Tuscany. 

Uberti,  pr'mce  o/' Parma. 

Farneze,  cousin  to  Gonzaga. 

Alonzo,  the  ambassador^  nephew  to  Lorenzo. 

Manfroy,  a  /orfi^o/" Mantua. 

Oct2iV\Of  formerly  general  to  Gonzaga,  but  noxo  in 

e.vile. 
Gothrio,  his  servant. 
Galeazzo,  a  Milanese  prince,  disguised  under  the- 

7iame  of  Hortenslo. 
Julio,  his  attendant. 

Martino.  )  ^'''■■^"''■'^  ^'•^'•*- 

Captains. 

Milanese  Ambassador. 

Doctor. 

Matilda,  daughter  to  Gonzaga. 

Beatrice,  her  waiting  woman. 

Maria,  daughter  to  Octavio,  disguised  as  a  page^ 

and  called  Ascanio. 
Waiting  JVomen. 

Captains^  Soldiers,  Guard,  Attendants,  Page,  S^^c. 

SCENE,  partly  in  the  City  of  Mantua,  andpartljf 
in  the  dutchy. 


THE 

BASHFUL    LOVER. 


ACT  I.    SCENE   I. 

Mantua.   A  Space  kef  ore  the  Palace. 
Enter  Hortensio  aw^  Julio. 

Jul.  I  dare  not  cross  you,  sir,  but  I  would 
gladly 
(Provided  you  allow  it)  render  you 
My  personal  attendance. 

Hort.  You  sliall  better 
Discbarge  the  duty  of  an  honest  servant. 
In  following  my  instructions,  which  you  have 
Received  already,  than  in  questioning 
What  my  intents  are,  or  upon  what  motives 
My  stay's  resolved  in  Mantua  :  believe  me, 
That  servant  overdoes,  that's  too  officious; 
And,  in  presuming  to  direct  your  master. 
You  argue  him  of  weakness,  and  yourself 
Of  arrogance  and  impertinence. 

Jul.  I  have  done,  sir ; 
But  what  my  ends  are 

Hort.   Honest  ones,  I  know  it. 
I  have  my  bills  of  exchange,  and  all  provisions. 
Entrusted  to  you  ;  you  have  shewn  yourself 
Just  and  discreet,  what  would  you  more  ?  and  yet, 
To  satisfy  in  some  part  your  curious  care, 


556       THE  BASHFUL    LOVER. 

Hear  this,  and  leave  me.    I  desire  to  be 
Obscured ;  and,  as  I  have  demean'd  myself 
These  six  months  past  in  Mantua,  I'll  continue 
Unnoted  and  unknown,  and,  at  the  best. 
Appear  no  more  than  a  gentleman,  and  a  stranger, 
That  travels  for  his  pleasure. 

Jul,  With  your  pardon. 
This  hardly  will  hold  weight,  though  I  should 

swear  it. 
With  your  noble  friends  and  brother. 

Ilort.  You  may  tell  them, 
Since  you  will  be  my  tutor,  there's  a  rumour, 
Almost  cried  up  into  a  certainty, 
Of  wars  with  Florence,  and  that  I  am  determined 
To  see  the  service:  whatever  I  went  forth. 
Heaven  prosperingmy  intents,  I  would  come  home 
A  soldier,  and  a  good  one. 

Jul,  Should  you  get 
A  captain's  place,  nay,  colonel's,  'twould  add  little 
To  what  you  are  ;  few  of  your  rank  will  follow 
That  dangerous  profession. 

Hort.  'Tis  the  noblest. 
And  monarchs  honour'd  in  it :  but  no  more, 
On  my  displeasure. 

Jul.  Saints  and  angels  guard  you  !  \_Exit, 

Hort,  A  war,   indeed,  is  threaten'd,  nay,  ex- 
pected. 
From  Florence  ;  but  it  is  'gainst  me  already 
Proclaim'd  in  Mantua  ;  I  find  it  here, 
Ko  foreign,  but  intestine  war  :  I  have 
Defied  myself,*  in  giving  up  my  reason 
A  slave  to  passion,  and  am  led  captive 


I  have 


Defied  ntysilf^  &c.]  So  the  old  copy:  for  defied^  the  last 
editor  reads  datruyed  myself.  It  is  evident  that  he  did  not 
enter  into  the  sense  of  his  author,  -uho  is  describing  a  man  in  a 
state  of  warfare  with  himself.    Leading  a  man  into  captivity 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.        357 

Before  the  battle's  fought :  I  fainted,  when 
I  only  saw  mine  enemy,  and  yielded, 
Before  that  I  was  charged;  and,  though  defeated, 
I  dare  not  sue  for  mercy.     Like  Ixion, 
I  look  on  Juno,  feel  my  heart  turn  cinders 
With  an  invisible  fire;  and  yet,  should  she 
Deign  to  appear  clothed  in  a  various  cloud, 
The  majesty  of  the  substance  is  so  sacred, 
I  durst  not  clasp  the  shadow.     I  behold  her 
With  adoration,  feast  my  eye,  while  all 
My  other  senses  starve ;  and,  oft  frequenting 
The  place  which  she  makes  happy  with  her  pre- 
sence, 
I  never  yet  had  power  with  tongue  or  pen 
To  move  her  to  compassion,  or  make  known 
What  'tis  I  languish  for ;  yet  I  must  gaze  still, 
Though  it  increase  my  flame : — however,  I 
Much  more  than  fear  I  am  observ'd,  and  censured 
For  bold  intrusion.  \JValks  by. 

Enter  Beatrice  and  Ksca^io. 

Beat.  Know  you,  boy,  that  gentleman  ? 

Asc.  Who  ?  monsieur  Melancholy  ?  hath  not 
your  honour 
Mark'd  him  before  ? 

Beat.  I  have  seen  him  often  wait 
About  the  princess'  lodgings,  but  ne'er  guess'd 
What  his  designs  were. 

Asc.  No  !  what  a  sigh  he  breath'd  now ! 
Many  such  will  blow  up  the  roof:  on  my  small 

credit 
There's  gunpowder  in  them. 

Beat    How,  crack  !  gunpowder  ? 


7  O  ^_--  

after  he  is  destroyed^  is  not  precisely  the  way  in  which  Massingcr 
usually  proceeds,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  it  by  Mr.  M. 
Ma&ott. 


558       THE   BASHFUL   LOVEU. 

He's  flesh  and  blood,  and  devils  only  carry 
Such  roaring  stuff  about  them :  you  cannot  prove 
He  IS  or  spirit  or  conjurer. 

Jsc.  That  I  grant, 
But  he's  a  lover,  and  that's  as  bad ;  their  sighs 
Are  like  petards,  and  blow  all  up. 

Beat.  A  lover ! 
I  have  been  in  love  myself,  but  never  found  yet 
That  it  could  work  such  strange  effects. 

j^sc.  True,  madam, 
In  women  it  cannot;   for  when  they  miss  the 

enjoying 
Of  their  full  wishes,  all  their  sighs  and  heigh-hoes, 
At  the  worst,  breed  tympanies,  and  these  are 

cured  too 
With  a  kiss  or  two  of  their  saint,  when  he  appears 
Between  a  pair  of  sheets  :  but,  with  us  men, 
The  case  is  otherwise. 

Beat.  You  will  be  breech'd,  boy. 
For  your  physical  maxims. —  But  how  are  you 

assured, 
He  is  a  lover? 

Jsc.  Who,  I  ?  I  know  with  whom  too  : 
But  that  is  to  be  whisper'd.  \JVhispers, 

Beat.  How  !  the  princess  ! 
The  unparallel'd  Matilda  !  some  proof  of  it; 
I'll  pay  for  my  intelligence.     \_Gwes  /he.  money, 

Asc.  Let  me  kiss 
Your  honour's  hand  ;  'twas  ever  fair,  but  now 
Beyond  comparison. 

neat.  I  guess  the  reason  ; 
A  giving  hand  is  still  fair  to  the  receiver. 

Asc.  Your  ladyship's  in  the  right;  but  to  the 
.  purpose. 
He  is  my  client,  and  pays  his  fees  as  duly 
As  ever  usurer  did,  in  a  bad  cause. 
To  bis  man  of  law;  and  yet  I  get,  and  take  them 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       359 

Both  easily  and  honestly:  all  the  service 

I  do  him,  is,  to  give  him  notice  when 

And  where  the  princess  will  appear ;  and  that 

I  hope's  no  treason.     If  you  miss  him,  when 

She  goes  to  the  vesper  or  the  matins,  hang  me ; 

Or  when  she  takes  the  air,  be  sure  to  find  him 

Near  her  coach,  at  her  going  forth,  or  coming 

back  : 
But  if  she  walk,  he's  ravish'd.     I  have  seen  him 
Smell  out  her  footing  like  a  lime-hound,  and 

nose  it' 
From  all  the  rest  of  her  train. 
Beat.  Yet  I  ne'er  saw  him 
Present  her  a  petition. 
Asc.  Nor  e'er  shall : 
He  only  sees  her,  sighs,  and  sacrifices 
A  tear  or  two — then  vanishes. 

Beat.  'Tis  most  strange  : 
What  a  sad  aspect  he  wears  1  but  I'll  make  use 

oft. 
The  princess  is  much  troubled  with  the  threats 
That  come  from  Florence ;  I  will  bring  her  to  him, 
The  novelty  may  afford  her  sport,  and  help 
To  purge  deep  melancholy.     Boy,  can  you  stay 
Your  client  here  for  the  third  part  of  an  hour? 
I  have  some  ends  in't. 

Asc.  Stay  him,  madam  !  fear  not : 
The  present  receipt  of  a  round  sum  of  crowns. 
And  that  will  draw  most  gallants  from  their 

prayers,  -    . 

Cannot  drag  him  from  me. 

*  Smell  oitt  her  footing  like  a  limeJiound^  and  nose  if]  The  old 
copy  reads  knows  it.  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  the  former 
was  Massinger's  word  ;  the  mistake  probably  originated  at  the 
press,  from  a  similarity  of  sound.  The  lime-hound  is  the 
common  hound.  "  The  string  wherewith  we  lead  a  grey-hound 
is  called  a  leace,  and  that  for  a  houndj  a  lyme :"  hence  the  name. 
Gent,  Recreat.  p.  16. 


SCO       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

Beat.  See  you  do.  l^Ejcit 

Asc.  Ne'er  doubt  me. 
I'll  put  him  out  of  his  dream. — Good  morrow, 
sigiiior. 

Hort.  My  little  friend,  good  morrow.     Hath 
the  princess 
Slept  well  to  night? 

Asc.  I  hear  not  from  her  women 
One  murmur  to  the  contrary. 

Hort.  Heaven  be  praised  for't ! 
Does  she  go  to  church  this  morning  ? 

Asc.  Troth,  1  know  not ; 
I  keep  no  key  of  her  devotion,  signior. 

Hort.  Goes  she  abroad  ?  pray  tell  me. 

Asc.  'Tis  thought  rather, 
She  is  resolv'd  to  keep  her  chamber. 

Hort.  Ah  me  ! 

Asc.  Why  do  you  sigh?  if  that  you  have  a 
business 
To  be  dispatch'd  in  court,  shew  ready  money, 
You  shall  find  those  that  will  prefer  it  for  you. 

Hort.  Business !  can  any  man  have  business,  but 
To  see  her ;  then  admire  her,  and  pray  for  her, 
She  being  composed  of  goodness?  for  myself, 
I  find  it  a  degree  of  happiness 
But  to  be  near  her,  and  I  think  I  pay 
A  strict  religious  vow,  when  I  behold  her; 
And  that's  all  my  ambition. 

Asc.  I  believe  you : 
Yet,  she  being  absent,  you  may  spend  some  hours 
With  profit  and  delight  too.     After  dinner, 
The  duke  gives  audience  to  a  rough  ambassador, 
Whom  yet  I  never  saw,  nor  heard  his  title, 
Employ'd  from  Florence;  I'll  help  you  to  a  place, 
Where  you  shall  see  and  hear  all. 

Hort.  'Tis  not  worth 
My  ^observation. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       361 

Jsc.  What  think  you  of 
An  excellent  comedy,  to  be  presented 
For  his  entertainment  ?  he  that  penn'd  it  is 
The  poet  of  the  time,  and  all  the  ladies, 
(I  mean  the  amorous  and  learned  ones,) 
Except  the  princess,  will  be  there  to  grace  it. 

Hof^t.  What's  that  to  me  ?    without  her  all  is 
nothing; 
The  light  that  shines  in  court  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness ; 
I  will  to  bed  again,  and  there  contemplate 
On  her  perfections. 

Re-enter  Beatrice  with  Matilda,  and  two 
Waiting  Women. 

Asc.  Stay,  sir,  see  !  the  princess, 
Beyond  our  hopes. 

Hort.  Take  that.  [Gives  him  money .1 — As  Moors 
salute 
The  rising  sun  with  joyful  superstition, 

I  could  fall  down  and  worship. O  my  heart! 

Like  Phoebe  breaking  through  an  envious  cloud, 
Or  something  which  no  simile  can  express, 
She  shews  to  me  :  a  reverent  fear,  but  blended 
With  wonder  and  amazement,  does  possess  me. 
Now  glut  thyself,  my  famish'd  eye  ! 

Beat.  That's  he, 
An't  please  your  excellence. 

1  Worn.  Observe  his  posture, 
But  with  a  quarter-look. 

2  JVom.  Your  eye  fix'd  on  him, 
Will  breed  astonishment. 

Matil.  A  comely  gentleman  ! 
I  would  not  question  your  relation,  lady, 
Yet  faintly  can  believe  it.  How  he  eyes  me  ! 
Will  he  not  speak  ? 

VOL.  IV.  *  B  b 


569,       THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Beat.  Your  exnellence  hath  deprived  him 
Of  speech  and  motion. 

Matil   'Tis  most  strange. 

Aac.  These  fits 
Are  usual  with  him. 

Matil.   Is  it  not,  Ascanio, 
A  personated  folly  !  or  he  a  statue  ?' 
If  it  be,  it  is  a  masterpiece  ;  for  man 
I  cannot  think  him. 

Beat.  For  your  sport,  vouchsafe  him 
A  little  conference. 

Matil.  In  compassion  rather: 
For  should  he  love  me,  as  you  say,  (though  hope- 
less,) 
It  should  not  be  return'd  with  scorn ;  that  were 
An  inhumanity,  which  my  birth  nor  honour 
Could  privilege,  were  they  greater.  Now  I  perceive 

'  Matil.  /$  it  not,  Ascanioy 

A  personated  foil ji  ?  or  he  a  statue  ?]  So  the  old  copy  :  the 
modern  editors  read — Or  is  lie  a  statue  f  An  interpolation 
neither  warranted  by  the  sense,  nor  the  style  of  Massinger  and 
his  contemporaries.  Bat  this  ignorance  of  ancient  phraseology 
still  afflicts  Mr.  M.  Mason.  In  the  Custom  of  the  Country t 
Arnoldo  sayst— 

"  And  I  forgot  to  like  her, 
"  And  glad  I  was  deceived." 
Upon  which  he  observes  that  "  the  word  glad  is  here  used  as 
a  Tcrb,  and  means  rejoice ."'     Comments^  p.  5^. 

Not  so  ;  the  expression  is  elliptical ;  And  I  am  glad,  &c. 
a  mode  tf  writing  which  occurs  in  almost  «?ery  page  of  our 
ancient  dramatists.     Thus : 

« _  I  lived 

**  Too  happy  in  ray  holiday  trim  of  glory, 
**  And  courted  with  felicity." 

This  is  wrong,  say  the  commentators;  it  should  be — And  sported 
with  felicity. — Alas  !  no  :  it  is  perfectly  right ;  and  at  full,  and, 
in  the  language  of  the  present  day,  would  be — Anda;«*  courted 
by  felicity.  I  note  this,  to  repress,  if  it  be  possible,  the  temerity 
of  inexperience. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       365 

He  has  life  and  motion  in  him.  To  whom,  lady, 
Pays  he  that  duty  ? 

[Hortemio^  bowing,  offers  to  go  off 
Beat.  Sans  doubt,  to  yourself. 
MatiL  And  wliither  goes  he  now  ? 
Asc.  To  his  private  lodging, 
But  to  what  end  I  know  not ;  this  is  all 
I  ever  noted  in  him. 

MatiL  Call  him  back  : 
In  pity  I  stand  bound  to  counsel  him, 
Howe'er  I  am  denied,  though  1  were  willing, 
To  ease  his  sufferings. 

Asc,  Signior  !   the  princess 
Commands  you  to  attend  her. 

Hort.  \^Returns.'\  How  !  the  princess ! 
Am  I  betray'd  ? 

Asc,  What  a  lump  of  flesh  is  this  ! 
You  are  betray'd,  sir,  to  a  better  fortune 
Than  you  durst  ever  hope  for.  What  a  Tantalus 
Do  you  make  yourself!  the  flying  fruit  stays  for 

you, 
And  the  water  that  you  long'd  for,  rising  up 
Above  your  lip,  do  you  refuse  to  taste  it? 
Move  faster,  sluggish  camel,  or  I'll  thrust 
This  goad  in  your  breech  :    had  I  such  a  pro- 
mising beard, 
I  should  need  the  reins,  not  spurs. 

Matil.  You  may  come  nearer. 
Why  do  you  shake,  sir ''  If  I  flatter  not 
Myself,  there's  no  deformity  about  me, 
Nor  any  part  so  monstrous,  to  beget 
An  ague  in  you. 

Hort.  It  proceeds  not,  madam, 
From  guilt,  but  reverence. 

Matil.  I  believe  you,  sir  ; 
Have  you  a  suit  to  me  ? 

*  Bb  2 


364       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Hort.  Your  excellence 
Is  wondrous  fair. 

Matil,  I  thank  your  good  opinion. 

Hort.  And  I  beseech   you  that  I  may  have 
license 
To  kneel  to  you. 

Matil.  A  suit  I  cannot  cross. 

Hort.  I  humbly  thank  your  excellence. 

[Kneels, 

Matil.  But  what, 
As  you  are  prostrate  on  your  knee  before  me, 
Is  your  petition  ? 

Hort.  I  have  none,  great  princess. 

Matil.  Do  you  kneel  for  nothing  ? 

Hort.  Yes,  Iliave  a  suit, 
But  such  a  one,  as,  if  denied,  will  kill  me. 

Matil.   Take  comfort :    it    must   be  of  some 
strange  nature, 
Unfitting  you  to  ask,  or  me  to  grant. 
If  I  refuse  it. 

Hort.  It  is,  madam 

Matil.  Out  with't. 

Hort.  That  I  may  not  offend  you,  this  is  all. 
When  I  presume  to  look  on  you. 

Asc.  A  flat  eunuch  ! 
To  look  on  her  ?  1  should  desire  myself 
To  move  a  little  further. 

Matil.  Only  that  ? 

Hort.  And  I  beseech  you,  madam,  to  believe 
I  never  did  yet  with  a  wanton  eye ; 
Or  cherish  one  lascivious  wish  beyond  it. 

Beat.  You'll  never  make  good  courtier,  or  be 
In  grace  with  ladies. 

1  fVom.  Or  us  waiting  women, 
If  that  be  your  nil  ultra. 

2  PFom.  He's  no  gentleman, 


THE    BASHFUL   LOVER.       365 

On  my  virginity,  it  is  apparent: 
My  tailor  lias   more   boldness ;    nay,   my  shoe- 
maker 
Will  fumble  a  little  further,  he  could  not  have 
The  length  of  my  foot  else. 

Matil.   Only  to  look  on  me  ! 
Ends  your  ambition  there? 

Hort.  It  does,  great  lady, — 
And  that  confined  too,  and  at  fitting  distance: 
The  fly  that  plays  too  near  the  flame  burns  in  it/ 
As  I  behold  the  sun,  the  stars,  the  temples, 
I  look  on  you,  and  wish  it  were  no  sin 
Should  I  adore  you. 

Matil.  Come,  there's  something  more  in't; 
And  since  that  you  will  make  a  goddess  of  me, 
As  such  a  one  I'll  tell  you,  I  desire  not 
The  meanest  altar  raised  up  to  mine  honour 
To  be  pull'd  down  :  I  can  accept  from  you, 
Be  your  condition  ne'er  so  far  beneath  me, 
One  grain  of  incense  with  devotion  offer'd, 
Beyond  all  perfumes,  or  Sabaean  spices. 
By  one  that  proudly  thinks  he  merits  in  it: 
I  know  you  love  me. 

Hort.  Next  to  heaven,  madam, 
And  with  as  pure  a  zeal.     That,  we  behold 
With  the  eyes  of  contemplation,  but  can 
Arrive  no  nearer  to  it  in  this  life; 
But  when  that  is  divorced,  my  soul  shall  serve 

yours. 
And  witness  my  affection. 

♦  Thejly  that  plays  too  near  thejlame  burns  in  it.l  Gresset  has 
'  made  a  beautiful  use  of  this  idea : 

Tel,  "par  sa  pente  naturelle, 
Par  tine  errcur  toujours  nouvelle, 
Quuiqu'il  settible  changer  son  cours, 
Autuur  (ie  lajlamme  mor telle 
Le  papillon  revient  toujours. 


366       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Alatil.  Pray  you,  rise  ; 
But  wait  my  further  pleasure. 

[Ho?^t.  rises  and  ivalks  aside. 

Enter  Farneze  and  Uberti. 

Farn.  I'll  present  you, 
And  give  you  proof  I  am  your  friend,  a  true  one ; 
And  in  my  pleading  for  you,  teach  the  age, 
That  calls,  erroneously,  friendship  but  a  name, 
It  is  a  substance. — Madam,  I  am  bold 
To  trench  so  far  upon  your  privacy. 
As  to  desire  my  friend  (let  not  that  wrong  him, 
For  he's  a  vi^orthy  one)  may  have  the  honour 
To  kiss  your  hand. 

Matil.  His  own  worth  challengea 
A  greater  favour. 

Farn.  Your  acknowledgment 
Confirms  it,  madam.     If  you  look  on  him 
As  he's  built  up  a  man,  without  addition 
Of  fortune's  liberal  favours,  wealth  or  titles, 
He  doth  deserve  no  usual  entertainment : 
But,  as  he  is  a  prince,  and  for  your  service 
Hath  left  fair  Parma,  that  acknowledges 
No  other  lord,  and,  uncompell'd,  exposes 
His  person  to  the  dangers  of  the  *  war, 
Ready  to  break  in  storms  upon  our  heads ; 
In  noble  thankfulness  you  may  vouchsafe  him 
Nearer  respect,  and  such  grace  as  may  nourish, 
Not  kill,  his  amorous  hopes. 

Matil.  Cousin,  you  know 
I  am  not  the  disposer  of  myself. 
The  duke  my  father  challenges  that  power : 

5  Hispcrs^on  to  ih  dangers  o/"  the  uar^']  I  have  inserted  the 
article,  which  restores  the  metre.  Farneze  t^vidently  alludes  to 
the  war  with  which  they  were  now  threatened  by  the  Floren- 
tines. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       367 

Yet  thus  much  I  dare  promise  ;  prince  Uberti 
Shall  find  the  seed  of  service  that  he  sows, 
Falls  not  on  barren  ground. 

Uber.  For  this  high  favour 
I  am  your  creature,  and  profess  I  owe  you 
Whatever  I  call  mine.  [They  walk  aside, 

Hort.  This  great  lord  is 
A  suitor  to  the  princess. 
Asc.  True,  he  is  so. 
Hort.    Fame  gives  him  out  too  for  a  brave 

commander. 
Asc.  And  in  it  does  him  but  deserved  right; 
The  duke  hath  made  him  general  of  his  horse, 
On  that  assurance. 

Hort.  And  the  lord  Farneze, 
Pleads  for  him,  as  it  seems. 

Asc.  Tis  too  apparent : 
And,  this  consider'd,  give  me  leave  to  ask 
What  hope  have  you,  sir  ? 

Hort.  I  may  still  look  on  her, 
Howe'er  he  wear  the  garland. 

Asc.  A  thin  diet, 
And  will  not  feed  you  fat,  sir. 

Uber,  I  rejoice, 
Rare  princess,  that  you  are  not  to  be  won 
By  carpet-courtship,  but  the  sword  ;   with  this 
Steel  pen  Fll  write  on  Florence'  helm  how  much 
I  can,  and  dare  do  for  you. 

Matil.  'Tis  not  question'd. 
Some  private  business  of  mine  ow.n  disposed  of, 
I'll  meet  you  in  the  presence. 
Uber.  Ever  your  servant. 

[E.veunt  Uberti  and  Farneze. 
Matil.  Now,  sir,  to  you.    You  have  observed, 
I  doubt  not. 
For  lovers  are  sharp-sighted,  to  what  purpose 
This  prince  solicits  me ;  and  yet  1  am  not 


368      THE   BASHFUL    LOVER. 

So  taken  with  his  worth,  but  that  I  can 

Vouchsafe  you  further  parle."  The  first  command 

Tliat  I'll  impose  upon  you,  is  to  hear 

And  follow  my  good  counsel :  I  am  not 

Offended  that  you  love  me,  persist  in  it, 

But  love  me  virtuously  ;  such  love  may  spur  you 

To  noble  undertakings,  which  achieved, 

Will  raise  you  into  name,  preferment,  honour : 

For  all  which,  though  you  ne'er  enjoy  my  person, 

(For  that's  impossible,)  you  are  indebted 

To  your  high  aims  :  visit  me  when  you  please, 

I  do  allow  it,  nor  will  blush  to  own  you, 

So  you  confine  yourself  to  what  you  promise, 

As  my  virtuous  servant. 

Beat.  Farewell,  sir !  you  have 
An  unexpected  cordial. 

Asc.  May  it  work  well !     \Exeunt  all  hut  Hort . 

Hort.  Your  love — yes,  so  she  said,  may  spur  y  onto 
Brave  undertakings  :  adding  this,  Vou  may 
Visit  me  whenyou  please.    Is  this  allow'd  me. 
And  any  act,  within  the  power  of  man, 
Impossible  to  be  effected  ?  no : 
I  will  break  through  all  oppositions  that 
May  stop  me  in  my  full  career  to  honour : 
And,  borrowing  strength  to  do,  from  her  high 

favour, 
Add  something  to  Alcides'  greatest  labour.  [Exit, 

*  Vouchsafe  you  further  parle.3  So  the  old  copy,  and  rightly. 
The  modern  editors  have  parley,  which  spoils  the  verse. 


THE   BASHFUL  LOVER.       369 

SCENE   IL 

The  same.     A  State-room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Gonzaga,  Ubertt,  Farneze,  Manfroy, 
and  Attendants. 

Gon.  This  is  your  place  ;  and,  were  it  in  our 
power,  [Leads  Uberti  to  the  state. 

You  should  have  greater  honour,  prince  of  Parma; 
The  rest  know  theirs. — Let  some  attend  with  care 
On  the  ambassador,  and  let  my  daughter 
Be  present  at  his  audience.  [E.veunt  Attendants.^ 

— Reach  a  chair, 
We'll  do  all  fit  respects ;  and,  pray  you,  put  on 
Your  milder  looks,   you  are  in  a  place  where 

frowns 
Are  no  prevailing  agents.  [To  Uberti, 

Enter  at  one  door  Alonzo  and  Attendants  :  Ma- 
tilda, Beatrice,  Ascanio,  Hortensio,  and 
Waiting  fVomen,  at  the  other, 

Asc,  I  have  seen 
More  than  a  wolf,  a  Gorgon  !'  [Swoons, 

Gon.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Matild.  A  page  of  mine  is  fallen  into  a  swoon ; 
Look  to  him  carefully.       [Ascanio  is  carried  out. 

Gon.  Now,  when  you  please, 
The  cause  that  brought  you  hither? 

Alon.  The  protraction 

7  Asc.  /  have  seen 
More  thu7i  a  wulf\  a  Gorgon  /]  Ascanio  means  Alonzo  :  it 
may  be  just  necessary  to  observe,  that  the  sight  ot  a  wolf  was, 
anciently,  supposed  to  deprive  a  person  ot  speech,  that  of  a 
Gorgon,  of  motion  aud  life. 


370       THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Of  my  dispatch  forgotten,  from  Lorenzo, 
The  Tuscan  duke,  thus  much  to  you,  Gonzaga, 
The  duke  of  Mantua.     By  me,  his  nephew, 
He  does  sahite  you  fairly,  and  entreats 
(A  word  not  suitable  to  his  poMcr  and  greatness) 
You  would  consent  to  tender  that  which  he, 
Unwillingly,  must  force,  if  contradicted. 
Ambition,  in  a  private  man  a  vice, 
Is,  in  a  prince,  the  virtue." 

Gon.  To  the  purpose ;  ,     ,  ■ 

These  ambages  are  impertitient. 

Alon.  He  demands 
The  fair  Matilda,  for  I  dare  not  take 
From  her  perfections,  in  a  noble  way  ; 
And  in  creating  her  the  comfort*  of 
His  royal  bed,  to  raise  her  to  a  height 
Her  flattering  hopes  could  not  aspire,  where  she 
With  wonder  shall  be  gazed  upon,  and  live 
The  envy  of  her  sex. 

Gon.  Suppose  this  granted. 

Tiber.  Or,  if  denied,  what  follows  ? 

Alon.  Present  war. 
With  all  extremities  the  conqueror  can 
Inflict  upon  the  vanquish'd. 

Uber.  Grant  me  license 
To  answer  this  defiance.    What  intelligence 

•  Is  in  a  prince  a  virtue.']  So  the  modern  editions.  In  the  old 
copy  it  is  the  virtue — meaning,  perhaps,  as  Massingex  expresses 
it  on  another  occasion,  the  virtue  xa?f|o;)(j»)». 

'  And  in  creating  her  the  comfort  of 
Hia  rot/al  bed,']  For  comfort  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
read  consort,  as  usual.  One  would  think,  from  the  eternal  war- 
fare maintained  against  this  good  old  word,  that  the  marriage 
bed  is  less  comfortable  at  present  than  it  anciently  was:  however 
this  may  be,  I  have  every  where  restored  it. 

In  the  next  line,  they  have  inserted  to  after  aspire  ;  though 
the  word  is  constantly  used  by  onr  old  poets  without  the  pre- 
position, and  though  it  injures,  or  rather  destroys,  the  metre. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       371 

Holds  your  proud  master  with  the  will  of  heaven,* 
That,  ere  the  uncertain  die  of  war  be  thrown, 
He  dares  assure  himself  the  victory  ? 
Are  his  unjust  invading  arms  of  fire  ? 
Or  those  we  put  on  in  defence  of  right, 
Like  chaff,  to  be  consumed  in  the  encounter? 
I  look  on  your  dimensions,  and  find  not 
Mine  own  of  lesser  size;  the  blood  that  fills 
My  veins,  as  hot  as  yours ;  my  sword  as  sharp. 
My  nerves  of  equal  strength,  my  heart  as  good ; 
And,  confident  we  have  the  better  cause, 
Why  should  we  fear  the  trial  ? 
Far.  You  presume 

What  intelligence 


Holds  your  proud  master  with  the  will  of  heaven,  &c.]  This 
admirable  speech,  which  is  equally  judicious  and  spirited,  in- 
voluntarily recalls  to  mind  the  Battle  of  Sabla,  so  beautifully 
translated  by  the  late  Professor  of  Arabic,  whose  death  the 
public,  no  less  than  his  particular  friends,  will  long  have  cause 
to  regret: 

********** 

*'  Make  now  your  choice — the  termi  we  give, 

*'  Desponding  victims,  hear ; 
**  These  fetters  on  your  hands  receive, 

'*'  Or  in  your  hearts  the  spear." 

**  And  is  the  conflict  o'er,"  we  cried, 

**  And  lie  we  at  your  feet  ? 
**  And  dare  you  vauntingly  decide 

"  The  fortune  we  must  meet  ? 

********** 

"  The  foe  advanced  : — in  firm  array 

'*  We  nish'd  o'er  Sabla's  sands, 
**  And  the  red  sabre  mark'd  our  way 

"  Amidst  their  yielding  bands. 

*'  Then,  as  they  writh'd  in  death's  cold  grasp, 

*'  We  cried,  '  Our  choice  is  made, 
"  These  hands  the  sabre's  hilt  shall  clasp, 

"  Your  hearts  shall  have  the  blade.'" 

Carlyle's  Specimens  of  Arabian  Poetry,  p.  25. 


572       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

You  are  superior  in  numbers ;  we 
Lay  hold  upon  the  surest  anchor,  virtue ; 
Which,  when  the  tempest  of  the  warroars  loudest, 
Must  prove  a  strong  protection. 

Gon,  Two  main  reasons 
(Seconding  those  you  have  already  heard) 
Give  us  encouragement;  the  duty  that 
I  owe  my  mother- country,  and  the  love 
Descending  to  my  daughter.     For  the  first, 
Should  I  betray  her  liberty,  I  deserv'd 
To  have  my  name  with  infamy  razed  from 
The  catalogue  of  good  princes  ;  and  I  should 
Unnaturally  forget  I  am  a  father, 
If,  like  a  Tartar,  or  for  fear  or  profit, 
I  should  consign  her,  as  a  bondwoman, 
To  be  disposed  of  at  another's  pleasure  ; 
Her  own  consent  or  favour  never  sued  for. 
And  mine  by  force  exacted.     No,  Alonzo, 
She  is  my  only  child,  my  heir;  and,  if 
A  father's  eyes  deceive  me  not,  the  hand 
Of  prodigal  nature  hath  given  so  much  to  her, 
As,  in  the  former  ages,  kings  would  rise  up 
In  her  defence,  and  make  her  cause  their  quarrel : 
Nor  can  she,  if  that  any  spark  remain 
To  kindle  a  desire  to  be  ppssess'd 
Of  such  a  beauty,  in  our  time,  want  swords 
To  guard  it  safe  from  violence. 

Hort.  I  must  speak. 
Or  I  shall  burst ;  now  to  be  silent  were 
A  kind  of  blasphemy  :  if  such  purity, 
Such  innocence,  an  abstract  of  perfection, 
The  soul  of  beauty,  virtue,  in  a  word, 
A  temple  of  things  sacred,  should  groan  under 
The  burthen  of  oppression,  we  might 
Accuse  the  saints,  and  tax  the  Powers  above  us 

Of  negligence  or  injustice. Pardon,  sir, 

A  stranger's  boldness,  and  in  your  mercy  call  it  . 


THE    BASHFUL   LOVER.        573 

True  zeal,  not  rudeness.     In  a  cause  like  this, 
The  husbandman  would  change  his  ploughing- 

irons 
To  weapons  of  defence,  and  leave  the  earth 
Untill'd,  although  a  general  dearth  should  follow: 
The  student  would  forswear  his  book,  the  lawyer 
Put  off  his  thriving  gown,  and,  without  pay, 
Conclude  this  cause  is  to  be  fought,  not  pleaded. 
The  women  will  turn  Amazons,  as  their  sex 
In  her  were  wrong'd  ;  and  boys  write  down  their 

names 
In  the  muster-book  for  soldiers. 

Gon.  Take  my  hand : 
Whate'er  you  are,  I  thank  you.     How  are  you 
call'd  ? 
Hort.  Hortensio,  a  Milanese. 
Gon.  I  wish 
Mantua  had  many  such. — My  lord  ambassador, 
Some  privacy,  if  you  please;  Manfroy,  you  may 
Partake  it,  and  advise  us.  {They  walk  aside. 

Uber.  Do  you  know,  friend. 
What  this  man  is,  or  of  what  country  ? 
Farn.  Neither. 
Uber.  I'll  question  him  myself.    What  are  you, 

sir? 
Hort'  A  gentleman. 
Uber.  But  if  there  be  gradation 
In  gentry,  as  the  heralds  say,  you  have 
Been  over-bold  in  the  presence  of  your  betters. 
Hort.  My  betters,  sir ! 
Uber.  Your  betters.     As  I  take  it, 
You  are  no  prince. 

Hort.  'Tis  fortune's  gift  you  were  born  one ; 
I  have  not  heard  that  glorious  title  crowns  you, 
As  a  reward-  of  virtue  :  it  may  be. 
The  first  of  your  house  deserv'd  it ;  yet  his  merits 
You  can  but  faintly  call  your  own. 


.  374      THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Matil.  Well  answer'd. 
Uber.  You  come  up  to  me. 
Hort.  I  would  not  turn  ray  back, 
If  you  were  the  duke  of  Florence,  though  you 

charged  me 
I'  the  head  of  your  troops. 

Uber.  Tell  me  in  gentler  language, 
Your  passionate  speech  induces  me  to  think  so, 
Do  you  love  the  princess  ? 

Hor^t.  Were  you  mine  enemy. 
Your  foot  upon  my  breast,  sword  at  my  throat. 
Even  then  I  would  profess  it.    The  ascent 
To  the  height  of  honour  is  by  arts  or  arms; 
And  if  such  an  unequall'd  prize  might  fall 
On  him  that  did  deserve  best  in  defence 
Of  this  rare  princess,  in  the  day  of  battle, 
I  should  lead  you  away  would  make  your  greatness 
Sweat  drops  of  blood  to  follow. 

ZTber,  Can  your  excellence 
Hear  this  without  rebuke  from  one  unknown? 
Is  he  a  rival  for  a  prince? 

Matil.  My  lord, 
You  take  that  liberty  I  never  gave  you. 
In  justice  you  should  give  encouragement 
To  him,  or  any  man,  that  freely  offers 
His  life  to  do  me  service,  not  deter  him ; 
I  give  no  suffrage  to  it.     Grant  he  loves  mc. 
As  he  professes,  how  are  you  wrong'd  in  it? 
Would  you  have  all  men  hate  me  but  yourself? 
No  more  of  this,  I  pray  you  :  if  this  gentleman 
Fight  for  my  freedom,  in  a  fit  proportion 
To  his  desert  and  quality,  I  can 
And  will  reward  him  ;  yet  give  you  no  cause 
Of  jealousy  or  envy. 
Hort.  Heavenly  lady  ! 

Go7h    No  peace  but  on  such  poor  and  base 
conditions  ! 


THE    BASHFUL   LOVER.       375 

We  will  not  buy  it  at  that  rate  :  return 

This  answer  to  your  master  :  Though  we  wish'd 

To  hold  fair  quarter  with  him,  on  such  terms 

As  honour  would  give  way  to,  we  are  not 

So  thunderstruck  with  the  loud  voice  of  war, 

As  to  acknowledge  him  our  lord  before 

His  sword  hath  made  us  vassals  :   we  long  since 

Have  had  intelligence  of  the  unjust  gripe 

He  purposed  to  lay  on  us  ;  neither  are  we 

So  unprovided  as  you  think,  my  lord  ; 

He  shall  not  need  so  seek  us ;  we  will  meet  him, 

And  prove  the  fortune  of  a  day,  perhaps 

Sooner  than  he  expects. 

Alon.  And  find  repentance, 
When 'tis  too  late.  Farewell.  [Edit  zvith  Farneze, 

Gon.  No,  my  Matilda, 
We  must  not  jbart  so.    Beasts  and  birds  of  prey, 
To   their  last  gasp,    defend   their   brood ;    and 

Florence, 
Over  thy  father's  breast  shall  march  up  to  thee, 
Before  he  force  affection.     The  arms 
That  thou  must  put  on  for  us  and  thyself, 
Are  prayers  and  pure  devotion,  which  will 
Be  heard,  Matilda.    Manfroy,  to  your  trust 
We  do  <^ive  up  the  city,  and  n\y  daughter; 
On  both  keep  a  strong  guard — No  tears,  they  are 

ominous. 
O  my  Octavio,  my  tried  Octavio, 
In  ail  my  dangers  !  now  I  want  thy  service, 
In  passion  recompensed  with  banishment. 
Error  of  princes,  who  hate  virtue  when         • 
She's  present'  with  us,  and  in  vain  admire  her 

*  Error  of  princes,  who  hate  virtue  when 
She's  present  &c.] 

Virtutem  incolumen  odirnus^ 

Sublatarn  tx  ocu/is  quce-rimus  invidi. 
But  this  play  abounds  with  classical  allusions  aptly  and  elegantly- 
introduced. 


576       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

When  she  is  absent!— 'tis  too  late  to  think  on't. 
The  wish*d-for  time  is  come,  princely  Uberti, 
To  shew  your  valour;  friends,  being  to  do,  not 

talk, 
All  rhetoric  is  fruitless,  only  this, 
Fate  cannot  rob  you  of  deserv'd  applause, 
Whether  you  win  or  lose  in  such  a  cause.  \_Exeunt. 


ACT    n.     SCENE  L 
» 

Mantua.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
£w^er  Matilda,  Beatrice,  awfi?  Waiting  Women. 

Matil.  No  matter  for  the  ring  I  ask'd  you  for. 
The  boy  not  to  be  found  ? 
Beat.  Nor  heard  of,  madam. 

1  Worn.  He  hath  been  sought  and  search'd  for, 

house  by  house, 
Nay,  every  nook  of  the  city,  but  to  no  purpose. 

2  JVom.  And  how  he  should  escape  hence,  the 

lord  Manfroy 
Being  so  vigilant  o'er  the  guards,  appears 
A  thing  impossible.-^' ' 

Matil.  I  never  saw  him, 
Sinc^he  swoon'd  in  the  presence,  when  my  father 
Gave  audience  to  the  ambassador  :  but  I  feel 
A  sad  miss  of  him  ;  on  any  slight  occasion, 
He  would  find  out  such  pretty  arguments 
To  make  me  sport,  and  with  such  witty  sweetness 
Deliver  his  opinion,  that  I  must 
Ingenuously  confess  his  harmless  mirth, 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       577 

When  I  was  most  oppress'd  with  care,  wrought 

more 
In  the  removing  oFt,  than  music  on  me. 

Beat.  An't  please  your  excellence,  I  have  ob- 
served him 
Waggishly  witty;  yet,  sometimes,  on  the  sudden, 
He  would  be  very  pensive;  and  then  talk 
So  feelingly  of  love,  as  if  he  had 
Tasted  the  bitter  sweets  oft. 

1  JVom.  He  would  tell,  too, 

A  pretty  tale  of  a  sister,  that  had  been 
Deceived  by  her  sweetheart ;  and  then,  weep- 
ing, swear 
He  wonder'd  how  men  could  be  false.* 

2  TVom.  And  that 

When  he  was  a  knight,  he'd  be  the  ladies  cham- 
pion. 
And  travel  o'er  the  world  to  kill  such  lovers, 
As  durst  play  false  with  their  mistresses. 

Matil.  I  am  sure 
I  v/ant  his  company. 

Enter  Man  fro  y. 

Man»  There  are  letters,  madam, 
In  post  come  from  the  duke;  but  I  am  charged, 
By  the  careful  bringer,  not  to  open  them 
But  in  your  presence. 

Matil.  Heaven  preserve  my  father! 
Good  news,  an't  be  thy  will !  ♦ 

Man.  Patience  must  arm  you 
Against  what's  ill. 

Matil.  I'll  hear  them  in  my  cabinet.  [Exeunt. 

*  This  pretty  passage  contains  one  of  those  judicious  antici- 
pations, in  which  Massinger  is  peculiarly  excellent. 


VOL.   IV. 


378       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

SCENE   n. 

The  Dutchy  o/" Mantua.     Gonzaga's  Camp. 
Entey^  Hortensio  df/2£?  Ascanio. 

Hort.  Why  have  you  left  the  safety  of  the  city. 
And  service  of  the  princess,  to  partake 
The  dangers  of  the  camp  ?  and  at  a  time  too 
When  the  armies  are  in  view,  and  every  minute 
The  dreadful  charge  expected? 

Asc.  You  appear 
So  far  beyond  yourself,  as  you  are  now, 
Arm'd  like  a  soldier,  (though  I  grant  your'pre- 

sence 
Was  ever  gracious,)  that  I  grow  enamour'd 
Of  the  profession  :  in  the  horror  of  it, 
There  is  a  kind  of  majesty. 

Hort.  But  too  heavy 
To  sit  on  thy  soft  shoulders,  youth ;  retire 
To  the  duke's  tent,  that's  guarded. 

Asc.  Sir,  I  come 
To  serve  you  ;  knight-adventurers  are  allow'd 
Their  pages,  and  1  bring  a  will  that  shall 
Supply  my  want  of  power. 

Hort.  To  serve  me,  boy  ! 
I  wish,  believe  it,  that  'twere  in  my  nerves 
To  do  thee  any  service',  and  thou  shalt, 
If  I  survive  the  fortune  of  this  day, 
Be  satisfied  I  am  serious. 

Asc.  I  am  not 
To  be  put  off  so,  sir.     Since  you  do  neglect 
My  offer'd  duty,  I  must  use  the  power 
I  bring  along  with  me,  that  may  command  you; 
You  have  seen  this  ring — 


THE  BASHFUL   LOVER.       379 

Hbrt.  Made  rich  by  being  worn 
Upon  the  princess'  finger. 

Asc.  'Tis  a  favour 
To  you,  by  me  sent  from  her:  view  it  better; 
But  why  coy  to  receive  it  ? 

Hort,  I  am  unworthy 
Of  such  a  blessing,  I  have  done  nothing  yet 
That  may  deserve  it;  no  Commander's  blood 
Of  the  adverse  party  hath  yet  died  my  sword 
Drawn  out  in  her  defence.     I  must  not  take  it. 
This  were  a  triumph  for  me  when  I  had 
Made  Florence'  duke  my  prisoner,  and  compell'd 

him 
To  kneel  for  mercy  at  her  feet. 

Asc.  'Twas  sent,  sir. 
To  put  you  in  mind  whose  cause  it  Is  you  fight 

for; 
And,  as  I  am  her  creature,  to  revenge 
A  wrong  to  me  done.  , 

Hort.   By  what  man  ? 

Asc.  Alonzo. 

Hort.  The  ambassador? 

Asc.  The  same. 

Hort.  Let  it  suffice. 
I  know  him  by  his  armour  and  his  horse ; 

And  if  we  meet [Trumpets  sound.'] — I  am  cut 

off,  the  alarum 
Commands  me  hence:  sweet  youth,  fall  off. 

Asc.  I  must  not ; 
You  are  too  noble  to  receive  a  wound 
Upon  your  back,  and,  following  close  behind  you, 
I  am  secure ;  though  I  could  wish  my  bosom 
Were  your  defence. 

Hort.  Thy  kindness  will  undo  thee.    [Exeunt, 


Cc2 


580       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER, 

SCENE  ilL 

The  same.     Lorenzo's  Camp. 

Enter  Lorenzo,  Alonzo,  Pisano,  ajidMARTiso* 

Lor.  We'll  charge  the  main  battalia,  fall  you 
Upon  the  van  ;  preserve  your  troops  entire, 
To  force  the  rear:  he  dies  that  breaks  his  ranks, 
Till  all  be  ours,  and  sure. 

Pis.  'Tis  so  proclaim'd.  [Ea^eunf* 

Fighting  and  Alarum.     Enter  Hortensio,  As- 
CANio,  fl«^  Alonzo. 

Hort.  'Tis  he,  Ascanio : — Stand! 

Alon.  I  never  shunh'd 
A  single  opposition  ;  but  tell  me 
Whj%  in  the  battle,  of  all  men,  thou  hast 
Made  choice  of  me? 

Hort.  Look  on  this  youth ;  his  cause 
Sits  on  my  sword. 

Alon.  1  know  him  not. 

Hort.  I'll  help 
Your  memory.  \They Jight. 

Asc.  What  have  I  done?  I  am  doubtful 
To  whom  to  wish  the  victory  ;  for,  still 
My  resolution  wavering,  I  so  love 
The  enemy  that  wrong'd  me,  that  I  cannot, 
Without  repentance,  wish  success  to  him 
That  seeks  to  do  me   right. — [Alonzo  falls,'}-^ 

Alas,  he's  fall'n  ! 
As  you  are  gentle,  hold,  sir  1  or,  if  I  want 
Power  to  persuade  so  far,  I  c6njure  you 
By  her  loved  name  I  am  sent  from. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.        381 

Hort.  'Tis  a  charm 
Too  strong  to  be  resisted  :  he  is  yours. 
Yet,  why  you  should  make  suit  to  save  that  life 
Which  you  so  late  desired  should  be  cut  off, 
For  injuries  received,  begets  ray  wonder. 

Asc.  Alas  !  we  foolish,  spleenful  boys  would 
have 
We    know    not    what;    I    have    some    private 

reasons, 
But  now  not  to  be  told. 

Hort.  Shall  I  take  him  prisoner? 

Asc.  By  no  means,  sir;  I  will  not  save  his  life, 
To  rob  him  of  his  honour:  when  you  give, 
Give  not  by  halves.  One  short  word,  and  I  follow. 

[Exit  Hortensio. 
My  lord  Alonzo,  if  you  have  received 
A  benefit,  and  would  know  to  whom  you  owe  it, 
Remember  what  your  entertainment  was 
At  old  Octavio's  house,  one  you  caird  friend. 
And  how  you  did  return  it.  [^Eccit. 

Alon.  I  remember 
I  did  not  well ;  but  it  is  now  no  time 
To  think  upon't :  my  wounded  honour  calls 
For  reparation,  I  must  quench  my  fury 
For  this  disgrace,  in  blood,  and  some  shall  smart 
for't.  {Exit, 


SCENE    IV. 

The  same.     A  Forest, 

Alarum  continued.    Enter  Uberti,  and  Farneze 
wounded. 

Earn.  O  prince  Uberti,  valour  cannot  save  us; 
The  body  of  our  army's  pierced  and  broken, 


582       THE   BASPIFUL   LOVER. 

The  wings  are  routed,  and  our  scatter'd  troopt 
Not  to  be  rallied  up. 

Uber.  'Tis  yet  some  comfort, 
The  enemy  must  say  we  were  not  wanting 
In  courage  or  direction ;  and  we  may 
Accuse  the  Powers  above  as  partial,  when 
A  good  cause,  well  defended  too,  must  suffer 
For  want  of  fortune. 

Farn.  All  is  lost;  the  duke 
Too  far  engaged,  I  fear,  to  be  brought  off : 
Three  times  I  did  attempt  his  rescue,  l)ut 
With  odds  was  beaten  back  ;  only  the  stranger, 
I  speak  it  to  my  shame,  still  follow'd  him. 
Cutting  his  way  ;  but  'tis  beyond  my  hopes. 
That  cither  should  return. 

Ubej\  That  noble  stranger, 
Whom  I,  in  my  proud  vanity  of  greatness, 
As  one  unknown  contemn'd,  when  I  was  thrown 
Out  of  my  saddle  by  the  great  duke's  lance, 
Horsed  me  again,  in  spite  of  all  that  made 
Resistance  ;  and  then  whisper'd  in  mine  ear. 
Fight  bravely,  prince  Ubertij  there  s  no  way  else. 
To  the  fair  Matilda's  favour. 

Farn.  'Twas  done  nobly. 

Uber.  In  you,  my  bosom-friend,  I  had  call'd 
it  noble : 
But  such  a  courtesy  from  a  rival  merits 
The  highest  attribute. 

Enter  Hortensio  and  Gonzaga, 

Farn.  Stand  on  your  guard  ; 
We  are  pursued. 

Uber.  Preserv'd  !  wonder  on  wonder. 

Farn.  The  duke  in  safety  ! 

Gon.  Pay  your  thanks,  Farneze,         ^ 
To  this  brave  man,  if  I  may  call  him  so, 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       383 

Whose  acts  were  more  than  human.  If  thou  art 
My  better  angel,  from  my  infancy 
Design'd  to  guard  me,  like  thyself  appear, 
For  sure  thou'rt  more  than  mortal. 

Hort.  No,  great  sir, 
A  weak  and  sinful  man ;    though  I  have  done 

you 
Some  prosperous  service  that  hath  found  your 

favour, 
I  am  lost  to  myself:  but  lose  not  you 
The  offcr'd  opportunity  to  delude 
The  hot-pursuing  enemy  ;  these  woods, 
Nor  the  dark  veil  of  night,  cannot  conceal  you, 
If  you  dwell  long  here.  You  may  rise  again  ; 
But  I  am  fallen  for  ever. 

Fam.  Rather  born  up 
To  the  supreme  sphere  of  honour, 

Uber,  I  confess 
My  life  your  gift. 

Gon,  My  liberty. 

Uber.  You  have  snatch'd 
The  wreath  of  conquest  from  the  victor's  head, 
And  do  alone,  in  scorn  of  Lorenzo's  fortune, 
Though  we  are  slaved,  by  true  heroic  valour 
Deserve  a  triumph. 

Gon.  From  whence  then  proceeds 
This  poor  dejection  ? 

Hort.  In  one  suit  I'll  tell  you, 
Which    I    beseech    you    grant : — I    loved   your 

daughter. 
But  how  ?  as  beggars,  in  their  wounded  fancy, 
Hope  to  be  monarchs  ;  Ilonglanguish'd  for  her, 
But  did  receive  no  cordial,  but  what 
Despair,  my  rough  physician,  prescribed  me. 
At  length  her  goodness  and  compassion  found  it; 
And,  whereas  I  expected,  and  with  reason, 
The  distance  and  disparity  consider'd 


584       THE   BASHFUL    LOVER. 

Between  her  birth  and  mine,  she  would  contemn 

me, 
The  princess  gave  me  comfort. 

Go7t.  In  what  measure? 

Hort.  She  did  admit  me  for  her  knight  and 
servant, 
And  spurr'd  me  to  do  somethina:  in  this  battle, 
Fought  for  her  liberty,  that  might  not  blemish 
So  fair  a  favour. 

Gon.  This  you  have  perform'd, 
To  the  height  of  admiration. 

Uber.  1  subscribe  to't, 
That  am  your  rival. 

Hort.  You  are  charitable  : 
But  how  short  of  my  hopes,  nay,  the  assurance 
Of  those  achievements  which  my  love  and  youth 
Already  held  accomplish'd,  this  day's  fortune 
Must  sadly  answer.  What  I  did,  she  gave  me 
The  strength  to  do ;  her  piety  preserved 
Her  father,  and  her  gratitude  for  the  dangers 
You  threw  yourself  into  for  her  defence. 
Protected  you  by  me  her  instrument ; 
But  when  I  came  to  strike  in  mine  own  cause, 
Aiid  to  do  something  so  remarkable, 
That  should  at  my  return  command  her  thanks 
And  gracious  entertainment,  then,  alas  ! 
1  fainted  like  a  coward.   I  made  a  vow,  too, 
(And  it  is  registered,)  ne'er  to  presume 
To  come  into  her  presence,  if  I  brought  not 
Her  fears  and  dangers  bound  in  fetters  to  her, 

Which  now's  impossible. Hark  !  the  enemy 

Makes  his  approaches  :     save  yourselves :    this 

only 
Deliver  to  her  sweetness  ;  I  have  done 
My  poor  endeavours,  and  pray  her  not  repent 
Her  goodness  to  me.  May  you  live  to  serve  her. 
This  loss  recovcr'd,  with  a  happier  fate  !  « 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       385 

And  make  use  of  this  sword  :  arms  I  abjure, 
And  conversation  of  men;  I'll  seek  out 
Some  unfrequented  cave,  and  die  love's  martyr. 

[E^'it  hastily* 

Gon.  Follow  him. 

Uher.   'Tis  in  vain  ;  his  nimble  feet 
Have  born  him  from  my  sight. 

Gon.  I  suffer  for  him. 

Farn.  We  share  in  it;  but  must  not,  sir,  forget 
Your  means  of  safety. 

Uber.  In  the  war  I  have  served  you. 
And  to  the  death  will  follow  you. 

Gon.  'Tis  not  fit, 
We  must  divide  ourselves.     My  daughter 
If  I  retain  yet' 

A  sovereign's  power  o'er  thee,  or  friend's  with  you, 
Do,  and  dispute  not ;  by  my  example  change 
Your  habits  :  as  I  thus  put  off  my  purple, 

'  We  must  divide  oitrselves.     My  daughter 
If  I  retain  yet 

A  sovereigns  pouer  o'er  tliee,  &c.]  The  old  copy,  which  is 
faithfully  followed  by  Coxeter,  with  the  exception  of  misprinting 
7iot  for  1/et,  reads, 

JVe  must  divide  ourselves. 

My  daughter^  if  I  retain  yet 

A  sovereign's  power  o'er  thee,  Sec. 
Mr.  M.  Mason  omits  My  daughter,  which  he  presumptuously 
says  the  last  editor  inserted  by  mistake  ;  the  mistake,  however, 
if  it  be  one,  is,  as  the  reader  now  sees,  of  an  older  date.  In  the 
sixth  line,  he  ventures  on  another  improvement,  and  for,  Ambi' 
tion  dies,  prints  Ambition' s_  dye  !  "  which,"  he  continues,  **  is 
the  name  Gonzaga  poetically  gives  his  purple."  IJe  is  wrong  in 
both  instances.  'I  he  exclamation  My  daughter — shews  that  she 
was  uppermost  in  Gunzaga's  thoughts  :  he  interrupls  himself  to 
provide  for  the  safety  of  his  friends,  and  then  resumes  what  ho 
was  first  about  to  say  :  it  should  not  therefore  be  omitted.  Nor 
should  Ambition  dies  be  changed  to  Ambition's  dye ;  because  such 
a  rhetorical  flourish  is  unnecessary,  and  because  it  deprives  a 
passage  of  sense  and  grammar,  which  the  author  iovebtcd  with 
both.     It  requires  nq  explanation. 


S86       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

Ambition  dies  ;  this  garment  of  a  shepherd, 
Left  here  by  chance,  will  serve ;  in  lieu  of  it, 
I  leave  this  to  the  owner.     Kaise  new  forces, 
And  meet  me  at  St.  Leo's  fort ;  my  daughter, 
As  I  commanded  Manfroy,  there  will  meet  us. 
The  city  cannot  hold  out,  we  must  part : 
Farewell,  thy  hand. 

Farn,  You  still  shall  have  my  heart.  [Ejceunt, 


SCENE   V. 

The  same.    Another  part  of  the  Forest, 

Enter  Lorenzo,  Alonzo,   Pisano,   Marti  no, 
Captains,  and  Soldiers. 

Lor.  The  day  is  ours,  though  it  cost  dear  ;  yet 
'tis  not 
Enough  to  get  a  victory,  if  we  lose 
The  true  use  of  it.    We  have  hitherto 
Held  back  your  forward  swords,  and  in  our  fear 
Of  ambushes,  deferr'd  the  wish'd  reward 
Due  to  your  bloody  toil :  but  now  give  freedom, 
Nay,  license  to  your  fury  and  revenge ; 
Now  glut  yourselves  with  prey ;  let  not  the  night, 
Nor  these  thick  woods,  give  sanctuary  to 
The  fear-struck  hares,  our  enemies :  fire  these 

trees, 
And  force  the  wretches  to  forsake  their  holes, 
And  offer  their  scorch'd  bodies  to  your  swords, 
Or  burn  them  as  a  sacrifice  to  your  angers. 
Who  brings  Gonzaga's  head,  or  takes  him  pri- 
soner, 
(Which  I  incline  to  rather,  that  he  may 
Be  sensible  of  those  tortures,  which  I  vow 
To  inflict  upon  him  for  denial  of 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       387 

His  daughter  to  our  bed,)  shall  have  a  blank, 
With  our  hand  and  signet  made  authentical. 
In  which  he  may  write  down  himself,  what  wealth 
Or  honours  he  desires. 

Alon.  The  great  duke's  will 
Shall  be  obey'd. 

Pisan.  Put  it  in  execution. 

Mart.  Begirt  the  wood,  and  fire  it. 

Sold,  Follow,  follow!  [Exeunt^ 


SCENE.   VL 

The  same.    Another  part  of  the  same. 

Enter  Farneze,  disguised  as  a  Florentine  Soldier. 

Farn,  Uberti,  prince  Uberti !  O  my  friend, 
Dearer  than  life  !  1  have  lost  thee.  Cruel  fortune, 
Unsatisfied  Avith  our  sufferings  !  we  no  sooner 
Were  parted  from  the  duke,  and  e'en  then  ready 
To  take  a  mutual  farewell,  when  a  troop 
Of  the  enemy's  horse  fell  on  us ;  we  were  forced 
To  take  the  woods  again,  but,  in  our  flight. 
Their  hot  pursuit  divided  us :  we  had  been  happy 
If  we  had  died  together.   To  survive  him, 
To  me  is  worse  than  death ;  and  therefore  should 

not 
Embrace  the  means  of  my  escape,  though  offered. 
When  nature  gave  us  life  she  gave  a  burthen. 
But  at  our  pleasure  not  to  be  cast  off, 
Though  weary  of  it ;  and  my  reason  prompts  me, 
This  habit  of  a  Florentine,  which  I  took 
From  a  dying  soldier,  may  keep  me  unknown, 
Till  opportunity  mark  me  out  a  way 
For  flight,  and  with  security. 


388       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 


Enter  Uberti. 

Uber.  Was  there  ever 
Such  a  night  of  horror  ? 

Farn.  My  friend's  voice  !  I  now 
In  part  forgive  thee,  fortune. 

Uber,  The  wood  flames, 
The  bloody  sword  devours  all  that  it  meets, 
And  death  in  several  shapes  rides  here  in  triumph. 
I  am  like  a  stag  closed  in  a  toil,  my  life. 
As  soon  as  found,  the  cruel  huntsman's  prey : 
Why  fliest  thou,  then,  what  is  inevitable  ? 
Better  to  fall  with  manly  wounds  before 
Thy  cruel  enemy,  than  survive  thine  honour : 
And  yet  to  charge  him,  and  die  unrevenged, 
Mere  desperation. 

Farn.  Heroic  spirit ! 

Uber.  Mine  own  life  I  contemn,  and  would  not 
save  it 
But  for  the  future  service  of  the  duke, 
And  safety  of  his  daughter  ;  having  means, 
If  I  escape,  to  raise  a  second  army ; 
And;  what  is  nearest  to  me,  to  enjoy 
My  friend  Farneze. 

Farn.  I  am  still  his  care. 

Uber.  What  shall  I  do  ?  if  I  call  loud,  the  foe 
That  hath  begirt  the  wood,  will  hear  the  sound. 
Shall  I  return  by  the  same  path  ?  I  cannot, 
The  darkness  of  the  night  conceals  it  from  me ; 
Something  I  must  resolve. 

Farn.  Let  friendship  rouse 
Thy  sleeping  soul,  Farneze  :  wilt  thou  suffer 
Thy  friend,  a  prince,  nay,  one  that  may  set  free 
Thy  captived  country,  perish,  when  'tis  in 
Thy  power,  with  this  disguise,  to  save  his  life  ? 
Thou  hast  lived  too  long,  therefore  resolve  to  die; 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       889 

Thou  hast  seen  thy  country  ruin'd,  and  thy  master 
CompeU'd  to  shameful  flight;  the  fieldsand  woods 
Strew'd  o'er  with  carcases  of  thy  fellow-soldiers : 
The  miseries  thou  art  fallen  in,  and  before 
Thy  eyes  the  horror  of  this  place,  and  thousand 
Calamities  to  come  ;  and  after  all  these, 
Can  any  hope  remain  ?  shake  off  delays  : 
Dost  thou  doubt  yet?  To  save  a  citizen, 
The  conquering  Roman  in  a  general 
EsteemVi  the  highest  honour:  can  it  be  then 
Inglorious  to  preserve  a  prince?  thy  friend^ — 
Uberti,  prince  Uberti !  \_Aloud.'\  use  this  means 
Of  thy  escape  ; — 

[Pul/s  off  his  Florentine  uniform^  and  casts  it 
before  Uberti. 

conceal'd  in  this,  thou  mayst 
Pass  through  the  enemy's  guards:  the  time  denies 
Longer  discourse  ;  thou  hast  a  noble  end,* 
Live,  therefore,  mindful  of  thy  dying  friend. 

[Eiit, 
Tiber.  Farneze,  stay  thy  hasty  steps  !  Farneze ! 
Thy  friend  Uberti  calls  thee  :  'tis  in  vain  ; 
He's  gone  to  death  an  innocent,  and  makes  life, 
The  benefit  he  confers  on  me,  my  guilt. 
Thou  art  too  covetous  of  another's  safety, 
Too  prodigal  and  careless  of  thine  own. 
'Tis  a  deceit  in  friendship  to  enjoin  me 
To  put  this  garment  on,  and  live,  that  he 
May  have  alone  the  honour  to  die  nobly. 
O  cruel  piety,'  in  our  equal  danger 
To  rob  thyself  of  that  thou  giv'st  thy  friend  ! 
It  must  not  be ;  I  will  restore  his  gift. 


♦  Thou  hast  a  noble  end,]  Alluding  to  what  Uberti  had  just 
said,  of  raising  a  second  army,  &c. 

5  0  cruel  piety,]  So  the  old  copy  :  the  modern  edition!  haT« 
O  cruel  pity,  a  tame  and  unpoctical  sophistication. 


S90       THE  BASHFUL   LOVER. 

And  die  before  him.     How?  where  shall  I  find 

him  ? 

Thou  art  o'ercome  in  friendship ;  yield,  Uberti, 
To  the  extremity  of  the  time,  and  live: 
A  heavy  ransome  !  hut  it  must  be  paid. 
I  will  put  on  this  habit:  pitying  heaven, 
As  it  loves  goodness,  may  protect  my  friend, 
And  give  me  means  to  satisfy  the  debt 
I  stand  engaged  for;  if  not,  pale  despair, 
I  dare  thy  worst;  thou  canst  but  bid  me  die. 
And  so  much  I'll  force  from  an  enemy.'      [E.vit, 


SCENE  vn. 

The  same.     Lorenzo's  Camp. 

Enter  Ahoifizo  and  ViSAiio,wUh¥ARHEZE  bound; 
Soldiers  with  torches,  Farneze's  sword  in  one  of 
.  the  Soldier's  hands, 

Alon.  I  know  him,  he*s  a  man  of  ransome. 

Pisan*  True; 
But  if  he  live,  'tis  to  be  paid  to  me. 

Alon,  I  forced  him  to  the  woods. 

Pisan.  But  my  art  found  him  ; 
Nor  will  I  brook  a  partner  in  the  prey 
My  fortune  gave  me. 

*  This  short  scene  is  very  well  written ;  but,  at  the  same  time^ 
it  must  strike  the  reader  as  extremely  inartificial.  The  two  friends 
speaking  on  opposite  sides  of  a  tree,  is  somewhat  too  similar  to 
what  occurs  so  often  on  the  Roman  stage,  where  people  in  mu- 
tual quest,  always  jostle  before  they  catch  each  other's  eye  or 
ear.  As  Farneze  had  taken  the  generous  resolution  to  save  his 
friend  at  the  expense  of  his  own  life,  it  was  improper  to  discover 
himself;  but  all  that  is  done  might  have  been  effected  with  fewer 
words,  and  a  greater  portion  of  dexterity. 


THE   BASHFUL  LOVER.       591 

Alon,  Render  him,  or  expect 
The  point  of  this. 

Pisan.  Were  it  lightning,  I  would  meet  it, 
Rather  than  be  outbraved. 

Alon.  I  thus  decide. 
The  difference. 

Pisan.  My  sword  shall  plead  my  title. 

\TheyJight. 

Enter  Lorenzo,   MwiTi^o,   Captains^  and  At' 
tendants. 

Lor.  Ha !  where  learn'd  you  this  discipline  ? 
my  commanders 
Opposed  gainst  one  another  !  what  blind  fury 
Brings  forth  this  brawl  ?  Alonzo  and  Pisano 
At  bloody  difference  !  hold,  or  I  tilt 
At  both  as  enemies. — Now  speak ;  how  grew 
This  strange  dirision  ? 

Pisan.  Against  all  right,  , 

By  force  Alonzo  strives  to  reap  the  harvest 
Sown  by  my  labour. 

Alon.  Sir,  this  is  my  prisoner, 
The  purchase  of  my  sword,  which  proud  Pisano, 
That  hath  no  interest  in  him,  would  take  from  me. 

Pisan.  Did  not  the  presence  of  the  duke  for- 
bid me, 
I  would  say 

Alon.  What? 

Pisan.  'Tis  false. 

Lor.  Before  my  face  ! 
Keep  them  asunder.     And  was  this  the  cause 
Of  such  a  mortal  quarrel,  this  the  base 
To  raise  your  fury  on  ?  the  ties  of  blood, 
Of  fellowship  in  arms,  respect,  obedience 
To  me,  your  prince  and  general,  no  more 
Prevailing  on  you  ?  this  a  price  for  which 


S92       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER, 

You  would  betray  our  victory,  or  wound 
Your  reputation  M'itli  mutinies, 
Forgetful  of  yourselves,  allegiance,  honour? — 
This  is  a  course  to  throw  us  headlong  down 
From  that  proud  height  of  empire,  upon  which 
We  were  securely  seated.     Shall  division 
O'erturn  what  concord  built?  if  you  desire 
To  bathe  your  swords  in  blood,  the  enemy 
Still  flies  before  you:  would  you  have  spoil?  the 

country 
Lies  open  to  you.     O  unheard-of  madness! 
What  greater  mischief  could  Gonzaga  wish  us, 
Than  you  pluck  on  our  heads  ?  no,  my  brave 

leaders, 
Let  unity  dwell  in  our  tents,  and  discord 
Be  banish'd  to  our  enemies. 

Alon.  Take  the  prisoner, 
I  do  give  up  my  title. 

Pisan.  1  desire 
Your  friendship,  and  will  buy  it;  he  is  yours. 

\They  embrace. 

Alon,  No  man's  a  faithful  judge  in  his  own 
cause ; 
Let  the  duke  determine  of  him :  we  are  friends,sir. 

Lor.  Shew  it  in  emulation  to  o'ertake 
The  flying  foe ;  this  cursed  wretch  disposed  of, 
With  our  whole  strength  we'll  follow. 

[E.veunt  Alonzo  and  Pisano,  embracing 

Farn.  Death  at  length 
Will  set  a  period  to  calamity : 
I  see  it  in  this  tyrant's  frowns  haste  to  me. 

Enter  Uberti,  habited  like  a  Florentine  Soldier,^ 
and  mixes  with  the  rest. 

Lor,  Thou  machine  of  this  mischief,  look  to  feel 

7 habited  like  a  Florentine  Soldier,"]  i.  e.  in 

the  dress  which  Farneze  had  thrown  to  him.    Sec  p.  389. 


THE   B^ASHFIJL   LOVER.      303 

Whate'er  the  wrath  of  an  incensed  prince 
Can  pour  upon  thee:   with  thy  blood  I'll  quench 
(But  drawn  forth  slowly)  the  invisible  flames 
Of  discord — by  thy  charms  first  fetch'd  from  hell, 
Then  forced  into  the  breasts  of  my  commanders. 
Bring  forth  the  tortures. 

U6e?'.  Hear,  victorious  duke, 
The  story  of  my  miserable  fortune, 
Of  which  this  villain  (by  your  sacred  tongue 
Condemned  to  die)  was  the  immediate  cause : 
And,  if  my  humble  suit  have  justice  in  it, 
Vouchsafe  to  grant  it. 

Lor.  Soldier,  be  brief,  our  anger 
Can  brook  no  long  delay.' 

Uber.  I  am  the  last 
Of  three  sons,  by  one  father  got,  and  train'd  up 
With  his  best  care,  for  service  in  your  wars  : 
My  father  died  under  his  fatal  hand, 
And  two  of  my  poor  brothers.  Now  I  hear, 
Or  fancy,  wounded  by  my  grief,  deludes  me. 
Their  pale  and  mangled  ghosts  crying  for  ven- 
geance 
On  perjury  and  murder.  Thus  the  case  stood  : 
My  father,  (on  whose  face  he  durst  not  look 
In  equal  mart,')  by  his  fraud  circumvented, 
Became  his  captive ;  we,  his  sons,  lamenting 
Our  old  sire's  hard  condition,  freely  offer'd 
Our  utmost  for  his  ransome :  that  refused, 
The  subtile  tyrant,  for  his  cruel  ends. 
Conceiving  that  our  piety  might  ensnare  us, 

•  Lor.  Soldier,  be  briefs  our  anger 

Can  brook  no  lovg  delay,']    So  the  old  copy-    Coxeter  and 
Mr.  M.  Mason  read,  with  equal  fidelity  and  harmooy, 
Soldier,  be  brief ; 

Our  anger  cannot  brook  a  long  delay. 
'  In  equal  mart,)]    A  vilo  translation  of  aequo  martCy  in  equal 
Jight. 

VOL.  IV.  *  D  d 


SiH      THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Proposed  my  father's  head  to  be  redeein'd, 
If  two  of  us  would  yield  ourselves  his  slaves; 
We,  upon  any  terms,  resolved  to  save  him. 
Though  with  the  loss  of  life  which  he  gave  to  us, 
With  an  undaunted  constancy  drew  lots 
(For  each  of  us  contended  to  be  one) 
Who  should  preserve  our  father;  I  was  exempted,* 
But  to  my  more  affliction.  My  brothers 
Deliver'd  up,  the  perjured  homicide. 
Laughing  in  scorn,  and  by  his  hoary  locks 
Pulling  my  wretched  father  on  his  knees, 
.Said,  Thus  receive  the  father  you  have  ransomed  ! 
And  instantly  struck  off  his  head. 
Lor.  Most  barbarous ! 
Farn.  I  never  saw  this  man. 
Lor.  One  murmur  more, 
I'll  have  thy  tongue  puU'd  out. — Proceed. 

Uber,  Conceive,  sir, 
How  thunderstruck  we  stood,  being  made  spec- 
tators 
Of  such  an  unexpected  tragedy  : 
Yet  this  was  a  beginning,  not  an  end 
To  his  intended  cruelty  ;  for,  pursuing 
Such  a  revenge  as^  no  Hyrcanian  tigress, 
Robb'd  of  her  whelps,  durst  aim  at,  in  a  moment, 
Treading  upon  my  father's  trunk,  he  cut  off 
My  pious  brothers'  heads,  and  threw  them  at  me. 
Oh,  what  a  spectacle  was  this!  what  mountain 
Ofsorrowoverwhelm'dme!  my  poorheart-strings, 
As  tenter'd  by  his  tyranny,  crack'd;  my  knees 
Beating  'gainst  one  another,  groans  and  tears 
Blended  together  follow'd  ;  not  one  passion 
Calamity  ever  yet  express'd,  forgotten. 


I -was  exempted. 


But  to  mi/ more  affliction,  kc.']  The  strange  pointing  of  this 
apeech  by  Coxeter  and  Mr.  JVl.  Mason  shews  that  the  meaning 
ol  it  was  totally  raisunilerstood  by  them. 


tME   BASHFUL    LOVER.       S95 

^Tow,  mighty  sir,  (bathing  your  feet  with  tears,) 
Your  suppliant's  suit  is,  that  he  may  have  leave, 
With  any  cruelty  revenge  can  fancy, 
To  sacrifice  this  monster,  to  appease 
My  father's  ghost,  and  brothers'. 

Lor.  Thou  hast  obtain'd  it  : 
Choose  any  torture,  let  the  memory 
Of  what  thy  father' and  thy  brothers  sufFer'd, 
Make  thee  ingenious  in  it ;  such  a  one. 
As  Phalaris  would  wish  to  be  call'd  his. 
Martino,  guarded  with  your  soldiers,  see 
The  execution  done  ;   but  bring  his  head, 
On  forfeiture  of  your  owu,  to  us  :  our  presence 
Long  since  was  elsewhere  look'd  for. 

•     [Ej'it,  with  Captains  and  Attendants^ 

Mart.  Soldier,  to  work  ; 
Take  any  way  thou  wilt  for  thy  revenge, 
Provided  that  he  die  :  his  body's  thine, 
But  I  must  have  his  head. 

Ubtr.  I  have  already 
Concluded  of  the  manner.  O  just  heaven, 
The  instrument  I  wish'd  for  offer'd  me  ! 

Mart.  Why  art  thou  rapt  thus? 

Uber.  In  this  soldier's  hand 
I  see  the  murderer's  own  sword,  I  know  it ; 
Yes,  this  is  it  by  which  my  father  and 
My  brothers  were  beheaded  ;  noble  captain, 
Command  it  to  my  hand. — [Takes  Farneze's  sword 
from  the  Soldier.] — Stand  forth  and  tremble! 
This  weapon,  of  late  drunk  with  innocent  blood, 
Shall  now  carouse  thine  own  :  pray,  if  thou  canst, 
For,  though  the  world  shall  not  redeem  thy  body, 
I  would  not  kill  thy  soul. 

Farn.  Canst  thou  believe 
There  is  a  heaven,  or  hell,  or  soul?   thou  hast 

none, 
In  death  to  rob  me  of  my  fame,  my  honour, 
*  D  d  2 


396      THE   BASHFUL  LOVER, 

With  such  a  forged  lie.  Tell  me,  thou  hangman, 
Where  did  I  ever  see  thy  face  ?  or  when 
Murder'd  thy  sire  or  brothers  ?  look  on  me, 
And  make  it  good  :  thou  dar'st  not. 

Uber.  Yes,  I  will  [He  unbinds  his  arms. 

In  one  short  whisper ;    and  that  told,  thou  art 

dead. 
I  am  Uberti :  take  thy  sword,  fight  bravely ; 
We'll  live  or  die  together. 

Mart,  We  are  bet  ray 'd. 

[Martino  is  struck  downy  the  Soldiers  run  off. 

Farn.    And   have  I  leave    once    more,   brave 
prince,  to  ease 
My  head  on  thy  true  bosom  ? 

Uber»  I  glory  more 
To  be  thy  friend,  than  in  the  name  of  prince, 
Or  any  higher  title. 

Farn,  My  preserver ! 

Uber.  The  life  you  gave  to  me  I  but  return  ; 
And  pardon,  dearest  friend,  the  bitter  language 
Necessity  made  me  use. 

Farn.  O,  sir,  I  am 
Outdone  in  all;  but  comforted,  that  none 
But  you  can  wear  the  laurel. 

Uber.  Here's  no  place 
Or  time  to  argue  this ;  let  us  fly  hence. 

Farn.  I  follow.  {Exeunt. 

Mart.  \rises.'\    A  thousand    Furies    keep  you 
company  ! 
I  was  at  the  gate  of  [hell,]  but  now  I  feel 
My  wound's  not  mortal ;  I  was  but  astonish'd  ; 
And,  coming  to  myself,  I  find  I  am 
Reserv'd  for  the  gallows  :  there's  no  looking  on 
The  enraged  duke,  excuses  will  not  serve; 
I  must  do  something  that  may  get  my  pardon  ; 
If  not,  I  know  the  worst,  a  halter  ends  all !  \Ex%t. 


THE  BASHFUL  LOVER.  397 


ACT  IIL   SCENE  L 

The  Dutchy  of  Mantua.     A  part  of  the  Country 
near  Octavio's  Cottage. 

Enter  Octavio,  a  book  in  his  hand. 

Oct.  Tis  true,  by  proof  I  find  it,' human  reason 
Views  with  such  dim  eyes  what  is  good  or  ill, 
That  if  the  great  Disposer  of  our  being 
Should  offer  to  our  choice  all  worldly  blessings, 
We  know  not  what  to  take.  When  I  was  young, 
Ambition  of  court-preferment  fired  me: 
And,  as  there  were  no  happiness  beyond  it, 
I  labour'd  for't,  and  got  it ;  no  man  stood 
In  greater  favour  with  his  prince ;  I  had 
Honours  and  offices,  wealth  flow'd  in  to  me. 
And,  for  my  service  both  in  peace  and  war. 
The  general  voice  gave  out  I  did  deserve  them. 
But,  O  vain  confidence  in  subordinate  greatness  ! 
When  I  was  most  secure  it  was  not  in 
The  power  of  fortune  to  remove  me  from 
The  flat  I  firmly  stood  on,  in  a  moment 
My  virtues  were  made  crimes,  and  popular  favour 
(To  new-raised  men  still  fatal)  bred  suspicion 
That  I  was  dangerous:  which  no  sooner  enter'd 

*  Oct.  'Tis  true,  by  proof  IJind  it,  &c.]  It  appears  from  this 
that  the  book  w  hich  Octavio  had  been  reading  was  Juvenal ; 
an  author  with  whom  Massinger  was  peculiarly  well  acquainted, 
as  there  is  scarcely  one  of  his  dramatic  pieces  in  which  several 
happy  allusions  to  him  do  not  occur :  these,  as  well  as  those 
to  Cicero,  Horace,  Ovid,  Seneca,  Claudian,  and  others,  as  Mas- 
singer  does  not  ambitiously  obtrude  them  on  the  eye,  I  have 
commonly  left  to  the  exercise  of  the  reader's  own  sagacity. 


358      THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Gonzaga's  breast,  but  straight  my  ruin  follow'd 
My  offices  were  ta'en  from  me,  my  state  seized  on  ? 
And,  had  I  not  prevented  it  by  flight, 
The  jealousy  of  the  duke  had  been  removed 
With  the  forfeiture  of  my  head. 

Hort.  [zoithinJ]  Or  shew  compassion, 
Or  I  will  force  it. 

Oct.  Ha!  is  not  poverty  safe? 
I  thought  proud  war,  that  aim'd  at  kingdoms* 

ruins. 
The  sack  of  palaces  and  cities,  scorn'd 
To  look  on  a  poor  cottage. 

Enter  Hortensio  with  Ascanio  in  his  armSy 
G  o  T  H  R I  o  following. 

Goth.  What  would  you  have  ?  ' 
The  devil  sleeps  in  my  pocket ;  I  have  no  cross 
To  drive  him  from  it.    lie  you  orthief  or  soldier. 
Or  such  a  beggar  as  will  not  be  denied. 
My  scrip,  my  tar-box,  hook,  and  coat,  will  prove 
But  a  thin  purchase  ;  if  you  turn  my  inside  outr 

wards. 
You'll  find  it  true. 

Hort.  Not  any  food  ?  [^Searches  his  scrip. 

Goth.  Alas !  sir, 
I  am  no  glutton,  but  an  under-shepherd  ; 
The  very  picture  of  famine;  judge  by  my  cheeks 
else : 
,  I  have  my  pittance  by  ounces,  and  starve  myself, 

'  Goth.  What  tiould  you  have  ?  Ac]  The  modern  editors 
ha^e  set  their  wit  against  poor  Gothrio,  and  deprived  him  of  all 
pretensions  to  verse.  Certainly  Massinger  meant  him  to  speak 
in  measure,  and  though  it  be  not  suph  as  the  superidr  charac- 
ters use,  yet  it  suits  the  person,  and  runs  glibly  off"  the  tongue. 
What  is  more,  the  old  copy  prints  his  speeches  as  they  stand 
here,  so  that  there  is  no  accounting  for  this  vagary  of  Coxeter 
and  M.  Mason. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.      399 

When  I  pay  a  pensioner,  an  ancient  mouse, 
I  have,  a  crumb  a  meal. 

Hort.  No  drop  left?  \Takes  his  bottle. 

Drunkard  !   hast  thou  swill'd  up  all  ? 

Goth.  How!  drunkard,  sir  ? 
I  am  a  poor  man,  you  mistake  me,  sir, 
Drunkard's  a  title  for  the  rich,  my  betters  ; 
A  calling  in  repute  :  some  sell  their  lands  for*t, 
And  roar.  Wine's  better  than  money.     Our  poor 

beverages 
Of  buttermilk  or  whey  allay'd  with  water, 
Ne'er  raise  our  thoughts  so  high.    Drunk  !  I  had 

never 
The  credit  to  be  so  yet. 

Hort.  Ascanio, 
Look  up,  dear  youth  ;  Ascanio,  did  thy  sweetness 
Command  the  greedy  enemy  to  forbear 
To  prey  upon  it,  and  I  thank  my  fortune 
For  suffering  me  to  live,  that  in  some  part 
I  might  return  thy  courtesies,  and  now, 
To  heighten  my  afflictions,  must  I  be 
Enforced,  no  pitying  angel  near  to  help  us, 
Heaven  deaf  to  my  complaints  too,  to  behold  thee 
Die  in  my  arms  for  hunger  ?  no  means  left 
To  lengthen  life  a  little  !   I  will  open 
A  vein,  and  pour  my  blood,  not  yet  corrupted 
With  any  sinful  act,  but  pure  as  he  is, 
Into  his  famish'd  mouth. 

Oct.  [comes  forward.^^  Young  man,  forbear 
Thy  savage  pity  ;  I  have  better  means 
To  call  back  flying  life. 

\Fours  a  cordial  into  the  mouth  of  Ascanio. 

Goth.  You  may  believe  him  ;  * 

*  Goth.  You  may  believe  him  ;]  This  speech,  which,  like  most 
of  the  rest,  is  strangely  put  into  prose,  is  so  carelesbly  printed, 
and  so  ridiculously  pointed  in  the  former  editions,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  understand  it. 


400      THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

It  is  his  sucking-bottle,  and  confirms, 
A?!  old  mans  twice  a  child ;  his  nurse's  milk 
Was  ne'er  so  chargeable,  should  you  put  in  too 
For  soap  and  candles :  though  he  sell  his  flock  for't. 
The  baby,  must  have  this  dug  :  he  swears  'tis  ill 
For  my  complexion  ;  but  wonderous  comfortable 
For  an  old  man,  that  would  never  die. 

Oct>   Hope  well,  sir; 
A  temperate  heat  begins  to  thaw  his  numbness  ; 
The  blood  too  by  degrees  takes  fresh  possession 
On  his  pale  cheeks;  his  pulse  beats  high:  standoff, 
Give  him  more  air,  he  stirs. 

\Gothrio  steals  the  bottle, 
Goth.  And  have  I  got  thee, 
Thou  bottle  of  immortality  !  \^Aside, 

Asa.  Where  am  I  ? 
What  cruel  hand  hath  forced  back  wretched  life? 
Is  rest  in  death  denied  me  ? 

Goth,  O  sweet  liquor  !  [Drinks, 

Were  here  enough  to  make  me  drunk,  I  might 
Write  myself  gentleman,  and  never  buy 
A  coat  of  the  heralds.  [Aside, 

Oct.  How  now,  slave  ! 
Goth,  I  was  fainting, 
A  clownlike  qualm  seized  on  me ;  but  I  am 
Recover'd,  thanks  to  your  bottle,  and  begin 
To  feel   new   stirrings,  gallant   thoughts :    one 

draught  more 
Will  make  me  a  perfect  signior, 

Oct.  A  tough  cudgel 
Will  take  this  gentle  itch  off;  hometo  my  cottage, 
See  all  things  handsome. 

Goth.  Good  sir,  let  me  have 
The  bottle  along  to  smell  to  :  O  rare  perfume  ! 

[Ea:it,^ 
Ilort.  Speak  once  more,  dear  Ascanio,— How 
be  eyes  you, 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       401 

Then  turns  away  his  face  !  look  up,  sweet  youth; 
The  object  cannot  hurt  you  ;  this  good  man, 
Next  heaven,  is  your  preserver. 

Jsc.  Would  I  had  perish'd 
Without  relief,  rather  than  live  to  break 
His  good  old  heart  with  sorrow.     O  my  shame  I 
My  shame,  my  never-dying  shame ! 

Oct.  I  have  been 
Acquainted  with  this  voice,  and  know  the  face 

too  : 

'Tis  she,  'tis  too  apparent;  O  my  daughter! 
I  mourn 'd  long  for  thy  loss,  but  thus  to  find  thee, 
Is  more  to  be  lamented. 

Hort.  How!  your  daughter? 

Oct.  My  only  child;  I  murmur'd  against  heaven 
Because  I  had  no  more,  but  now  I  find 
This  one  too  many, — Is  Alonzo  glutted 

[Maria  weeps. 
With  thy  embraces  ? 

Hort.  At  his  name,  a  shower 
Of  tears  falls  from  her  eyes ;  sbe  faints  again. 
Grave  sir,  o'er-rule  your  passion,  and  defer 
The  story  of  her  fortune.*    On  my  life 
She  is  a  worthy  one;  her  innocence 
Might  be  abused,  but  mischief's  self  wants  power 
To  make  her  guilty.     Shew  yourself  a  father 
In  her  recovery;  then  as  a  judge, 
When  she  hath  strength  to  speak  in  her  own 

cause. 
You  may  determine  of  her. 

Oct.  I  much  thank  you 

5  The  story  of'  her  fort  it  fie.']  All  the  editions  read  your  instead 
of  her.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  the  latter  was  the  author's 
word,  while  the  former  was,  probably,  inserted  by  a  very  com- 
inon  mistake,  from  the  exprcssioa  immediately  over  it.  There 
are  several  incidental  resemblances  to  Shakspcarc,  in  this  scene, 
of  which  the  reader  must  be  well  aware. 


402       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

For  your  wise  counsel :  you  direct  me,  sir,* 
As  one  indebted  more  to  years,  and  I, 
As  a  pupil,  will  obey  you  :   not  far  hence 
I  have  a  homely  dwelling;  if  you  please  there 
To  make  some  short  repose,  your  entertainment, 
Though  coarse,  shall  relish  of  a  gratitude, 
And  that^s  all  I  can  pay  you.     Look  up,  girl,  ^ 
Thou  art  in  thy  father's  arms. 

Hort.  She's  weak  and  faint  still — 

0  spare  your  age  !   I  am  young  and  strong,  and 

this  way 
To  serve  her  is  a  pleasure,  not  a  burthen  : 

\Takes  her  in  his  arms* 
]Pray  you,  lead  the  way. 

Oct.  The  saints  reward  your  goodness  ! 

[Exeunt. 

'     SCENE  n. 

The  same.    Another  part  of  the  Country. 

Enter  Manfroy,  and  Matilda  disguised, 

Matil.  No  hope  of  safety  left  ? 
Man.  We  are  descried. 

Matil.  I  thought  that,   cover'd  in  this  poor 
disguise, 

1  might  have  pass'd  unknown, 

Man.  A  diamond, 
Though  set  in  horn,  is  still  a  diamond, 
And  sparkles  as  in  purest  gold.  We  are  follow'd: 
Out  of  the  troops  that  scour'd  the  plains,  I  saw 
Two  gallant  horsemen  break  forth,  (who,  by  their 
Brave  furniture  and  habiliments  for  the  war, 

6 You  direct  me,  *»>,]  Me,  which 

completes  both  the  metre  and  the  sense,  is  inserted  from  the  old 
copy. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.        403 

Seem*d  to  command  the  rest,)   spurring  hard 

towards  us. 
See  with  what  winged  speed  they  climb  the  hill, 
Like  falcons  on  the  stretch  to  seize  the  prey  ! 
Now  they  dismount,  and  on  their  hands  and  knees 
O'ercome  the  deep  ascent'  that  guards  us  from 

them. 
Your  beauty  hath  betray'd  you ;  for  it  can 
No  more  be  night  when  bright  Apollo  shines 
In  our  meridian,  than  that  be  conceal'd. 

Matil.  It  is  my  curse,  not  blessing ;  fatal  to 
My  country,  father,  and  myself.    Why  did  you 
Forsake  the  city  ?  !'    ^m^sS. 

Man.  'Twas  the  duke's  command : 
No  time  to  argue  that;  we  must  descend. 
If  undiscover'd  your  soft  feet,  unused 
To  such  rough  travel,  can  but  carry  you 
Half  a  league  hence,  I  know  a  cave  which  will 
Yield  us  protection. 

Matil.  I  wish  I  could  lend  you 
Part  of  my  speed  ;  for  me,  I  can  outstrip 
Daphne  or  Atalanta. 

Man.  Some  good  angel 
Defend  us,  and  strike  blind  our  hot  pursuers  ! 

[Ej;eunt. 

E7iter  Alonzp  and  Pisano. 

Alon.  She  cannot  be  far  off:  how  gloriously 
She  shew'd  to  us  in  the  valley  ! 

Pisan.  In  my  thought, 
Like  to  a  blazing  comet. 

Alon.  Brighter  far : 
Her  beams  of  beauty  made  the  hill  all  fire; 

'  O''ercome  the  deep  ascent]  So  the  old  copy  ;  Uie  modom 
editions  read  steep  ascent,  which  is  not  so  good,  and  M'hich, 
indeed,  if  it  were  better,  has  no  business  in  the  tc&t. 


404       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

From  whence  reinoved,  'tis  cover'd  witli  thick 

clouds. 
But  we  lose  time ;  I'll  take  that  way. 

Pisan.  I,  this.  [Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE    HL 

The  same,      A  Wood. 

Enter  Hortensio. 

Hort.  'Tis  a  degree  of  comfort  in  my  sorrow, 
I  have  done  one  good  work  in  reconciling 
Maria,  long  hid  in  Ascanio's  habit, 
To  griev'd  Octavio.    What  a  sympathy 
I  found  in  their  affections !  she  with  tears 
Making  a  free  confession  of  her  weakness, 
In  yielding  up  her  honour  to  Alonzo, 
Upon  his  vows  to  marry  her;  Octavio, 
Prepared  to  credit  her  excuses,  nay, 
To  extenuate  her  guilt;  she  the  delinquent. 
And  judge,  as  'twere,  agreeing, — But  to  me, 
The  most  forlorn  of  men,  no  beam  of  comfort 
Deigns  to  appear;  nor  can  I,  in  my  fancy. 
Fashion  a  means  to  get  it :  to  my  country 
I  am  lost  for  ever,  and  'twere  impudence 
To  think  of  a  return  ;  yet  this  I  could 
Endure  with  patience,  but  to  be  divorced 
From  all  my  joy  on  earth,  the  happiness 
To  look  upon  the  excellence  of  nature. 
That  is  perfection  in  herself,  and  needs  not 
Addition  or  epithet,  rare  Matilda,* 

•  Addition  or  epithet^  rare  Matilda,]  To  say  that  Matilda 
required  no  epithet,  and  immediately  to  give  her  one,  seems  an 
oversight  which  I.  am  unwilling  to  attribute  to  the  author. 
Perhaps  the  comma  should  be  placed  after  rarcj  or  the  wo?4 


THE   BASHFUL  LOVER.       405 

Would  make  a  saint  blaspheme.    Here,  Galeazzo, 
In  this  obscure  abode,  'tis  fit  thou  shouldst 
Consume  thy  youth,  and  grow  old  in  lamenting 
Thy  star-cross'd  fortune,  in  this  shepherd's  habit; 
This  hook  thy  best  defence,  since  thou  couldst 

use, 
When  thou  didst  fight  in  such  a  princess'  cause, 
Thy  sword  no  better.  [Lies  down. 

Enter  Alon2o  and  Pisano  with  Matilda. 

Matil.  Are  you  men,  or  monsters  ? 
Whither  will  you  drag  me  ?  can  the  open  ear 
Of  heaven  be  deaf,  when  an  unspotted  maid 
Cries  out  for  succour! 

Pisan.  'Tis  in  vain ;  cast  lots 
Who  shall  enjoy  her  first. 

Alon.  Flames  rage  within  me, 
And,  such  a  spring  ofnectar  near  to  quench  them! 
My  appetite  shall  be  cloy'd  first:  here  I  stand, 
Thy  friend,  or  enemy  ;  let  me  have  precedence, 
I  write  a  friend's  name  in  my  heart;  deny  it, 
As  an  enemy  I  defy  thee. 

Pisan.  Friend  or  foe 
In  this  alike  I  value,  I  disdain 
To  yield  priority  ;  draw  thy  sword. 

Alon.  To  sheath  it 
In  thy  ambitious  heart. 

Matil.  O  curb  this  fury. 
And  hear  a  wretched  maid  first  speak. 

Hort.  I  am  marble. 


itself,  (thoHgh  this  I  do  not  build  on,)  may  be  an  addition  of 
the  players,  not  always  the  most  competent  judges  of  propriety, 
or  even  of  poetry.  The  line  might  be  improved  to  a  modern  ear 
by  reading — Addition^  or  rare  epithet,  but  not  to  that  of 
Massinger  and  his  school,  who  were  accustomed  to  prooounc* 
addition  as  a  quadrisyllable. 


406       THE  BASHFUL   LOVEIt. 

Matil.  Where  shall  I  seek  out  words,  or  hoW" 
restrain 
My  enemies  rage,  or  lovers'?  oh,  the  latter 
Is  far  more  odious  :  did  not  your  lust 
Provoke  you,  for  that  is  its  proper  name, 
My  chastity  were  safe ;  and  yet  I  tremble  more 
To  think  what  dire  effects  lust  may  bring  forth> 
Than  what,  as  enemies,  you  can  inflict,  > 

And  less  I  fear  it.     Be  friends  to  yourselves. 
And  enemies  to  me;  better  I  fall 
A  sacrifice  to  your  atonement,  than 
Or  one  or  both  should  perish.     I  am  the  cause 
Of  your  division;  remove,  it  lords,  ^V 

And  concord  will  spring  up:  poison  this  face 
That   hath   bewitch'd  you,   this   grove   cannot 

want 
Aspics  or  toads;  creatures,  though  justly  call'd, 
For  their  deformity,  the  scorn  of  nature, 
More  happy  than  myself  with  this  false  beauty 
(The  seed  and  fruit  of  mischief)  you  admire  so. 
I  thus  embrace  your  knees,  and  yours,  a  suppliant^ 
If  tigers  did  not  nurse  you,  or  you  suck  i 

The  milk  of  a  fierce  lioness,  shew  compassion 
Unto  yourselves  in  being  reconciled, 
And  pity  to  poor  me,  my  honour  safe. 
In  taking  loath'd  life  from  me. 

Pisan.  What  shall  we  do  ? 
Or  end  our  difference  in  killing  her, 
Or  fight  it  out  ? 

Alon.  To  the  last  gasp.     I  feel 
The  moist  tears  on  my  cheeks,  and  blush  to  find 
A  virgin's  plaints  can  move  so. 
lo  Pisan.  To  prevent 

Her  flight  while  we  contend,  let's  bind  her  fast 
To  this  cypress-tree. 

Alon,  Agreed. 


THE  BASHFUL  LOVER.       40r 

Matil.  It  does  presage 
My  funeral  rites.'  \They  hind  Matilda, 

Hort.  I  shall  turn  atheist 
If  heaven  see  and  suffer  this  :  why  did  I 
Abandon  my  good  sword  ?  with  unarm'd  hands 
I  cannot  rescue  her.     Some  angel  pluck  me 
From  the  apostacy  I  am  falling  to, 
And  by  a  miracle  lend  me  a  weapoa 
To  underprop  falling  honour. 

Pisan.  She  is  fast : 
Resume  your  arms. 

Alon,   Honour,  revenge,  the  maid  too, 
Lie  at  the  stake. 

Pisan.  Which  thus  I  draw. 

\Thty  fghty  Pisanofalls^ 

A  Ion.  Airs  mine, 
But  bought  with  some  blood  of  mine  own.  Pisano, 
Thou  w  crt  a  noble  enemy,  wear  that  laurel 
In  death  to  comfort  thee.'  for  the  reward, 
'TIS  mine  no\v  without  rival. 

[Hortensio  snatches  up  Pisano'' s  swords 

Hort.  Thou  art  deceived  ; 
Men  will  grow  up  like  to  the  dragon's  teeth 
From  Cadmus'  helm,  sown  in  the  field  of  Mars, 
To  guard  pure  chastity  from  lust  and  rape. 
Libidinous  monster,  satyr,  faun,  or  what 
Does  better  speak  thee,  slave  to  appetite, 

9     Matil.  Jt  does  presage 

Ml/  funeral  rites,]  To  understand  this  it  may  be  necessary 
to  observe,  that  the  Romans  and  some  other  nations  always 
carried  cypress  boughs  in  their  funeral  processions.     To  this 
Horace  alludes m  a  strain  of  beautiful  pathos: 
— —  ruque  iinrum  quas  colts  arborum 
Tf,  prater  iiivisas  cupressus, 
UUa  brecem  dominum  sequetur. 
It  Mas  an  ill-iimcd   recollection  of  this  circumstanct?  which 
drew  upon  Dry  den  the  clumsy  sneer  of  the  stupid  Milbuurne. 
See  his  Ouservations  on  the  Translation  of  the  Georgics, 


408       THE   BASHFUL  LOVEH. 

And  sensual  baseness ;  if  thy  profane  hand 
But  touch  this  virgin  temple,  thou  art  dead. 

Matil.  I  see  the  aid  of  heaven,  though  slow,  is 
sure. 

Alon,  A  rustic  swain  dare  to  retard  my  plea- 
sure ! 

Hort.  No  swain,  Alonzo,  but  her  knight  and 
servant 
To  whom  the  world  should  owe  and  pay  obe-' 

dience ; 
One  that  thou  hast  encounter'd,and  shrunk  under 
His  arm  ;  that  spared  thy  life  in  the  late  battle, 
At  the  intercession  of  the  princess'  page. 
Look  on  me  better. 

Matil.  'Tis  my  virtuous  lover  ! 
Under  his  guard  'twere  sin  to  doubt  my  safety. 

Alon.    I   know  thee,   and   with   courage    will 
redeem 
What  fortune  then  took  from  me. 

Hort.  Rather  keep       \TheyJight,  Alonzo  falls. 
Thy  compeer  company  in  death. — Lie  by  him, 
A' prey  for  crows  and  vultures :  these  fair  arms, 

\_He  unbinds  Matilda, 
Unfit  for  bonds,  should  have  been  chains  to  make 
A  bridegroom  happy,  though  a  prince,  and  proud 
Of  such  captivity  :   whatsoe'er  you  are, 
I  glory  in  the  service  I  have  done  you  ; 
But  I  entreat  you*  pay  your  vows  and  prayers. 
For  preservation  of  your  life  and  honour, 
To  the  most  virtuous  princess,  chaste  Matilda. 
I  am  her  creature,  and  what  good  I  do 
You  truly  may  call  her's  ;  what's  ill,  mine  own. 

■  But  I  entreat  t/oVj  &c.]  This  is  in  the  true  spirit  of 
knight-errantry ;  and,  indeed,  nothing  but  constantly  bearing 
in  mind  the  language  and  manners  of  this  gallant  but  romantic 
description  of  men,  can  reconcile  us  to  the  profound  reverence 
iifith  which  Galeazzo  regards  his  mistress. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.      409 

Matil.    You   nevqr.jdid   49  jll, . my  virtuous 
servant  J        j  fyt^tSn'/^o  '^f'l  <♦  >- 
Nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  poor  Matilda, 
To  cancel  such  an  ol)hgation  as, 
With  humble  willingness,  she  must  subscribe  to, 

Hort.  The  princess?  ha! 

Matil.  Give  me  a  fitter  name, 
Your  manumised  bondwoman,  but  even  now 
In  the  possession  of  lust,  from  which 
Your  more  than  brave,—  heroic  valour  bought  me : 
And  can  I  then,  for  freedom  unexpected. 
But  kneel  to  you,  my  patron  ? 

Hort.  Kneel  to  me  ! 
For  heaven's  sake  rise ;  1  kiss  the  ground  you 

tread  on, 
My  eyes  fix'd  on  the  earth ;  for  I  confess 
I  am  a  thing  not  worthy  to  look  on  you, 
Till  you  have  sign'd  my  pardon. 

Matil.  Do  you  interpret 
The  much  good  you  have  done  me,  an  offence  ? 

Hort.  The  not  performing  your  injunctions  to 
me. 
Is  more  than  capital :  your  allowance  of 
My  love  and  service  to  you,  with  admission 
To  each  place  you  made  paradise  with  your  pre- 
sence. 
Should  have  enabled  me  to  bring  home  conquest ; 
Then,  as  a  sacrifice,  to  offer  it 
At  the  altar  of  your  favour:  had  my  love 
Answer'd  your  bounty,  or  my  hopes,  an  army 
Had  been  as  dust  before  me;  whereas  I, 
Like  a  coward,  turn'd  my  back,  and  durst  not 

stand 
The  fury  of  the  enemy. 

Matil.  Had  you  done 
Nothing  in  the  battle,  this  last  act  deserves  more 
Than  I,  the  duke  my  father  joining  with  me, 

VOL.  IV.  *  E  e 


410      THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Can  ever  recompense.     But  take  your  pleasure  ; 
Suppose  you  have  offended  in  not  grasping 
Your  boundless  hopes,  I  thus  seal  on  your  lips 
A  full  remission. 

Hort.  Let  mine  touch  your  foot, 
Your  hand's  too  high  a  favour. 

Matil.  Will  you  force  me 
To  ravish  a  kiss  from  you  ?  [Kisses  him, 

Hort.  I  am  entranced, 

Matil,  So  much  desert  and  bashfulness  should 
not  march 
In  the  same  file.  Take  comfort ;  when  you  have 

brought  me 
To  some  place  of  security,  you  shall  find 
You  have  a  seat  here,  in  a  heart  that  hath 
Already  studied  and  vow'd  to  be  thankful. 

Hort.  Heaven  make  me  so  !  oh,  I  am  over- 
whelm'd 
With  an  excess  of  joy  !  Be  not  too  prodigal, 
Divinest  lady,  of  your  grace  and  bounties, 
At  once;  if  you  are  pleased,  I  shall  enjoy  them, 
Not  taste  them,  and  expire. 

Matil.  I'll  be  more  sparing.  [Eseunt. 

Enter  OcTAVio,  Gothrio,  atid  Maria. 

Oct.    Wliat  noise    of  clashing   swords,    like 
armour  fashion'd 
Upon  an  anvil,  pierced  mine  ears;  the  echo 
Redoubling  the  loud  soundthroughallthevallies? 
This  way  the  wind  assures  me  that  it  came. 

Goth.  Then  with  your  pardon,  I'll  take  this. 

Oct.  Why,  sirrah  ? 

Goth.  Because,  sir,  I  will  trust  my  heels  before 
All  winds  that  blow  in  the  sky  :  we  are  wiser  far 
Than  our  grandsires  were,  and  in  this  I'll  prove  it; 
They  said.  Haste  to  the  beginning  of'  a  J  east  ^ 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       411 

There  I  am  with  them  ;  but  to  the  end  of  a  fray — 
That  is  apocryphal ;   'tis  more  canonical, 
Not  to  come  there  at  all ;  after  a  storm 
There  are  still  some  drops  behind. 

Mar.  Pure  fear  hath  made 
The  fool  a  philosopher. 

Oct,  See,  Maria,  see  ! 
I  did  not  err;  here  lie  two  brave  men  weltering 
In  their  own  gore. 

Mar,  A  pitiful  object. 

Goth,  I  am  in  a  swoon  to  look  on't. 

Oct.  They  are  stiff  already. 

Goth.  But  are  you  sure  they  are  dead? 

Oct.  Too  sure,  I  fear. 

Goth,  But  are  they  stark  dead  ? 

Oct.  Leave  prating. 

Goth.  Then  I  am  valiant,  and  dare  come  nearer 
to  them. 
This  fellow  without  a  sword  shall  be  my  patient. 

[Goe*  to  Pisano. 

Oct.  Whate'er  they  are,  humanity  commands 
us 
To  do  our  best  endeavour.     Run,  Maria, 
To  the  neighbour  spring  for  water;  you  will  find 

there 
A  wooden  dish,  the  beggar's  plate,  to  bring  it. 

\Exit  Maria, 
Why  dost  not,  dull  drone,  bend  his  body,  and  feel 
If  any  life  remain  ?  * 

Goth.  By  your  leave,  he  shall  die  first. 
And  then  I'll  be  his  surgeon. 

Oct.  Tear  ope  his  doublet, 
And  prove  if  his  wounds  be  mortal. 

Goth.  Fear  not  me,  sir  : 

*  Why  dost  not,  dull  drone,  bend  his  body,  and/eel 
If  any  life  remain  ?}  Sec  vol.  i.p.  277. 

♦  E  e  2 


412      THE  BASHFUL  LOVER. 

Here's  a  large  wound. — [Feels  his  pocket.] — How  . 

it  is  swoln  and  imposthumed  1 
This  must  be  cunningly  drawn  out;  should  it 
break,  [Pulls  out  Iiis  purse. 

'Twould  strangle  him.  What  a  deal  of  foul  mat- 
ter's here  ! 
This  hath  been  long  a  gathering.     Here's  a  gash 

too 
On  the  rim  of  his  belly, — [Feels  his  side  pocket.] — 

it  may  have  matter  in  it. 

He  was  a  choleric  man,  sure  ;  what  comes  from 

him  [Takes  out  his  money. 

Is  yellow  as  gold : — how  !  troubled  with  the  stone 

too  r     [Seeing  a  diamond  ring  on  his  finger. 

I'll  cut  you  for  this. 

Pisan.  Oh,  oh  !   "  [Starts  up. 

Goth.  He  roars  before  I  touch  him. 
Pisan.  Robb'd  of  my  life  ? 
Guth.  No,  sir,  nor  of  your  money, 
Nor  jewel ;  I  keep  them  for  you  : — if  I  had  been 
A  perfect  mountebank,-  he  had  not  lived 
To  call  for  his  fees  again. 

Oct,  Give  me  leave — there's  hope 
Of  his  recovery.    [Quits  Pisano  and  goes  to  Alonzo. 

Goth.  I  had  rather  bury  him  quick, 
Than  part  with  my  purchase ;  let  his  ghost  walk> 
I  care  not. 

Re-enter  Maria  with  a  dish  of  water. 

Oct.  Well  done,  Maria;  lend  thy  helping  hand. 
He  hath  a  deep  wound  in  his  head,  wash  off 
The  clotted  blood  :  he  comes  to  himself. 

Alon.  My  lust ! 
The  fruit  that  grows  upon  the  tree  of  lust ! 
With  horror  now  I  taste  it. 

Oct.  Do  you  not  know  him  ? 


THE    BASHFUL   LOVER.       413 

Mar.  Too  soon.      Alonzo  !    oh  me  1    thoufjh 
disloyal, 
Still  dear  to  thy  Maria. 

Goth.  So  they  know  not 
My  patient,  all's  cocksure;  I  do  not  like 
The  Romanish  restitution.  [^Aside. 

Oct.  Rise,  and  leave  him. 
Applaud  heaven's  justice. 

Mar.  'Twill  become  me  better, 
To  implore  its  saving  mercy. 

Oct.  Hast  thou  no  gall  ? 
No  feeling  of  thy  wrongs  ? 

Mar.  Turtles  have  none  ; 
Nor  can  there  be  such  poison  in  her  breast 
That  tri]ly  loves,  and  lawfully. 

Oct.  True,  if  that  love 
Be  placed  on  a  worthy  subject.    What  he  is. 
In  thy  disgrace  is  published;  heaven  hath  mark'd 

him 
For  punishment,  and  'twere  rebellious  madness 
In  thee  to  attempt  to  alter  it :  revenge, 
A  sovereign  balm  for  injuries,  is  more  proper 
To  thy  robb'd  honour.  Join  with  me,  and  thou 
Shalt  be  thyself  the  goddess  of  revenge. 
This  wretch,  the  vassal  of  thy  wrath  :    I'll  make 

him. 
While  yet  he  lives,  partake  those  torments  which. 
For  perjured  lovers,  are  prepared  in  hell, 
Before  his  curs'd  ghost  enter  it.  This  oil, 
Extracted  and  sublimed  from  all  the  simples 
The  earth,  when  swoln  with  venom,  e'er  brought 

forth, 
Pour'd  in  his  wounds,  shall  force  such  anguish  as 
The  Furies  whips  but  imitate ;  and  when 
Extremity  of  pain  shall  hasten  death, 
Here  is  another  that  shall  Keep  in  life, 


414       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

And  make  him  feel  a  perpetuity 
Of  lingering  tortures. 

Goth,  Knock  them  both  o'  th'  head,  I  say, 
An  it  be  but  for  their  skins  ;  they  are  embroider'd, 
And  will  sell  well  in  the  market. 

Mar.   lU-look'd  devil,  , 

Tie  up  thy  bloody  tongue. — O  sir !  I  was  slow 
In  beating  down  those  propositions  which 
You  urge  for  my  revenge  ;  my  reasons  being 
So  many,  and  so  forcible,  that  make 
Against  yours,  that  until  I  had  collected 
My  scatter'd  powers,  I  waver'd  in  my  choice 
Which  I  should  first  deliver.  Fate  hath  brought 
My  enemy  (I  can  faintly  call  him  so) 
Prostrate  before  my  feet ;  shall  I  abuse 
The  bounty  of  my  fate,  by  trampling  on  him  ? 
He  alone  ruin'd  me,  nor  can  any  hand 
But  his  rebuild  my  late  demolish'd  honour. 
If  you  deny  me  means  of  reparation. 
To  satisfy  your  spleen,  you  are  more  cruel 
Than  ever  yet  Alonzo  was  ;  you  stamp 
The  name  of  strumpet  on  my  forehead,  which 
Heaven's  mercy  would  take  off;    you  fan  the 

fire, 
E'en  ready  to  go  out ;  forgetting  that 
'Tis  truly  noble,  having  power  to  punish. 
Nay,  kinglike,  to  forbear  it.  I  would  purchase 
My  husband  by  such  benefits  as  should  make  him 
Confess  himself  my  equal,  and  disclaim 
Superiority. 

Oct.  My  blessing  on  thee  ! 
What  I  urged  was  a  trial ;  and  my  grant 
To  thy  desires  shall  now  appear,  if  art 
Or  long  experience  can  do  him  service. 
Nor  shall  my  charity  to  this  be  wanting, 
Howe'er  unknown  :  help  me,  Maria:  you,  sir, 
Do  your  best  to  raise  him. — So  ! 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       415 

Goth.  He's  wondrous  heavy  ; 
But  the  porter's  paid,  there's  the  comfort. 

Oct.  'Tis  but  a  trance, 
And  'twill  forsake  both. 

Mar.  If  he  live,  I  fear  not 
He  will  redeem  all,  and  in  thankfulness 
Confirm  he  owes  you  for  a  second  life, 
And  pay  the  debt,  in  making  me  his  wife. 

[Ecveunt  Octavio  and  Maria  with  Jlonzo,  and 
Gothrio  with  Pisano. 


ACT  IV.      SCENE  L 

Lorenzo's  Camp  under  the  /Vails  of  Mantua,. 
Enter  Lorenzo  and  Captains, 

Lor.  Mantua  is  ours ;  place  a  strong  garrison 
in  it, 
To  keep  it  so  ;  and  as  a  due  reward 
To  your  brave  service,  be  our  governour  in  it. 

1  Capt.  I  humbly  thank  your  excellence,  [Ei'it. 

Lor.  Gonzaga 
Is  yet  out  of  our  gripe  ;  but  his  strong  fort, 
St.  Leo,  which  he  holds  impregnable 
By  the  aids  of  art,  as  nature,  shall  not  long 
Retard  our  absolute  conquest.  The  escape 
Of  fair  Matilda,  my  supposed  mistress, 
(For  whose  desired  possession  'twas  given  out 
I  made  this  war,)  I  value  not ;  alas  ! 
Cupid's  too  feeble-eyed  to  hit  my  heart. 
Or  could  he  see,  his  arrows  are  too  blunt 
To  pierce  it ;  his  imagined  torch  is  quench'd 


416       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

With  a  more  glorious  fire  of  my  ambition 

To  enlarge  my  empire  :  soft  and  silken  amours^ 

With  carpet  courtship,  which  weak  princes  style 

The  happy  issue  of  a  flourishing  peace, 

My  toughness  scorns.    Were   there  an  abstract 

made 
Of  all  the  eminent  and  canonized  beauties 
By  truth  recorded,  or  by  poets  feign'd, 
I  could  unmoved  behold  it  ;  as  a  picture. 
Commend  the  workmanship,  and  think  no  more 

on't  ; 
I  have  more  noble  ends.  Have  you  not  heard  yet 
Of  Alonzo,  or  Pisano  ? 

Q  Capt.  My  lord,  of  neither. 

Lor.  Two  turbulent  spirits  unfit  for  discipline, 
Much  less  command  in  war  ;  if  they  were  lost, 
I  should  not  pine  with  mourning. 

Enter  Marti  no  and  Soldiers  with  Matilda 
and  HoRTENsio. 

Mart,  Bring  them  forward  : 
This  will  make  my  peace,  though  I  had  kill'd  his 

father ; 
Besides  the  reward  that  follows. 

Lor.  Ha,  Martino ! 
Where  is  Farneze's  head  ?  dost  thou  stare  !  and 

where 
The  soldier  that  desired  the  torture  of  him  ? 

Mart.  An't  please  your  excellence 

Lor.  It  doth  not  please  us  ; 
Are  our  commands  obey'd  ? 

Mart.  Farneze's  head,  sir, 
Is  a  thing  not  worth  your  thought,  the  soldier's 

less,  sir  : 
I  have  brought  your  highness  such  a  head  !  a  head 
So  well  set  on  too !  a  fine  head 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       417 

Lor.  Take  that,  \Strikes  him. 

For  thy  impertinence  :  what  head,  you  rascal  ? 

Mart,  My  lord,  if  they  that  bring  such  pre- 
sents to  you 
Are  thus  revvrarded,  there  are  few  will  strive 
To  be  near  your  grace's  pleasures  :  but  I  know 
You  will  repent  your  choler.     Here's  the  head: 
And  now  I  draw  the  curtain,  it  hath  a  face  too, 
And  such  a  face 

Lor.  Ha ! 

Mart.  View  her  all  o'er,  my  lord, 
My  company  on't,  she's  sound  of  wind  and  limb, 
And  will  do  her  labour  tightly,  a  bona  roba: 
And  for  her  face,  as  I  said,  there  are  five  hundred 
City-dubb'd  madams  in  the  dukedom,  that  would 

part  with 
Their  jointures  to  have  such  another: — hold  up 
your  head,  maid. 

Lor.  Of  what  age  is  the  day  ? 

Mart.  Sir,  since  sun  rising 
About  two  hours. 

Lor.  Thouliest;  the  sun  of  beauty, 
In  modest  blushes  on  her  cheeks,  but  now 
Appear'd  to  me,  and  in  her  tears  breaks  forth, 
As  through  a  shower  in  April ;  every  drop 
An  orient  pearl,  which,  as  it  falls,  congeal'd. 
Were  ear-rings  for  the  Catholic  king,  [to  be'] 
Worn  on  his  birthday. 

Mart.  Here's  a  sudden  change ! 

J  JVere  ear-rings  Jbr  the  Catholic  king,  [to  be] 

Worn  on  his  birthday.}  I  have  ventured  to  insert  the  wordi 
in  brackets,  something  like  them,  as  I  conjecture  from  the  de- 
ficiency of  sense  and  metre,  having  accidently  dropt  out  at  the 
press.  The  riches  of  the  Spanish  monarch  were  now  proverbial, 
and,  indeed,  with  justice,  for  the  mines  of  Chili  and  Peru 
.were,  at  this  time,  incessantly  pouring  into  his  treasury  masses 
of  wealth,  which  formed  at  once  the  enry  and  the  astonishment 
of  Europe.    See  the  Guardian. 


418       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

Lor.  Incensed  Cupid,  whom  evennowlscorn'd, 
Hath  ta'cn  his  stand,  and  by  reflection  shines 
(As  if  lie  had  two  bodies,  or  indeed 
A  brother-twin  whom  sight  cannot  distinguish) 
In  her  fair  eyes: — see,  how  they  head  their  arrows 
With  her  bright  beams  !  now  frown,  as  if  my 

heart, 
Rebellious  to  their  edicts,  were  unworthy, 
Should  I  rip  up  my  bosom,  to  receive 
A  wound  from  such  divine  artillery! 

Mart.  I  am  made  for  ever.  [Aside. 

Matil.  We  are  lost,  dear  servant. 

Hort.  Virtue's  but  a  word  ; 
Fortune  rules  all. 

Matil.  We  are  her  tennis-balls. 

Lor.  Allow  her  fair,  her  symmetry  and  features 
So  well  proportion'd,  as  the  heavenly  object 
With  admiration  would  strike  Ovid  dumb. 
Nay,  force  him  to  forget  his  faculty 
In  verse,  and  celebrate  her  praise  in  prose.^ 
What's  this  to  me  ?  I  that  have  pass'd  my  youth 
Unscorch'd  with  wanton  fires,  my  sole  delight 
In  glittering  arms,  my  conquering  sword  my 

mistress. 
Neighing  of  barbed  horse,  the  cries  and  groans 
Of  vanquish'd  foes  suing  for  life,  my  music  : 
And  shall  I,  in  the  autumn  of  my  age, 
Now,  when  I  wear  the  livery  of  time 
Upon  my  head  and  beard,  suffer  myself 

To  be  transform'd,  and  like  a  puling  lover, 

• 

♦  With  admiration  would  strike  Ovid  dumb, 
Nay,  force  him  to  forget  his  faculty 

In  verse,  and  celebrate  her  praise  in  prose.'\  I  doubt  whether 
the  duke  was  sufficiently  conversant  with  Ovid  to  decide  on  this 
matter.  Whatever  his  admiration  might  be,  he  would  have  ex- 
pressed it  with  more  facility  in  verse  than  in  prose,  for,  as  he 
tells  us  himself,  "  he  lisped  in  numbers :" 

Et  quod  tentabam  dicere^  versus  erat. 


THE  BASHFUL   LOVER.*       419 

With  arms  thus  folded  up,  echo  Ah  me's! 
And  write  myself  a  bondman  to  my  vassal? 
It  must  not,  nay,  it  shall  not  be  :  remove 
The  object,  and  the  effect  dies.    Nearer,  Martino. 

Mart.  I  shall  have  a  regiment :  colonel  Mar- 
tino, ;: 
I  cannot  go  less.* 

Lor.  What  thing  is  this  thou  hast  brought  me? 

Mart.  What  thing?  heaven  bless  me!  are  you 
a  Florentine, 
Nay,  the  great  duke  of  Florentines,  and  having 

had  her 
So  long  in  your  power,  do  you  now  ask  what  she  is? 
Take  her  aside  and  learn :  I  have  brought  you  that 
I  look  to  be  dearly  paid  for. 

Lor.  I  am  a  soldier, 
And  use  of  women  will,  Martino,  rob 
My  nerves  of  strength. 

Mart.  All  armour  and  no  smock  ? 
Abominable  !  a  little  of  the  one  with  the  other 
Is  excellent :  I  ne'er  knew  general  yet. 
Nor  prince  that  did  deserve  to  be  a  worthy. 
But  he  desired  to  have  his  sweat  wash'd  off 
By  a  juicy  bedfellow. 

Lor.  But  say  she  be  unwilling 
To  do  that  office? 

Mart.  Wrestle  with  her,  I  will  wager 
Ten  to  one  on  your  grace's  side.  ' 

Lor,  Slave,  hast  thou  brought  me 
Temptation  in  a  beauty  not  to  be 
With  prayers  resisted  ;  and,  in  place  of  counsel 
To  master  my  affections,  and  to  guard 
My  honour,  now  besieged  by  lust,  with  the  arms 
Of  sober  temperance,  mark  me  out  a  way 
To  be  a  ravisher?  Would  thou  hadst  shewn  me 
Some  monster,  though  in  a  more  ugly  form 

'  /  cannot  go  less.]  I  cannot  accept  of  less.    Sec  p.  6§. 


420        THE  BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Than  Nile  or  Afric  ever  bred  !  The  basilisk, 
Wliose  envious  eye  yet  never  brook'd  a  neigTi- 

hour, 
Kills  but  the  body ;  her  more  potent  eye 
Buries  alive  mine  honour :  Shall  I  yield  thus  ? 
And  all  brave  thoughts  of  victory  and  triumphs, 
The  spoils  -of  nations,  the  loud  applauses 
Of  happy  subjects,  made  so  by  my  conquests; 
And,  what's  the  crown  of  all,  a  glorious  name 
Insculp'd  on  p3^ramids  to  posterity. 
Be  drench'd  in  Lethe,  and  no  object  take  me 
But  a  weak  woman,  rich  in  colours  only, 
Too  delicate  a*  touch,  and  some  rare  features  ' 
Which  age  or  sudden  sickness  will  take  from  her! 
And  where's  then  the  reward  of  all  my  service, 
Love-soothing  passions,  nay,  idolatry 
I  must  pay  to  her?  Hence,  and  with  th^e  take 
This  second  but  more  dangerous  Pandora, 
Whose  fatal  box,  if  open'd,  will  pour  on  me 
All  mischiefs  that  mankind  is  subject  to. 
To  the  desarts  with  this  Circe,  this  Calypso, 
This  fair  enchantress  !  let  her  spells  and  chrams 
Work  upon  beasts  and  thee,  than  whom  wise 

nature 
Ne'er  made  a  viler  creature. 

Matil.  Happy  exile  ! 

Hort.  Some  spark  of  hope  remains  yet. 

Mart.  Come,  you  are  mine  now. 
I  will  remove  her  where  your  highness  shall  not 
Or  see  or  hear  more  of  her  :  what  a  sum 
Will  she  yield  for  the  Turk's  seraglio  ! 

Lor.  Stay,  I  feel 
A  sudden  alteration. 

Mart.  Here  are  fine  whimsies. 

*  Too  delicate  a  touch,'\  I  know  not  how  the  modern  editors 
understood  this  passage,  but  they  read,  Too  delicate  to  touchy 
which  quite  perverts  the  sense  of  their  author. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       421 

Lor.  Why  should  I  part  with  her?  can  any 
fouh»ess 
Inhabit  such  a  clean  and  gorgeous  palace  ? 
The  fish,  the  fowl,  the  beasts,  may  safer  leave 
The  elements  they  were  nourish'd  in,  and  live, 
Than  I  endure  her  absence  ;  yet  her  presence 
Is  a  torment  to  me :   why  do  I  call  it  so? 
My  sire  enjoy'd  a  woman,  I  had  not  been  else; 
He  was  a  complete  prince,  and  shall  I  blush 
To  follow  his  example  ?  Oh  !  but  my  choice. 
Though  she  gave  suffrage  to  it,  is  beneath  me : 
But  even  now,  in  my  proud  thoughts,  I  scorn'd 
A  princess,  fair  Matilda ;  and  is't  decreed 
For  punishment,  I  straight  must  dote  on  one. 
What,  or  from  whence,  I  know  not?  Grant  she  be 
Obscure,  without  a  coat  or  family. 
Those  I  can  give  :  and  yet,  if  she  were  noble, 
My  fondness  were  more  pardonable. — Martino, 
Dost  thou  know  thy  prisoner? 

Mart.  Do  I  know  myself? 
I  kept  that  for  the  I'envoy ;'  'tis  the  daughter 
Of  your  ^nemy,  duke  Gonzaga. 

Lor.  Fair  Matilda!  ;  ,/ • 

I  now  call  to  my  memory  her  picture. 
And  find  this  is  the  substance ;  but  her  painter 
Did  her  much  wrong,  I  see  it. 

Mart.  I  am  sure 
Itugg'dhard  for  her,  here  are  wounds  can  witness, 
Before  I  could  call  her  mine. 

Lor.  No  matter  how  : 
Make  thine  own  ransome,  I  will  pay  it  for  her. 
Mart.  I  knew  'twould  come  at  last, 
Mat'il.  We  are  lost  again. 
Hort.  Variety  of  afflictions  ! 
Lor.  That  his  knee, 

'  /  Itipt  that  for  the  I'enToy ;]  i.  e.  for  the  conclusion,  for  the 
last.     See  p.  442. 


422       THE   BASHFUL    LOVER. 

That  never  yet  bow'd  to  mortality,  [Kneels. 

Kisses  the  earth  happy  to  bear  your  weight;, 
I  know,  begets  your  wonder;  hear  the  reason, 
And  cast  it  off: — your  beauty  does  command  it. 
Till  now,  I  never  saw  you ;  fame  hath  been 
Too  sparing  in  report  of  your  perfections, 
'Which  now  with  admiration  I  gaze  on. 
Be  not  afraid,  fair  virgin  ;  had  you  been 
Employ 'd  to  mediate  your  father's  cause. 
My  drum  had  been  unbraced,  my  trumpet  hung 

up; 
Nor  had  the  terror  of  the  war  e'er  frighted 
His  peaceful  confines ;  your  demands  had  been, 
As  soon  as  spoke,  agreed  to  :  but  you'll  answer. 
And  may  with  reason,  words  make  no  satisfaction 
For  what's  in  fact  committed.  Yet,  take  comfort. 
Something  my  pious  love  commands  me  do. 
Which  may  call  down  your  pardon. 

Matil.  This  expression 
Of  reverence  to  your  person  better  suits 

[Raises  Lorenzo,  and  kneels. 
With  my  low  fortune.  That  you  deign  to  love  me, 
My  weakness  would  persuade  me  to  believe, 
Though  conscious  of  mine  own  unworthiness  : 
You  being  as  the  liberal  eye  of  heaven. 
Which  may  shine  where  it  pleases,  let  your  beams 
Of  favour  warm  and  comfort,  not  consume  me ! 
For,  should  your  love  grow  to  excess,  I  dare  not 
Deliver  what  I  fear. 

Lor.  Dry  your  fair  eyes  ; 
I  apprehend  your  doubts,  and  could  be  angry, 
If  humble  love  could  warrant  it,  you  should 
Nourish  such  base  thoughts  of  me.    Heaven  bear 

witness. 
And,  if  I  break  my  vow,  dart  thunder  at  me, 
You  are,  and  shall  be,  in  my  tent  as  free 
From  tear  of  violence,  as  a  cloister'd  nun 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       423- 

Kneeling  before  the  altar.    What  T  purpose 
Is  yet  an  embryon  ;  but,  grown  into  form, 
I'll  give  you  power  to  be  the  sweet  disposer 
Of  blessings  unexpected  ;  that  your  father, 
Your  country,  people,  children  yet  unborn  too, 
In  holy  hymns,  on  festivals,  shall  sing 
The  triumph  of  your  beauty.     On  your  hand 
Once  more  1  swear  it: — O  imperious  Love, 
Look  down,  and,  as  I  truly  do  repent. 
Prosper  the  good  ends' of  thy  penitent! 

[E:veunt, 

SCENE   IL 

The  Dutchy.     A  Room  in  Octavio's  Cottage. 

Enter  Octavio,  disguised  as  a  Priest^  and  Maria. 

Oct.  You  must  not  be  too  sudden,  my  Maria, 
In  being  known :  I  am,  in  this  friar's  habit, 
As  yet  conceal'd.    TJiough  his  recovery 
Be  almost  certain,  I  must  work  him  to 
Repentance  by  degrees ;  when  I  would  have  you 
Appear  in  your  true  shape  of  sorrow,  to 

Move  his  compassion,  1  will  stamp  thus, then, 

You  know  to  act  your  part. 

Mar.  I  shall  be  careful.  [Exit, 

Oct.  If  I  can  cure  the  ulcers  of  his  mind, 
As  I  despair  not  of  his  body's  wounds, 
Felicity  crowns  my  labour. — Gothrio  ! 

Enter  Gothrio. 

Goth.  Here,  sir. 

Oct.  Desire  my  patients  to  leave  their  chamber, 
And  take  fresh  air  here :  how  have  they  slept? 


424       THE   BASHFUL  LOVER. 

Goth:  Very  well,  sir. 
I  would  we  were  so'  rid  of  them. 

Oct.  Why  ? 

Goth.  1  fear  one  hath 
The  art  of  memory,  and  will  rememher 
His  gold  and  jewels  :  could  you  not  minister 
A  potion  of  forgetfulness?   \Vhat  would  gallants 
That  are  in  debt  give  me  for  such  a  receipt, 
To  pour  in  their  creditors'  drink? 

Oct.  You  shall  restore  all, 
Believe  't,  you  shall : — will  you  please  to  walk  ? 

Goth.  Will  you  please  to  put  off 
Your  holy  habit,  and  spiced  conscience  ?  one, 
I  think,  infects  the  other.  [Exit, 

Oct,  I  have  observed 
Compunction  in  Alonzo ;  he  speaks  little, 
But  full  of  retired  thoughts  :  the  other  is 
Jocund  and  merry  ;   no  doubt,  because  he  hath 
The  less  accompt  to  make  here.' 

Enter  Alonzo. 

Alon.  Reverend  sir, 
I  come  to  wait  your  pleasure ;  but,  my  friend, 
Your  creature  I  should  say,  being  so  myself, 
Willing  to  take  further  repose,  entreats 
Your  patience  a  few  minutes, 

Oct.  At  his  pleasure  ; 
Pray  you  sit  down  ;  you  are  faint  still. 

Alon.  Growing  to  strength, 
I  thank  your  goodness :  but  my  mind  is  troubled, 

*  I  would  we  were  so  rid  of  them.']  So  the  old  copy :  the  modern 
editors  read,  I  would  we  were  soon  rid  of  them ;  which,  in  the 
language  of  the  author,  is  faintly  English :  but  they  did  not 
understand  the  passage. 

*  The  less  accompt  to  make  here.]  Aiutjxwj,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  breast. 


THE   BASHFUL    LOVJER.       4^5 

Very  much  troubled,  sir,  and  I  desire, 
Your  pious  habit  giving  me  assurance 
Of  3^our  skill  and  power  that  way,  that  you  would 

please 
To  be  my  mind's  physician. 

Oc^.  Sir,  to  that    * 
My  order  binds  me;  if  you  please  to  unload 
The  burthen  of  your  conscience,  I  will  minister 
Such  heavenly  cordials  as  I  can,  and  set  you 
In  a  path  that  leads  to  comfort. 

Alon.  I  will  open 
My  bosonvs  secrets  to  you.*    That  I  am 
A  man  of  blood,  being  brought  up  in  the  wars. 
And  cruel  executions,  my  profession 
Admits  not  to  be  questional ;  but  in  that, 
Being  a  subject,  and  bound  to  obey 
Whate'er  my  prince  commanded,  I  have  left 
Some  shadow  of  excuse  :  with  other  crimes, 
As  pride,  lust,  gluttony,  it  must  be  told, 
I  am  besmear'd  all  over. 

Oct.  On  repentance, 
Mercy  will  wash  it  off. 

AI071.  O  sir,  I  grant 
These  sins  are  deadly  ones;  yet  their  frequency 
With  wicked  men  makes  them  less  dreadful  to 

us. 
But  I  am  conscious  of  one  crime,  with  which 
All  ills  I  have  committed  from  my  youth 
Put  in  the  scale,  weigh  nothing  ;  such  a  crime. 
So  odious  to  heaven  and  man,  and  to 
My  sear'd«up  conscience  so  full  of  horror, 
As  penance  cannot  expiate. 

Oct.  Despair  not. 

•  Alon.  /  -will  open, 

My  bosom's  secrets  to  you.]  This  is  the  old  reading,  and  far 
more  elegant  than  that  which  the  modern  editors  have  introduced 
in  its  stead.     My  bosom-sccrcts  to  you. 


VOL.  IV. 


*  Ff 


425      THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

'Tis  impious  in  man  to  prescribe  limits 
To  the  divine  compassion  :  out  with  it. 

Alon.  Hear  then,  good  man,  and  when  that  I 

have  given  you 
The  character  of  it,  and  confess'd  myself 
The  wretch  that  acted  it,  you  must  repent 
The  charity  you  have  extended  towards  me. 
Not  long  before  these  wars  began,  I  had 
Acquaintance  ('tis  not  fit  I  style  it  friendship, 
That  being  a  virtue,  and  not  to  be  blended 
With  vicious    breach   of  faith)    with  the  lord 

Octavio, 
The  minion  of  his  prince  and  court,  set  off 
With  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  greatness: 
To  this  then  happy  man  I  oifer'd  service. 
And  with  insinuation  wrought  myself 
Into  his  knowledge,  grew  familiar  with  him, 
Ever  a  welcome  guest.     This  noble  gentleman 
Was  bless'd  with  one  fair  daughter,  so  he  thought, 
And  boldly  might  believe  so,  for  she  was 
In  all  things  excellent  without  a  rival. 
Till  I,  her  father's  mass  of  wealth  before 
My  greedy  eyes,  but  hoodwink'dtomine  honour, 
With  far  more  subtile  arts  than  perjured  Paris 
E'er  practised  on  poor  credulous  Oenone, 
Besieged  her  virgin  fort,  in  a  word,  took  it, 
No  vows  or  imprecation  forgotten 
With  speed  to  marry  her. 

Oct.  Perhaps,  she  gave  you 
Just  cause  to  break  those  vows. 

Alon,  She  cause  !  alas, 
Her  innocence  knew  no  guilt,  but  too  much 

favour 
To  me,  unworthy  of  it ;  'twas  my  baseness, 
My  foul  ingratitude — what  shall  I  say  more? 
The  good  Octavio  no  sooner  fell 
In  the  displeasure  of  his  prince,  his  state 


THE  BASHFUL  LOVER.       427 

Confiscated,  and  he  forced  to  leave  the  court, 
And  she  exposed  to  want;  but  all  my  oaths 
And  protestation  of  service  to  her, 
Like  seeming  flames   raised   by   enchantment, 

vanish'd  ; 
This,  this  sits  heavy  here. 

Oct.  He  speaks  as  if 
He  were  acquainted  with  my  plot. — You  have 

reason 
To  feel  compunction,  for  'twas  most  inhuman 
So  to  betray  a  maid. 

Alon.  Most  barbarous. 

Oct.  But  does  your  sorrow  for  the  fact  beget 
An  aptness  in  you  to  make  satisfaction, 
For  the  wrong  you  did  her? 

Alon.  Gracious  heaven  !  an  aptness  ? 
It  is  my  only  study :   since  I  tasted 
Of  your  compassion,  these  eyes  ne'er  were  closed, 
But  fearful  dreams  cut  off  my  little  sleep ; 
And,  being  awake,  in  my  imagination 
Her  apparition  haunted  me. 

Oct.  'Twas  mere  fancy.  [He  stamps. 

Alon.  Twas  more,  grave  sir — nay,  *tis now 

it  appears  ! 

Enter  Maria,  in  white, 

Oct,  Where? 

Alon.  Do  you  not  see  there  the  gliding  shadow 
Of  a  fair  virgin  ?  that  is  she,  and  wears 
The  very  garments  that  adorn'd  her,  when 
She  yielded  to  my  crocodile  tears  :  a  cloud 
Of  fears  and  diffidence  then  so  chased  away 
Her  purer  white  and  red,  as  it  foretold 
That  I  should  be  disloyal.    Blessed  shadow  ! 
For  'twere  a  sin,  far,  far  exceeding  all 
I  have  committed,  to  hope  only  that 
*Ff2 


428      THE  BASHFUL  LOVElt. 

Thou  art  a  substance  ;  look  on  my  true  sorrow^ 
Nay,  soul's  contrition  :  hear  again  those  vows 
My  perjury  canceird,  stamp'd  in  brass,  and  never 
To  be  worn  out. 

Alar.  I  can  endure  no  more ; 
Action,  not  oaths,  must  make  me  reparation : 
I  am  Maria. 

Aion.  Can  this  be  ? 

Oct.  It  is, 
And  I  Octavio. 

Alon.  Wonder  on  wonder ! 
How  shall  I  look  on  you,  or  with  what  forehead 
Desire  your  pardon  ? 

Mar.  You  truly  shall  deserve  it 
In  being  constant. 

Re-enter  G  01  ^Viio,  with  the  purses  o/'Alonzo  and 

PiSAKO. 

Oct.  If  you  fall  not  off, 
But  look  on  her  in  poverty  with  those  eyes 
As,  when  she  was  my  heir  in  expectation, 
You  thought  her  beautiful. 

Alon.  She  is  in  herself 
Both  Indies  to  me. 

Goth.  Stay,  she  shall  not  come 
A  beggar  to  you,  my  sweet  young  mistress  !  no, 
She  shall  not  want  a  dower :  here's  white  and  red 
Will  ask  a  jointure ;  but  how  you  should  make 

her  one. 
Being  a  captain,  would  beget  some  doubt, 
If  you  should  deal  with  a  lawyer. 

Alon.  I  have  seen  this  purse. 

Goth.  How  the  world's  given — 1  dare  not  say, 
to  lying, 
Because  you  are  a  soldier  ;  you  may  say  as  well, 
This  gold  is  mark'd  too :  you,  being  to  receive 
it, 


THE  BASHFUL  LOVER.       429 

Should  ne'er  ask  how  I  got  it.     I'll  run  for  a 

priest 
To  dispatch  the  matter ;    you  shall  not  want  a 

1  nave  one  for  the  purpose. — [Gives  Pisano's  rin^ 
to  Jlo?izo.']~Now,  sir,  I  think  I'm  honest. 

[Edit. 
Alon.  This  ring  was  Pisano's.  • 
Oct.  I'll  dissolve  this  riddle 
At  better   leisure;     the    wound    given    to  my 

daughter, 
Which,  in  your  honour,  you  are  bound  to  cure. 
Exacts  our  present  care. 

Alon.  I  am  all  yours,  sir.  [Exeunt, 


SCENE  in. 

The  same.     The  Castle  of  St.  heo. 
Enter  Gonzaga,  Uberti,  fl;?^?  Manfroy. 

Gon.  Thou  hast  told  too  much  to  give  as- 
surance that 
Her  honour  was  too  far  engaged,  to  be 
By  human  help  redeem'd  :  if  thou  hadst  given 
Thy  sad  narration  this  full  period, 
She's  dead,  I  had  been  happy. 

Ube7\  Sir,  these  tears 
Do  well  become  a  father,  and  my  eyes 
Would  keep  you  company  as  a  forlorn  lover, 
But  that  the  burning  fire  of  my  revenge 
Dries  up  those  drops  of  sorrow.  We  once  more, 
Our  broken  forces  rallied  up,  and  with 
Full  numbers  strengthen'd,  stand  prepared  t'en- 

dure 
A  second  trial ;  nor  let  it  dismay  us 


430       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

That  we  are  once  again  to  affront  the  fury 

Of  a  victorious  army  ;  their  abuse 

Of  conquest  hath  disarm 'd  them,  and  call'd  down 

The  Powers  above  to  aid  us.  I  have  read' 

Some  piece  of  story,  yet  ne'er  found  but  that 

The  general,  that  gave  way  to  cruelty. 

The  profanation  of  things  sacred,  rapes 

Of  virgins,  butdhery  of  infants,  and 

The  massacre  in  cold  blood  of  reverend  age. 

Against  the  discipline  and  law  of  arms. 

Did  feel  the  hand  of  heaven  lie  heavy  on  him, 

When  most  secure.  We  have  had  a  late  example. 

And  let  us  not  despair  but  that,  in  Lorenzo, 

It  will  be  seconded. 

^  I  have  read,  &c.]]  The  dreadful  description  in  the  text, 
corresponds  with  the  account  given  of  the  storming  of  Magde- 
burg by  Tilly  (the  Imperial  general)  in  1632,  in  which,  say 
our  old  historians,  "  he  cut  the  throat  of  22000  persons,  a 
miserie  which  is  impossible  to  be  described  or  thought  upon 
without  horror  and  detestation."  Tilly,  however,  was  mortally 
wounded  by  a  cannon-shot  at  the  passage  of  the  Lech,  a  few 
mouths  afterwards  ;  and  what  follows  in  the  text,  clearly  shews 
that  Massinger  alludes  to  the  Duke  ofFriedland,  who  succeeded 
to  the  command  of  the  Imperial  forces,  and  was  noted  for  every 
species  of  cruelty ;  in  short,  for  all  the  dreadful  enormities 
which  the  poet  enumerates.  This  chief,  who  was  too  powerful 
for  control,  was  treacherously  assassinated,  when  iHust  secure, 
by  order  of  the  Emperor  Ferdinand.  This  event  took  place  at 
Egra,  on  the  25th  of  February,  1634,  and  was  detailed  in 
several  petty  pamphlets  by  Nathaniel  Butler,  the  general  pub- 
lisher of  news  at  that  period.  The  example,  therefore,  as  Mas- 
singer  says,  loas  a  late  one.  Alexander  Gill  has  some  tolerable 
verses  on  the  subject,  prefixed  to  Glapthorne's  Tragedy  of 
Albertus  Wallenstein. 

Ubi  ilia  tande7n  gaza,  gud  Bokemiam 
Siksiamque,  agrosque  Brandenburgicos 
Fretus  perambulasti  ?  ubi  est  exercituSy 
Diro  tuorum  quo  ministro  facinorum 
HomicidiOy  stupra,furta,  Pomcrania 
Stepe  execraia  esty  et  Mccklenburgi  sinos  ?  &c. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.      431 

Gon.  You  argue  well, 
And  'twere  a  sin  in  me  to  contradict  you : 
Yet  we  must  not  neglect  the  means  that's  lent  us, 
To  be  the  ministers  of  justice. 

Uber.  No,  sir: 
One  day  given  to  refresh  our  wearied  troops, 
Tired  with  a  tedious  march,  we'll  be  no  longer 
Coop'd  up,  but  charge  the  enemy  in  his  trenches, 
And  force  him  to  a  battle.  [Shouts  within* 

Gon.  Ha  !  how's  this  ? 
In  such  a  general  time  of  mourning,  shouts, 
And  acclamations  of  joy  ? 

[Cry  within.  Long  live  the  princess  1  long 
live  Matilda  1 

Uber.  Matilda  ! 
The  princess'  name,  Matilda,  oft  re-echoed  !* 

Enter  Farneze. 

Gon.  What  speaks  thy  haste  ? 

Farn.  More  joy  and  happiness 
Than  weak  words  can  deliver,  or  strong  faith 
Almost  give  credit  to  :  the  princess  lives  ; 
I  saw  her,  kiss'd  her  hand. 

Gon.  By  whom  deliver'd  ? 

Farn.  This  is  not  to  be  staled  by  my  report, 
This  only  must  be  told  : — As  I  rode  forth 
With  some  choice  troops,  to  make  discovery 
Where  the  enemy  lay,  and  how  intrench'd,  a 

leader 
Of  the  adverse  party,  but  unarm'd,  and  in 

♦  [Cry  within  •]  Long  live  the  princess  !  long  live  Matilda  ! 

Uber.  Matilda! 

The princesi' name,  Matilda,  oft  re-echoed!]  So  the  quarto.  The 
editors  have  contrived  to  blunder  in  every  possible  way  ;  they 
first  advance  a  marginal  note  into  the  text,  and  then  degrade 
the  text  into  a  marginal  note  ! 


432      THE   BASHFUL    LOVER. 

His  hand  an  olive  branch,  encounter'd  me  : 
He  shew'd  the  great  duke's  seal,  that  gave  liiiii 

power 
To  parley  with  me ;  his  desires  were,  that 
Assurance  for  his  safety  might  be  granted 
To  his  royal  master,  who  came  as  a  friend, 
And  not  as  an  enemy,  to  offer  to  you 
Conditions  of  peace.  I  yielded  to  it. 
This    being    return'd,    the    duke's     prastorium 

open'd, 
When  suddenly,  in  a  triumphant  chariot 
Drawn  by  such  soldiers  of  his  own  as  were, 
For  insolence  after  victory,  condemn'd 
Unto  this  slavish  office,  the  fair  princess 
Appear'd,  a  wreath  of  laurel  on  her  head, 
Her  robes  majestical,  their  richness  far 
Above  all  value,  as  the  present  age* 
Contended  that  a  woman's  pomp  should  dim 
The  glittering  triumphs  of  the  Roman  Cassars, 

[jMusic  without, 
— I  am  cutoff;  no  cannon's  throat  now  thunders, 
Nor  fife  nor  drum  beat  up  a  charge ;  choice  music 
Ushers  the  parent  of  security, 
Long-absent  peace.    * 

Man.  I  know  not  what  to  think  on't. 

Uber.  May  it  poise  the  expectation ! 

Loud  music.  Enter  Soldiers  unarmed,  bearing  oUvi. 
branches^  C^p/flim,  Lorenzo,  Matilda  crowned 
with  a  wreath  of  laurel,  and  seated  in  a  chariot 
drawn  by  Soldiers  ;  followed  by  Hortensio  and 
Marti  NO. 

Gon.  Thus  to  meet  yon, 

*  Above  nil  value,  as  the  present  age,  &c.]  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M. 
Mason,  not  yet  acquainted  with  the  language  of  their  autiior, 
insert  ?/' before  the,  "  as  if,"  &c.  Even  to  this  petty  attempt  at 
improvement  they  were  compelled  to  sacrifice  bis  metre. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       433 

G  reatduke  of  Tuscany,  throws  amazement  on  me; 
But  to  behold  my  daughter,  long  since  mourn'd 

for, 
And  lost  even  to  my  hopes,  thus  honour'd  by  you, 
With  an  excess  of  comfort  overwhelms  me  : 
And  yet  I  cannot  truly  call  myself 
Happy  in  this  solemnity,  till  your  highness 
Vouchsafe  to  make  me  understand  the  motive 
That,  in  this  peaceful  way,  hath  brought  you  to  us. 
Lor.  I   must  crave  license  first ;    for   know, 

Gonzaga, 
I  am  subject  to  another's  will,  and  can 
Nor  speak  nor  do  without  permission  from  her. 
My  curled  forehead,  of  late  terrible 
To  those  that  did  acknowledge  me  their  lord, 
Is  now  as  smooth  as  rivers  when  no  wind  stirs ; 
My  frowns  or  smiles,  that  kill'd  or  saved,  have 

lost 
Their  potent  awe,  and  sweetness :  I  am  trans- 

form'd 
(But  do  not  scorn  the  metamorphosis) 
From  that  fierce  thing  men  held  me;  I  am  cap- 

tived. 
And,  by  the  unresistible  force  of  beauty, 
Led  hither  as  a  prisoner.    Is't  your  pleasure  that 
I  shall  deliver  those  injunctions  which 
Your  absolute  command  imposed  upon  me, 
Or  deign  yourself  to  speak  them? 

Matil.  Sir,  I  am 
Your  property,  you  may  use  me  as  you  please ; 
Put  what  is  in  your  power  and  breast  to  do, 
No  orator  can  dilate  so  well. 

Lor.  1  obey  you. 
That  I  came  hither  as  an  enemy. 
With  hostile  arms,  to  the  utter  ruin  of 
Your  country,  what  I  have  done  makes  appareut; 
That  fortune  seconded  my  will,  the  late 


434       THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Defeature  will  make  good  :  that  I  resolved 
To  force  the  sceptre  from  your  hand,  and  make 
Your  dukedom  tributary,  my  surprisal 
Of  Mantua,  your  metropolis,  can  well  witness; 
And  that  I  cannot  fear  the  change  of  fate, 
My  army   flesh'd   in   blood,   spoil,   glory,    con- 
quest, 
Stand  ready  to  maintain :  yet,  I  must  tell  you 
By  whom  I  am  subdued,  and  what's  the  ransome 
I  am  commanded  to  lay  down. 

Gon.  My  lord, 
You  humble  yourself  too  much  ;  it  is  fitter 
You  should  propose,  and  we  consent. 

Lor.  Forbear, 
The  articles  are  here  subscribed  and  sign'd 
By  my  obedient  hand  :  all  prisoners, 
Without  a  ransome,  set  at  liberty ; 
Mantua  to  be  deliver'd  up,  the  rampires 
Ruin'd  in  the  assault,  to  be  repair'd ; 
The  loss  the  husbandman  received,  his  crop 
Burnt  up  by  wanton  license  of  the  soldier, 
To  be  made  good ; — with  whatsoever  else 
You  could  impose  on  me,  if  you  had  been 
The  conqueror,  I  your  captive. 

Gon.  Such  a  change 
Wants  an  example:  I  must  owe  this  favour 
To  the  clemency  of  the  old  heroic  valour. 
That  spared  when  it  had  power  to  kill;  a  virtue 
Buried  long  since,  but  raised  out  of  the  grave 
By  you,  to  grace  this  latter  age. 

Lor.  Mistake  not 
The  cause  that  did  produce  this  good  effect, 
If  as  such  you  receive  it :  'twas  her  beauty. 
Wrought  first  on  my  rough  nature ;  but  the  virtues 
Of  her  fair  soul,  dilated  in  her  converse, 
That  did  confirm  it. 

Matil.  Mighty  sir,  no  more; 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       435 

You  honour  her  too  much,  that  is  not  worthy 
To  be  your  servant. 

Lor.  I  have  done,  and  now 
Would  gladly  understand  that  you  allow  of 
The  articles  propounded. 

Gon.  Do  not  wrong 
Your  benefits  with  such  a  doubt ;  they  are 
So  great  and  high,  and  with  such  reverence 
To  be  received,  that,  if  I  should  profess 
I  hold  my  dukedom  from  you,  as  your  vassal, 
Or  offer'd  up  my  daughter  as  you  please 
To  be  disposed  of,  in  the  point  of  honour, 
And  a  becoming  gratitude,  'twould  not  cancel 
The  bond  I  stand  engaged  for: — but  accept 
Of  that  which  I  can  pay,  my  all  is  yours,  sir; 
Nor  is  there  any  here,  (though  I  must  grant 
Some  have  deserved  much  from  me,)  for  so  far 
1  dare  presume,  but  will  surrender  up 
Their  interest  to  that  your  highness  shall 
Deign  to  pretend  a  title. 

Uber.  I  subscribe  not 
To  this  condition. 

Farn.  The  services 
This  prince  hath  done  your  grace  in  your  most 

danger, 
Are  not  to  be  so  slighted. 

Hort,  'Tis  far  from  me 
To  urge  my  merits,  yet,  I  must  maintain, 
Howe'er  my  power  is  less,  my  love  is  more ; 
Nor  will  the  gracious  princess  scorn  to  acknow- 
ledge 
I  have  been  her  humble  servant. 

Lor,  Smooth  your  brows, 
I'll  not  encroach  upon  your  right,  for  that  were 
Once  more  to  force  affection,  (a  crime 
With  which  should  I  the  second  time  be  tainted, 
I  did  deserve  no  favour,)  neither  will  I 


436       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Make  use  of  what  is  offer'd  by  the  duke, 
Howe'er  I  thank  his  goodness.     I'll  lay  by 
My  power,  and  though  I  should  not  brook  a  rival, 
(What  we  are,  well  consider'd,)  I'll  descend 
To  be  a  third  competitor;  he  that  can 
With  love  and  service  best  deserve  the  garland, 
With  your  consent  let  him  wear  it;  I  despair  not 
The  trial  of  my  fortune. 

Gon.  Bravely  offer'd, 
And  like  yourself,  great  prince. 

Uber.  I  must  profess 
I  am  so  taken  with  it,  that  I  know  not 
Which  way  to  express  my  service. 

Hort.  Did  I  not  build 
Upon  the  princess'  grace,  I  could  sit  down, 
And  hold  it  no  dishonour. 

Matil.  How  I  feel 
My  soul  divided  !  all  have  deserved  so  well, 
I  know  not  where  to  fix  my  choice. 

Gon.  You  have 
Time  to  consider:  will  you  please  to  take 
Possession  of  the  fort  r  then,  having  tasted 
The  fruits  of  peace,  you  may  at  leisure  prove. 
Whose  plea  will  prosper  in  the  court  of  Love. 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  V.     SCENE   L 

Mantua.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Alonzo,  Octavio,  Pisano,  Maria,  and 

GOTHRIO. 

Alon.  You  need  not  doubt,  sir,  were  not  peace 
proclaim'd    . 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       437 

And  celebrated  with  a  general  joy, 
The  high  displeasure  of  the  Matuan  duke, 
Raised  on  just  grounds,  not  jealous  suppositions. 
The  saving  of  our  lives  (which,  next  to  heaven, 
To  you  alone  is  proper)  would  force  mercy 
For  an  offence,  though  capital. 

Pisan.  When  the  conqueror 
Uses  entreaties,  they  are  arm'd  commands 
The  vanquish'd  must  not  check  at. 

Mar.  My  piety  pay  the  forfeit, 
If  danger  come  but  near  you !  I  have  heard 
My  gracious  mistress  often  mention  you, 
When  I  served  her  as  a  page,  and  feelingly 
Relate  how  much  the  duke  her  sire  repented 
His  hasty  doom  of  banishment,  in  his  rage 
Pronounced  against  you. 

Oct.  In  a  private  difference, 
I  grant  that  innocence  is  a  wall  of  brass, 
And  scorns  the  hottest  battery ;  but,  when 
The  cause   depends    between    the    prince  and 

subject, 
'Tis  an  unequal  competition;  Justice 
Must  lay  her  balance  by,  and  use  her  sword 
For  his  ends  that  protects  it.  I  was  banish'd, 
And,  till  revoked  from  exile,  to  tread  on 
My  sovereign's  territories  with  forbidden  feet, 
The  severe  letter  of  the  law  calls  death  ; 
Which  I  am  subject  to,  in  coming  so  near 
His  court  and  person.  But  my  only  child 
Being  provided  for,  her  honour  salved  too, 
I  thank  your  noble  change,  I  shall  endure 
Whate'er  can  fall,  with  patience. 

Alon.  You  have  used 
That  medicine  too  long  ;  prepare  yourself 
For  honour  in  your  age,  and  rest  secure  oPt. 

Mar,  Of  what  is  your  wisdom  musing? 


438      THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Goth.  I  am  gazing  on 
This  gorgeous  house;  our  cote's  a  dishclout  to  it ; 
It  has  no  sign, — what  do  you  call't? 

Mar,  The  court ; 
I  have  lived  in't  a  page. 

Goth.  Page  !  very  pretty  : 
May  I  not  he  a  page  ?  I  am  old  enough, 
Well-timber'd  too,  and  I've  a  beard  to  carry  it : 
Pray  you,  let  me  be  your  page  ;    I  can  swear 

already. 
Upon  your  pantofle. 

Mar.  What  ? 

Goth.  That  I'll  be  true 
Unto  your  smock. 

Mar.  How,  rascal ! 

Oct.  Hence,  and  pimp 
To  your  rams  and  ewes ;  such  foul  pollution  is 
To  be  whipt  from  court;  I  have  now  no  more  use 

of  you; 
Return  to  your  trough. 

Goth.  Must  I  feed  on  husks, 
Before  I  have  play'd  the  prodigal  ? 

Oct.  No,  I'll  reward 
Your  service ;  live  in  your  own  element. 
Like  an  honest  man;  all  that  is  mine  in  the  cottage, 
I  freely  give  you. 

Goth.  Your  bottles  too,  that  I  carry 
For  your  own  tooth  ! 

Oct.  Full  as  they  are. 

Mar.  And  gold,  \Gives  him  her  purse. 

That  will  replenish  them. 

Goth.  I  am  made  for  ever. 
This  was  done  i'the  nick. 

Oct,  Why  in  the  nick? 

Goth,  O  sir ! 
Twas  well  for  me  that  you  did  reward  my  service 


THE  BASHFUL  LOVER.       439 

Before  you  enter'd  the  court ;  for  'tis  reported 
There  is  a  drink  of  forgctfulness,  which  once 

tasted, 
Few  masters  think  of  their  servants,  who,  grown 

old, 
Are  turn'd  off,  like  lame  hounds  and  hunting 

horses. 
To  starve  on  the  commons.  [Ecpif* 

Alon.  Bitter  knave ! 

Enter  Marti  no. 

There's  craft 
In  the  clouted  shoe. — Captain  ! 

Mart.  I  am  glad  to  kiss 
Your  valiant  hand,  and  yours;    but  pray  you, 

take  notice, 
My  title's  changed,  I  am  a  colonel. 

Pisan.  A  colonel !  where's  your  regiment  ? 

Mart.  Not  raised  yet ; 
All  the  old  one's  are  cashier'd,  and  we  are  now 
To  have  a  new  militia:  all  is  peace  here, 
Yet  I  hold  my  title  still,  as  many  do 
That  never  saw  an  enemy. 

Alon.  You  are  pleasant, 
And  it  becomes  you.  Is  the  duke  stirring  ? 

Mart.  Long  since. 
Four  hours  at  least,  but  yet  not  ready 

Pisan.  How ! 

Mart,  Even  so  ;  you  make  a  wonder  oft,  but 
leave  it: 
Alas,  he  is  not  now,  sir,  in  the  camp, 
To  be  up  and  arm'd  upon  the  least  alarum  ; 
There's  something  else  to  be  thought  on  :    here 

he  comes. 
With  his  officers,  new-rigg'd. 


UO      THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 


Enter  Lorenzo,  as  from  his  chamber,  with  a 
looking-glass ;  Doctor,  Gentleman,  and  Page 
employed  about  his  person. 

Alon.  A  looking-glass  ! 
Upon  my  bead,  he  saw  not  his  own  face 
These  seven  years  past,  but  by  reflection 
From  a  bright  armour. 

Mart.   Be  silent,  and  observe. 
Lor.  So,  have  you  done  yet  ? 
Is  your  building  perfect? 

Doct.  If  your  highness  please, 
Here  is  a  water. 

Lor.  To  what  use  ?  my  barber 
Hath  wash'd  my  face  already. 

Doct.  But  this  water 
Hath  a  strange  virtue  in't,  beyond  his  art; 
It  is  a  sacred  relic,  part  of  that 
Most  powerful  juice,  with  which  Medea  made 
Old  iEson  young. 

Lor,  A  fable  !  but  suppose 
I  should  give  credit  to  it,  will  it  work 
The  same  effect  on  me  ? 

Doct.  I'll  undertake 
This  will  restore  the  honour'd  hair  that  grows 
Upon  your  highness'  head  and  chin,  a  little 
Jnclining  unto  gray. 

Lor.  Inclining  !  doctor. 
Doct.  Pardon  me,  mighty  sir,  I  went  too  far, 
Not  gray  at  all ; — I  dare  not  flatter  you--r- 
'Tis  something  changed  ;    but  this  applied  will 

help  it 
To  the  first  amber-colour,  every  hair 
As  fresh  as  when,  your  manhood  in  the  prime, 
Your  grace  arrived  at  thirty. 
JLor.  Very  well. 


The  bashful  lover.     441 

Doct.  Then  here's  a  precious  oil,  to  which  the 
maker 
Hath  not  yet  given  a  name,  will  soon  fill  up 
These  dimples  in  your  face  and  front.   I  grant 
They  are  terrible  to  your  enemies,  and  set  off 
Your  frowns  with  majesty  ;  but  you  may  please 
To  know,  as  sure  you  do,  a  smooth  aspect, 
Softness  and  sweetness,  in  the  court  of  Love, 
Though  dumb,  are  the  prevailing  orators. 

Lor,  Will  he  new-create  me  ? 

Doct.  If  you  deign  to  taste  too, 
Of  this  confection. 

Lor.  I  am  in  health,  and  need 
No  physic. 

Doct.  Physic,  sir  !  An  empress. 
If  that  an  empress'  lungs,  sir,  may  be  tainted 
With  putrefaction,  would  taste  of  it, 
That  night  on  which  she  were  to  print  a  kis$ 
Upon  the  lips  of  her  long-absent  lord, 
Returning  home  with  conquest. 

Lor.  'Tis  predominant 
Over  a  stinking  breath,  is  it  not,  doctor  ? 

Doct.  Clothe  the  infirmity  with  sweeter  lan- 
guage; 
'Tis  a  preservative  that  way. 

Lor.  You  are,  then, 
Admitted  to  the  cabinets  of  great  ladies, 
And  have  the  government  of  the  borrow'd  beauties 
Of  such  as  write  near  forty. 

Doct.  True,  my  good  lord, 
And  my  attempts  have  prosper'd. 

Lor.  Did  you  never 
Minister  to  the  princess? 

Doct,  Sir,  not  yet ; 
She's  in  the  April  of  her  youth,  and  needs  not 
The  aids  of  art,  my  gracious  lord;   but  in 
The  autumn  of  her  age  I  may  be  useful, 

VOL.  IV.  *  O  g 


442       THE    BASHFUL    LOVER. 

And  sworn  her  highness'  doctor,  and  your  grace 
Partake  of  the  delight. — 

Lor.  Slave  !  witch  !  impostor  I 

{Strikes  him  down* 
Mountebank  !  cheater  !  traitor  to  great  nature, 
lu  thy  presumption  to  repair  what  she, 
In  her  immutable  decrees,  design'd 
For  some  few  years  to  grow  up,  and  then  wither! 
Or  is't  not  crime  enough  thus  to  betray 
The  secrets  of  the  weaker  sex,  thy  patients, 
But  thou  must  make  the  honour  of  this  age, 
And  envy  of  the  time  to  come,  Matilda, 
Whose  sacred  name  I  bow  to,  guilty  of 
A  future  sin  in  th}'  ill-boding  thoughts, 
Which  for  a  perpetuity  of  youth 
And  pleasure  she  disdains  to  act,  such  is 
Her  purity  and  innocence  ! 

[Sets  his  foot  on  the  Doctors  breast, 

Alan.  Long  since 
I  look'd  for  this  I'envoy.' 

Mart.  Would  I  were  well  off  1 
He's  dangerous  in  these  humours. 

Oct.  Stand  conceal'd. 

Doct.  O  sir,  have   mercy  !    in  my  thought  I 
never 
Offended  you. 

Lor.  Me !  most  of  all,  thou  monster  1 
What  a  mock-man  property  in  thy  intent 

*  Alon.  Long  since 

I  look'd  for  this  I'envoy.]  i.  e.  for  this  termination.  The 
envoy  is  explained  with  great  accuracy  by  Cotgrave  :  he  says, 
'*  it  is  the  conclusion  of  a  ballad  or  sonnet  in  a  short  stanza  by 
itself,  and  serving,  oftentimes,  as  a  dedication  of  the  whole.''  In 
French  poetry,  Venvoy  sometimes  serves  to  convey  the  moral  of 
the  piece  :  but  our  old  dramatists,  in  adopting  the  word,  disre- 
garded the  sense,  and  seldom  mean  more  by  it  than  conclusion, 
end,  or  main  import.  It  occurs  in  Shakspeare,  Jonson,  Fletcher, 
and,  indeed,  in  most  of  our  ancient  writers. 


THE    BASHFUL  LOVER.      443 

Wouldst  thou  have  made  me  ?  a  mere  pathic  to 

Thy  devilish  art,  had  I  given  suffrage  to  it.  - 

Are  my  gray  hairs,  the  ornament  of  age, 

And  held  a  blessing  by  the  wisest  men, 

And  for  such  warranted  by  holy  writ, 

To  be  conceal'd,  as  if  they  were  my  shame  ? 

Or  plaister  up  these  furrows  in  my  face. 

As  if  I  were  a  painted  bawd  or  whore  ? 

By  such  base  means  if  that  I  could  ascend 

To  the  height  of  all  my  hopes,  their  full  fruition 

Would  not  wipe  off  the  scandal :  no,  thou  wretch  ! 

Thy  cozening  water  and  adulterate  oil 

I  thus  pour  in  thine  eyes,  and  tread  to  dust 

Thy  loath'd  confection  with  thy  trumperies : — 

Vanish  for  ever  ! 

Mart.  You  have  your  fee,  as  I  take  it, 
Deardomine  doctor  !   I'll  be  no  sharer  with  you. 

\Exit  Doctor, 
Lor,  I'll   court  her  like  myself;    these   rich 
adornments 
And  jewels,  worn  by  me,  an  absolute  prince, 
My  order  too,  of  which  I  am  the  sovereign, 
Can  meet  no  ill  construction  ;  yet  'tis  far 
From  my  imagination  to  believe 
She  can  be  taken  with  sublimed  clay, 
The  silk-worm's  spoils,  or  rich  embroideries  : 
Nor  must  I  borrow  helps  from  power  or  greatness, 
But  as  a  loyal  lover  plead  my  cause ; 
If  I  can  feelingly  express  my  ardour, 
And  make  her  sensible  of  the  much  I  suffer 
In  hopes  and  fears,  and  she  vouchsafe  to  take 
Compassion  on  me, — ha  !  compassion  ? 
The  word  sticks  in  my  throat :  what's  here,  that 

tells  me 
I  do  descend  too  low  ?  rebellious  spirit, 
I  conjure  thee  to  leave  me  !  there  is  now 


444'     THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

No  contradiction  or  declining  left, 
I  must  and  will  go  on. 

Mart.  The  tempest's  laid  ; 
You  may  present  yourselves. 

[Alonzo  and  Pisano  come  forwards 

Alon.  My  gracious  lord. 

Pisan,  Your  humble  vassal. 

Lor,  Ha  !  both  living  ? 

Alon.  Sir, 
We  owe  our  lives  to  this  good  lord,  and  make  it 
Our  humble  suit- 

Lor.  Plead  for  yourselves  :  we  stand 
Yet  unresolved  whether  your  knees  or  prayers 
Can  save  the  forfeiture  of  your  own  heads  : 
Though  we  have  put  our  armour  off,  your  pardon 
For  leaving  of  the  camp  without  our  license, 
Is  not  yet  sign'd.    At  some  more  fit  time  wait  us. 
[Exeunt  Lorenzo^  Gentleman,  and  Page* 

Alon.  How's  this? 

Mart.  'Tis  well  it  is  no  worse  ;  I  met  with 
A  rougher  entertainment,  yet  I  had 
Good  cards  to  shew.  He's  parcel  mad  ;  you'll  find 

him 
Every  hour  in  a  several  mood  ;  this  foolish  love 
Is  such  a  shuttlecock  !  but  all  will  be  well, 
When  a  better  fit  comes  on  him,  never  doubt  it. 

[^Exeunt, 

SCENE   IL 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Gonzaga,  Uberti,  Farneze,  and 
Manfroy. 

Gon.  How  do  you  find  her? 
Uber.  Thankful  for  my  service, 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       445 

And  yet  she  gives  me  little  hope ;  my  rival 
Is  too  great  for  me. 

Gon.  The  great  duke,  you  mean  ? 

Uber.  Who  else?  the  Milanese,  although  he  be 
A  complete  gentleman,  I  am  sure  despairs 
More  than  myself. 

Farn.  A  high  estate,  with  women, 
Takes  place  of  all  desert. 

Uber.  I  mu8t  stand  my  fortune. 

Enter  Lorenzo  and  Attendants. 

Man.  The  duke  of  Florence,  sir. 

Gon.  Your  highness'  presence 
Answers  my  wish.     Your  private  ear; — I  have 

used 
My  best  persuasion,  with  a  father's  powef, 
To  work  my  daughter  to  your  ends;  yet  she, 
Like  a  small  bark  on  a  tempestuous  sea, 
Toss'd  here  and  there  by  opposite  windS;  resolves 

not 
At  which  port  to  put  in.    This  prince's  merits, 
Your  grace  and  favour;  nor  is  she  unmindful 
Of  the  brave  acts  (under  your  pardon,  sir, 
I  needs  must  call  them  so)  Hortensio 
Hath  done  to  gain  her  good  opinion  of  him ; 
AH  these  together  tumbling  in  her  fancy, 
i)o  much  distract  her.     I  have  spies  upon  her. 
And  am  assured  this  instant  hour  she  gives 
Hortensio  private  audience  ;  I  will  bring  you 
Where  we  will  see  and  hear  all. 

Lor,  You  oblige  me. 

Uber.  I  do  not  like  this  whispering. 

Gon,  Fear  no  foul  play.  [Ej^eunt. 


445      THE    BASHFUL   LOVER. 
SCENE  in. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Hortensio,  Beatrice,  and  two  Waiting 
Women. 

1  TVom,  The  princess,  sir,  long  since  expected 
you; 
And,  would  I  beg  a  thanks,  I  could  tell  you  that 
I  have  often  moved  her  for  you. 

Hort,  I  am  your  servant. 

Enter  Matilda, 

Beat.  She's  come ;    there  are   others  I  must 
place  to  hear 
The  conference.  [Aside,  and  exit. 

1  TVom.  Is't  your  excellency's  pleasure 
That  we  attend  you  ? 

Matil.  No ;  wait  me  in  the  gallery. 

1  Worn.  Would  each  of  us,  wench,  had  a  sweet- 

heart too, 
To  pass  away  the  time  ! 

2  Wom.  There  I  join  with  you. 

[Ejceunt  JVaiting  TVomen. 
Matil.  I  fear  this  is  the  last  time  we  shall  meet. 
Hort.  Heaven  forbid  ! 

Re-enter  above  ^EAT^iCE  with  Lorenzo,  Gon-. 
ZAGA,  Uberti,  and  Farneze, 

Matil.  O  my  Hortensio  ! 
In  me  behold  the  misery  of  greatness, 
And  that  which  you  call  beauty.    Had  I  been 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       447 

Of  a  more  low  condition,  I  might 

Have  call'd  my  will  and  faculties  mine  own, 

Not  seeing  that  which  was  to  be  beloved 

With  others'  eyes:  but  now,  ah  me,  most  wretched 

And  miserable  princess,  in  my  fortune. 

To  be  too  much  engaged  for  service  done  me ! 

It  being  impossible  to  make  satisfaction 

To  my  so  many  creditors;  all  deserving, 

I  can  keep  touch  with  none. 

Lor.  A  sad  exordium. 

Matil.  You  loved  me  long,  and  without  hope 
(alas, 
I  die  to  think  on't!)  Parma's  prince,  invited 
With  a  too  partial  report  of  what 
I  was,  and  might  be  to  him,  left  his  country, 
To  fight  in  my  defence.    Your  brave  achieve- 
ments 
I'  the  war,  and  what  you  did  for  me,  unspoken. 
Because  I  would  not  force  the  sweetness  of 
Your  modesty  to  a  blush,  are  written  here : 
And,  that  there  might  be  nothing  wanting  to 
Sum  up  my  numerous  engagements,  (never 
In  my  hopes  to  be  canceli'd,)  the  great  duke, 
Our  mortal  enemy,  when  my  father's  country 
Lay  open  to  his  fury,  and  the  spoil 
Of  the  victorious  army,  and  I  brought 
Into  his  power,  hath  shewn  himself  so  noble, 
So  full  of  honour,  temperance,  and  all  virtues* 
That  can  set  off  a  prince,  that,  though  I  cannot 

6  So  full  of  honour^  temperance,  and  all  virtues]  I  shall  give 
this  and  the  six  following  lines,  as  they  stand  in  Coxeter  and 
Mr.  M.  Mason.  A  better  specimen  cannot  be  desired  of  the 
fidelity,  good  taste,  and  critical  knowledge  with  which  these 
gentlemen  performed  their  editorial  duties.  Their  interpolation! 
are  in  Roman  characters : 

So  full  of  strictest  honour,  temperance. 
And  all  virtues  that  can  set  off  a  prince. 


448       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Render  him  that  respect  I  would,  I  am  bound 
In  thankfulness  to  admire  him. 

Hort.   'Tis  acknowledged, 
And  on  your  part  to  be  return'd. 

Matil.  How  can  I, 
Without  the  brand  of  foul  ingratitude 
To  you,  and  prince  Uberti  ? 

Hort.  Hear  me,  madam, 
And  what  your  servant  shall  with  zeal  deliver. 
As  a  Daedalean  clew  may  guide  you  out  of 
This  labyrinth  of  distraction.'    He  that  loves 
His  mistress  truly,  should  prefer  her  honour 
And  peace  of  mind,  above  the  glutting  of 
His  ravenous  appetite  :  he  should  affect  her, 
But  with  a  fit  restraint,  and  not  take  from  her 
To  give  himself:  he  should  make  it  the  height 
Of  his  ambition,  if  it  lie  in 
His  stretch'd-out  nerves  to  effect  it,  though  she 

fly  in 
An  eminent  place,*  to  add  strength  to  her  wings, 
And  mount  her  higher,  though  he  fall  himself 
Into  the  bottomless  abyss  ;  or  else 

That^  though  I  cannot  render  him  that  respect 
I  would,  I'm  bound  in  thankfulness  t'  admire  him. 

Gal.  ^Tis  acknowledg'd,  and  on  your  part 
To  be  return'd. 

Matil.  But  oh  !  hotv  can  I,  &c. 
7  This  labyrinth  of  distraction-]  So  the  old  copy  :  the  modern 
editors  capriciously  read — This  labyrinth  0/  destruction  !  Every 
page,  and  almost  every  speech,  teems  with  similar  absurdities. 
Three  lines  below,  they  omit  her^  which  destroys  the  meaning 
of  the  whole  sentence. 

*  An  eminent  place,]  i.  e.  height.  See  p.  141.  To  the  examples 
there  given,  the  following  may  be  added,  as  it  has  been  mis- 
understood : 

- ■  **  thy  muse  flies  in  her  place, 

*^  And  eagle-like  looks  Phoebus  in  the  face." 
in  her  j»/ace,  i.  e.  her  highest  point  of  elevation.     Introductortf 
Verses  to  Marmioii's  Cupid  and  Psyche, 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       449 

The  services  he  offers  are  not  real, 
But  counterfeit. 

Mat'il.  What  can  Hortensio 
Infer  from  this  ? 

Hort.  That  I  stand  bound  in  duty, 
(Though  in  the  act  I  take  my  last  farewell 
Of  comfort  in  this  life,)  to  sit  down  willingly. 
And  move  my  suit  no  further.     I  confess, 
While  you  were  in  danger,  and  heaven's  mercy 

made  me 
Its   instrument  to  preserve  you,    (which  your 

goodness        aii  tft. 
Prized  far  above  the  merit,)  I  was  bold 
To  feed  my  starv'd  affection  with  false  hopes 
I  might  be  worthy  of  you :  for  know,  madam, 
How  mean  soever  I  appear'd  in  Mantua, 
I  had  in  expectation  a  fortune, 
Though  not  possess'd  oft,  that  encouraged  me 
With  confidence  to  prefer  my  suit,  and  not 
To  fear  the  prince  Uberti  as  my  rival. 

Gon.  I  ever  thought  him  more  than  what  he 
seem'd. 

hor.  Pray  you,  forbear. 

Hort.  But  when  the  duke  of  Florence 
Put  in  his  plea,  in  my  consideration 
Weighing  well  what  he  is,  as  you  must  grant  him 
A  Mars  of  men  in  arms,  and,  those  put  off, 
The  great  example  for  a  kingly  courtier 
To  imitate ;  annex  to  these  his  wealth, 
Of  such  a  large  extent,  as  other  monarchs 
Call  him  the  king  of  coin  ;  and,  what's  above  all, 
His  lawful  love,  with  all  the  happiness 
This  life  can  fancy,  from  him  flowing  to  you  ; 
The  true  affection  which  I  have  ever  born  you, 
Poes  not  alone  command  me  to  desist, 
JBut,  as  a  faithful  counsellor,  to  advise  you 


450       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

To  meet  and  welcome  that  felicity, 
Which  hastes  to  crown  your  virtues. 

Lor.  We  must  break  off  this  parley  : 
Something  I  have  to  say.  \^EA'eunt  above. 

Matil.  In  tears  I  thank 
Your  care  of  my  advancement ;  but  I  dare  not 
Follow  your  counsel.     Shall  such  piety 
Pass  unrewarded  ?  such  a  pure  affection, 
For  any  ends  of  mine,  be  undervalued  ? 
Avert  it,  heaven  !   I  will  be  thy  Matilda, 
Or  cease  to  be ;  no  other  heat  but  what 
Glows  from  thy  purest  flames,  shall  warm  this 

bosom. 
Nor  Florence,  nor  all  monarchs  of  the  earth, 
Shall  keep  thee  from  me. 

Re-enter  below  Lorenzo,  Gonzaga,  Uberti, 

FaRNEZE,  «Wfi?MANFROY. 

Hort.  I  fear,  gracious  lady, 
Our  conference  hath  been  overheard. 

Matil.  The  better ; 
Your  part  is  acted;  give  me  leave  at  distance 
To  zany  it. — Sir,  on  my  knees  thus  prostrate 
Before  your  feet 

Lor.  This  must  not  be,  I  shall 
Both  wrong  myself  and  you  in  suffering  it. 

Matil.   I  will  grow  here,  and  weeping  thus 
turn  marble. 
Unless  you  hear  and  grant  the  first  petition 
A  virgin,  and  a  princess,  ever  tendered ; 
Nor  doth  the  suit  concern  poor  me  alone. 
It  hath  a  stronger  reference  to  you. 
And  to  your  honour;  and,  if  you  deny  it. 
Both  ways  you  suffer.    Remember,  sir,  you  were 
not 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       451 

Born  only  for  yourself,  heaven's  liberal  hand 

Design'd  you  to  command  a  potent  nation. 

Gave  you  heroic  valour,  which  you  have 

Abused,  in  making  unjust  war  upon 

A  neighbour-prince,  a  Christian;  while  the  Turk, 

Whose  scourge  and  terror  you  should  be,  securely 

Wastes  the  Italian  confines  :  'tis  in  you 

To  force  him  to  pull  in  his  horned  crescents, 

And  'tis  expected  from  you. 

Lor.  I  have  been 
In  a  dream,  and  now  begin  to  wake. 

Matil.  And  will  you 
Forbear  to  reap  the  harvest  of  such  glories, 
Now  ripe,  and  at  full  growth,  for  the  embraces 
Of  a  slight  woman?  or  exchange  your  triumphs 
For  chamber-pleasures,  melt  your  able  nerves 
(That  should  with  your  victorious  sword  make 

way 
Through  the  armies  of  your  enemies)  in  loose 
And  wanton  dalliance?  be  yourself,  great  sir, 
The  thunderbolt  of  war,  and  scorn  to  sever 
Two  hearts  long  since  united ;  your  example  . 
May  teach  the  prince  Uberti  to  subscribe 
To  that  which  you  allow  of. 

Lor.  The  same  tongue 
That  charm'd  my  sword  out  of  my  hand,  and 

threw 
A  frozen  numbness  on  my  active  spirit, 
Hath  disenchanted  me.     Rise,  fairest  princess ! 
And,  that  it  may  appear  I  do  receive 
Your  counsel  as  inspired  from  heaven,  I  will 
Obey  and  follow  it :  I  am  your  debtor, 
And  must  confess  you  have  lent  my  weakenVl 

reason 
New  strengths  once  more  to  hold  a  full  command 
Over  my  passions.     Here,  to  the  world, 
I  freely  do  profess  that  I  disclaim 


452       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

All  interest  in  you,  and  give  up  my  title, 
Such  as  it  is,  to  you,  sir;  and,  as  far 
As  I  have  power,  thus  join  your  hands. 

Gon.  To  yours 
I  add  my  full  consent. 

Uber.  I  am  lost,  Farneze. 

Farn.    Much   nearer  to   the   port   than    you 
suppose : — 
In  me  our  laws  speak,  and  forbid  this  contract. 

Matil.  Ah  me,  new  stops  ! 

Hort,  Shall  we  be  ever  cross'd  thus? 

Farn,  There  is  an  act  upon  record,  confirm'd 
By  your  wise  predecessors,  that  no  heir 
Of  Mantua  (as  questionless  the  princess 
Is  the  undoubted  one)  must  be  join'd  in  marriage, 
But  where  the  match  may  strengthen  the  estate 
And  safety  of  the  dukedom.  Now,  this  gentleman, 
However  I  must  style  him  honourable, 
And  of  a  high  desert,  having  no  power 
To  make  this  good  in  his  alliance,  stands 
Excluded  by  our  laws;  whereas  this  prince, 
Of  equal  merit,  brings  to  Mantua 
The  power  and  principality  of  Parma : 
And  therefore,  since  the  great  duke  hath  let 

fall 
His  plea,  there  lives  no  prince  that  justlier  can 
Challenge  the  princess'  favour. 

Lor.  Is  this  true,  sir? 

Gon.  I  cannot  contradict  it. 

Enter  Manfroy, 

Man.  There's  an  ambassador 
From  Milan,  that  desires  a  present  audience  j 
His  business  is  of  highest  consequence, 
As  he  affirms :  I  know  him  for  a  man 
Of  the  best  rank  and  quality. 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.        453 

Hort.  From  Milan ! 
Gon.  Admit  him. 

Enter  Ambassador,  and  Julio  with  a  letter*f 
which  he  presents  on  his  knee  to  Hortensio, 

How  !  so  low  ? 

Amb.  I  am  sorry,  sir, 
To  be  the  bringer  of  this  heavy  news;    ■ 
But  since  it  must  be  known 

Hort.  Peace  rest  with  him  ! 
I  shall  find  fitter  time  to  mourn  his  loss. 
My  faithful  servant  too  ! 

Jul.  I  am  o*erjoy'd, 
To  see  your  highness  safe. 

Hort.  Pray  you,  peruse  this, 
And  there  you'll  find  that  the  objection, 
The  lord  Farneze  made,  is  fully  answer'd* 

Gon.  The  great  John  Galeas  dead  ! 

Lor,  And  this  his  brother. 
The  absolute  lord  of  Milan! 

Matil.  I  am  revived. 

Uber.  There's  no  contending  against  destiny  : 
I  wish  both  happiness. 

Enter  Alonzo,  Maria,  Octavio,  Pisano,  and 
Marti  NO. 

Lor.  Married,  Alonzo ! 
I  will  salute  your  lady,  she's  a  fair  one, 
And  seal  your  pardon  on  her  lips.  [Kisses  Maria. 

Gon.  Octavio  ! 
Welcome  e'en  to  my  heart.'    Rise,  I  should  kneel 
To  thee  for  mercy. 

9  Gonz.  Octavio! 

Welcome  e'ln  to  my  hearty  Sec.']  Massinger  had  involrcd  his 
plot  in   a  considerable  difiiculty,   and  it  must   be  candidi/ 


454       THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

Oct.  The  poor  remainder  of 
My  age  shall  truly  serve  you. 

Matil.  You  resemhle 
A  page  I  had,  Ascanio. 

Mar.  I  am 
Your  highness'  servant  still. 

Lor.  All  stand  amazed  , , 

At  this  unlook'd-for  meeting;  but  defer       *  ' 
Your  several  stories.     Fortune  here  hath  shewn 
Her  various  power;  but  virtue,  in  the  end, 
Is  crown'd  with  laurel:  Love  hath  done  his  parts 

too; 
And  mutual  friendship,  after  bloody  jars, 
Will  cure  the  wounds  received  in  our  wars. 

\Exeunt. 

acknowledged  that  he  has  shewn  but  little  contrivance  in  ex- 
tricating it.  Nothing  can  be  more  inartificial  than  the  sudden 
death  of"  the  great  John  Galeas:"  and  certainly  an  oppor<unity 
for  a  moving  scene  was  here  presented  in  the  reconcilement  of 
Gonzaga  and  Octavio ; — but  the  play  had  reached  its  full 
length,  and  was,  therefore,  of  necessity  to  be  abruptly  con- 
cluded. Very  little  ingenuity  might  have  made  the  catastrophe' 
more  worthy  of  the  commencement. 

The  story  is  interesting,  and  though  sufficiently  diversified, 
neither  improbable  nor  unnatural:  the  language  of  the  superior 
uharacters  is  highly  poetic,  and  very  beautiful. 


THE    BASHFUL   LOVER.      455 


EPILOGUE. 

Pray  you,  gentlemen,  keep  your  seats ;  something 

I  xcould 
Delvoer  to  gain  favour,  if  I  could. 
To  us,  and  the  still  doubtful  author.     He, 
When  I  desired  an  epilogue,  ansxver'd  me, 
"  Twas  to  no  purpose  :  he  must  stand  his  fate, 
"  Since  all  entreaties  now  would  come  too  late  ; 
**  You  being  long  since  resolved  what  you  would  say 
*'  Of  him,  or  us,  as  you  rise,  or  of  the  play.'' 
A  strange  old  fellow  !  yet  this  sullen  mood 
Would  quickly  leave  him,  might  it  be  understood 
You  part  not  hence  displeased.    I  am  designed 
To  give  him  certain  notice  :  if  you  find 
Things  worth  your  liking,  shew  it.    Hope  and  fear, 
Though  different  passions,  have  the  selfsame  ear^ 

'  This  Play  bears  many  marks  of  the  heroic  or  chiralrou» 
manners,  or  of  both  together.  Some  of  these  we  see  in  the  im- 
partial admission  of  the  services  of  all  the  suitors  of  Matilda,-— 
in  her  free  acceptance  of  the  personal  devotion  of  Galeazzo, 
though  he  makes  his  approach  only  as  a  gentle  stranger, — and 
particularl}'  in  the  extraordinary  clemency  of  Lorenzo,  and  his 
magnanimous  surrender  of  the  beauteous  object  won  by  his 
valour.  In  some  of  the  preceding  Plays  the  reader  will  have  ob- 
served certain  traces  of  these  manners.  Among  the  grievance! 
to  be  redressed  in  the  Parliament  of  Love  are  those  of  "  disdained 
lovers."  When  Aimira  (a  F^erj/  Woman)  abruptly  dismisses  don 
John,  she  is  reproved  for  it,  as  offering  an  outrage  to  her  high 
*'  breeding,"  and  as  guilty  of  almost  a  barbarism."  And 
Camiola  {Maid  of  Honour)  tolerates  the  pretensions  of  signior 
Sylli  himself,  and  preserves  the  necessary  decorum  by  styling 
him  her  servant.  Without  some  such  supposition  as  this,  it 
would  be  diilicult  to  account  for  the  incongruities  which  ap- 
pear in  this  Play:  Matilda  would  act  without  discretion,  and 
would  lose  her  delicacy  and  her  dignity  ;  and  Lorenzo,  who 
indeed)  on  any  suppositious  cannot  wholly  escape  censurc,wouId 


4S6      THE   BASHFUL   LOVER. 

hardly  be  allowed  to  retain  his  senses.  It  seems  therefore  Ui 
be  the  object  of  the  story  to  blazon  the  effects  of  Matilda's 
beauty,  and  to  exhibit  the  double  heroism  of  action  in  Galeazzo^ 
and  of  forbearance  in  Lorenzo.  Several  passages  of  the  Play 
tend  to  suggest  this  view  of  it ;  and  particularly  one,  in  which 
the  clemency  of  Lorenzo  is  expressly  complimented  by  Gonzagi) 
as  the  true  attendant  of  the  "  old  heroic  valour," — • 

' «  a  virtue  -  ^'''■'%'^'"'  '- 

"  Buried  long  since,  but  raised  out  of  the  grave  ^ 

*'  By  you,  to  grace  this  latter  age." 

The  age  itself  in  which  the  events  arefsupposed  to  take  place^ 
is  fixed  in  the  last  scene  by  the  death  of  the  great  John  Galeas. 
But  why  a  great  duke  of  Florence,  or  a  duke  of  Mantua,  should 
be  attributed  to  an  age  which  knew  of  none,  or  why  a  war 
should  be  invented  between  Mantua  and  Florence,  instead  of 
the  union  of  both  against  the  ambition  of  Galeas  himself,  it 
would  be  useless  to  enquire.  Massinger,  or  the  writer  from 
■whom  he  draws  his  story,  cares  nothing  for  this,  and  accom- 
plishes his  purpose  of  amusement  by  personages  called  from  any 
age  or  country  i 

Dissociata  hcis  concordi  pace  ligavit. 

One  circumstance  is  remarkable.  Just  before  the  death  of 
Galeas  is  announced,  Matilda  incidentally  entreats  Lorenzo  to 
point  his  arms  against  the  'lurks,  then  securely  wasting  the 
"  Italian  confines."  In  another  part  of  the  Play,  he  is  extolled 
for  his  splendor,  and  proverbially  named  the  "  king  of  coin." 
And  we  know  that  somewhat  within  a  century  from  the  death 
of  Galeas,  Lorenzo  (the  magnificent)  was  the  chief  instrument 
of  the  expulsion  of  the  Turks  from  Otranto,  and  became,  what 
Matilda  wishes  him  to  be,  their  scourge  and  terror."  It  would 
be  very  desirable  to  know  from  what  book  of  strange  adventures 
this  and  the  plots  of  some  of  the  other  Plays  are  derived  ;  but 
this  is  a  piece  of  information  which  I  am  wholly  unable  to  give. 
Meanwhile,  it  must  be  said  on  behalf  of  Massinger  himself,  that 
this  Play  is  agreeably  written.  The  language  is  chaste,  and  of 
a  temperate  dignity,  and  is  well  adapted  to  the  higher  conver- 
sation of  the  stage.  Some  of  the  scenes  too  have  considerable 
effect :  the  reception  of  the  ambassador  in  the  firsc  Act  is  stately 
and  impressive,  and  the  patriotism  which  it  calls  forth  is  only 
inferior  in  animation  to  that  in  the  Bondman.  The  confession 
scene  too  in  the  fourth  Act  is  interesting,  and  reminds  us,  though 
at  some  distance,  of  the  Emperor  of  the  East  ;  and  the  discovery 
of  Maria  by  her  father  is  pretty  and  affecting.  Some  of  the  charac- 
ters too  are  well  drawn.  Matilda  has  a  pleasing  mixture  of  dig- 
nity and  condescension,  is  generous,  delicate,  and  noble-minded, 


THE   BASHFUL   LOVER.       457 

and  (a  circumstance  which  Massinger  delights  to  represent,)  is 
won  by  the  modesty  of  her  lover.  Galeazzo  himself  is  strongly 
described,  both  in  his  diffidence  and  his  heroism  ;  and  his  trans-> 
ition  from  the  one  to  the  other  at  her  command,  is  highly  ani- 
mating. The  principal  faults  arise  from  the  management :  the 
contrivances  are  sometimes  redundant  and  sometimes  dpfective  ; 
either  they  are  accumulated  without  an  answerable  effect,  or 
they  are  withheld  when  a  small  employment  of  them  would  ma- 
terially relieve  the  story.  There  is  also  a  verbosencss  in  some 
of  the  speeches,  and  more  tameness  than  usual  in  the  soliloquies. 
He,  whose  thoughts  burst  into  solitary  speech,  should  pass,  with 
brevity  and  passion,  fram  one  circumstance  to  another,  and,  for 
the  purposes  of  the  stage,  should  substantially  convey  his  intel- 
ligence to  the  audience,  while  he  appears  only  to  labour  under 
the  disorder  of  his  own  feelings.  Bui  this  double  management 
is  generally  too  delicate  for  Massinger :  and  the  soliloquies  of 
this  Play  are  direct  and  circumstantial  narrations,  which  might 
be  addressed  to  another  person. 

A  pleasing  moral  arises  from  the  character  of  Galeazzo :  it 
teaches  us  that  modesty  is  essentially  connected  with  true  merit. 
The  vulgar,  Avho,  like  the  attendants  of  Matilda,  are  fond  of 
boldness,  may  look  on  it  with  contempt ;  but  let  it  not  despair ; 
the  eye  of  taste  and  sense  will  mark  it  for  distinction  and  re- 
ward ;  and  even  those  will  join  in  allowing  its  deserts,  who  feel 
themselves  eclipsed  by  its  superiority. 


VOL.  IV.  *  H  h 


THE 


OLD     LAW 


•  Hh  2 


Ths  Old  Law.]  Of  this  Comedy,  which  is  said  to  have  been 
written  by  Massinger,  Middleton,  and  Rowley,  in  conjunction, 
there  is  but  one  edition,  the  quarto  of  1656,  which  appears  to 
be  a  hasty  transcript  from  the  Prompter's  book,  made,  as  I  hare 
observed,  when  the  necessities  of  the  actors,  now  grievously  op- 
pressed by  the  republicans,  compelled  them,  for  a  temporary 
resource,  to  take  advantage  of  a  popular  name,  and  bring  for- 
ward such  pieces  as  they  yet  possessed  in  manuscript. 

Of  Middleton  and  Rowley  some  notice  has  been  already  taken : 
I  hare  therefore  only  to  repeat  what  is  hazarded  in  the  Intro- 
duction, my  persuasion  that  the  share  of  Massinger  in  this  strange 
composition,  is  not  the  most  considerable  of  the  three. 

This  Play  was  printed  for  Edward  Archer :  it  does  him  no 
credit ;  for  a  work  so  full  of  errors,  and  those  too  of  the  most 
gross  and  ridiculous  kind,  has  seldom  issued  from  the  press. 
Hundreds  of  the  more  obvious  are  corrected  in  silenee;  others, 
with  the  attempts  to  remove  them,  are  submitted  to  the  reader, 
who,  (if  he  thinks  the  enquiry  worth  his  labour,)  will  here  find 
the  Old  Law  far  less  irregular,  unmetricai,  and  unintellgible, 
than  in  any  of  the  preceding  editions. 

This  drama  was  very  popular.  The  title  of  the  quarto  is, 
"  The  excellent  Comedy  called  the  Old  Law,  or  A  New  IVay 
to  please  You. — Acted  before  the  King  and  Queen  at  Salisbury 
House,  and  at  several  other  places  with  great  applauss." 


DRAMATIS  PERS0N7E. 

Evander,  duke  o/'Epire. 
Cratilus,  the  executioner, 
Qvtow,  father  to  Simonides. 
Simonides,  7 
Cleanthes,  \  ^"""^  courUers. 

Lysander,    husband    to    Eugenia,    and   uncle    to 

Cleanthes. 
l^tomdts,  father  to  Cleanthes. 
Gnotho,  the  clown. 
Lawyers* 
Courtiers.    • 
Dancing-master. 
Butler^      1 
Bailiff,       j 

Tailor,        •'  ^ 

Coachman,  >S^^^^nts  to  Creon. 

Footman, 
Cook, 
Clerk. 
Drawer. 

Antigona,  wife  to  Creon. 

Hippolita,  wife  to  Cleanthes. 

Eugenia,  wfe  to  Lysander,  and  mother  to  Par- 

thenia. 
Parthenia. 

Agatha,  wife  to  Gnotho. 
Old  women,  wives  to.  Creon's  servants. 
Courtezan. 

Fiddlers,  Servants,  Guards  S^c. 

SiCENE,  Epire. 


THE 

OLD     LAW. 


ACT  I.    SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  Creon's  House. 
Enter  Simon  ides  and  two  Lawyers. 

Sim.  Is  the  law  firm,  sir? 

1  Law.  The  law  !  what  more  firm,  sir, 
More  powerful,  forcible,  or  more  permanent? 

Sim.  By  my  troth,  sir, 
I  partly  do  believe  it ;  conceive,  sir. 
You  have  indirectly  answered  my  question. 
I  did  not  doubt  the  fundamental  grounds 
Of  law  in  general,  for  the  most  solid ; 
But  this  particular  law  that  me  concerns, 
Now,  at  the  present,  if  that  be  firm  and  strong, 
And  powerful,  and  forcible,  and  permanent  ? 
I  am  a  young  man  that  has  an  old  father. 

2  Law.  Nothing  more  strong,  sir. 
Itis — Secundumstatutum  principis,  conjirmatum  cum 
voce  senatus,  et  voce  reipublicce  ;  nay,  consummatum 
et  exemplificatum. 
Is  it  not  in  force, 

When  divers  have  already  tasted  it, 
And  paid  their  lives  for  penalty  ? 

Sim.  Tis  true. 
My  father  must  be  next ;  this  day  complete* 
Full  fourscore  years  upon  him. 


464  THE   OLD   LAW. 

2  Lato.  He  is  here,  then, 
Suh  poena  statuti :  hence  I  can  tell  him. 
Truer  tlian  all  the  physicians  in  the  world, 
He  cannot  live  out  tomorrow;  this 
Is  the  most  certain  climacterical  year — 
*Tis  past  all  danger,  for  there's  no  escaping  it. 
What  age  is  your  mother,  sir! 

Sim    Faith,  near  her  days  too ; 
Wants  some  two  of  threescore.* 
1  Zflw.-So  !  she'll  drop  away 
One  of  these  days  too  :  here's  a  good  age  now, 
For  those  that  have  old  parents,  and  rich  inhe- 
,  ritance  ! 
Si7n.  And,  sir,  'tis  profitable  for  others  too : 
Are   there  not  fellows  that  lie  bedrid  in  their 

offices, 
That  younger  men  would  walk  lustily  in  ? 
Churchmen,  that  even  the  second  infancy 
Hath  silenced,  yet  have  spun  out  their  lives  so 

long, 
That  many  pregnant  and  ingenious  spirits 
Have  languish'd  in  their  hoped  reversions, 
And  died  upon  the  thought?  and,  by  your  leave, 

sir, 
Have  you  not  places  fill'd  up  in  the  law, 
By  some  grave  senators,  that  you  imagine 
Have  held  them  long  enough,  and  such  spirits  as 

you. 
Were  they  removed,  would  leap  into  their  dig- 
nities ? 
1  Law.  Die  quibus  in  tenis,  et  em  mihi  ma  gnus 
Apollo.^ 

*  Wants  some  two  (f  threescore.']  Sim.'s  impatience  of  his  mo- 
ther's death,  leads  him  into  an  error  here :  it  appears,  p.  474, 
that  she  wnnted^ve  of  that  number. 

*  Law.  Die  quibus  &C.")  This  lawyer  is  a  very  clever  fellow ; 
but  I  do  not  see  the  drift  of  his  quotation. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  465 

Sim.  But  tell  me,  faith,  your  fair  opinion : 
Is't  not  a  sound  and  necessary  law, 
This,  by  the  duke  enacted  ? 

1  Law.  Never  did  Greece, 

Our  ancient  seat  of  brave  philosophers, 
'Mongst  ail  her  nomotlietcB  and  lawgivers, 
Not  when  she  flourish'd  in  her  sevenfold  sages, 
Whose  living  memory  can  never  die, 
Produce  a  law  more  grave  and  necessary. 
Sim.   I  am  of  that  mind  too. 

2  Law.  I  will  maintain,  sir, 
Draco's  oligarchy,  that  the  government 
Of  community  reduced  into  few, 
Framed  a  fair  state  ;  Solon's  chreokopia,^ 

That  cut  off  poor  men's  debts  to  their  rich  cre- 
ditors, 
Was  good  and  charitable,  but  not  full,  allow'd  ; 
His  seisactheia  did  reform  that  error,* 
His  honourable  senate  of  Areopagitas. 
Lycurgus  was  more  loose,  and  gave  too  free 
And  licentious  reins  unto  his  discipline ; 
As  that  a  young  woman,  in  her  husband's  weak- 
ness, 
Might  choose  her  able  friend  to  propagate  ; 
That  so  the  commonwealth  might  be  supplied 
With  hope  of  lusty  spirits.     Plato  did  err. 
And  so  did  Aristotle,  in  allowing 
Lewd  and  luxurious  limits  to  their  laws : 
But  now  our  Epire,  our  Epire's  Evander, 
Our  noble  and  wise  prince,  has  hit  the  law 

'  • Solon's  chreokopia]  Xfiwieown* 

signifies  the  cutting  off  that  part  of  the  debt  which  arose  from 
the  interest  of  the  sum  lent.     AI.  Mason. 

♦  His  seisacthcia  did  reform  that  crror^'\  T.nira.^itay  i.  e.  a 
sh^kiufjT  off  a  burthen,  metaphorically,  an  abolition  of  debt. 
This  lawyer's  notions  of  honesty  ivould  have  fitted  him  for  on« 
of  Soluu's  counsellors. 


466  THE   OLD   LAW. 

That  all  our  predecessive  students 
Have  miss'd,  unto  their  shame. 

Enter  Cleanthes. 

Sim.  Forbear  the  praise,  sir, 
'Tis  in  itself  most  pleasing: — Cleanthes  ! 
O,  lad,  here's  a  spring  for  young  plants  to  flourish ! 
The  old  trees  must  down  kept  the  sun  from  us ; 
We  shall  rise  now,  boy. 

Clean.  Whither,  sir,  I  pray  ? 
To  the  bleak  air  of  storms,  among  those  trees* 
Which  we  had  shelter  from  ? 

Sim.  Yes,  from  our  growth 
Our  sap  and  livelihood,  and  from  our  fruit. 
What !  'tis  not  jubilee  with  thee  yet,  I  think, 
Thou  look'st  so  sad  ou't.    How  old  is  thy  father  ? 

Clean.  Jubilee  !    no,  indeed  ;  'tis  a  bad  year 
with  me. 

Sim.  Prithee,  how  old's  thy  father  ?  then  I  can 
tell  thee. 

Clean.    I  know  not  how  to  answer  you,  Si- 
monides ; 
He  is  too  old,  being  now  exposed 
Unto  the  rigour  of  a  cruel  edict ; 
And  yet  not  old  enough  by  many  years, 
'Cause  I'd  not  see  him  go  an  hour  before  me. 

Sim.  These  very  passions  I  speak  to  my  father.^ 

5  Clean.  Whither.,  «>,  I  pray  ? 
To  the  bleak  air  of  storms  ;  among  those  trees. 
Which  we  had  shelter  from  ?]     This  short  speech  is  a  pretty 
introduction  to  the  61ial  piety  and  tenderness  which  form  the 
charactt-r  of  Cleanthes. 

*  Sim.  These  very  passions  I  speak  to  my  father."]  i.  e.  these 
pathetic  speeches  :  this  word  occurs  frequently  in  our  old  writers, 
for  a  short  monody  or  song  of  the  plaintive  kind.  Thus  'I'omkis  : 
Not  a  one  shakes  his  tail,  but  I  sigh  out  a  passion.  Albumazar,  _ 


THE   OLD   LAW.  46? 

Come,  come,  here's  none  but  friends  here,  wc 

may  speak 
Our  insides  freely;  these  are  lawyers,  man. 
And  shall  be  counsellors  shortly. 

Clean.  They  shall  be  now,  sir. 
And  shall  have  large  fees  if  they'll  undertake 
To  help  a  good  cause,  for  it  wants  assistance  ; 
Bad  ones,  I  know,  they  can  insist  upon. 

1  Law.  Oh,  sir,  we  must  undertake  of  both 
parts ; 
But  the  good  we  have  most  good  in. 

Clean.  Pray  you,  say. 
How  do  you  allow  of  this  strange  edict  ? 

1  Law.  Secundum  justitiam  ;  by  my  faith,  sir, 
The  happiest  edict  that  ever  was  in  Epire. 

Clean,  What,  to  kill  innocents,  sir  ?  it  cannot 
be. 
It  is  no  rule  in  justice  there  to  punish. 

1  Law.  Oh,  sir. 
You  understand  a  conscience,  but  not  law.' 

Clean.  Why,  sir,  is  there  so  main  a  difference? 

1  Law.  You'll  never  be  good  lawyer  if  you 
understand  not  that 

Clean,  I  think,  then,  'tis  the  best  to  be  a  bad 
one. 

1  Law.  Why,  sir,  the  very  letter  and  the  sense 
both  do  overthrow  you  in  this  statute,  which 
speaks,  that  every  man  living  to  fourscore  years, 
and  women  to  threescore,  shall  then  be  cut  off  as 
fruitless  to  the  republic,  and  law  shall  finish  what 
nature  linger'd  at. 

Clean.  And  this  suit  shall  soon  be  dispatch'd 
in  law  ? 

7     1  Law.  0//,  «ir, 
You  understand  a  conscience^  but  not  law.']  These  learned  gen- 
tlemen make  very  free  with  their  profession ;  but  the  distinction 
is  a  good  one. 


468  THE   OLD   LAW. 

I  Laze.  It  is  so  plain  it  can  have  no  demur, 
The  church-book  overthrows  it. 

Clean.  And  so  it  does  ;* 
The  church-book  overthrows  it,  if  you  read  it 
well. 

1  Lazv.  Still  you  run  from  the  law  into  error: 
You  say  it  takes  the  lives  of  innocents, 

I  say  no,  and  so  says  common  reason ; 

What  man  lives  to  fourscore,  and  woman  to  three, 

That  can  die  innocent  ? 

Clean.  A  fine  law  evasion  ! 
Good  sir,  rehearse  the  whole  statute  to  me. 

Sim.  Fie !  that's  too  tedious ;  you  have  already 
The  full  sum  in  the  brief  relation. 

Clean.  Sir, 
'Mongst  many  wordsmay  be  found  contradictions; 
And  these  men  dare  sue  and  wrangle  with  a  statute, 
If  they  can  pick  a  quarrel  with  some  error. 

2  Law.  Listen,  sir,  I'll  gather  it  as  brief  as  I 

can  for  you  : 
Anno  primo  Evandrij  Be  it  for  the  care  and  good 
of'  the  commonwealth,  (for  divers  necessary  reasons 
that  we  shall  urge,)  thus  peremptorily  enacted, — 

Clean.  A  fair  pretence,  if  the  reasons  foul  it  not! 

2  Law.  That  all  men  living  in  our  dominions  oj 
Epire,  in  their  decayed  nature,  to  the  age  of  four ' 
score,  or  women  to  the  age  of  threescore,  shall  on  the 
same  day  be  instantly  put  to  death,  by  those  means 

*     Clean.  And  so  it  does  ; 

The  church-book  overthrows  it,  if  you  read  it  well.']  Cleanses 
and  the  lawyer  are  at  cross  purposes.  The  latter  observes  that 
the  church-book  (by  which  he  means  the  register  of  births  kept 
there)  overthrows  all  demur;  to  which  the  former  replies,  that 
it  really  does  so ;  taking  the  holy  Scriptures  lor  the  church- 
book. 

To  observe  upon  the  utter  confusion  of  all  time  and  place,  of 
all  customs  and  manners,  in  this  drama,  would  be  superfluous ; 
they  must  be  obvious  to  the  most  careless  observer. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  469 

and  instruments  that  a  former  proclamation^  had  to 
this  purpose,  through  our  said  territories  dispersed. 

Clean.  There  was  no  woman  in  this  senate, 
certain. 

1  Law.  That  these  men,  being  past  their  bearing 
arms,  to  aid  and  defend  their  country ;  past  their 
manhood  and  likelihood,  to  propagate  any  further 
issue  to  their  posterity  ;  and  as  well  pa&t  their  coun- 
cils  (whose  overgrown  gravity  is  now  ?'un  into  dotage) 
to  assist  their  country  ;  to  whom,  in  common  reason, 
nothing  should  he  so  wearisome  as  their  own  lives,  as 
they  may  be  supposed  tedious  to  their  successive  heirs, 
whose  times  are  spent  in  the  good  of  their  country  : 
yet  wanting  the  means  to  maintain  it ;  and  are  like 
to  grow  old  before  their  inheritance  (born  to  them) 
come  to  their  necessary  use,  be  condemned  to  die  :  for 
the  women,  for  that  they  never  were  a  defence  to  their 
country  ;  never  by  counsel  admitted  to  assist  in  the 
government  of  their  country  ;  only  necessary  to  the 
propagation  of  posterity,  and  now,  at  the  age  6f  three- 
score, past  that  good,  and  all  their  goodness :  it  is 
thought  ft  (a  quarter  abated  from  the  more  worthy 
member)  that  they  be  put  to  death,  as  is  before  re- 
cited  •  provided  that  for  the  just  and  impartial  exc' 
cution  of  this  our  statute,  the  example  shall  first 
begin  in  and  about  our  court,  which  our  self  will  see 
carefully  performed;  and  not,  for  a  full  month^foU 
lowing,  extend  any  further  into  our  dominions. 
Dated  the  sixth  of  the  second  month,  at  our  Palace 
Royal  in  Epire.* 

9  and  not/or  a  full  month,  &c,]  The  reader 

will  see  the  necessity  and  the  motive  of  this  provision  in  the  act) 
towards  the  conclusion  of  the  Play. 

'  Had  Acts  of  Parliament,  in  Massinger's  days,  been  some* 
what  like  what  they  arc  in  ours,  we  might  not  unreasonably 
have  Supposed  that  this  was  wickedly  meant  as  a  ridicule  oa 
them ;  fora  more  prolix,  tautological,  confused  piece  of  forma- 


470  THE  OLD    LAW. 

Clean,  A  fine  edict,  and  very  fairly  gilded  * 
And  is  there  no  scruple  in  all  these  words, 
To  demur  the  law  upon  occasion  ? 

Sim.  Pox  !  'tis  an  unnecessary  inquisition  ; 
Prithee  set  him  not  about  it. 

!2  Lazo.  Troth,  none,  sir : 
It  is  so  evident  and  plain  a  case. 
There  is  no  succour  for  the  defendant. 

Clean.  Possible  !  can  nothing  help  in  a  good 
case  ? 

1  Law,  Faith,  sir,  I  do  think  there  may  be  a 
hole. 
Which  would  protract;  delay,  if  not  remedy. 

Clean.  Why,  there's  some  comfort  in  that;  good 
sir,  speak  it. 

1  Lazv.  Nay,  you  must  pardon  me  for  that,  sir. 

Sim.  Prithee,  do  not ; 
It  may  ope  a  wound  to  many  sons  and  heirs. 
That  may  die  after  it. 

Clean.  Come,  sir,  I  know- 
How  to  make  you  speak: — will  this  do  it? 

[Gives  him  his  purse. 

1  Law.  I  will  afford  you  my  opinion,  sir. 
Clean.  Pray  you,  repeat  the  literal  words  ex- 
pressly, 

The  time  of  death. 

Sim.  'Tis  an  unnecessary  question  ;  prithee  let 
it  alone. 

2  Law.  Hear  his  opinion,  'twill  be  fruitless  sir. 
That  many  at  the  age  of  four  score  ^  and  woman  at 
threescore,  shall  the  same  day  be  put  to  death, 

lity,  human  wit,  or  rather  human  dulness,  could  not  easily  have 
produced.  As  it  stands  in  the  old  copy  and  in  Coxeter,  it  i> 
absolutely  incomprehensible.  Mr.  M.  Mason  restored  it  to  a» 
much  meaning  as  it  was  probably  intended  to  have,  by  a  few- 
interpolations  ;  and  I  have  endeavoured  to  attain  the  same  end, 
without  deviating  altogether  so  much  from  the  original. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  471 

I  Law.  Thus  I  help  the  man  to  twenty-one 
years  more.  •• 

Clean.  Tliat  were  a  fair  addition.  v/  rlii 

1  Law.  Mark  it,  sir ;  we  say,  man  is  not  at  a^e 
Till  he  be  one  and  twenty ;  before,  'tis  infancy, 
And  adolescency  ;  now,  by  that  addition, 
Fourscore  he  cannot  be,  till  a  hundred  and  one. 

Sim.  Oh,  poor  evasion  !  -.1^ 

He  is  fourscore  years  old,  sir. 

]  Law.  That  helps  more,  sir; 
He  begins  to  be  old  at  fifty,  so,  at  fourscore, 
He's  but  thirty  years  old  ;  so,  believe  it,  sir, 
He  may  be  twenty  years  in  declination ; 
And  so  long  may  a  man  linger  and  live  by  it. 

Sim.  The  worst  hope  of  safety  that  e'er  I  heard ! 
Give  him  his  fee  again,  'tis  not  worth  two  deniers. 

I  Law.  There  is  no  law  for  restitution  of  fees,  sir. 

Clean.  No,  no,  sir ;  I  meant  it  lost  when  it  was 
given. 

Enter  Creon  ««£?  Antigona. 

Sim.  No  more,  good  sir. 
Here  are  ears  unnecessary  for  your  doctrine. 

1  Law.  I  have  spoke  out  my  fee,  and  I  have 
done,  sir. 

Sim.  O  my  dear  father  ! 

Creon.  Tush  !  meet  me  not  in  exclaims  ; 
I  understand  the  worst,  and  hope  no  better. 
A  fine  law !  if  this  hold,  white  heads  will  be  cheap, 
And  many  watchmen's  places  will  be  vacant;* 
Forty  of  them  I  know  my  seniors, 

*  -■  if  this  holdf  white  heads  will  be  cheap, 

And  many  watchmen's  places  will  be  vacant  ;"]  The  authors  could 

not  forbear,  even  at  this  serious  moment,  to  indulge  a  smile 

at  the  venerable  guardians  of  the  night,  who  in  their  time,  as 

well  as  in  ours,  seem  to  hare  been  very  "  ancient  and  quiet" 


472  THE   OLD    LAW. 

That  did  due  deeds  of  darkness  too :— their 

country 
Has  watch'd  them  a  good  turn  for't, 
And  ta'en  them  napping  now: 
The  fewer  hospitals  will  serve  too,  many 
May  be  used  for  stews  and  brothels  ;  and  those 

people 
Will  never  trouble  them  to  fourscore. 

Ant,  Can  you  play  and  sport  with  sorrow,  sir? 
Creon.  Sorrow!  for  what,  Antigona?   for  my 
life  ? 
My  sorrow  is  I  have  kept  it  so  long  well, 
With  bringing  it  up  unto  so  ill  an  end. 
I  might  have  gently  lost  it  in  my  cradle, 
Before  my  nerves  and  ligaments  grew  strong, 
To  bind  it  faster  to  me. 

Sim.  For  mine  own  sake,, 
I  should  have  been  sorry  for  that. 

Creon.   In  my  youth 
I  was  a  soldier,  no  coward  in  my  age; 
I  never  turn'd  my  back  upon  my  foe ; 
I  have  felt  nature's  winters,  sicknesses, 
Yet  ever  kept  a  lively  sap  in  me 
To  greet  the  cheerful  spring  of  health  again. 
Dangers,  on  horse,  on  foot,  [by  land,]  by  water, 
I  have  scaped  to  this  day  ;  and  yet  this  day, 
Without  all  help  of  casual  accidents. 
Is  only  deadly  to  me,  'cause  it  numbers 
Fourscore  years  to  me.    Where  is  the  fault  now  ? 
I  cannot  blame  time,  nature,  nor  my  stars, 
Nor  aught  but  tyranny.    Even  kings  themselves 

personages.     The  remainder  of  this  speech  stands  thus  in  the 
quarto : 

That  did  due  deeds  of  darkness  to  their  country. 

Has  xcatc/t'd  'cm  a  good  turn  for't,  and  tone  'em  < 

Napping  rivw,  the  fewer  hospitals  will  serve  to. 

Many  may  be  used  for  stemSf  &c. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  473 

Have  sometimes  tasted  an  even  fate  with  me. 

He  that  has  heen  a  soldier  all  his  days, 

And  stood  in  personal  opposition 

'Gainst  darts  and  arrows,  the  extremes  of  heat 

And  pinching  cold,  has'  treacherously  at  home, 

In's  secure  quiet,  by  a  villain's  hand 

Been  basely  lost,  in  his  stars'  ignorance : 

And  so  must  I  die  by  a  tyrant's  sword. 

1  Lazv.  Oh,  say  not  so,  sir,  it  is  by  the  law. 

Creon.  And  what's  that,  but  the  sword  of  ty- 
ranny, 
When  it  is  brandish'd  against  innocent  lives  ? 
I  am  now  upon  my  deathbed,  and  'tis  fit 
I  should,  unbosom  my  free  conscience, 
And  shew  the  faith  I  die  in  : — I  do  believe 
'Lis  tyranny  that  takes  my  life. 

Sim,  Would  it  were  gone 
By  one  means  or  other  !   what  a  long  day 
Will  this  be  ere  night?  \^Aside. 

Creon,  Simonides. 

Sim.  Here,  sir, — weeping." 

'  And  pinching  cold,  has  treacherously  at  home, 
In's  secure  quiet,  by  a  vil/ain^s  hand 

Been  basely  lost,  in  h\s  stars'  ignorance: 

And  so  must  I  die  by  a  tyrant's  sword,"^    The  old  copy  giTes 
the  conclusion  of  this  speech  thus  : 

And  pinching  cold  has  treacherously  at  home 
In  his  secured  quiet  by  a  villain's  hand. 
Am  basely  lost  in  my  star's  ignorance 
And  so  must  1  die  by  a  tyrant's  sword. 
For  has  Coxeter  reads  dies,  and  for  Am  in  the  third  line,  Pm  ; 
but  this  cannot  be  right ;  for  Creon  had  just  before  acquitted  his 
stars  of  any  concern  in  his  destiny.    Mr.  M.  Mason  blindly  fol- 
lows Coxetcr.     I  am  not  very  confident  of  the  genuineness  of 
my  readings;  but  they  produce  something  like  a  meaning:  and 
in  a  Play  so  incorrectly,  so  ii:norantly  printed  as  this,  even  that 
is  sometimes  to  be  regarded  as  an  acquisition. 

♦  Sim.  Here,  sir, — weepinjj.]  This  is  given  by  the  modern  edi- 
tors as  a  margitial  note;  but  the  old  copy  makc;)^  it,  and  rightly^ 
a  part  of  the  text.  " 

VOL.  IV.  •  I  i 


474  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Creon.  Wherefore  dost  thou  weep  ? 

Clean.  'Cause  you  make  no  more  haste  to  your 
end.  {Aside. 

Sim.  How  can  you  question  nature  so  unjustly? 
I  had  a  grandfather,  and  then  had  not  you 
True  filial  tears  for  him  ? 

Clean.  Hypocrite  ! 
A  disease  of  drought  dry  up  all  pity  from  him, 
That  can  dissemble  pity  with  wet  eyes  1 

Creon.  Be  good  unto  your  mother,  Simonides, 
She  must  be  now  j^our  care. 

Ant.  To  what  end,  sir  ? 
The  bell  of  this  sharp  edict  tolls  for  me. 
As  it  rings  out  for  you. — I'll  be  as  ready. 
With  one  hour's  stay,  to  go  along  with  you. 

Creon.  Thou  must  not,  woman,  there  are  years 
behind, 
Before  thou  canst  set  forward  in  this  voyage ; 
And  nature,  sure,  will  now  be  kind  to  all : 
She  has  a  quarrel  in't,  a  cruel  law 
Seeks  to  prevent'  her,  she  will  therefore  fight  in't, 
And  draw  out  life  even  to  her  longest  thread  : 
Thou  art  scarce  fifty-five. 

Ant.  So  many  morrows  ! 
Those  five  remaining  years  I'll  turn  to  days, 
To  hours,  or  minutes,  for  your  company. 
'Tis  fit  that  you  and  I,  being  man  and  wife, 
Should  walk  together  arm  in  arm. 

Sim.  I  hope 
They'll  go  together ;  I  would  they  would,  i'faith, 
Then  would  her  thirds  be  saved  too.  \_Aside.] — 
The  day  goes  away,  sir. 

^  She  has  a  quarrel  itiH,  a  cruel  law 
Seeks  to  preyent  ^er,]  i.  e.  to  anticipate  the  period  she  had 
allotted  to  life.     In  this  classic  sense  the  word   is  constantly 
used  by  our  old  writers,  and,  indeed,  several  iastancus  of  itiiave 
been  noticed  in  the  preceding  pages. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  475 

Creon.  Why  wouldst    thou    have    me    gone, 
Simonides  ? 

Sim*  O  my  heart !  Would  you  have  me  gone 
before  you,  sir,  \'^ 

You  give  me  such  a  deadly  w'duti^  ? 

Clean.  Fine  rascal  I 

Sim.  Blemish  my  duty  so  with  such  a  question  ? 
Sir^  I  would  haste  me  to  the  duke  for  mercy  ; 
He  that's  above  the  law  may  mitigate 
The  rigour  of  the  law.  How  a  good  meaning 
May  be  corrupted  by  a  misconstruction  ! 

Creon.  Thou  corrupt'st  mine;  I  did  not  think 
thou  mean'st  so. 

Clean.  You  were  in  the  more  error.        \^Aside. 

Sim.  The  words  wounded  me. 

Clean,  'Twas  pity  thou  died'st  not  on't. 

Sim.  I  have  been  ransacking  the  helps  of  law. 
Conferring  with  these  learned  advocates  : 
If  any  scruple,  cause,  or  wrested  sense 
Could*have  been  found  out  to  preserve  your  life, 
It  had  been  bought,  though  with  your  full  estate, 
Your  life's  so  precious  to  me! — but  there's  none. 

1  Law.  Sir,  we  have  canvass'd  her  from  top  to 
toe, 
Turn'd  her  upside  down,  thrown  her  upon  her 

side, 
Nay,  open'd  and  dissected  all  her  entrails, 
Yet  can  find  none:  there's  nothing  to  be  hoped. 
But  the  duke's  mercy. 

Sim.  I  know  the  hope  of  that ; 
He  did  not  make  the  law  for  that  purpose. 

Creon.  Then  to  this  hopeless  mercy  last  I  go  ; 
I  have  so  many  precedents  before  me, 
I  must  call  it  hopeless:  Antigona, 
See  me  deliver'd  up  unto  my  deathsman. 
And  then  we'll  part;—  five  years  hence  I'll  look 
for  thee. 

Mia 


476  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Sim.   I  hope  she  will  not  stay  so  long  behind 
you.  [Aside. 

Creon.  Do  not  bate  him  an  hour  by  grief  and 
sorrow, 
Since  there's  a  day  prefix'd,  hasten  it  not. 
Suppose  me  sick,  Antigona,  dying  now, 
Any  disease  thou  wilt  may  be  my  end, 
Or  when  death's  slow  to  come,  say  tyrants  send. 
[Exeunt  Creon  and  Antigona. 
Sim.  Cieanthes,  if  you  want  money,  tomorrow 
use  me ; 
I'll  trust  you  while  *  your  father's  dead. 

{Exit,  with  the  Lawyers, 
Clean.  Why,  here's  a  villain. 
Able  to  corrupt  a  thousand  by  example! 
Does  the  kind  root*  bleed  out  his  livelihood 
In  parent  distribution  to  his  branches, 
Adorning  them  with  all  his  glorious  fruits. 
Proud  that  his  pride  is  seen  when  he's  unseen ; 
And  must  not  gratitude  descend  again. 
To  comfort  his  old  limbs  in  fruitless  winter  ? 
Improvident,  or  at  least  partial  nature  ! 
(Weak  woman  in  this  kind,)   who,  in  thy  last 

teeming, 
Forgettest  still  the  former,  ever  making 
The    burthen  of  thy  last    throes    the    dearest 

darling  ! 
O  yet  in  noble  man  reform  [reform]  it. 
And  make  us  better  than  those  vegetives, 
Whose  souls  die  with  them.   Nature,  as  thou  art 
old, 

5  ril  trust  you  while  your  father  s  dead.']  i.  e.  m«/i7  your  father 
be  dead  :  see  Vol.  II.  p.  414. 

*  Does  the  kind  root,  &c.]  This  beautiful  speech  is  most  un- 
metrically  printed  in  all  the  editions ;  it  is,  I  hope,  somewhat 
improved  by  a  different  arrangement,  and  a  repetition  of  the 
word  in  brackets. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  477 

If  love  and  justice  be  not  dead  in  thee, 
Make  some  the  pattern  of  thy  piety  ; 
Lest  all  do  turn  unnaturally  against  thee, 
And  thou  be  blamed  for  our  oblivious 

Enter  Leonides  and  Hippolita. 

And  brutish  reluctations !  Ay,  here's  the  ground 
Whereon  my  filial  faculties  must  build 
An  edifice  of  honour,  or  of  shame, 
To  all  mankind. 

Hip.  You  must  avoid  it,  sir. 
If  there  be  any  love  within  yourself: 
This  is  far  more  than  fate  of  a  lost  game 
That  another  venture  may  restore  again ; 
It  is  your  life,  which  you  should  not  subject 
To  any  cruelty,  if  you  can  preserve  it. 

Cleati.  O  dearest  woman,  thou  hast  doubled 
now 
A  thousand  times  thy  nuptial  dowry  to  me ! — 
Why,  she  whose  love  is  but  derived  from  me, 
Is  got  before  me  in  my  debted  duty. 

Hip.  Are  you  thinking  such  a  resolution,  sir .? 

Clean.  Sweetest  Hippolita,  what  love   taught 
thee 
To  be  so  forward  in  so  good  a  cause  ? 

Hip.  Mine  own  pity,  sir,  did  first  instruct  me, 
And  then  your  love  and  power  did   both  com- 
mand me. 

Clean.  They  were  all  blessed  angels  to  direct 
thee ; 
And  take  their  counsel.   How  do  you  fare,  sir  ? 

Leon.  Cleanthes,  never  better;    I  have  con- 
ceived 
Such  a  new  joy  within  this  old  bosom. 
As  I  did  never  think  would  there  have  enter'd. 


^7%  THE     OLD   LAW. 

dean.  Joy  call  you  it  ?    alas  !    'tis  sorrow,  sir. 
The  worst  of  sorrows,  sorrow  unto  death. 

Leon.  Death !    what    is    that,    Cleanthes  r     I 
thought  not  on't, 
I  was  in  contemplation  of  this  woman  : 
'Tis  all  thy  comfort,  son  ;*  thou  hast  in  her 
A  treasure  invaluable,  keep  her  safe. 
When  I  die,  sure  'twill  be  a  gentle  death, 
For  I  will  die  with  wonder  of  her  virtues  ; 
Nothing  else  shall  dissolve  me. 

Clean.  'Twere  much  better,  sir, 
Could  you  prevent  their  malice. 

Leon.  I'll  prevent  them, 
And  die  the  way  I  told  thee,  in  the  wonder 
Of  this  good  woman.  I  tell  thee  there's  few  men 
Have  such  a  child :  I  must  thank  thee  for  her. 
That  the  strong  tie  of  wedlock  should  do  more, 
Than  nature  in  her  nearest  ligaments 
Of  blood  and  propagation  !  I  should  never 
Have  begot  such  a  daughter  of  my  own  : 
A  d*Ughter-in  law  !  law  were  above  nature, 
Were  there  more  such  children. 

Clean.  This  admiration 
Helps  nothing  to  your  safety  ;  think  of  that,  sir. 
Leon.  Had    you    heard    her,    Cleanthes,   but 
labour 
In  the  search  of  means  to  save  my  forfeit  life. 
And  knew  the  wise  and  the  sound  preservations 
That  she  found  out,  you  would  redouble  all 
My  wonder,  in  your  love  to  her. 

Clean.  The  thought, 
The  very  thought,  sir,  claims  all  that  from  me, 
And  she  is  now  possest  oft :  but,  good  sir, 

*  'Tis  all  thy  comfort,  son  ;]  For  thy  Mr. M.Mason  reads  w?j/: 
the  alteration  is  specious,  but  1  see  no  necessity  for  it. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  479 

If  you  have  aught  received  from  her  advice, 
Let's  follow  it ;  or  else  let's  better  think, 
And  take  the  surest  course. 

Leon.  I'll  tell  thee  one  ; 
She  counsels  me  to  fly  my  severe  country ; 
To  turn  all  into  treasure,  and  there  build  up 
My  decaying  fortunes  in  a  safer  soil, 
Where  Epire's  law  cannot  claim  me. 

Clean.  And,  sir, 
I  apprehend  it  as  a  safest  course. 
And  may  be  easily  accomplished  ; 
Let  us  be  all  most  expeditious. 
Every  country  where  we  breathe  will  be  our  own, 
Or  better  soil ;  heaven  is  the  roof  of  all. 
And  now,  as  Epire's  situate  by  this  law, 
TherQ  is  'twixt  us  and  heaven  a  dark  eclipse. 

Hip.   Oh,  then  avoid  it,  sir;  these  sad  events 
Follow  those  black  predictions. 

Leon.  I  prithee  peace  ; 
I  do  allow  thy  love,  Hippolita, 
But  must  not  follow  it  as  counsel,  child ; 
I  must  not  shame  my  country  for  the  law. 
This  country  here  hath  bred  me,  brought  me  up,' 
And  shall  I  now  refuse  a  grave  in  her  ? 
I  am  in  my  second  infancy,  and  children 
Ne'er  sleep  so  sweetly  in  their  nurse's  cradle, 
As  in  their  natural  mother's. 

Hip.  Ay,  but,  sir, 
She  is  unnatural ;  then  the  stepmother's 
To  be  preferr'd  before  her. 

Leon.  Tush  !  she  shall 
Allow  it  me  in  despite  of  her  entrails. 
Why,  do  you  think  how  far  from  judgment  'tis, 
That  I  should  travel  forth  to  seek  a  grave 

»  This  country  here  hath  bred  me,  brought  me  up,  &c.]  Thcr* 
is  something  exquisitely  tender  in  this  short  speech. 


480  THE   OLD    LAW.    . 

That  is  alread}'  digg'd  for  me  at  home, 
Nay,  perliaps  find  it  in  my  way  to  seek  it? — 
How  have  I  then  sought  a  repentant  sorrow  ? 
For  your  dear  loves,  how  have  I  banish'd  you 
From  your  country  ever?  With  my  base  attempt, 
How  have  I  beggar'd  you  in  wasting  that 
Which  only  for  your  sakes  I  bred  together ; 
Buried  my  name  in  Epire*  which  I  built 
Upon  this  frame,  to  live  for  ever  in  ? 
W^hat  a  base  coward  shall  I  be,  to  fly  from 
That  enemy  which  every  minute  meets  me, 
And  thousand  odds  he  had  not  long  vanquish'd 

me 
Before  this  hour  of  battle  !  Fly  my  death  ! 
I  will  not  be  so  false  unto  your  states. 
Nor  fainting  to  the  man  that's  yet  in  me : 
I'll  meet  him  bravely  ;  I  cannot  (this  knowing) 

fear 
That,  when  I  am  gone  hence,  I  shall  be  there. 
Come,  I  have  days  of  preparation  left. 

Clean.  Good  sir,  hear  me: 
I  have  a  genius  that  has  prompted  me, 
And  1  have  almost  form'd  it  into  words — — 
'Tis  done,  pray  you  observe  them;  1  can  conceal 

you; 
And  yet  not  leave  your  country. 

Leon,  Tush  !   it  cannot  be. 
Without  a  certain  peril  on  us  all. 

Clean.  Danger  must  be  hazarded,  rather  than 

accept 
A  sure  destruction.     You  have  a  lodge,  sir, 

*  Buried  my  vame  in  Epire,  &c.]  This  is  obscure.  Perhaps, 
Lconides  means  that  he  had  so  conducted  himself  in  his  native 
country,  (i-  c.  so  raised  his  reputation  there,)  that  his  memory 
would  alwa\s  live  in  the  recollection  of  the  people,  unless  he 
now  quitted  thom  for  a  residence  elsewhere.  The  conclusion  of 
this  speech  I  do  not  understand. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  481 

So  far  remote  from  way  of  passengers, 

That  seldom  any  mortal  eye  does  greet  with't ; 

And  yet  so  sweetly  situate  with  thickets, 

Built  with  such  cunning  lahyrinths  within, 

As  if  the  provident  heavens,  foreseeing  cruelty, 

Had  bid  you  frame  it  to  this  purpose  only. 

Leon.  Fie,  fie!  'tis  dangerous, — and  treason  too, 
To  abuse  the  law. 

Hip.  'Tis  holy  care,  sir, 
Of  your  dear  life,"  which  is  your  own  to  keep, 
But  not  your  own  to  lose,  either  in  will 
Or  neglig-ence. 

Clean.  Call  you  it  treason,  sir? 
I  had  been  then  a  traitor  unto  you, 
Had  I  forgot  this ;  beseech  you,  accept  of  it ; 
It  is  secure,  and  a  duty  to  yourself. 

Leon.  What  a  coward  will  you  make  me  ! 

Clean,  You  mistake ; 
'Tis  noble  courage,  now  you  fight  with  death ; 
And  yield  not  to  him  till  you  stoop  under  him. 

Leon.  This  must  needs  open  to  discovery, 
And  then  what  torture  follows? 

Clean.   By  what  means,  sir? 
Why,  there  is  but  one  body  in  all  this  counsel, 
Which  cannot  betray  itself:  mc  two  are  one, 
One  soul,  one  body,  one  heart,  that  think  one 

thought ; - 
And  yet  we  two  are  not  completely  one, 

But  as  I  have  derived  myself  from  you. 

Who  shall  betray  us  where  there  is  no  second? 

Hip.  You  must  not  mistrust  my  faith,  though 
my  sex  plead 
Weakness  and  frailty  for  me. 

Leon.  Oh,  I  dare  not. 

*  Hip.  'jfV*  holy  cart;  sir, 

Of  your  dear  lije^  &c.]    This  thought,  at  once  pious   and 
philosophical,  is  frequently  dwelt  upon  by  Massiugcr. 


482  THE   OLD   LAW. 

But  where's  the  means  that  must  make  answer 

for  me  ? 
I  cannot  be  lost  without  a  full  account, 
And  what  must  pay  that  reckoning  ? 

Clean.  Oh,  sir,  we  will 
Keep  solemn  obits  for  your  funeral ; 
We'll  seem  to  weep,  and  seem  to  joy  withal. 
That  death  so  gently  has  prevented  you 
The  law's  sharp  rigour ;  and  this  no  mortal  ear 

shall 
Participate  the  knowledge  of. 

Leon.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
This  will  be  a  sportive  fine  demur, 
If  the  error  be  not  found. 

Clean.  Pray  doubt  of  none. 
Your  company  and  best  provision, 
Must  be  no  further  furnish'd  than  by  us ; 
And,  in  the  interim,  your  solitude  may 
Converse  with  heaven,  and  fairly  prepare 
[For  that]  which  was  too  violent  and  raging 
Thrown  headlong  on  you.' 

Leon.  Still,  there  are  some  doubts 
Of  the  discovery;  yet  I  do  allow  it. 

Hip.  Will  you  not  mention  now  the  cost  and 
charge. 
Which  will  be  in  your  keeping  ! 

Leon.  That  will  be  somewhat, 
Which  you  might  save  too. 

Clean.  With  his  will  against  him, 
What  foe  is  more  to  man  than  man  himself? 
Are  you  resojved  sir  ? 

^  Converse  with  heaveuy  and  fairly  prepare 

[For  that\  "which  was  too  violent  and  raging 

Thrown  headlong  on  you.']  Here  again  some  words  are  lost  by 
the  negligence  of  the  printer,  which,  in  this  play,  exceeds  all 
credibility.  It  is  impossible  to  recover  them  ;  but  to  make 
something  like  sense  of  the  passage,  I  haye  ventured  to  add 
what  is  enclosed  between  brackets. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  483 

Leon.  I  am,  Cleanthes  : 
If  by  this  means  I  do  get  a  reprieve, 
And  cozen  death  awhile,  when  he  shall  come 
Armed  in  his  own  power  to  give  the  blow, 
I'll  smile  upon  him  then,  and  laughing  go. 

{Exeunt, 


ACT   IL     SCENE   L 

Before  the  Palace, 

Enter  Evander,  Courtiers,  and  Cratilus. 

Evan.  Executioner ! 
Crat.  My  lord. 

Evan.  How  did  old  Diodes  take  his  death  ? 
Crat.  As  weeping  brides  receive  their  joys  at 
night ; 
With  trembling,  yet  with  patience. 
Evan.  Why,  'twas  well. 

1  Court.  Nay,  I  knew  my  father  would  do 
well,  my  lord. 
Whene'er  he  came  to  die ;  I'd  that  opinion  of  him, 
Which  made  me  the  more  willing  to  part  from 

him ; 
He  was  not  fit  to  live  in  the  world,  indeed 
Any  time  these  ten  years,  my  lord. 
But  1  would  not  say  so  much. 

Evan.  No  !  you  did  not  well  in't. 
For  he  that's  all  spent,  is  ripe  for  death  at  all 

hours. 
And  does  but  trifle  time  out. 

1  Court.  Troth,  my  lord, 
I  would  I'd  known  your  mind  nine  years  ago. 


484  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Evan.  Our  law  is  fourscore  years,  because  we 
judge 
Dotage  complete  then,  as  unfruitfulness 
In  women,  at  threescore ;  marry,  if  the  son 
Can,  within  compass,  bring  good  solid  proofs 
Of  his  own  father's,  weakness,  and  unfitness 
To  live,  or  sway  the  living,  though  he  want  five 
Or  ten  years  of  his  number,  that's  not  it; 
His  defect  makes  him  fourscore,  and  'tis  fit 
He  dies  when  he  deserves  ;  for  every  act 
Is  in  effect  then,  when  the  cause  is  ripe. 

2  Court.  An  admirable  prince  !  how  rarely  he 

talks  !* 
Oh  that  we'd  known  this,  lads !  What  a  time  did 

we  endure 
In    two-penny    commons,    and    in    boots   twice 
vamp'd  ! 
1  Court.  Now  we  have  two  pair  a  week,  and 
yet  not  thankful ; 
'Twill  be  a  fine  world  for  them,  sirs,  that  come- 
after  us. 
Q.  Court.  Ay,  an  they  knew  it. 
1  Court.  Peace,  let  them  never  know  it. 

3  Court.  A  pox,  there  be  young  heirs  will  soon 

smell't  out. 
Q  Court.  'Twill  come  to  them  by  instinct,  man: 
may  your  grace 
Never  be  old,  you  stand  so  well  for  youth  ! 
Evan.  Why  now,  methinks,  our  court  looks 
like  a  spring. 
Sweet,  fresh,  and  fashionable,  now  the  old  weeds 
are  gone. 

*  2  Cour.  An  admirable  prince  !  &c.]  This  and  sereral  of 
the  subsequent  speeches  have  been  hitherto  printed  a&  prose : 
they  are  not,  indeed,  very  mellifluous,  yet  they  run  readily- 
enough  into  such  kind  of  metre  as  this  play  is^  for  the  most- 
part,  written  in. 


THE   OLD    LAW.  485 

]  Court.  It  is  as  a  court  should  be  : 
Gloss  and  good  clothes,  my  lord,  no  matter  for 

merit; 
And  herein  your  law  proves  a  provident  act, 
When  men  pass  not  the  palsy  of  their  tongues, 
Not  colour  in  their  cheeks. 

Evan.  But  women, 
By  that  law,  should  live  long,  for  they're  ne'er 

past  it. 
1  Court.  It  will  have  heats  though,  when  they 

see  the  painting 
Go  an  inch  deep  i'the  wrinkle,  and  take  up 
A  box  more  than  their  gossips  :  but  for  men,  my 

lord, 
That  should  be  the  sole  bravery  of  a  palace, 
To  walk  with  hollow  eyes  and  long  white  beards, 
As  if  a  prince  dwelt  in  a  land  of  goats; 
With  clothes  as  if  they  sat  on  their  backs  on 

purpose 
To  arraign  a  fashion,  and  condemn't  to  exile ; 
Their  pockets  in  their  sleeves,  as  if  they  laid 
Their  ear  to  avarice,  and  heard  the  devil  whisper! 
Now  ours  lie  downward,  here,  close  to  the  flank; 
Right  spending  pockets,  as  a  son's  should  be, 
That   lives    i'the    fashion;    where  our  diseased 

fathers. 
Worried  with  the  sciatica  and  aches, 
Brought  up  your  paned  hose  first,*  which  ladies 

laugh'd  at, 

where  our  diseased  fathers, 


Worried  with  the  sciatica  and  aches, 

Brought  up  your  paned  hose  first,  &c.]  For  where  Mr.  M. 
Mason  reads  whereas,  as  usual  !  In  the  next  line  the  old  copy 
has  —  Would  with  the  sciatica,  &c.  for  which,  he  says,  *'  we 
should  read  wood,  i.  e.  mad,  raping  ;  but  as  that  leaves  the 
metre  imperfect,  I  have  adopted  another  word,  which  bids  no 
less  lairjy  to  be  the  genuine  one. 
For  paned  hose,  sec  Vol.  11.  p.  486.    The  fashion  is  hero  ridi-^ 


486  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Giving  no  reverence  to  the  place  lies  ruin'd : 
They  love  a  doublet  that's  three  hours  a  but- 
toning, 
And  sits  so  close  makes  a  man  groan  again, 
And  his  soul  mutterhalf  aday;  yetthese  are  those, 
That  carry  sway  and  worth :  prick'd  up  in  clothes, 
Why  should  we  fear  our  rising  ? 

Evan.  You  but  wrong 
Our  kindness,  and  your  own  deserts,  to  doubt  on't. 
Has  not  our  law  made  you  rich  before  your  time? 
Our  countenance  then  can  make  you  honourable. 

1  Court.  We'll  spare  for  no  cost,  sir,  to  appear 
M'orthy. 

Evan.  Why  you're  i'the  noble  way  then,  for  the 
most 
Are  but  appearers ;  worth  itself  is  lost, 
And  bravery  stands  for't.* 

Enter  Creon,  Antigona,  cwf/ Simon  ides. 
1  Court,  Look,  look,  who  comes  here ! 


culed,  as,  about  the  end  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  when  this  Play 
■^as  apparently  written,  it  was  on  the  decline.  In  the  Great 
Duke  of  Florence,  produced  many  years  subsequently  to  the  Old 
Law,  parted  hose  are  mentioned  as  a  fashionable  article  of  dress, 
and  this  is  agreeable  to  history,  for  they  were  again  introduced 
at  the  accession  of  James  I.  and  continued,  through  the  whole 
of  his  reign,  the  characteristic  marks  of  a  fine  gentleman  and  a 
courtier. 

*  And  bravery  stands  for'' t."]  i.  e.  ostentatious  finery  of  ap- 
parel :  in  which  sense  it  is  frequently  used  in  the  Scriptures. 
"  In  that  day  the  Lord  will  take  away  the  bravery  of  their 
tinkling  ornaments."  Isaiah,  c.  iii.  t.  18,  &c.  This  short 
speech  of  the  duke  affords  one  of  those  scarcely  perceptible 
openings  through  which  Massingcr  artfully  contrives  to  give  the 
reader  a  glimpse  of  such  characters  as  are  hereafter  to  be 
developed.  In  every  instance  he  follows  nature,  which  abhors 
all  sudden  conversion  j  the  common  resource  of  modern 
dramatists. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  487 

I  smell  death,  and  another  courtier, 
Simonides. 
2  Court.  Sim  ! 

Sim.  Pish  !   I'm  not  for  you  yet, 
Your  company's  too  costly ;  after  the  old  man's 
Dispatch'd,  I  shall  have  time  to  talk  with  you; 
I  shall  come  into  the  fashion  you  shall  see  too, 
After  a  day  or  two ;  in  the  mean  time, 
I  am  not  for  your  company. 
Evan.  Old  Creon,  you  have   been  expected 
long; 
Sure  you're  above  fourscore. 

Sim.  Upon  my  life, 
Not  four  and  twenty  hours,  my  lord ;  I  search'd 
The  church-book  yesterday.     Does  your  grace 

think 
I'd  let  my  father  wrong  the  law,  my  lord  ? 
'Twere  pity  o'my  life  then  !  no,  your  act 
Shall  not  receive  a  minute's  wrong  by  him. 
While  I  live,  sir ;  and  he's  so  just  himself  too, 
I  know  he  would  not  oifer't : — here  he  stands. 

Creon.  'Tis  just  I  die,  indeed  ;  for  I  confess 
I  am  troublesome  to  life  now,  and  the  state 
Can  hope  for  nothing  worthy  from  me  now. 
Either  in  force  or  counsel ;  I've  o'late 
Employ'd  myself  quite  from  the  world,  and  he 
That  once  begins  to  serve  his  Maker  faithfully, 
Can  never  serve  a  worldly  prince  well  after; 
'Tis  clean  another  way. 

Ant.  Oh,  give  not  confidence 
To  all  he  speaks,  my  lord,  in  his  own  injury. 
His  preparation  only  for  the  next  world, 
Makes  him  talk  wildly,  to  his  wrong,  of  this ; 
He  is  not  lost  in  judgment. 

Sim.  She  spoils  all  again.  [Aside. 

Ant.  Deserving  any  way  for  state  employment. 

Sim*  Mother 


488  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Ant.  His  very  household  laws  prescribed  at 
home  by  him, 
Are  able  to  conform  seven  Christian  kingdoms, 
They  are  so  wise  and  virtuous. 

Sim.  Mother,  I  say 

Ant.  I  know  your  laws  extend  not  to  desert, 
sir, 
But  to  unnecessary  years  ;  and,  my  lord. 
His   are  not  such;    though    they   shew    white, 

they  are  worthy, 
Judicious,  able,  and  religious. 

Sim.   Mother, 
I'll  help  you  to  a  courtier  of  nineteen. 

Ant.  Away,  unnatural ! 

Sim.  Then  I  am  no  fool,  sure, 
For  to  be  natural  at  such  a  time 
Were  a  fool's  part,  indeed. 

Ant.  Your  grace's  pity, 
And  'tis  but  fit  and  just. 

Creon.  The  law,  my  lord, 
And  that's  the  justest  way. 

Sim.  Well  said,  father,  i 'faith  ! 
Thou  wert  ever  juster  than  my  mother  still. 

Evan.  Come  hither,  sir. 

Sim.  My  lord. 

Evan.  What  are  those  orders? 

Ant,  Worth  observation,  sir, 
So  please  you  hear  them  read. 

Sim.  The  woman  speaks  she  knows  not  what, 
my  lord : 
He  make  a  law,  poor  man  !  he  bought  a  table, 

indeed, 
Only  to  learn  to  die  by't,  there's  the  business, 

now ; 
Wherein  there  are  some  precepts  for  a  son  too, 
How  he  should  learn  to  live,  but  I  ne'er  look'd 
,    on't: 


THE   OLD   LAW.  489 

For,  when  he's  dead,  I  shall  live  well  enough, 
And  keep  a  better  table'  than  that,  I  trow. 

Evan.  And  is  that  all,  sir? 

Sim.  All,  I  vow,  my  lord ; 
Save  a  few  running  admonitions 

Upon  cheese-trenchers,*  as 

Take  heed  of  whoring^  shun  it; 
'lis  like  a  cheese  too  strong  of  the  runneth 
And  such  calves'  maws  of  wit  and  admonition, 
Good  to  catch  mice  with,  but  not  sons  and  heirs; 
They  are  not  so  easily  caught. 

Evan.  Agent  for  death  ! 

Crat.  Your  will,  my  lord  ? 

Evan,  Take  hence  that  pile  of  years. 
Forfeit'  before  with  unprofitable  age, 

7  And  keep  a  better  table  than  that)  I  trow.']  This  wretched 
fellow  is  punning  upon  the  word  table^  which,  as  applied  to  his 
father,  meant  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  where  precepts  for  the  due 
regulation  of  life  were  set  down  in  distinct  linos;  and,  as  applied 
to  himself — that  he  would  keep  a  better  house,  i.  e.  live  more 
sumptuously  than  his  father.  Thtrif  which  the  modern  editors 
hare  after  table^  and  which  destroys  the  metre,  is  not  in  the 
old  copy. 

*  Upon  cheese  trenchers.^']  Before  the  general  introduction  of 
books,  our  ancestors  were  careful  to  dole  out  instruction  in 
many  ways :  hangings,  pictures,  trenohers^  knives,  W(aring*-ap- 
parel,  every  thing,  in  a  word,  that  was  capable  of  containing 
a  short  sentence,  was  turned  to  account. 

"  These  apophoreta,  (says  Puttenham,  in  his  Art  nf  English 
Poesie^)  we  call  posies,  and  do  paint  them  now  a  daycs  upon 
the  back  side  of  our  fruite-trenc/icrs,^'  &c.  p.  47.  And  Salton- 
stall  observes  of  one  of  his  characters,  that  "  for  taike  hcc 
commonly  uses  some  proverbial  verses,  gathered  perhaps  from 
cheese-trenchers."  Pictures,  by  W.  S.  And  thus  George,  in  Ifte 
Honest  Whore:  "  Aye,  but  mistress,  as  one  of  our  chcvsC' 
trenchers  says  very  learnedly, 

*'  A»  out  of  wormwood  bees  suck  honey,"  kc. 

O.  P.  3.  311. 

Hence  they  are  termed  by  C^artwright  trencher  (tnaluts. 

'  Forfeit  before  with  uiiprijitahle  aa'c]  Such  I  take  (o  he  the 

VOL.  IV.  *  K  k 


490  THE  OLD   LAW. 

And,  with  the  rest,  from  the  high  promontory, 
Cast  him  into  the  sea. 

Creon.  'Tis  noble  justice  !  [Exit  Crat.withCreon. 

Ant.  'Tis  cursed  tyranny  ! 

Sim.  Peace  !   take  heed,  mother; 
You've  but  short  time  to  be  cast  down  yourself; 
And  let  a  young  courtier  do't,  an  you  be  wise, 
In  the  mean  time. 

Ant.  Hence,  slave  ! 

Sim.  Well,  seven-and-fifty,* 
You  have  but  three  years  to  scold,  then  comes 
your  payment.  \^Exit  Antigona. 

1  Court.  Simonides. 

Sim.  Pish,  I'm  not  brave  enough  to  hold  you 
talk  yet, 
Give  a  man  time,  I  have  a  suit  a  making. 

2  Court.  We  love  thy  form  first;  brave  clothes 

will  come,  man.  > 

Sim.  I'll  make  them  come  else,  with  a  mischief^ 
to  them. 
As  other  gallants  do,  that  have  less  left  them. 

[Recorders  within. 
Evan.  Hark !    whence  those  sounds  ?    what's 

that  ? 
1  Court,  Some  funeral, 
It  seems,  my  lord;  and  young  Cleanthes  follows. 

Enter  a  Funeral  Procession;  the  hearse  followed  by 
Cleanthes  and  Hippolita,  gaily  dressed, 

Evan.  Cleanthes  ! 

genuine  reading :  the  old  copy  has  surfeit^  which  was  adopted 
by  Coxeter;  and  improved  by  Mr.  M.  Mason,  by  the  insertioa 
oiit! 

Before  it  surfeit  with  unprofitable  age  ! 
*  Welly  sexien-andffty.l  See  p.  464. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  49I 

2  Court,  Tis,  my  lord,  and  in  the  place 
Of  a  chief  mourner  too,  but  strangely  habited. 

Evan.  Yet  suitable  to  his  behaviour;  mark  it; 
He  comes  all  the  way  smiling,  do  you  observe  it? 
I  never, saw  a  corse  so  joyfully  followed  : 
Light  colours  and   light  cheeks! — who. should 

this  be  ? 
'Tis  a  thing  worth  resolving, 

Sim.  One,  belike, 
That  doth  participate  this  our  present  joy. 

Evan.  Cleanthes. 

Clean.  Oh,  my  lord ! 

Eva?i.  He  laugh'd  outright  now  ; 
Was  ever  such  a  contrariety  seen 
In  natural  courses  yet,  nay  profess'd  openly? 

1  Court.  I  have  known  a  widow  laugh  closely, 

my  lord, 
Under  her  handkerchief,  when  t'other  part 
Of  her  old  face  has  wept  like  rain  in  sunshine  ; 
But  all  the  face  to  laugh  apparently, 
Was  never  seen  yet. 

Sim.  Yes,  mine  did  once. 

Clean.  'Tis,  of  a  heavy  time,  the  joyfuUs't  day 
That  ever  son  was  born  to. 

Evan.  How  can  that  be  ? 

Clean.  I  joy  to  make  it  plain, — my  father's 
dead. 

Evan.  Dead  ! 

2  Court.  Old  Leon  ides  ! 
Clean.  In  his  last  month  dead  : 

He  beguiled  cruel  law  the  sweetliest, 

That  ever  age  was  blest  to. 

It  grieves  me  that  a  tear  should  fall  upon't, 
Being  a  thing  so  joyful,  but  his  memory 
Will  work  it  out,  I  see;  when  his  poor  heart  broke, 
I  did  not  do  so  much ;  but  leap'd  for  joy 
So  mountingly,  I  touch'd  the  stars,  methought 
*Kk2 


492  THE    OLD    LAW. 

I  would  not  hear  of  blacks,  I  was  so  light, 
But  chose  a  colour,  orient  like  my  mind  : 
For  blacks  are  often  such  dissembling  mourners^ 
There  is  no  credit  given  to't ;  it  has  lost 
All  reputation  by  false  sons  and  widows. 
Now  I  would  have  men  know  what  I  resemble, 
A  truth,  indeed  ;  'tis  joy  clad  like  a  joy, 
Which  is  more  honest  than  a  cunning  grief, 
That's  only  faced  with  sables  for  a  show, 
But  gawdy-hearted:  When  I  saw  death  come 
So  ready  to  deceive  you,  sir, — forgive  me, 
I  could  not  choose  but  be  entirely  merry, 
And  yet  to*  see  now  ! — of  a  sudden, 
Naming  but  death,  I  shew  myself  a  mortal. 
That's  never  constant  to  one  passion  long. 
I  wonder  whence  that  tear  came,  when  1  smiled 
In  the  production  on't;  sorrow's  a  thief, 
That  can,  when  joy  looks  on,  steal  forth  a  grief. 
But,  gracious  leave,   my  lord ;  when  I've  per- 
form'd 
My  last  poor  duty  to  my  fathers  bones, 
I  shall  return  your  servant. 

Evan.  Well,  perform  it. 
The  law  is  satisfied  ;  they  can  but  die  : 
And  by  his  death,  Cleanthes,  you  gain  well, 
A  rich  and  fair  revenue. 

[Flourish.     Exeunt  Duke,  Courtiers,  S^c* 

Sim.  I  Avould  I  had  e'en 
Another  father,  condition  he  did  the  like.' 

Clean.  1  have  past  it  bravely  now;  how  blest 
was  I, 
To  have  the  duke  in  sight!*  now  'tis  confirm'd, 

*  And  yet  to  see  now  /]  So  the  old  copy  :  Coxeter  and  Mr,  M. 
Mason  read,  I  know  not  why, — And  yet  too,  see  now. 

i  condition  he  did  the  like.']   i.  e*  on  conditioH  : 

a  mode  of  speech  adopted  by  all  our  old  poets. 

4  .  ■  ■■ .  how  blest  was  J 


THE    OLD    LAW.  493 

Past  fear  or  doubts  confirm'd  :  on,  on  I  say, 
Him  that  brought  me  to  man,  I  bring  to  clay. 
.[Esit  Funeral  Procession,  followed  by  Cleaiithes 

and  Hippolita. 
Sim.  I  am  rapt  now  in  a  contemplation, 
Even  at  the  very  sight  of  yonder  hearse  ; 
I  do  but  think  what  a  fine  thing  'tis  now^ 
To  live,  and  follow  some  seven  lincles  thus, 
As  many-cousin-germans,  and  such  people, 
That- will  leave  legacies;    pox!    I'd  see   them 

hang'd  else. 
Ere  I'd  follow  one  of  them,  an  they  could  find 

the  way. 
Now  I've  enough  to*  begin  to  be  horrible  co- 
vetous. 

E7iter  Butler,  Tailor,  Bailiff,  Cook,  Coachman, 
and  Footman. 

But.  We  come  to  know  your  worship's  plea- 
sure, sir. 
Having  long  serv'd  your  father,  how  your  good 

will 
Stands  towards  our  entertainment. 

Sim.  Not  a  jot,  i'faith  ; 
My  father  wore  cheap  garments,  he  might  do't ; 
I  shall  have  all  my  clothes  come  home  to  morrow, 

To  have  the  duke  in  sight !]  Coxeter  printed,  (after  the  old 
copy,)  To  have  the  dim  sight :  the  variation  in  the  text  is  from  a 
conjecture  of  Mr.  M.  Mason.  I  suppose  the  manuscript  had  only 
the  initial  letter  of  duke,  and  the  printer  not  knowing  what  to 
make  of  d.  in  sight,  corrected  it  into  dim  sifiht.  These  abbreyi- 
ations  are  the  source  of  innumerable  errors. 

5  Now  Pve  enough  to  begin  to  he  horrible  covetous,]  The 
modern  editions  have,  Now  I've  enough  I  begin  to  be  horribly 
covetous.    1  think  there  is  more  humour  ia  the  old  reading. 


494  THE   OLD    LAW. 

They  will  eat  up  all  you,  an  there  were  more  of 

you,  sirs. 
To  keep  you  six  at  livery,  and  still  munching ! 
Tail.  Why,  I'm  a  tailor ;  you  have  most  need 

of  me,  sir. 
Sim.  Thou  mad'st  my  father's  clothes,  that  I 
confess ; 
But  what  son  and  heir  will  have  his  father's  tailor, 
Unless  he  have  a  mind  to  be  well  laugh'd  at  ? 
Thou'st  been  so  used  to  wide  long-side  things, 

that  when 
I  come  to  truss,  I  shall  have  the  waist  of  my 

doublet 
Lie  on  my  buttocks,  a  sweet  sight  1 
But.  I  a  butler, 

Sim.  There's  least  need  of  thee,  fellow;  I  shall 
ne'er  drink  at  home,  I  shall  be  so  drunk  abroad. 
But.  But  a  cup  of  small  beer  will  do  well  next 
morning,  sir. 

Sim.  I  grant  you  ;  but  what  need  I  keep  so  big 
a  knave  for  a  cup  of  small  beer? 

Cook,  Butler,  you  have  your  answer:  marry, 
sir,  a  cook 
I  know  your  mastership  cannot  be  without. 

Sim.  The  more  ass  art  thou  to  think  so  ;  for 
tvhat  should  I  do  with  a  mountebank,  no  drink 
n  my  house? — the  banishing  the  butler  might 
lave  been  a  warning  for  thee,  unless  thou  mean'st 
o  choak  me. 
Cook.  In  the  mean  time  you  have  choak'd  me, 

methinks. 
Bail.  These  are  superfluous  vanities,  indeed, 
And  so  accounted  of  in  these  days,  sir; 

But  then,  your  bailiff  to  receive  your  rents 

Sim.  I  prithee  hold  thy  tongue,  fellow,  I  shall 
lake  a  course  to  spend  them  faster  than  thou 


THE   OLD    LAW.  495 

canst  reckon  them  ;  'tis  not  the  rents  must  serve 
my  turn,  unless  I  mean  to  be  laugh'd  at;  if  a  man 
should  be  seen  oiitof  slash-me,  let  him  ne'er  look 
to  be  a  right  gallant.  But,  sirrah,  .with  whom  is 
your  business? 

Coach.  Your  good  mastership. 

Sim.  You  have  stood  silent  all  this  while,  like 
men 
That  know  your  strengths  :  in  these  days,  none 

of  you 
Can  want  employment ;  you  can  win  me  wagers,* 
Footman,  in  running  races. 

Foot.  I  dare  boast  it,  sir. 

Sim.  And  when  my  bets  are  all  come  in,  and 
store, 
Then,  coachman,  you  can  hurry  me  to  my  whore. 

Coach.  I'll  firk  them  into  foam  else. 

Sim.  Speaks  brave  matter : 
And  I'll  firk  some  too,  or't  shall  cost  hot  water, 
[Ejceunt  Simonides,  Coachman^  and  Footman* 

Cook.  Why,  here's  an  age  to  make  a  cook  a 
ruffian, 
And  scald  the  devil  indeed !  do  strange  mad 

things, 
Make  mutton-pasties  of  dog's  flesh. 
Bake  snakes  for  lamprey  pies,  and  cats  for  conies. 

But,  Come,  will  you  be  ruled  by  a  butler's 
advice  once  ?  for  we  must  make  up  our  fortunes 
somewhere  now,  as  the  case  stands  :  let's  e'en, 
therefore,  go  seek  out  widows  of  nine  and  fifty, 
an  we  can,  that's  within  a  year  of  their  deaths, 
and  so  we  shall  be  sure  to  be  quickly  rid  of  them; 

■you  can  win  me  wagers,]     So  the  old 


copy:  the  modern  editors  read,  you  can  wm  me  wages!  Sim.  is 
too  deep  for  me,  in  some  parts  of  this  miserable-merry  dialogue; 
if,  indeed,  the  merit  of  its  obscurity  be  not  rather  owing  to  tbo 
ingenuity  of  the  compositor. 


496  THE   OLD   LAW. 

for  a  year's  enough  of  conscience  to  be  troubled 
with  a  wife,  for  any  man  living. 

Cook.  Oracle  butler !  oracle  butler !  he  puts 
clown  all  the  doctors  o'the  name/  [E.veunt* 


SCENE   IL 

J  Room  in  Creon's  House. 
Enter  Eugenia  and  Parthenia. 

Eug.  Parthenia. 
.    Parth.  Mother. 

Eiig.  I  shall  be  troubled " 
This  six  months  with  an  old  clog  ;  would  the  law 
Had  been  cut  one  year  shorter  ! 

Parth,  Did  you  call,  forsooth  ? 

Eug,  Yes,  you  must  make  some  spoonmeat  for 
your  father,  [E.vit  Parthenia^ 

And  warm  three  nightcaps  for  him.    Out  upon't! 
The  mere  conceit  turns  a  young  woman's  stomach. 
His  slippers  must  be  warm'd,  in  August  too. 
And  his  gown  girt  to  him  in  the  very  dog-days^ 

7  He  alludes  to  Dr.  W.  Butler,  a  very  celebrated  physician 
of  Elizabeth's  days.  The  oddity  of  his  manners,  the  singularity 
of  his  practice,  and  the  extraordinary  cures  which  he  performedj 
raised  many  strange  opinions  of  him.  "  He  never"  (says  Dr. 
Wittie,)  "  kept  any  apprentices  for  his  business,  nor  any  maid 
but  a  foole,  and  yet  his  reputation,  thirty-five  years  after  hi& 
death  was  still  so  great,  that  many  empiricks  got  credit  among 
the  vulgar  by  claiming  relation  to  him,  as  having  served  him^ 
and  learned  much  from  him."  He  died  at  an  advanced  age  in 
1618. 

•  Eug.  I  shall  be  troubled^  &c.]  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
have  absurdly  printed  this  and  the  following  speeches  of  Eugenia 
as  prose.  I  cannot  account  for  the  motives  which  induced  them 
to  do  80,  as  they  arc  not  only  very  good  metre,  but  are  arxangcd, 
as  such  in  the  old  copy. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  497 

When  every  mastiff  lolls  out's  tongue «for  heat. 
Would  not  this  vex  a  beauty  of  nineteen  now? 
Alas  !  I  should  be  tumbling  in  cold  baths  now, 
Under  each  armpit  a  fine  bean-flower  bag, 

To  screw  out  whiteness  when  I  list 

And  some  sev'n  of  the  properest  men  in  the 

dukedom 
Making  a  banquet  ready  i'the  next  room  for  me; 
Whei.e  he  that  gets  the  first  kiss  is  envied, 
And  stands  upon  his  guard  a  fortnight  after. 
This  is  a  life  for  nineteen  !  'tis  but  justice  :   . 
For  old  men,  whose  great  actsstand  in  their  minds, 
And  nothing  in  their  bodies,  do  ne'er  think 
A  woman  young  enough  for  their  desire  ; 
And  we  young  wenches,  that  have  mother-wits. 
And  love  to  marry  muck  first,  and  man  after, 
Do  never  think  old  men  are  old  enough. 
That  we  may  soon  be  rid  o'  them  ;  there's  our 

quittance. 
I've  waited  for  the  happy  hour  this  two  years. 
And,  if  death  be  so  unkind  to  let  him  live  still, 
All  that  time  I  have  lost. 

Enter  Courtiers. 

1  Court.  Young  lady  1 
'i  Court.  O  sweet  precious  bud  of  beauty  ! 
Troth,  she  smells  over  all  the  house,  mcthinks. 
1  Court.  The  sweetbriar's  but  a  counterfeit  to 

her 

It  does  exceed  you  only  in  the  prickle, 
But  that  it  shall  not  long,  rf  you'll  be  ruled,  lady. 
Eug.  What  means  this  sudden  visitation,  gen- 
tlemen ? 
So  passing  well  perfumed  too  !  who's  your  mil- 
liner? 
I  Court.  Love,  and  thy  beauty,  widow. 


498  THE   OLD   LAW. 

£ug.  Widow,  sir? 

1  Court.  'Tis  sure,  and  that's  as  good:  in  troth 

we're  suitors  ; 
We  come  a  wooing,  wench  ;  plain  dealing's  best. 
Eug.  A  wooing  !  what,  before  my  husband's 
dead  ? 

2  Court,  Let's  lose  no  time  ;  six  months  will 

have  an  end  ; 
I  know't  by  all  the  bonds  that  e'er  I  made  yet. 
Eug.  That's  a  sure  knowledge;  but  it  holds  not 

here,  sir. 
1  Court.  Do  not  we'  know  the  craft  of  you 

young  tumblers  ? 
That  when  you  wed  an  old  man,  you  think  upon 
Another  husband  as  you  are  marrying  of  him  ; — 
We,  knowing  your  thoughts,  made  bold  to  see 

you. 

Enter  Simonides  richly  drest^  and  Coachman. 

Eug.  How  wondrous  right  he  speaks !  'twas  my 

thought,  indeed. 
Sim.  By  your  leave,  sweet  widow,  do  you  lack 

any  gallants? 
Eug.  Widow,  again !  'tis  a  comfort  to  be  call'd 

so. 

1  Court.  Who's  this?  Simonides? 

2  Court.  Brave  Sim,  i'faith  ! 

9  1  Court.  "Do  not  we  know  the  craft  of  you  young  tumblers  f 
That  when  j/o?i  wed  an  eld  man,  &c.J  This  speech  has  hitherto 
stood  thus:  Don't  you  km.w  the  craft  of  yonr  young  tumblers? 
That  you  wed  an  old  man,  &c.  I  have  endeavoured  to  restore  it 
to  some  degree  of  sense,  by  altering  one  word,  and  inserting 
another.  To  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  deplorable  state 
of  the  old  copy,  I  shall  easily  stand  excused  for  these  and  simi- 
lar libert'.es,  which,  however,  I  have  sparingly  taken,  and  never 
but  in  the  most  desperate  cases. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  499 

Sim.  Coachman  ! 

Coach.  Sir. 

Sim.  Have  an  especial  care  of  my  new  mares ; 
They  say,  sweet  widow,  he  that  loves  a  horse  well. 
Must  needs  love  a  widow  well. — When  dies  thy 

husband  ? 
Is't  not  July  next  ? 

Eiig.  Oh,  you  are  too  hot,  sir ! 
Pray  cool  yourself,  and  take  September  with  you. 

Sim.  September!  oh,  I  was  but  two  bows  wide. 

1  Court.  Simon  ides. 

Sim.  I  can  entreat  you,  gallants,  I'm  in  fashion 
too. 

Enter  Lysandeu. 

Li/s,  Ha!  whence  this  herd *.of  folly  ?  what  are 
you.? 

Sim.  Well-willers  to  your  wife  :     pray  'tend 
your  book,  sir ; 
We've  nothing  to  say  to  you,  you  may  go  die, 
For  here  be  those  in  place  that  can  supply, 

Lys.  What's  thy  wild  business  here? 

Sim.  Old  man,  I'll  tell  thee ; 
I  come  to  beg  the  reversion  of  thy  wife  ; 
I  think  these  gallants  be  of  my  mind  too, — 
But  thou  art  but  a  dead  man,   therefore  what 
should  a  man  do  talking  with  thee?  Come,  widow, 
stand  to  your  tackling. 

Lys.  Impious  blood-hounds  ! 

Sim.  Let  the  ghost  talk,  ne'er  mind  him. 

Lys,  Shames  of  nature  ! 

•  Lys.  Ha  !  whence  this  herd  of  folly  f  what  are  you  f  ]  This 
is  the  read  r.<;  of  the  old  copy  ;  for  which  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M. 
Mason  strangely  give  us, 

Ha  .'  whence  this  anheard-of/o%  f  what  art  you  t 


500  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Sim.  Alas,   poor    ghost  !     consider  what    the 

man  is. 
Lys,  Monsters  unnatural !  you  that  have  heen 

covetous 
Of  your  own  father's  death,  gape  you  for  mine 

now  ? 
Cannot  a  poor  old  man,  that  now  can  reckon 
Even  all  the  hours  he  has  to  live,  live  quiet, 
For  such  wild  beasts  as  these,  that  neither  hold 
A  certainty  of  good  within  themselves. 
But  scatter  others'  comforts  that  are  ripen'd 
For  holy  uses  ?  is  hot  youth  so  hasty. 
It  will  not  give  an  old  man  leave  to  die. 
And  leave  a  v^^idow  first,  but  will  make  one, 
The  husband  looking  on  ?  May  your  destructions 
Come  all  in  hasty  figures  to  your  souls ! 
Your  wealth  depart  in  haste,  to  overtake 
Your  honesties,  that  died  when  you  were  infants  ! 
May  your  male  seed  be  hasty  spendthrifts  too, 
Your  daughters  hasty  sinners,  and  diseased 
Ere  they  be  thought  at  years  to  welcome  misery  ! 
And  may  you  never  know  what  leisure  is. 
But  at  repentance  I— I  am  too  uncharitable. 
Too  foul ;  I  must  go  cleanse  myself  with  prayers. 
These  are  the  plagues  of  fondness  to  old  men, 
We're  punish'd  home  with  what  we  dote  upon. 

[Ej;it. 
Sim.  So,  so  !  the  ghost  is  vanish 'd  :  now,  your 

answer,  lady. 
Eug.  Excuse  me,  gentlemen  ;  'twere  as  much 

impudence 
In  me,  to  give  you  a  kind  answer  yet. 
As  madness  to  produce  a  churlish  one. 
I  could   say  now,  come   a  month  hence,  swe^t 

gentlemen. 
Or  two,  or  three,  or  when  you  will,  indeed  ; 
But  J  say  no  such  thing  :  I  set  no  time, 


THE   OLD   LAW.         -      501 

Kor  is  it  mannerly  to  deny  any. 
I'll  carry  an  even  hand  to  all  the  world : 
Let  other  women  make  what  haste  they  will, 
What's  that  to  me  ?  but  I  profess  unfeignedly, 
I'll  have  my  husband  dead  before  I  marry ; 
Ne'er  look  for  other  answer  at  my  hands. 

Sim,  Would  he  were  hang'd,  for  my  part,  looks 
'    for  other  ! 

Eug.  I'm  at  a  word. 

Sim.  And  I  am  at  a  blow,  then  ; 
I'll  lay  you  o'the  lips,  and  leave  you. 

[Kisses  her, 

1  Court.  Well  struck,  Sim. 

Sim.  He  that  dares  say  he'll  mend  it,  I'll  strike 
him. 

1  Court.    He  would    betray  himself  to  be  a 
botcher, 
That  goes  about  to  mend  it. 

Eug.  Gentlemen, 
You  know  my  mind  ;  I  bar  you  not  my  house  : 
But  if  you  choose  out  hours  more  seasonably, 
You  may  have  entertainment. 

Re-enter  Parthenia. 

Sim.  What  will  she  do  hereafter,  when  she  is  a 
widow, 
Keeps  open  house  already  ? 

[Exeunt  Simonides  and  Courtiers. 
Eug.  How  now,  girl  ! 

rarth.  Those  feather'd  fools  that  hither  took 
their  flight, 
Have  grieved  my  father  much. 

Eug.  Speak  well  of  youth,  wench, 
While  thou'st  a  day   to  live;    'tis  youth  must 

make  thee. 
And  when  youth  fails,  wise  women  will  make  it ; 


502  THE   OLD   LAW. 

But  always  take  age  first,  to  make  thee  rich  : 
That  was  my  counsel  ever,  and  then  youth 
Will  make  thee  sport  enough  all  thy  life  after. 
'Tis  the  time's  policy,  wench  ;  what  is't  to  hide 
A  little  hardness  for  a  pair  of  years,  or  so  ? 
A  man  whose  only  strength  lies  in  his  hreath, 
Weakness  in  all  parts  else,  thy  bedfellow, 
A  cough  o'the  lungs,  or  say  a  wheezing  matter; 
Then  shake  off  chains,  and  dance  all  thy  life 
.rfifter  ? 
Parth,  Every  one  to  their  liking ;   but  I  say 
An  honest  man's  worth  all,  be  he  young  or  gray. 
Yonder's  my  cousin.  [E.rit. 

Enter  Hippolita. 

Eug.  Art,  I  must  use  thee  now; 
Dissembling  is  the  best  help  for  a  virtue, 
That  ever  women  had  ;  it  saves  their  credit  oft. 

Hip.  How  now,  cousin  ! 
What,  weeping? 

Eug.  Can  you  blame  me,  when  the  time 
Of  my  dear  love  and  husband  now  draws  on  ? 
I  study  funeral  tears  against  the  day 
I  must  be  a  sad  widow. 

Hip.  In  troth,  Eugenia,  I  have  cause  to  weep 
too; 
But,  when  I  visit,  I  come  comfortably. 
And  look  to  be  so  quited  :' — yet  more  sobbing  ? 

Eug.  Oh  ! 
The  greatest  part  of  your  affliction's  past, 
Thje  worst  of  mine's  to  come  ;  I  have  one  to  die ; 

■  *  And  look  to  be  so  quited :]  Mr.  M.  Mason  reads — And  look 
to  be  so  far  requited  !  What  he  imagined  he  had  gained  by  this 
harsh  and  unmetrical  addition,  is  difficult  to  conjecture  :  the 
text  is  very  good  sense. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  505 

Your  husband's  father  is  dead,  and  fixed  in  his 
Eternal  peace,  past  the  sharp  tyrannous  blow. 

Hip.  You  must  use  patience,  coz. 

Eug.  Tell  me  of  patience  ! 

Hip.  You  have  example  for't,  in  me  and  many. 

Eug.  Yours  was  a  father-in-law,  but  mine  a 
husband : 
O,  for  a  woman  that  could  love,  and  live 
With  an  old  man,  mine  is  a  jewel,  cousin ; 
So  quietly  he  lies  by  one,  so  still  ! 

Hip.  Alas !  I  have  a  secret  lodged  within  me, 
Which  now  will  out  in  pity  ; — I  cannot  hold. 

[^Aside, 

Eug.  One  that  will  not  disturb  me  in  my  sleep 
For  a  whole  month  together,  less  it  be 
With  those  diseases  age  is  subject  to, 
As  aches,  coughs,  and  pains,  and  these,  heaven 

knows,' 
Against  his  will  too : — he's  the  quietest  man. 
Especially  in  bed. 

Hip.  Be  comforted. 

Eug.  How  can  I,  lady  ? 
None  know  the  terror  of  an  husband's  loss, 
But  they  that  fear  to  lose  him. 

Hip.  Fain  would  I  keep  it  in,  but  'twill  not 
be; 
She  is  my  kinswoman,  and  I  am  pitiful. 
I  must  impart  a  good,  if  I  know  it  once, 
To  them  that  stand  in  need  on't ;  I'm  like  one 
Loves  not  to  banquet  with  a  joy  alone, 
My  friends  must  partake  too.  [^Aside.l — Prithee, 
cease,  cousin ; 

'  As  aches,  coughs^  and  pains,  and  these,  heaven  Anow*,]  Here 
again  Mr.  M.  Mason  wantonly  sophisticates  the  text ;  he  reads, 
achs  ;  but  the  true  word  is  that  which  stands  above  Caches), 
which  was  always  used  in  Massinger'a  time  as  a  dissyllabic,  and 
pronounced  atch-cs. 


504,  THE   OLD    LAW. 

If  your  love  be  so  boundless,  which  is  rar^. 
In  a  young  woman,  in  these  days,  I  tell  you. 
To  one  so  much  past  service  as  your  husband, 
There  is  a  way  to  beguile  law,  and  help  you  ; 
My  husband  found  it  out  first. 

JEug.  Oh,  sweet  cousin  ! 

Hip.  You  may  conceal  him,  and  give  out  his 
death 
Within  the  time;  order  his  funeral  too; 
We  had  it  so  for  ours,  I  praise  heav'n  for't, 
And  he's  alive  and  safe. 

Eug.  O  blessed  coz. 
How  thou  revivest  me  ! 

Hip.  We  daily  see 
The  good  old  man,  and  feed  him  twice  a  day. 
Methinks,  it  is  the  sweetest  joy  to  cherish  him, 
That  ever  life  yet  shew'd  me. 

Eug.  So  should  I  think, 
A  dainty  thing  to  nurse  an  old  man  well! 

Hip,  And  then  we  have  his  prayers  and  daily 
blessing ; 
And  we  two  live  so  lovingly  upon  it. 
His  son  and  I,  and  so  contentedly. 
You  cannot  think  unless  you  tasted  on't. 

Eug.  No,  I  warrant  you.     Oh,  loving  cousin, 
What  a  great  sorrow  hast  thou  eased  me  of? 
A  thousand  thanks  go  with  thee  ! 

Hip.  I  have  a  suit  to  you, 
I  must  not  have  you  weep  when  I  am  gone. 

[Edit. 

Eug.  No,  if  I  do  ne'er  trust  me.     Easy  fool, 
Thou  hast  put  thyself  into  my  power  for  ever; 
Take  heed  of  angering  of  me  ;  I  conceal ! 
I  feign  a  funeral !  I  keep  my  husband ! 
'Las!  I've  been  thinking  any  time  these  two  years, 
I  have  kept  him  too  long  already. — 
I'll  go  count  o'er  my  suitors,  that's  my  business, 


THE   OLD   LAW.  505 

And  prick  the  man  down;  I've  six  month's  to 

do't, 
But  could  dispatch  it  in  one,  were  I  put  to't. 

[Exit. 


\ 


ACT   in.     SCENE  L 

Befoi'e  the  Church. 
Enter  G  not  ho  and  Clerk. 


Gnoth.  You  have  search'd  over  the  parish- 
chronicle,  sir? 

Clerk.  Yes,  sir;  I  have  found  out  the  true  a^e 
and  date  of  the  party  you  wot  on. 

Gnoth.  Pray  you,  be  cover'd,  sir. 

Clerk.  When  you  have  shewed  me  the  way,  sir. 

Gnoth.  Oh,  sir,  remember  yeurself,  you  are  a 
clerk. 

Clerk.  A  small  clerk,  sir. 

Gnoth.  Likely  to  be  the  wiser  man,  sir ;  for 
your  greatest  clerks  are  not  always  so,  as  'tis  re- 
ported. 

Clerk.  You  are  a  great  man  in  the  parish,  sir. 

Gnoth.  I  understand  myself  so  much  the  better, 
sir;  for  all  the  best  in  the  parish  pay  duties  to 
the  clerk,  and  I  would  owe  you  none,  sir. 

Clerk.  Since  you'll  have  it  so,  I'll  be  the  first 
to  hide  my  head. 

Gnoth.  Mine  is  a  capcase:  now  to  our  busi- 
ness in  hand.  Good  luck,  I  hope;  I  long  to  be 
resolved. 

VOL.  IV.  ♦LI 


506  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Clerk.  Look  you,  sir,  this  is  that  cannot  de- 
ceive you : 
This  is  the  dial  that  goes  ever  true ; 
You  may  say  ipse  dliit  upon  this  witness, 
And  it  is  good  in  law  too. 

Gnoth.  Pray  you,  let's  hear  what  it  speaks. 

Clerk.  Mark,  sir. — Agatha^  the  daughter  of 
Pollu.v,  (this  is  your  wife's  name,  and  the  name 
of  her  father,)  born 

Gnoth.  Whose  daughter,  say  you? 

Clerk.  The  daughter  of  Pollux. 

Gnoth.  I  take  it  his  name  was  Bollux. 

Clerk.  Pollux  the  orthography  I  assure  you, 
sir;  the  word  is  corrupted  else. 

Gnoth.  Well,  on  sir, — of  Pollux ;  now  come 
on.  Castor. 

Clerk.  Born  in  an.  1540,  and  now  'tis  99.  By 
this  infallible  record,  sir,  (let  me  see,)  she's  now 
just  fifty-nine,  and  wants  but  one. 

Gnoth.  I  am  sorry  she  wants  so  much. 

Clerk.  Why,  sir?  alas,  'tis  nothing;  'tis  but  so 
many  months,  so  many  weeks,  so  many 

Gnoth.  Do  not  deduct  it  to  days,'  'twill  be  the 
more  tedious;  and  to  measure  it  by  hourglasses 
were  intolerable. 

Clerk.  Do  not  think  on  it,  sir;  half  the  time 
goes  away  in  sleep,  'tis  half  the  year  in  nights. 

Gnoth.  O,  you  mistake  me  neighbour,  I  am 

M  .'iiinm  OfiT  at  UKfH  :iii>'!;3  B  -rii;  .To  /     .'A-\a>  : 

*  CierY.'  Look  yott,  sir,  ihh  is  thaf'cannoi  deceive  I/oil :']  WMch^ 
inserted  by  the  modern  editors  after  that,  is  perfectly  unne- 
cessary ;  as  they  might  have  discovered,  long  before  they 
reached  this  part  of  their  work. 

*  Gnoth.  Do  not  deduct  it  to  days^l  A  Latinism,  deducere, 
bring  it  down,  or,  reduce  it  to  days.  This  absurdity  of  consult- 
ing the  church  book  for  the  age,  &c.  may  be  kept  in  countenance 
by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  vol.  6th,  p.  248.  Indeed  there  arc 
several  passages  in  this  play  that  resemble  some  in  the  Queen  of 
Corinth. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  507 

loth  to  leave  the  ^^ood  old  woman ;  if  she  were 
gone  now  it  would  not  grieve  me,  for  what  is  a 
year,  alas,  but  a  lingering  torment  ?  and  were  it 
not  better  she  were  out  of  her  pain?  It  must 
needs  be  a  grief  to  us  both. 

Clerk,  I  would  I  knew  how  to  ease  you,  neigh- 
bour ! 

Gnoth.  You  speak  kindly,  truly,  and  if  you 
say  but  Amen  to  it,,  (which  is  a  word  that  I  know 
you  are  perfect  in,)  it  might  be  done.  Clerks 
are  the  most  indifferent  honest  men, — for  to  the 
marriage  of  your  enemy,  or  the  burial  of  your 
friend,  the  curses  or  the  blessings  to  you  are  all 
one ;  you  say  Amen  to  all. 

Clerk.  With  a  better  will  to  the  one  than  the 
other,  neighbour:  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  say 
Amen  to  any  thing  might  do  you  a  pleasure. 

Gnoth.  There  is,  first,  something  above  your 
duty:  [Gi'ves  him  money. \  now  I  would  have  you 
set  forward  the  clock  a  little,  to  help  the  old 
woman  out  of  her  pain. 

Clerk.  I  will  speak  to  the  sexton;  but  the  day 
will  go  ne'er  the  faster  for  that. 

Gnoth.  Oh,  neighbour,  you  do  not  conceit  me, 
not  the  jack  of  the  clock-house;  the  hand  of  the 
dial,  I  mean.— 'Come,  I  know  you,  being  a  great 
clerk,  cannot  choose,  but  have  the  art  to  cast  a 
fissure. 

^ Clerk.  Never,  indeed,  neighbour;  I  never  had 
the  judgment  to  cast  a  figure. 

Gnoth,  I'll  shew  you  on  the  back  side  of  your 
book,  look  you, — what  figure's  this? 

Clerk.  Four  with  a  cypher,  that's  forty. 

Gnoth.  So  !  forty  ;  what's  this,  now  ? 

Clerk.  The  cipher  is  turn'd  into  9  by  adding 
the  tail,  which  makes  forty-nine. 

Gnoth,  Very  well  understood  ;  what  is't  now  ? 
*  Ll2 


508  •  THE  OLD   LAW. 

Clerk.  The  four  is  turn'd  into  three ;    'tis  now 
thirty-nine: 

Gtioth.  Very  well  understood  ;  and  can  you  do 
this  again  ? 

Clerk.  Oh  !   easily,  sir. 

Gnoth.  A  wager  of  that !  let  me  see  the  place 
of  my  wife's  age  again. 
'Clerk.  Look  you,  sir,  'tis  here,  1540. 

Gnoth.  Forty  drachmas,  you  do  not  turn  that 
forty  into  thirty- nine. 

Clerk.  A  match  with  you. 

Gnoth.  Done  \  and  you  shall  keep  stakes  your- 
self: there  they  are. 

Clerk.  A  firm  match — but  stay,  sir,  now  I  con- 
sider it,  I  shall  add  a  year  to  your  wife's  age ; 
let  me  see — Scirophorion  the  17, — and  now  'tis 
Hecatombaion  the  11.*  If  I  alter  this,  your  wife 
will  have  but  a  month  to  live  by  law. 

Gnoth.  That's  all  one,  sir  ;  either  do  it,  or  pay 
me  my  wager. 

Clerk.  Will  you  lose  your  wife  before  you  lose 
your  wager? 

Gnoth.  A  man  may  get  two  wives  before  half 
so  much  money  by  them  ;  will  you  do  it? 

Clerk.  1  hope  you  will  conceal  me,  for  'tis  flat 
corruption. 

Gnoth.  Nay,  sir,  I  would  have  you  keep 
counsel ;  for  I  lose  my  money  by't,  and  should 
be  laugh'd  at  for  my  labour,  if  it  should  be 
known. 

Clerk.  Well,  sir,  there  ! — 'tis  done  ;  as  perfect 
a  39  as  can  be  found  in  black  and  white :  but 
mum,  sir, — there's  danger  in  this  figure-casting. 

*  Sciropliorion,  Hecatombaion,  and,  soon  after,  December ; 
what  a  medley  !  This  miserable  ostentation  of  Greek  literature 
is,  I  believe,  I'rom  the  pen  of  MiddletOQ^  who  was  •'  a  piece" 
of  a  scholar. 


THE   OLD   LA^Y.  509 

Gnoth.  Ay,  sir,  I  kno\v  that :  better  men  than 
you  have  been  thrown  over  the  bar  for  as  little  ; 
the  best  is,  you  can  be  but  thrown  out  of  the 
belfry. 

Enter  the  Cook,  Tailor,  Bailiff,  and  Butler. 

Clerk.  Lock  close,  here  comes  company;'  asses 
have  ears  as  well  as  pitchers. 

Cook.  Oh,  Gnotho,  how  is't?  here's  a  trick  of 
discarded  cards  of  us  !  we  were  rank'd  with  coats, 
as  long  as  old  master  lived/ 

Gnoth,  And  is  this  then  the  end  of  serving- 
men? 

Cook.  Yes,  'faith,  this  is  the  end  of  seroing-men : 
a  wise  man  were  better  serve  one  God  than  all 
the  men  In  the  world. 

Gnoth.  'Twas  well  spoke  of  a  cook.  And  are 
all  fallen  into  fasting-days  and  Ember-weeks, 
that  cooks  are  out  of  use  ? 

Tail.  And  all  tailors  will  be  cut  into  lists  and 
shreds ;  if  this  world  hold,  we  shall  grow  both 
out  of  request. 

But.  And  why  not  butlers  as  well  as  tailors  ? 
if  they  can  go  naked,  let  them  neither  eat  nor 
drink. 

Clerk.  That's  strange,  methinks,  a  lord  should 
turn  away  his  tailor,  of  all  men  :~and  how  dost 
thou,  tailor? 

Tail.  I  do  so,  so;  but,  indeed,  all  our  wants 
are  long  of  this  publican,  my  lord's  bailiff;  for 

s  Lock  close,  here  comes  company ;]  So  the  old  copy :  the 
modern  editors  read— Look  close^  which  has  no  meaning. 

»  This  alludes  to  those  games,  in  which  the  low  cards  were 
thrown  out ;  coats  were  what  we  call  court  cards.  The  end  of 
terving-men,  which  occurs  in  the  next  speech,  is  the  title  of  an 
old  ballad. 


510  THE   OLD    LAW. 

had  he  been  rent-gatherer  still,  our  places  had 
held  together  still,  that  are  now  seam-rent,  nay 
crack'd  in  the  whole  piece.' 

Bail  Sir,  if  my  lord  had  not  sold  his  lands  that 
claim  his  rents,  I  should  still  have  been  the  rent- 
gatherer. 

Cook.  The  truth  is,  except  the  coachman  and 
the  footman,  all  serving-men  are  out  of  request. 

Gnotli.  Nay,  say  not  so,  for  you  were  never  in 
more  request  than  now,  for  requesting  is  but  a 
kind  of  a  begging  ;  for  when  you  say,  I  beseech 
your  worship's  charity,  'tis  all  one  as  if  you  say 
I  request  it ;  and  in  that  kind  of  requesting, 
I  am  sure  serving-men  were  never  in  more 
request. 

Cook.  Troth,  he  says  true  :  well,  let  that  pass, 
we  are  upon  a  better  adventure.  I  see,  Gnotho, 
you  have  been  before  us ;  we  came  to  deal  with 
this  merchant  for  some  commodities. 

Clerk.  With  me,  sir?  any  thing  that  I  can. 

But.  Nay,  we  have  looked  out  our  wives  al- 
ready :  marry,  to  you  we  come  to  know  the 
prices,  that  is,  to  know  their  ages  ;  for  so  much 
reverence  we  bear  to  age,  that  the  more  aged, 
they  shall  be  the  more  dear  to  us. 

Tail.  The  truth  is,  every  man  has  laid  by  his 
widow;  so  they  be  lame  enough,  blind  enough, 
and  old  enough,  'tis  good  enough. 

Clerk.  I  keep  the  town-stock;  if  you  can  but 
name  thei?i,~I  can  tell  their  ages  to  a  day. 

*  If  the  reader  wanted  any  additional  proof  that  no  part  of 
this  scene  was  written  by  Massinger,  he  might  find  it  in  this 
punning  on  the  terms  used  by  tailors  :  in  these,  and  similar 
conceits  he  takes  no  pleasure.  It  is  wretched  stuff;  and  would 
almost  lead  one  io  think  that  it  was  the  production  of  the  stage, 
in  its  nonage,  and  not  fairly  attributable  io  any  of  the  trium- 
virate. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  511 

All.  We  can  tell  their  fortunes  to  an  hour, 
then. 

Clerk.  Only  you  must  pay  for  turning  of  the 
leaves. 

Cook.  Oh,  bountifully. — Come,  mine  first. 

But.  The  butler  before  the  cook,  while  you 
live;  there's  few  that  eat  beibre  they  drink  in  a 
morning. 

Tail.  Nay,  then  the  tailor  puts  in  his  needle  of 
priority,  for  men  do  clothe  themselves  before 
they  either  drink  or  eat. 

Bail.  I  will  strive  for  no  place  ;  the  longer  ere 
I  marry  my  wife,  the  older  she  will  be,  and  nearer 
her  end  and  my  ends. 

Clerk.  I  will  serve  you  all,  gentlemen,  if  you 
will  have  patience. 

Gnoth.  I  commend  your  modesty,  sir ;  you  are 
a  bailiff,  whose  place  is  to  come  behind  other 
men,  as  it  were  in  the  bum  of  all  the  rest. 

Bail.  So,  sir!  and  you  were  about  this  business 
too,  seeking  out  for  a  widow  ? 

Gnoth.  Alack  !  no  sir ;  I  am  a  married  man, 
and  have  those  cares  upon  me  that  you  would 
fain  run  into. 

Bail.  What,  an  old  rich  wife  !  any  man  in  this 
age  desires  such  a  care. 

Gnoth.  'Troth,  sir,  I'll  put  a  venture  with  you, 
if  you  will;  I  have  a  lusty  old  quean  to  my 
wife,  sound  Ct  wind  and  limb,  yet  I'll  give  out 
to  take  three  for  one  at  the  marriage  of  my 
second  wife. 

Bail.  Ay,  sir,  but  how  near  is  she  to  the  law  ? 

Gnoth.  Take  that  at  hazard,  sir;  there  must  be 
time,  you  know,  to  get  a  new.  Unsight,  unseen, 
I  take  three  to  one. 

Bail.  Two  to  one  I'll  give,  if  she  have  but  two 
teeth  in  her  head. 


512  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Gnoth.  A  match  ;  there's  five  drachmas  for  ten 
at  my  next  wife. 

Bail.  A  match. 

Cook.  I  shall  be  fitted  bravely:  fifty-eight,  and 
upwards  ;  'tis  but  a  year  and  a  half,  and  I  may 
chance  make  friends,  and  beg  a  year  of  the 
duke. 

But.  Hey,  boys  !  I  am  made  sir  butler ;  my 
wife  that  shall  be  wants  but  two  months  of  ber 
time  ;  it  shall  be  one  ere  I  marry  her,  and  then 
the  next  will  be  a  honey  moon. 

Tail.  I  outstrip  you  all ;  I  shall  have  but  six 
weeks  of  Lent,  if  I  get  my  widow,  and  then  comes 
eating-tide,  plump  and  gorgeous. 

Gnoth.  This  tailor  will  be  a  man,  if  ever  there 
were  any. 

Bail.  Now  comes  my  turn,  I  hope,  goodman 
Finis,  you  that  are  still  at  the  end  of  all,  with  a 
so  he  it.  Well  now,  sirs,  do  you  venture  there 
as  I  have  done  ;  and  I'll  venture  here  after  you: 
Good  luck,  I  beseech  thee  ! 

Clerk.  Amen,  sir. 

Bail.  That  deserves  a  fee  already — there  'tis  ; 
please  me,  and  have  a  better. 

Clerk.  Amen,  sir. 

Cook.  How,  two  for  one  at  your  next  wife  !  is 
the  old  one  living  ? 

Gnoth.  You  have  a  fair  match,  I  offer  you  no 
foul  one ;  if  death  make  not  haslsJ  to  call  her, 
she'll  make  none  to  go  to  him. 

But.  I  know  her,  she's  a  lusty  woman ;  I'll 
take  the  venture. 

Gnoth.  There's  five  drachmas  for  ten  at  my 
next  wife. 

But.  A  bargain. 

Cook.  Nay,  then  we'll  be  all  merchants  :  give 
me. 


THE   OLD    LAW.  513 

TaiL  And  me. 

But.  What,  has  the  bailiff  sped  ? 

Bail.  I  am  content;  but  noae  of  you  shall 
know  my  happiness. 

Clerk.  As  well  as  any  of  you  all,  believe  it,  sir. 

Bail.  Oh,  clerk,  you  are  to  speak  last  always. 

Clerk.  I'll  remember't  hereafter,  sin  You  have 
done  with  me,  gentlemen  ?  ' 

Enter  Agatha. 

All.  For  this  time,  honest  register. 

Clerk,  Fare  you  well  then;  if  you  do,  I'll  cry 
Amen  to  it*        .  {^Exit^ 

Cook.  Look  you,  sir,  is  not  this  your  wife  ? 

Gnoth.  My  first  wife,  sir. 

But.  Nay,  then  we  have  made  a  good  match 
on't;  if  she  have  no  froward  disease,  the  woman 
may  live  this  dozen  years  by  her  age. 

Tail.  I'm  afraid  she's  broken-winded,  she  holds 
silence  so  long. 

Cook.  We'll  now  leave  our  venture  to  the 
event ;  I  must  a  wooing. 

But.  I'll  but  buy  me  a  new  dagger,  and  over- 
take you. 

Bail.  So  we  must  all;  for  he  that  goes  a  wooing 

to  a  widow  without  a  weapon,  will  never  get  her. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Gnotho  and  Agatha. 

Gnoth.  Oh,  wife,  wife  I 

Aga.  What  ail  you,  man,  you  speak  so  passi- 
onately ? ' 

Gnoth.  'Tis  for  thy   sake,   sweet  wife:  who 

»  Clerk.  Fare  you  uell  then  ;  if  you  do,  Til  cry  Amen  to  iV.] 
i.  e.  if  you  fare  well : — but  this  is  a  sad  abuse  of  criticism. 

*  Aga.  What  ail  you,  man,  you  tpeak  w  passiouatcly  ?]  i.  e.  10 
plaintiTely,  so  sorrowfully.    See  p.  466. 


514  THE  OLD   LAW. 

would  think  so  lusty  an  old  woman,  with  reason- 
able good  teeth,  and  her  tongue  in  as  perfect 
use  as  ever  it  was,  should  be  so  near  her  time  ? 
— but  the  Fates  will  have  it  so. 

j4ga.  What's  the  matter,  man  ?  you  do  amaze 
me. 

Gnoth,  Thou  art  not  sick  neither,  I  warrant 
thee. 

Aga.  Not  that  I  know  of,  sure. 

Gnoth.  What  pity  'tis  a  woman  should  be  so 
near  her  end,  and  yet  not  sick  ! 

Aga.  Near  her  end,  man  1  tush,  I  can  guess  at 
that ; 
I  have  years  good  yet  of  life  in. the  remainder: 
I  want  two  yet  at  least  of  the  full  number; 
Then  the  law,  I  know,  craves  impotent  and  use- 
less. 
And  not  the  able  women. 

Gnoth.  Ay,  alas !  I  see  thou  hast  been  repair- 
ing time  as  well  as  thou  couldst;  the  old 
wrinkles  are  well  filled  up,  but  the  vermilion  is 
seen  too  thick,  too  thick — and  I  read  what's 
written  in  thy  forehead;  it  agrees  with,  the 
church-book.  1  :\i\A. 

Aga.  Have  you  sought  my  age,  man  ?  and,  I 
prithee,  how  is  it? 

Gnoth.  I  shall  but  discomfort  thee. 

Aga.  Not  at  all,  man,  when  there's  no  remedy, 
I  will  go,  though  unwillingly. 

Gnoth.  1559'  Just;  it  agrees  with  the  book: 
you  have  about  a  year  to  prepare  yourself. 

Aga.  Out,  alas  I  I  hope  there's  more  than  so. 
But  do  you  not  think  a  reprieve  might  be  gotten 
for  half  a  score — an  'twere  but  five  years,  I 
would  not  care?  an  able  woman,  methinks,  were 
to  be  pitied.  .(.y  j..,  ^i^iv 

Gnoth,  Ay,  to  be  pitied,  but  not  help'd;  no 


THE   OLD    LAW.  515 

hope  of  that :  for,  indeed,  women  have  so 
blemish  d  tlieir  own  reputations  now-a-days, 
that  it  is  thought  the  law  will  meet  them  at  fifty 
very  shortly. 

Aga.   Marry,  the  heavens  forbid  ! 

Gnoth  There's  so  many  of  you,  that,  when 
you  are  old,  become  witches;  some  profess  phy- 
sic, and  kill  good  subjects  faster  than  a  burning 
fever ;  and  then  school-mistresses  of  the  sweet 
sin,  which  commonly  we  call  bawds,  innumerable 
of  that  sort :  for  these  and  such  causes  'tis 
thought  they  shall  not  live  above  fifty. 

Jga.  Ay,  man,  but  this  hurts  not  the  good  old 
women. 

Gnoth.  Faith,  you  are  so  like  one  another,  that 
a  man  cannot  distinguish  them  :  now,  were  I  an 
old  Nvoman,  I  would  desire  to  go  before  my  time, 
and  ofier  myself  v/illingly,  two  or  three  years 
before.  Oh,  those  are  brave  women,  and  worthy 
to  be  commended  of  all  men  in  the  world,  that, 
when  their  husbands  die,  they  run  to  be  burnt 
to  death  with  them  :  there's  honour  and  credit ! 
give  me  half  a  dozen  such  wives. 

Aga.  Ay,  if  her  husband  were  dead  before, 
'twere  a  reasonable  request;  if  you  were  dead, 
I  could  be  content  to  be  so. 

Gnoth.  Fie  !  that's  not  likely,  for  thou  hadst 
two  husbands  before  me. 

Aga.  Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  die,  wouldst 
thou,  husband? 

Gnoth.  No,  I  do  not  speak  to  that  purpose ;  but 
I  say  what  credit  it  were  for  me  and  thee,  if  thou 
wouldst;  then  thou  shouldst  never  be  suspected 
for  a  witch,  a  physician,  a  bawd",  or  any  of  those 
things:  and  then  how  daintily  should  I  mourn, 
for  thee,  how  bravely  should  I  see  thee  buried  ! 
when,  alas,  if  he  goes  before,  it  cannot  choose  but 


Al6  THE   OLD   LAW. 

be  a  great  grief  to  him  to  think  he  has  not  seen 
his  wife  well  buried.  There  be  such  virtuous 
women  in  the  world,  but  too  few,  too  few,  who 
desire  to  die  seven  years  before  their  time,  with 
all  their  hearts. 

^ga.  I  have  not  the  heart  to  be  of  that  mind ; 
but,  indeed,  husband,  I  think  you  would  have 
me  gone. 

Gnoth.  No,  alas  !  I  speak  but  for  your  good 
and  your  credit;  for  when  a  woman  may  die 
quickly,  why  should  she  go  to  law  for  her  death  ? 
Alack,  I  need  not  wish  thee  gone,  for  thou  hast 
but  a  short  time  to  stay  with  me :  you  do  not 
know  how  near  'tis, — it  must  out ;  you  have  but 
a  month  to  live  by  the  law. 

Aga.  Out,  alas  ! 

Gnoth.  Nay,  scarce  so  much. 

Aga.  Oh,  oh,  oh,  my  heart !  [^Swoons. 

Gnoth.  Ay,  so !  if  thou  wouldst  go  away 
quietly,  'twere  sw6etly  done,  and  like  a  kind 
wife;  lie  but  a  little  longer,  and  the  bell  shall 
toll  for  thee. 

Aga.  Oh  my  heart,  but  a  month  to  live  ! 

Gnoth.  Alas,  why  wouldst  thou  come  back 
again  for  a  month?  I'll  throw  her  down  again — 
oh  !  woman,  'tis  not  three  weeks;  I  think  a  fort- 
night is  the  most. 

Aga.  Nay,  then  I  am  gone  already.     \Srwoons* 

Gnoth.  1  would  make  haste  to  the  sexton  now, 
but  I  am  afraid  the  tolling  of  the  bell  will  wake 
her  again.  If  she  be  so  wise  as  to  go  now — she 
stirs  again  ;  there's  two  lives  of  the  nine  gone. 

Aga.  Oh !  wouldst  thou  not  help  to  recover 
me,  husband  ? 

Gnoth.  Alas,  I  could  not  find  in  my  heart  to 
hold  thee  by  thy  nose,  or  box  thy  cheeks;  it 
goes  against  my  conscience. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  517 

Aga.  I  will  not  be  thus  frighted  to  my  death,  I'll 
search  the  church  records :  a  fortnight ! 
'Tis  too  little  of  conscience,  I  cannot  be  so  near; 
O  time,  if  thou  be'st  kind,  lend  me  but  a  year. 

\Exit, 

Gnoth,  What  a  spite's  this,  that  a  man  cannot 
persuade  his  wife  to  die  in  any  time  with  her 
good  will  ?  I  have  another  bespoke  already  ; 
though  a  piece  of  old  beef  will  serve  to  break- 
fast, yet  a  man  would  be  glad  of  a  chicken  to 
supper.  The  clerk,  I  hope,  understands  no  He- 
brew, and  cannot  write  backward  what  he  hath 
writ  forward  already,  and  then  I  am  well  enough. 
'Tis  but  a  month  at  most,  if  that  were  gone, 
My  venture  comes  in  with  her  two  for  one : 
'Tis  use  enough  o'  conscience  for  a  broker — if  he 
had  a  conscience.  [Exit, 


SCENE   n.' 

A  Room  in  Creon's  House, 

Enter  Eugenia  at  one  door,  Simonides  and 
Courtiers  at  the  other, 

Eug.  Gentlemen  courtiers. 
1  Court.  All  your  vow'd  servants,  lady. 
Eug.    Oh,   I  shall   kill   myself  with   infinite 
laughter! 
Will  nobody  take  my  part? 

Sim.  An't  be  a  laughing  business, 


'  This  scene  is  also  printed  as  prose  by  the  modern  editors. 
Coxeter  seems  to  hare  been  very  capricious  in  his  notions  of 
metre,  for  he  has  here  (as  well  as  in  too  many  other  places) 
deserted  the  original.  Mr.  M.  Mason  is  only  accountable  for 
his  want  of  attention. 


518  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Put  it  to  me,  I'm  one  of  the  best  in  Europe ; 
My  father  died  last  too,  I  have  the  most  cause. 

Eug.  You  have  pick'd  out  such  a*  time,  sweet 
gentlemen, 
To  make  your  spleen  a  banquet. 

Sim.  Oh,  the  jest  \ 
Lady,  I  have  a  jaw  stands  ready  for't, 
I'll  gape  half  way,  and  meet  it. 

Eug.  My  old  husband, 
That  cannot  say  his  prayers  out  for  jealousy, 
And  madness  at  your  coming  first  to  woo  me — 

Sim.  Well  said. 

1  Court.  Go  on. 

2  Court.  On,  on. 

Eug.  Takes  counsel  with 
The  secrets  of  all  art,  to  make  himself 
Youthful  again. 

Sim.  How  !  youthful  ?  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Eug.  A  man  of  forty-five  he  would  fain  seem 
to  be. 
Or  scarce  so  much,  if  he  might  have  his  will, 
indeed. 
Sim.  Ay,  but  his  white  hairs,  they'll  betray  his 

hoariness. 
Eug.  Why,  there  you  are  wide :  he's  not  the 
man  you  take  him  for, 
Nor  will   you   know   him    when   you   see   him 

again;  C  tJ^-.   Vus<^'J  ' 

There  will  be  fiv^  to  one  laid  updn  tH^it.  ' 
1  Court.  How  ! 

Eug,  Nay,  you  did  well  to  laugh  faintly  there  ; 
I  promise  you,  I  think  he'll  outlive  me  now, 
And  deceive  law  and  all. 
Sim.  Marry,  gout  forbid  ! 
Eug.  You  little  think  he  was  at  fencing-school 
At  four  o'clock  this  morning. 
Sim.  How,  at  fencing-school  I 


THE  OLD   LAW.  519 

Eug.  Else  give  no  trust  to  woman. 

Sim.  By  this  light, 
I  do  not  like  him,  then ;  he's  like  to  live 
Longer  than  I,  for  he  may  kill  me  first,  now. 

Eug.  His  dancer  now  came  in  as  I  met  you. 

1  Court.  His  dancer,  too  ! 

Eug.  They  observe  turns  and  hours  with  him; 
The  great  French  rider  will  be  here  at  ten, 
WithThis  curveting  horse. 

2  Court,  These  notwithstanding, 

His  hair  and  wrinkles  will  betray  his  age. 

Eug,  I'm  sure  his  head  and  beard,  as  he  has 
order'd  it, 
Look  not  past  fifty  now  :  he'll  bring't  to  forty 
Within  these  four  days,  for  nine  times  an  hour 
He  takes  a  black  lead  comb,  and  kembs  it  over: 
Three  quarters  of  his  beard  is  under  fifty ; 
There's  but  a  little  tuft  of  fourscore  left, 
All  o'one  side,  which  will  be  black  by  Monday. 

Enter  Lysander. 

And,  to  approve  my  truth,  see  where  he  comes ! 
Laugh  softly,  gentlemen,  and  look  upon  him. 

[They  go  aside, 
Sim.  Now,  by  this  hand,  he's  almost  black  i'the 

mouth,  indeexl. 
1  Court.  He  should  die  shortly,  then. 
Sim.  Marry,  methinks  he  dies  too  fast  already, 
For  he  was  all  white  but  a  week  ago. 

1  Court.  Oh !  this  same  coney-white  takes  aa 

excellent  black. 
Too  soon,  a  mischief  on't ! 

2  Court,  He  will  beguile 

Us  all,  if  that  little  tuft  northward  turn  black  too. 
Eug.  Nay,  sir,  I  wonder  'tis  so  long  a  turning. 


520  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Sim.  May  be  some  fairy's  child  held  forth  at 

midnight, 
Has  piss'd  upon  that  side. 
1  Court,  Is  this  the  beard  ? 
Lys,  Ah,  sirrah?  my  young  boys,  I  shall  be  for 

you: 
This  little  mangy  tuft  takes  up  more  time 
Than  all  the  beard  beside.    Come  you  a  wooing, 
And  I  alive  and  lusty?  you  shall  find 
An  alteration,  jack-boys  ;  I  have  a  spirit  yet, 
(An  I  could  match  my  hair  to't,  there's  the  fault,)* 
And  can  do  offices  of  youth  yet  lightly; 
At  least,  I  will  do,  though  it  pain  me  a  little. 
Shall  not  a  man,  for  a  little  foolish  age. 
Enjoy  his  wife  to  himself?  must  young  court 

tits 
Play  tomboys'  tricks  with  her,  and  he  live?  ha  ! 
I  have  blood  that  will  not  bear't ;  yet,  I  confess, 
I   should   be  at   my   prayers — but   where's   the 

dancer,  there  ! 

Entei'  Dancing-master. 

Mast.  Here,  sir. 

Lys.  Come,  come,  come,  one  trick  a  day, 
And  I  shall  soon  recover  all  again. 

Eug.  'Slight,  an  you  laugh  too  loud,  we  are  all 

discover'd. 
Sim.  And   I    have  a   scurvy  grinning    laugh 
o'mine  own. 
Will  spoil  all,  I  am  afraid. 
Eug,  Marry,  take  heed,  sir. 

♦  (^An  I  could  match  my  hair  to^t,  thtre's  the  fault,)]  i.  e 
there's  the  misfttrtune :  this  is  a  further  confirmation  of  what  ii 
said  upon  the  subject,  rol.  ii.  p.  98. 


THE   OLD    LAW.  521 

Sim.  Nay,  an  I  should  be  hang'd  I  cannot  leave 
it; 
Pup  !— there  'tis.  [Bursts  into  a  laugh, 

Eug.  Peace  !  oh  peace  ! 
Lys.  Come,  I  am  ready,  sir. 
I  hear  the  church-book's  lost  where  I  was  born 

too, 
And  that  shall  set  me  back  one  twenty  years; 
There  is  no  little  comfort  left  in  that : 
And — then  my  three  court-codlings,  that  look 
parboil'd, 

As  if  they  came  from  Cupid's  scalding-house 

Sim.  He  means  me  specially,  I  hold  my  life. 
Mast.  What  trick  will  your  old  worship  learn 

this  morning,  sir? 
Lys.  Marry,  a  trick,  if  thou  couldst  teach  a 
man, 
To  keep  his  wife  to  himself;  Td  fain  learn  that. 
Mast.  That's  a  hard  trick,  for  an  old  man  spe- 
cially ; 
Tbe  horse-trick  comes  the  nearest. 

Lys.  Thou  say'st  true,  i'faith. 
They  must  be  horsed  indeed,   else  there's  no 

keeping  them, 
And  horse-play  at  fourscore  is  not  so  ready. 
Mast.  Look  you,  here's  your  worship's  horse- 
trick,'  sir.  [Gives  a  spring. 
Lys.  Nay,  say  not  so, 
'Tis  none  of  mine ;  I  fall  down  horse  and  man, 
If  I  but  offer  at  it. 

Mast.  My  life  for  yours,  sir. 

Lys.  Say'st  thou  me  so  ?  [Springs  aloft. 

5  Heres  your  worship's  \iOTSQ^iT\c\i^'\  Some  rough  currctting 
is  here  meant,  but  I  know  not  the  precise  motion.  Thf  word 
occurs  in  a  Woman  killed  with  Kindness.  "  Though  wc  be  but 
country  fellows,  it  may  be,  in  the  way  of  dancing,  w«  c%^n 
do  the  horsetncik  as  well  as  the  serTing-naen."     A.  1. 

VOL.  IV.  *  M  m 


522  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Mast.  Well  ofFer'd,  by  my  viol,  sir. 
Lys.  A  pox  of  this  horse-trick  !  't  has  play'd 
the  jade  with  me, 
And  given  me  a  wrench  i'the  back. 

Mast.  Now  here's  your  inturn,  and  your  trick 

above  ground. 
Lys.  Prithee,  no  more,  unless  thou  hast  a  mind 
To  lay  me  under-ground  ;  one  of  these  tricks 
Is  enough  in  a  morning. 

Mast.  For  your  galliard,  sir, 
You  are  complete  enough,  ay,  and  may  challenge 
The  proudest  coxcomb  of  them  all,  I'll  stand  to't. 
Lys.  Faith,  and  I've  other  weapons  for  the  rest 
too : 
I  have  prepared  for  them,  if  e'er  I  take 
My  Gregories  here  again. 
Sim.  Oh  !   I  shall  burst, 
I  can  hold  out  no  longer. 

Eug.  He  spoils  all.  [They  come  f 01^ ard. 

Lys.  The  devil  and  his  grinners  !  are  you  come? 

Bring  forth  the  weapons^  we  shall  find  you  play; 

All  feats  of  youth  too,  jack-boys,  feats  of  youth, 

And    these    the    weapons,    drinking,    fencing, 

dancing :' 
Your  own  road-ways,  you  clyster-pipes  I  I  am 

old,  you  say. 
Yes,  parlous  old,  kids,  an  you  mark  me  well  ! 
This  beard  cannot  get  children,  you  lank  suck- 
eggs, 
Unless  such  weasels  come  from  court  to  help  us. 
We  will  get  our  own  brats,  you  letcherous  dog- 
bolts ! 

•  And  these  the  weapons ,  drinking^  fencing.,  dancing']  This  line, 
which  dpscribes  what  the  feats  of  youth  are,  and  without  which 
the  subsequent  speeches  cannot  be  understood,  is  wholly  omitted 
by  Mr.  M.  Mason. 


THE    OLD    LAW.  523 


Enter  a  Servant  with/oils,  and  glasses. 

Well  said,  down  with  them  ;  now  we  shall  see 

your  spirits. 
What !  dwindle  you  already  ?  ** 
2  Court.  I  have  no  quality. 
Sim,  Nor  I,  unless  drinking  may  be  reckon'd 

for  one. 
1  Court.  Why,  Sim,  it  shall. 
Lt/s.    Come,    dare  you   choose   your  weapon 
now? 

1  Court.  I  ?  dancing,  sir,  an  you  will  be  so 

hasty. 
Lys.  We're  for  you,  sir. 

2  Court.  Fencing,  I. 

Li/s.  We'll  answer  you  too. 

Sim.  I  am   for  drinking;    your  wet  weapon 

there. 
Li/s.  That  wet  onfe  has  cost  many  a  princox 
life; 
And  I  will  send  it  through  you  with  a  powder  ! 
Sim.  Let  it  come,  with  a  pox  !  I  care  not^so't 
be  drink. 
I  hope  my  guts  will  hold,  and  that's  e'en  all 
A  gentleman  can  look  for  of  such  trillibubs.' 
Lys.  Play  the  first  weapon ;  come  strike,  strike, 
I  say. 
Yes,  yes,  you  shall  be  first ;  I'll  observe  court 
rules : 

f of  such  trillibubs.]   This  seems 

to  be  a  cant  word  for  any  thing  of  a  trifling  nature :  I  meet 
with  it  again  in  Shirley — 

*'  But  I  forgive  thee,  and  forget  thy  tricks 
<*  And  trillibubs."  Hj/de  Fork. 

*  M  m  2 


*524  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Always  the  worst  goes  foremost,  so  'twill  prove, 
I  hope.  [1  Courtier  dances  a  galliard,' 

So,  sir!  you've  spit  your  poison;  now  come  L 
Now,  forty  years  go  backward  and  assist  me, 
Fall  from  me  half  my  age,  but  for  three  minutes, 
That  I  may  feel  no  crick !  I  will  put  fair  for't. 
Although  I  hazard  twenty  sciaticas.        [Dances, 
So,  I  have  hit  you. 

1  Court.  You've  done  well,  i'faith,  sir. 
Lys.  If  you  confess  it  Weil,  'tis  excellent. 

And  I  have  hit  you  soundly  ;  I  am  warm  now  : 
The  second  weapon  instantly. 

2  Court.  What,  so  quick,  sir  ? 

Will  you  not  allow  yourself  a  breathing-time  ? 
Lys.  I've  breath  enough  at  all  times,  Lucifer's 
musk-cod. 
To  give  your  perfumed  worship  three  venues : 
A  sound  old  man  puts  his  thrust  better  home, 
Than  a  spiced  young  man  :  there  I.  [They  fence, 
Q  Court.  Then  have  at  you,  fourscore. 
Lys.  You  lie,  twenty,  I  hope,  and  you  shall 

find  it. 
Sim.  I'm  glad  I  miss'd  this  weapon,  I'd  had  an 
eye 
Popt  out  ere  this  time,  or  my  two  butter-teeth 
Thrust  down  my  throat  instead  of  a  flap-dragon. 

•  1  Courtier  dances  a  galliard.]  A  galliard  is  described  by  sir 
John  Dafis,  as  a  swift  and  wandering  dance,  with  lofty  turns  and 
capriols  in  the  air;  and  so  very  proper  to  prove  the  strength  and 
activity  of  Lysander. 

It  is  still  more  graphically  described,  as  Mr.  Gilchrist  ob- 
serves, in  Burton's  Anat.  of  Mtlancholij :  "  Let  them  take  their 
pleasures,  young  men  and  maides  flourishing  in  their  age,  fair 
and  lovely  to  behold,  m til  attired  and  of  comely  carriage,  dan- 
cing a  Greeke  Galliarde,  and,  as  t/ieir  dance  required,  kept  their 
time,  now  turning,  now  tracing,  now  apart,  now  altogether,  7ww  a 
curtesicj  then  a  caper,  SfC,  that  it  was  a  pleasant  sight."  Fol. 
1633. 


THE   OLD    LAW.  525 

Lys.  There's  two,  pentweezle.  [^Hits  him. 

Mast.  Excellently  touch'd,  sir. 

2  Court.  Had  ever  man  such  luck  !  speak  your 

opinion,  gentlemen. 
Sim.  Methinks  your  luck's   good    that   your 
eyes  are  in  still ; 
Mine  would  have  dropt  out  like  a  pig's  half 
roasted. 
Lys.  There   wants  a   third-?~and    there   it   is 
again  !  [Hits  him  again. 

2  Court.  The  devil  has  steel'd  him. 
Eug.  What  a  strong  fiend  is  jealousy  1 
Lys.  You  are  dispatch'd,  hear-whelp. 
Sim.  Now  comes  my  weapon  in. 
Lys.  Here,  toadstool,  here. 
'Tis  you  and  I  must  play  these  three  wet  venu^Si. 
Sim.  Venues  in  Venice  glasses !  let  them  come, 
They'll  bruise  no  flesh,  I'm  sure,  nor  break  no 
bones.  * 

2  Court.  Yet  you  may  drink  your  eyes  out, 

sir. 
Sim.  Ay,  but  that's  nothing ; 
Then  they  go  voluntarily  :  1  do  not 
Love  to  have  them  thrust  out,  whether  they  will 
or  no. 
Lys.  Here's  your  first  weapon,  duck's-meat. 
Sim.  How!  a  Dutch  what-do-you-call-'em. 
Stead  of  a  German  faulchion  !  a  shrewd  weapon. 
And,  of  all  things,  hard  to  be  taken  down: 
Yet  down  it  must,  I  have  a  nose  goes  into't; 
I  shall  drink  double,  I  think. 
1  Court.  The  sooner  off.  Sim. 

Lys.  I'll  pay  you  sj)eedily, with  a  trick' 

I  learnt  once  amongst  drunkards,  here's  a  half- 
pike.  [^Drinks. 

♦  Lysan.  /'//  pay  you  speedily^  ■-■  -with  a  tricky  &c.] 


5^6  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Sim.  Half-pike  comes  well  after  Dutch  what- 
tlo-you-call-'em, 
They'd  never  be  asunder  by  their  good  will.* 

1  Court.  Well  pull'd  of  an  old  fellow  ! 

Li^s.  Oh,  but  your  fellows 
Pull  better  at  a  rope. 

1  Court.  There's  a  hair,  Sim, 
In  that  glass. 

Sim.  An't  be  as  long  as  a  halter,  down  it  goes; 
No  hair  shall  cross  me.  [Drinks. 

Lys.  I'll  make  you  stink  worse  than  your  pole- 
cats do : 
Here's  long-sword,  your  last  weapon. 

\Offers  him  the  glass. 

Sim.  No  more  weapons. 

1  Court.  Why,  how  now,  Sim  ?  bear  up,  thou 

shamest  us  all,  else. 
Sim.  'Slight  I  shall  shame  you  worse,  an  I  stay 

longer. 
I  have  got  the  scotomy  in  my  head  already,' 
The  whimsey  :  you  all  turn  round — do  not  you 

dance,  gallants  ? 

2  Court.  Pish!  what's  all  this?  why,  Sim,  look, 

the  last  venu6. 


Lysander  gives  them  all  harsh  n&mes— -here  he  bestows  one  on 
Simonides,  which  the  delicacy  or  fear  of  the  old  publisher  would 
not  permit  him  to  hazard  in  print :  tant  mieux. 

*  This  stuff  is  not  worth  explaining  ;  but  the  reader,  if  he 
has  any  curiosity  on  the  subject,  may  amply  gratify  it  by  a  visit 
to  Pantagruel  and  his  companions  on  the  Isle  Ennasin.  Below, 
there  is  a  miserable  pun  upon  hair — the  crossing  of  an  hare  was 
ominous. 

*  /  have  got  the  scotomy  in  my  head  already^']  The  scotomy 
(^aKorufAu)  is  a  dizziness  or  swimming  in  the  bead.  Thus  Jonson: 

*'  Corb.  How  does  he  with  the  swimming  of  his  head  ? 
"  Mas.  O,  sir,  'tis  past  the  scotomy  :  he  now 
"  Hath  lost  his  feeling,"  &c.  The  Fox. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  5^7 

Sim.  No  more  venues  go  down  here,  for  these 
two 
Are  coming-  up  again. 

2  Court.  Out  !   the  disgrace  of  drinkers! 

Sim    Yes,  'twill  out, 
Do  you  smell  nothing  yet  ? 

\\Court    Smell  ! 

Sim.   Farewell  quickly,  then; 
You  will  do,  if  I  stay.  [Ejcit, 

1  Court.   A  foil  go  with  thee  ! 

Lys.  What,  shall  we  put  down  youth  at  her 
own  virtues  ? 
Beat  folly  in  her  own  ground?  wondrous  much! 
Why  may  not  we  be  held  as  full  sufficient 
To  love  our  own  wives  then,  get  our  own  children, 
Aud  live  in  free  peace  till  we  be  dissolv'd. 
For  such  spring  butterflies  that  are  gaudy-wing'd, 
But  no  more  substance  than  those  shamble  flies 
Which  butchers'  boys  snap  between  sleep  and 

waking  ? 
Come   but   to    crush    you   once,   you    are   but 

maggots, 
For  all  your  beamy  outsides  ! 

Enter  Cleanthes. 

EUg.  Here's  Cleanthes, 
He  comes  to  chide; — let  him  alone  a  little, 
Our  cause  will  be  revenged  ;  look,  look,  his  face 
Is  set  for  stormy  weather;  do  but  mark 
How  the  clouds  gather  in  it,  'twill  pour  down 
straight. 
Clean.  Methinks,  I  partly  know  you,  that's  my 
grief. 
Could  you  not  all  be  lost  ?  that  had  been  hand- 
some ; 
But  to  be  known  at  all,  'tis  more  than  shameful. 
Why,  was  not  your  name  wont  to  be  Lysander? 


528  THE  OLD   LAW. 

Lys.  'Tis  so  still,  coz. 

Clean.  Judgment,  defer  thy  coming!  else  this 

man's  miserable. 
Eug.  I  told  you  there  would  be  a  shower  anon. 
2  Court.  We'll  in,  and  hide  our  noddles. 

[Ej'eimt  Eugenia  and  Court iers\t 
Clean.  What  devil  brought  this  colour  to  your 
mind, 
Which,  since  your  childhood,  I  ne'er  saw  you 

wear  ? 
[Sure]  you  were  ever  of  an  innocent  gloss 
Since  I  was  ripe  for  knowledge,  and  would  you 

lose  it, 
And  change  the  livery  of  saints  and  angels 
For  this  mixt  monstrousness  :  to  force  a  ground 
That  has  been  so  long  hallowed  like  a  temple, 
To  bring  forth  fruits  of  earth  now;  and  turn  back 
To  the  wild  cries  of  lust,  and  the  complexion 
Of  sin  in  act,  lost  and  long  since  repented  1 
Would  you  begin  a  work  ne'er  yet  attempted, 
To  pull  time  backward  ? 

See  what  your  wife  will  do !  are  your  wits  perfect  ? 
Lys.  My  wits ! 

Clean.  I  like  it  ten  times  worse,  for't  had  been 
safer 
Now  to  be  mad,'  and  more  excusable  : 
I  hear  you  dance  again,  and  do  strange  follies. 
Lys.  I  must  confess  I  have  been  put  to  some, 

coz. 
Clean.  And  yet  you  are  not  mad  !    pray,  say 
not  so ; 
Give  me  that  comfort  of  you,  that  you  are  mad. 
That  1  may  think  you  are  at  worst ;  for  if 
You  are  not  mad,  I  then  must  guess  you  have 


for't  had  been  safer 


Now  to  be  mad^  &c.]    Minus  est  insania  turpis.    There  are 
many  traits  of  Massinger  in  this  part  of  the  scene. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  529 

The  first  of  some  disease  was  never  heard  of, 
Which  may  be  worse  than  madness,  and  more 

fearful  :  ;;ufri  J- 

You'd  weep  to  see  yourself  else,  and  your  care 
To  pray,  would  quickly  turn  you  white  again. 
I  had  a  father,  had  he  lived  his  month  out, 
But  to  have  seen  this  most  prodigious  folly, 
There  needed  not  the  law  to  have  him  cut  off; 
The  sight  of  this  had  proved  his  executioner, 
And  broke  his  heart :  he  would  have  held  it  equal 
Done  to  a  sanctuary, — for  what  is  age 
But  the  holy  place  of  life,  chapel  of  ease 
For  all  men's  wearied  miseries?  and  to  rob 
That  of  her  ornament,  it  is  accurst* 
As  from  a  priest  to  steal  a  holy  vestment. 
Ay,  and  convert  it  to  a  sinful  covering. 

[Ej'it  Lysander, 
I  see  't  has  done  him  good  ;  blessing  go  with  it, 
Such  as  may  make  him  pure  again. 

Re-enter  Eugenia. 

Eug.  'Twas  bravely  touch'd,  i'  faith,  sir. 

Clean.  Oh,  you  are  welcome. 

Eug.  Exceedingly  well  handled. 

Clean.  'Tis  to  you  I  come  ;    he  fell  but  in  my 

way. 
Eug.  You  mark'd  his  beard,  cousin  ? 

♦  it  is  accurst]  The  editors  are 

nearly  arrived  at  the  conclusion  of  thrir  labours,  yet  tbey  areas 
far  from  any  acquaintance  with  the  manner  "f  their  author,  as 
they  were  at  setting  out;  they  both  insert  aj  before  accurst; 
though  it  spoils  the  metre,  and  was  not  the  language  of  the 
time.  It  would  be  unpardonable  to  pass  over  this  admirable 
speech  without  calling  the  reader's  attention  to  the  concluding 
lines:  the  conception  is  happy,  and  the  expression  beautiful  in 
the  highest  degree. 


550  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Clean:  Mark  me. 

Eug,  Did  you  ever  see  a  hair  so  changed  ? 

Clean.  •  I  must  be  forced  to  wake  her  loudly  too, 
The  devil  has  rock'd  her  so  fast  asleep : — Strumpet ! 

Eug.  Do  you  call,  sir  ? 

Clean.  Whore  1 

Eug.  How  do  you,  sir  ? 

Clean.  Be  I  ne'er  so  well, 
I  must  be  sick  of  thee  ;  thou  art  a  disease 
Thatstick'st  to  the  heart, — as  all  such  women  are. 

JEug.   What  ails  our  kindred  ? 

Clean.  Bless  me,  she  sleeps  still ! 
What  a  dead  modesty  is  in  this  woman, 
Will  never  blush  again  !  Look  on  thy  work 
But  with  a  Christian  eye,  'twould  turn  thy  heart 
Into  a  shower  of  blood,  to  be  the  cause 
Of  that  old  man's  destruction,  think  upon't, 
Ruin  eternally  ;  for,  through  thy  loose  follies, 
Heaven  has  found  him  a  faint  servant  lately  : 
His  goodness  has  gone  backward,  and  engender'd 
With  his  old  sins  again  ;  he  has  lost  his  prayers, 
And  all    the   tears  that  were   companions   with 

them  : 
And  like  a  blind-fold  man,  (giddy  and  blinded,) 
Thinking  he  goes  right  on  still,  swerves  but  one 

_  foot. 
And  turns  to  the  same  place  where  he  set  out ; 
So  he,  that  took  his  farewell  of  the  world, 
And  cast  the  joys  behind  him,  out  of  sight, 
Summ'd  up  his  hours,  made  even  with  time  and 

hi  en. 
Is  now  in  heart  arrived  at  youth  again. 
All  by  thy  wildness :  thy  too  hasty  lust 
Has  driven  him  to  this  strong  apostacy. 
Immodesty  like  thine  was  never  equall'd  : 
I've  heard  of  women,  (shall  I  call  them  so  ?) 


THE   OLD   LAW.  551 

Have  welcomed  suitors  ere  the  corpse  were  cold; 
But  thou,  thy  husband  living  : — thou'rt  too  bold. 

Eug.  Well,  have  you  done  now,  sir  ? 

Clean.  Look,  look  !  she  smiles  yet. 

Eug,  All  this  is  nothing  to  a  mind  resolved ; 
Ask  any  woman  that,  she'll  tell  you  so  much : 
You  have  only  shewn  a  pretty  saucy  wit, 
Which  I  shall  not  forget,  nor  to  requite  it. 
You  shall  hear  from  me  shortly.      ^  «*'f^  ^ 

Clean.  Shameless  woman ! 
I  take  my  counsel  from  thee,  'tis  too  honest, 
And  leave  thee  wholly  to  thy  stronger  master : 
Bless  the  sex  o'thee  from  thee  !  that's  my  prayer. 
Were  all  like  thee,  so  impudently  common. 
No  man  would  e'er  be  found  to  wed  a  woman. 

[Exit. 

Eug.  I'll  fit  you  gloriously. 
He  that  attempts  to  take  away  my  pleasure, 
I'll  take  away  his  joy  ;*  and  I  can  sure. 
His  conceal'd  father  pays  for't :  I'll  e'en  tell 
Him  that  I  mean  to  make  my  husband  next. 
And  he  shall  tell  the  duke — mass,  here  he  comes. 

Re-enter  Simon  ides. 

Sim.  He  has  had  a  bout  with  me  too. 
Eug.  What!  no?  since,  sir?* 

J  Vll  take  avtay  his  joy  ;    and  I  can  sure.]     So  the  old  copy  ; 
Coxeter  sophisticated  this  passage  very  awkwardly,  he  reads, 

. and  I  can  'sure  him 

His  conceal' d father  pays  forH! 
The  pretty  aphajresis  {'sure  for  assure,)  and  the  vulgar  running 
of  the  sentence  into  the  next  line,  might  have  raised  suspicions 
in  an  ordinary  editer  that  the  text  was  incorrect :  but  Mr.  M. 
Mason  was  not  an  ordinary  editor;  if  Coxeter  be  right,  it  is 
well ;  if  not,  he  looks  no  further. 

Eug.  JV/tat!  no?  since,  sir?}  So  the  quarto.  Coxeter  reads, 


6    1?. 


332  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Sim,  A  flirt,  a  little  flirt ;  he  call'd  me  strange 
names, 
But  Lne'er  minded  him. 

Eug.  You  shall  quit  him,  sir. 
When  he  as  little  minds  you. 

Sim.   I  like  that  well. 
I  love  to  be  revenged  when  no  one  thinks  of  me  ; 
There's  little  danger  that  way. 

Eug,  This  is  it  then  ; 
He  you  shall  strike  your  stroke  shall  be  profound, 
And  yet^your  foe  not  guess  who  gave  the  wound. 

Sim,  O'  my  troth  I  love  to  give  such  wounds. 

[Ed'cunt. 


ACT   IV.      SCENE    I. 

Before  a  Tavern. 

Enter  Gnotho,  Butler,  Bailiff,  Tailor,  Cook, 
Drawer,  and  Courtezan. 

Draw.  Welcome,  gentlemen,  will  you  not  draw- 
near?  will  you  drink  at  door,  gentlemen? 

But.  Oh  !  the  summer  air  is  best. 

Draw.  What  wine  will't  please  you  drink, 
gentlemen? 

But.  De  Clare,  sirrah.  [^Exit  Drawer. 

Gnoth.  What,  you're  all  sped  already,  bullies? 

Cook.  My  widow's  o'  the  spit,  and  half  ready, 
lad;  a  turn  or  two  more,  and  1  have  done  with  her. 

Gnoth  Then,  cook,  I  hope  you  have  basted 
her  before  this  time. 

What  ?  no  since,  sir  ?    and  Mr.  Mason,  always  correcting  in  th« 
wrong  place,  fVhat  ?  not  since,  sir  ! 


THE   OLD    LAW.  535 

Cook.  And  stuck  her  with  rosemary  too,  to 
sweeten  her;  she  was  tainted  ere  she  came  to 
my  hands.  What  an  old  piece  of  flesh  of  fifty- 
nine,  eleven  months,  and  upwards !  she  must 
needs  be  fly  blown, 

Gnoth.  Put  her  off,  put  her  off,  though  you 
lose  by  her  ;  the  M^eather's  hot. 

Cook.  Why,  drawer! 

Re-enter  Drawer. 

D,razv.  By  and  by :— here,  gentlemen,  here's 
the  quintessence  of  Greece;  the  sages  never 
drunk  better  grape. 

Cook.  Sir,  the  mad  Greeks  of  this  age  can 
taste  their  Palermo  as  well  as  the  sage  Greeks 
did  before  them.  —Fill,  lick-spiggot. 

Draw.  Jd  imum,  sir. 
"   Gnoth.  My  friends,  I  must  doubly  invite  you 
all,  the  fifth  of  the  next  month,  to  the  funeral  of 
my  first  wife,  and  to  the  marriage  of  my  second, 
my  two  to  one;  this  is  she. 

Cook.  I  hope  some  of  us  will  be  ready  for  the 
funeral  of  our  wives  by  that  time,  to  go  with 
thee  :  but  shall  they  be  both  of  a  day  ? 

Gnoth.  Oh!  best  of  all,  sir;  where  sorrow  and 
joy  meet  together,  one  will  help  away  with 
another  the  better.  Besides,  there  will  be 
charges  saved  too;  the  same  rosemary  that 
serves  for  the  funeral,  will  serve  for  the  wedding. 

But.  How  long  do  you  make  account  to  be  a 
widower,  sir? 

Gnoth.  Some  half  an  hour;  long  enough  o'con- 
science.  Come,  come,  let's  have  some  agility ; 
is  there  no  music  in  the  house? 

Draw.  Yes,  sir,  here  are  sweet  wire-drawers 
in  the  house. 


534  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Cook.  Oh !  that  makes  them  and  you  seldom 
part;  you  are  wine-drawers,  and  they  Wire- 
drawers.  *  J    r  n 

Tail.  And  both  govern  by  the  pegs  too. 

Gnoth.  And  you  have  pipes  in  your  consort  too. 
V'  Draw.  And  sack-buts  too,  sir. 

But.  But  the  heads  of  your  instruments  differ; 
yours  are  hogs-heads,  theirs  cittern  and  gittern- 
heads. 

Bail.  All  wooden  heads ;  there  they  meet  again. 

Cook.  Bid  them  strike  up,  we'll  have  a  dance, 
Gnotho;  come,  thou  shalt  foot  it  too. 

[E.vit  Draxver. 

Gnoth.  No  dancing  with  me,  we  have  Siren 
here. 

Cook.  Siren!  'tv/as  Hiren,  the  fair  Greek,  man. 

Gnoth.  Five  drachmas  of  that.  I  say  Siren, 
the  fair  Greek,  and  so  are  all  fair  Greeks. 

Cook.  A  match ;  five  drachmas  her  name  was 
Hiren. 

Gnoth.  Siren's  name  was  Siren,  for  five  drachmas. 

Cook.  'Tis  done. 

Tail,  Take  heed  what  you  do,  Gnotho. 

Gnoth.  Do  not  I  know  our  own  countrywomen, 
Siren  and  Nell  of  Greece,  two  of  the  fairest 
Greeks  that  ever  were  ? 

Cook.  That  Nell  was  Helen  of  Greece  too. 

Gnoth.  As  long  as  she  tarried  with  her  hus- 
band, she  was  Ellen;  but  after  she  came  to  Troy, 
she  was  Nell  of  Troy,  or  Bonny  Nell,  whether  you 
will  or  no. 

Tail.  Why,  did  she  grow  shorter  when  she  came 
to  Troy  ? 

GwoM.  She  grew  longer,'  if  you  mark  the  story. 

'  Gnoth.  She  grew  longer,  &c.]  This  miserable  trash,  which  is 
quite  silly  enough  to  be  original,  has  yet  the  merit  of  being 


THE   OLD   LAW.  535 

When  she  grew  to  be  an  ell,  she  was  deeper  than 
any  yard  of  Troy  could  reach  by  a  quarter;  there 
was  Cri3ssid  was  Troy  weight,  and  Nell  was  avoir- 
dupois; she  held  more,  by  four  ounces,  than 
Cressida. 

Bail.  They  say  she  caused  many  wounds  to  be 
given  in  Troy. 

Gnoth.  True,  she  was  wounded  there  herself, 
and  cured  again  by  plaister  of  Paris;  and  ever 
since  that  has  been  used  to  stop  holes  with. 

Re-e7iter  Drawer. 

Draw.  Gentlemen,  if  you  be  disposed  to  be 
merry,  the  music  is  ready  to  strike  up ;  and 
here's  a  consort  of  mad  Greeks,  I  know  not 
whether  they  be  men  or  women,  or  between 
both;  they  have,  what  do  you  call  them,  wizards 
on  their  faces. 

Cook.  Vizards,  good  man  lick-spiggot. 

But.  If  they  be  wise  women,  they  may  be 
wizards  too. 

Draw.  They  desire  to  enter  amongst  any  merry 
company  of  gentlemen-good-fellows,  for  a  strain 
or  two. 

Enter  old  TVomen*  and  Agatha  in  masks. 

Cook.  We'll  strain  ourselves  with  them,  say; 
let  them  come,  Gnotho;  now  for  the  honour  oif 
Epire  ! 

copied  from  Shakspeare.  The  reader  who  has  a  taste  for  nice- 
ties of  this  kind  will  find,  upon  examination,  that  Massinger'i 
assistants  have  improTed  upon  the  indecency,  if  not  the  filth,  of 
their  original. 

»  Enter  Old  Women.']  The  stage  direction  in  Coxetcr  and  Mr. 
M.  Mason  is,  Enter  Old  JVemen.    Gnotho's  dance.    The  former 


636  THE    OLD   LAW. 

Gtioth.  No  dancing  with  me,  we  have  Siren 
here. 

[A  dance  by  the  old  JVomeii  and  Agatha ; .  they 

offer    to   take    the    men,    all   agree    except 

G?iotho,  who  sits  with  the  Courtezan. 

Cook.  Ay  !  so  kind  !  then  every  one  his  wench 

to  his  several  room;  Gnotho,  we  are  all  provided 

now  as  you  are. 

[Ed'eunf^all  but  Gnotho,  Courtezan,  and 
Agatha. 
Gnoth.  I  shall  have  two,   it  seems:   away!    I 
have  Siren  here  already. 

Ago.  What,  a  mermaid  ?'    [Takes  off  her  mask. 
Gnoth.  No,   but  a  maid,  horse-face  :   oh,  old 
woman  !  is  it  you  ? 

Aga.  Yes,  'tis  I;  all  the  rest  have  gulled  them- 
selves, and  taken  their  own  wives,  and  shall  know 
that  they  have  done  more  than  they  can  well 
answer;  hut  I  pray  you,  husband,  what  are  you 
doing  ? 

Gnoth.  Faith,  thus  should  I  do,  if  thou  wert 
dead,  old  Ag,  and  thou  hast  not  long  to  live,  I'm 
sure  :  we  have  Siren  here. 

Aga.  Art  thou  so  shameless,  whilst  I  am  living, 
to  keep  one  under  my  nose? 

.  Gnoth.  No,  A^,  I  do  prize  her  far  above  thy 
nose  ;  if  thou  wouldst  lay  me  both  thine  eyes  in 
my  hand  to  boot,  I'll  not  leave  her  :  art  noC 
ashamed  to  be  seen  in  a  tavern,  and  hast  scarce 

editor  had  carelessly  taken  the  name  from  the  speech  of  the 
Cook,  and  the  latter  ridiculously  continued  the  blunder,  though 
he  must  have  seen  that  Gnotho  is  the  only  person  who  does  not 
dance. 

9  Aga.  What,  a  mermaid?']  The  mermaids  of  the  writer's  time 
had  succeeded  to  the  Syrens  of  the  ancients,  and  possessed  all 
their  musical  as  well  as  seductive  qualities.  Mermaid  also  waa 
one  of  the  thousand  cant  terms  which  served  to  denote  a  strum- 
pet j  and  to  this,  perhaps,  Agatha  alludes. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  537 

a  fortnight  to  live?  oh,  old  woman,  what  art 
thou  ?  must  thou  find  no  time  to  think  of  thy 
end? 

Ago.   O,  unkind  villain  \ 

Gnoth.  And  then,  sweetheart,  thou  shalt  have 
two  new  gowns;  and  the  best  of  this  old  woman's 
shall  make  thee  raiment  for  the  working  days. 

Aga.  O,  rascal !  dost  thou  quarter  my  clothes 
already  too? 

Gnoth.  Her  ruffs  will  serve  thee  for  nothing 
but  to  wash  dishes  ;  for  thou  shalt  have  thine*  of 
the  new  fashion. 

Aga.  Impudent  villain  !  shameless  harlot ! 
Gnoth.  You  may  hear,  she  never  wore  any  but 
rails  all  her  lifetime. 

Aga.  Let  me  come,  I'll  tear  the  strumpet  from 
him. 

Gtioth.  Dar'st  thou  call  my  wife  strumpet, 
thou  preterpluperfect  tense  of  a  woman !  I'll 
make  thee  do  penance  in  the  sheet  thou  shalt  be 
buried  in ;  abuse  my  choice,  my  two-to-one  ! 

Aga.  No,  unkind  villain,  I'll  deceive  thee  yet, 
I  have  a  reprieve  for  five  years  of  life ; 
I  am  with  child. 

Court,  Cud  so,  Gnotho,  I'll  not  tarry  so  long; 
five  years  !  I  may  bury  two  husbands  by  that 
time. 

Gnoth.  Alas  !  give  the  poor  woman  leave  to 
talk,  she  with  child  !  ay,  with  a  puppy :  as  long 
as  I  have  thee  by  me,  she  shall  not  be  with  child, 
I  warrant  thee. 

Aga.  The  law,  and  thou,  and  all,  shall  find  I 
am  with  child. 

-for  thou  shalt  have  thine  of  t^e  new  fashion.']  TBc 


old  copy  reads— nine  of  the  new  fashion  :   I  have  littk  doubt  but 
the  word  which  I  ha?e  inserted  is  the  gcnwliie  one. 
VOL.  IV.  *   N  n 


538  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Gnoik.  I'll  take  my  corporal  oath  I  begat  it 
not,  and  then  thou  diest  for  adultery. 

^ga.  No  matter,  that  will  ask  some  time  in  the 
proof. 

Gnoth.  Oh  !  you'd  be  stoned  to  death,  would 
you?  all  old  women  would  die  o*  that  fashion 
with  all  their  hearts  ;  but  the  law  shall  overthrow 
you  the  other  way,  first. 

Court,  Indeed,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  not  linger  so 
long,  Gnotho. 

Gnoth.  Away,  away  !  some  botcher  has  got  it; 
'tis  but  a  cushion,  I  warrant  thee  :  the  old  woman 
is  loth  to  depart;*  she  never  sung  other  tune  in 
her  life. 

Court.  We  will  not  have  our  noses  bored  with 
a  cushion,  if  it  be  so. 

Gnoth.  Go,  go  thy  ways,  thou  old  almanack 
at  the  twenty-eighth  day  of  December,  e'en  al- 
most out  of  date !  Down  on  thy  knees,  and  make 
thee  ready ;  sell  some  of  thy  clothes  to  buy  thee 

*  The  old  •woman  is  loth  to  depart ;]  There  was  anciently  both 
a  tune  and  a  dance  of  this,  name ;  to  the  former  of  which  Gnotha 
alludes.     In  Wit  at  several  Weapons^  the  old  copy  has — 

*?  Pompey.  Hum,  hum,  hum  !  He  hums  loth  to  depart." 
On  which  the  editors  observe  that  "  the  impropriety  of  putting 
this  passage  into  Pompey's  mouth  is  evident  upon  the  bare 
mention,  as  it  unquestionably  belongs  to  the  next  speaker." 
And  to  the  next  speaker  they  boldly  give  it  I  but  they  did  not 
understand  their  author.  The  last  part  of  the  quotation  is 
merely  a  marginal  direction,  and  the  passage  in  future  should 
be  thus  ■regulated  :        .     '  ,.  i      >; 

"  Pomp.  Hum,  hum,  hum  I 
1    '  .  ji   J,     »^  [//c  ^M7w«  Loth  to  Depart." 

ITie'  same '  exj^re'sslon  odcurs  in'  the  Man's  the  Master  of 
D'Av«nant,  where  the  modern  editors  have  also  misunderstood 
it.     "  You'd  fain  stay  to  sing  loth  to  depart." 

It  is  also  mentioned  in  that  old  and  popular  ballad,  Arthur' 
•J  Bradley  : 

"  Thjcn  Will,  and  his  sweetheart 
"  Did  call  for  Loth  to  depart^'*  Sec. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  539 


a  death's  head,  and  put  upon  thy  middle  finger: 
your  least  considering  bawd  does  so  much ;  be 
not  thou  worse,  though  thou  art  an  old  woman, 
as  she  is  ;  I  am  cloy'd  with  old  stock-fish,  here's 
a  young  perch  is  sweeter  meat  by  half;  prithee, 
die  before  thy  day,  if  thou  canst,  that  thou  mayst 
not  be  counted  a  witch. 

Aga.  No,  thou  art  a  witch,  and  I'll  prove  it; 
I  said  I  was  with  child,  thou  knew'st  no  other 
but  by  sorcery:  thou  said'st  it  was  a  cushion,  and 
so  it  is  ;  thou  art  a  witch  for't,  I'll  be  sworn  to't. 

Gnoth.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  told  thee  'twas  a  cushion. 
Go,  get  thy  sheet  ready ;  we'll  see  thee  buried 
as  we  go  to  church  to  be  married. 

[^Exeunt  Gnotho  and  Courtezan. 

Aga.  Nay,  I'll  follow  thee,  and  shew  myself  a 
wife.  I'll  plague  thee  as  long  as  I  live  with 
thee ;  and  I'll  bury  some  money  before  I  die,' 
that  my  ghost  may  haunt  thee  afterward.  \^Ejcit. 

*  And  I'll  bury  some  money  before  I  dicy  &c.]  This,  as  ercry 
one  knows,  was  an  infallible  method  of  causing  the  person  who 
did  it,  to  walk  after  death.  It  is  not  nnpleasant  to  remark 
how  often  one  folly  is  counteracted  by  another  : — but  for  this 
salutary  persuasion,  which  was  once  very  prevalent,  much 
money  would  have  been  los,t  to  the  community  in  troublesome 
times.  This  petty  superstition  is  dignified  by  the  adoption  of 
Shakspcare  ;  it  is  also  frequently  found  in  other  writers  of  his 
age.    Thus  Shirley  : 

"  I  do  but  think  how  some  like  ghosts  will  walk 
*'  For  money  sitrely  hidden." 
Again : 

<<  Call  this  a  churchyard,  and  imagine  me 

"  Some  wakeful  apparition  'mong  the  graves, 

**  Tha.t,for  some  treasure  buried  in  my  lif'e^ 

"  Walk  op  and  down  thus."  The  Wedding. 


*  Nn  2 


540  THE   OLD   LAW. 

SCENE   IL 

The  Country.     A  Forest. 

Enter  Cleanthes. 

Clean.  What*s  that?  oh,  nothing  but  the  whis- 
pering wind 
Breathes  through  yon  churlish  hawthorn,  that 

grew  rude. 
As  if  it  chid  the  gentle  breath  that  kiss'd  it. 
1  cannot  be  too  circumspect,  too  careful  ; 
For  in  these  woods  lies  hid  all  my  life's  treasure, 
Which  is  too  much  never  to  fear  to  lose, 
Though  it  be  never  lost :  and  if  our  watchfulness 
Ought  to  be  wise  and  serious  'gainst  a  thief 
That  comes  to  steal  our  goods,  things  all  without 

us. 
That  prove  vexation  often  more  than  comfort; 
How  mighty  ought  our  providence  to  be, 
To  prevent  those,  if  any  such  there  were, 
That  come  to  rob  our  bosom  of  our  joys, 
That  only  make  poor  man  delight  to  live  ! 
Pshaw  \  I'm  too  fearful — fie,  fi.e  !    who  can  hurt 

me  ? 
But  'tis  a  general  cowardice,  that  shakes 
The  nerves  of  confidence  ;    he  that  hides  trea- 
sure. 
Imagines  every  one  thinks  of  that  place, 
When  'tis  a   thing  least   minded  ;    nay,  let  him 

change 
The  place  continually  ;  where'er  it  keeps, 
There  will  the   fear    keep    still ;    yonder's    the 

storehouse 
Of  all  my  comfort  now — and  see  !  it  sends  forth 


THE   OLD    LAW.  541 

Eiiter  HippoLiTA,/ro7W  the  wood. 

A  dear  one  to  me  :— Precious  chief  of  women, 
How  does  the  good  old  soul?  has  he  fed  well? 
Hip.  Beshrew  me,  sir,  he  made   the  heartiest 
meal  to  day — 
Much  good  may't  do  his  health. 

Clean.  A  blessing  on  thee, 
Both  for  thy  news  and  wish  ! 

Hip.  His  stomach,  sir, 
Is  better'd  wondrously,  since  his  concealment. 
Clean.  Heaven  has  a  blessed  work  in't.  Come, 
we  are  safe  here ; 
I  prithee   call  him  forth,  the  air's  much  whole- 
somer. 
Hip,  Father! 

Enter  Leon  ides. 

Leon,  How  sweetly  sounds  the  voice  of  a  good 
woman  ! 
It  is  so  seldom  heard,  that,  when  it  speaks. 
It  ravishes  all  senses.  Lists  of  honour  ! 
I've  a  joy  weeps  to  see  you,  'tis  so  full, 
So  fairly  fruitful. 

Clean.  I  hope  to  see  you  often  and  return* 
Loaded  with  blessings,  still  to  pour  on  some; 
I  find  them  all  in  my  contented  peace, 

♦  Clean.  I  hope  to  see  you  often  and  return 

Loaded  with  blessings,]  Often  and  returv,  for  often  return,  ig  a 
mode  of  speech  so  familiar  to  Massingcr,  that  we  might  almost 
affirm  this  exquisite  scene  to  be  his,  if  we  could  maintain  any 
thing  with  confidence  in  this  most  incorrect  publication.  He  it 
-whose  it  may,  however,  it  makes  large  amends  for  the  dull  and 
tedious  bnffooDery  of  the  former  part  of  this  act. 


542  THE  OLD    LAW. 

And  lose  not    one  in  thousands,  they  are  dis- 

perst 
So  gloriously,  I  know  not  which  are  brightest. 
I  find  them,  as  angels  are  found,  by  legions : 
First,  in  the  love  and  honesty  of  a  wife, 
Which  is  the  chiefest  of  all  temporal  blessings  ; 
Next  in  yourself,  which  is  the  hope  and  joy 
Of  all  my  actions,  my  affairs,  my  wishes  ; 
And  lastl}'-,  which  crowns  all,  I  find  my  soul 
Crown'd  with  the  peace  of  them,   the   eternal 

riches, 
Man's  only  portion  for  his  heavenly  marriage  I 

Leon.  Rise,  thou  art  all  obedience,  love,  and 
goodness. 
I  dare  say  that  which  thousand  fathers  cannot. 
And  that's  my  precious  comfort,  never  son 
Was  in  the  way  more  of  celestial  rising : 
Thou  art  so  made  of  such  ascending  virtue. 
That  all  the  powers  of  hell  can't  sink  thee. 

[A  horji  sounded  within. 

Clean.  Ha  1 

Leon,  What  was't  disturb'd  my  joy  ? 

Clean.  Did  you  not  hear, 
As  afar  off? 

Leon.  What,  my  excellent  comfort  r* 

Clean.  Nor  y ou  ?  .  -   j ; ; 

Hip.  I  heard  a •»   !  ;   \A  horn. 

Clean.  Hark,  again  !  u^   j:.v/  ,s!  ?.. 

*  Leon.  What,  my  excellent  comfort  ?]  The  old  copy  has 
consort,  which  induced  Coxeter  to  give  the  speech  to  Hippolita. 
I  have  little  doubt  but  that  the  mistake  is  in  this  word,  which 
should  be  comfort  as  it  stands  in  the  text :  by  this  term  the  fond 
parent  frequently  addresses  his  children.  In  the  mouth  of 
Leonides  too,  it  forms  a  natural  reply  to  the  question  of 
Cleanthes,  who  th.«a  turns  to  m^e  th^e  same  dtsnuuid  of  his 


THE   OLD   LAW.  543 

Leon.  Bless  my  joy, 
What  ails  it  on  a  sudden? 

Clean.  Now  ?  since  lately  ? 

Leon.  'Tis  nothing  but  a  symptom  of  thy  care, 
man. 

Clean.  Alas  ?  you  do  not  hear  well. 

Leon.  What  was't,  daughter  ? 

Hip.  I  heard  a  sound,  twice.  [A  horn. 

Clean.  Hark  !  louder  and  nearer  : 
In,  for  the  precious  good  of  virtue,  quick,  sir  ! 
Louder  and  nearer  yet !  at  hand,  at  hand  ! 

[Exit  Leonides. 
A  hunting  here  ?  'tis  strange  !  I  never  knew 
Game  followed  in  these  woods  before. 

-Ew^er  EvANDER,  Simonides,  Courtiers,  and 
Cratilus. 

Hip.  Now  let  them  come,  and  spare  not. 
Clean.    Ha  !    'tis — is't   not    the    duke  ? — look 

sparingly. 
Hip.  Tis  he,  but  what  of  that  ?  alas,  take  heed, 
sir, 
Your  care  will  overthrow  us. 
Clean.  Come,  it  shall  not : 
Let's  set  a  pleasant  face  upon  our  fears, 
Though  our  hearts  shake  with  horror. — Ha,  ha, 
ha! 
Evan.  Hark  I 
Clean.  Prithee,  proceed  ; 
I  am  taken  with  these  light  things  infinitely, 
Since  the  old  man's  decease ;  ha  !  —so  they  part- 
ed ?  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Evan.  Why,  how  should  I  believe  this  ?  look, 
he's  merry 
As  if  he  had  no  such  charge :    one  with  that 
care 


544  THE   OLD    LAW. 

Could  never  be  so;  still  he  bokls  liis  temper, 
And  'tis  the  same  still  (with  no  difference) 
He  brought  liis  father's  corpse  to  the  grave  with  ; 
He  laugli'd  thus  then,  you  know. 

]  Court.  Ay,  lie  may  laugh, 
That  shews  but  how  he  glories  in  his  cunning  ; 
And  is,  perhaps,  done  more  to  advance  his  wit, 
That  only  he  has  over-reach'd  the  law, 
Than  to  express  affection  to  his  father. 

Sim,  He   tells    you    right,  my   lord,   his   own 
cousin-german 
Reveal'd  it  first  to  me  ;  a  free-tongued  woman, 
And  very  excellent  at  telling  secrets. 

Evan.  If  a  contempt  can  be  so  neatly  carried, 
It  gives  me  cause  of  wonder. 

Sim.  Troth,  my  lord, 
'Twill  prove  a  delicate  cozening,  I  believe: 
I'd  have  no  scrivener  offer  to  come  near  it. 

Evan.  Cleanthes.- 

Clean.  My  loved  lord. 

Evan,  Not  moved  a  whit, 
Constant  to  lightness  still  !*  'Tis  strange  to  meet 

you 
Upon  a  ground  so  unfrequented,  sir: 
This  does  not  fit  your  passion  ;   you're  for  mirth. 
Or  1  mistake  you  much. 

Clean.  But  finding  it 
Grow  to  a  noted  imperfection  in  me, 
For  any  thing  too  much  is  vicious, 
I  come  to  these  disconsolate  walks,  of  purpose, 
Only  to  dull  and  take  away  the  edge  on't. 
I  ever  had  a  greater  zeal  to  sadness, 
A  natural  propension,  I  confess, 
Before  that  cheerful  accident  fell  out — 

'  Constant  to  lightness  still  !]     The  old  copy  reads — Constant 
to  lightening  still !  the  emendation  by  Mr.  M.  Mason. 


THE   OLD  LAW.  545 

If  I  may  call  a  father's  funeral  cheerful, 
Without  wrong  done  to  duty  or  my  love. 

Evan.   It  seems,  then,  you  take  pleasure  in 
these  walks,  sir. 

Clean.  Contemplative  content  I  do,  my  lord  : 
They  bring  into  my  mind  oft  meditations 
So  sweetly  precious,  that,  in  the  parting, 
I  find  a  shov/er  of  grace  upon  my  cheeks, 
They  take  their  leave  so  feelingly. 

Evan.  So,  sir! 

Clean.  Which  is  a  kind  of  grave  delight,  my 
lord. 

Evan.  And   I've   small   cause,    Cleauthes,    to 
afford  you 
The  least  delight  that  has  a  name. 

Clean.  My  lord  ! 

Sim.  Now  it  begins  to  fadge. 

1  Court.  Peace  !  thou  art  so  greedy,  Sim, 

Evan.  In  your  excess  of  joy  you  have  expressed 
Your  rancour  and  contempt  against  my  law: 
Your  smiles  deserve  a  fining;  you  have  profess'd 
Derision  openly,  e'en  to  my  face, 
Which  might  be  death,  a  little  more  incensed. 
You  do  not  come  for  any  freedom  here. 
But  for  a  project  of  your  own : — 
But  all  that's  known  to  be  contentful  to  thee, 
.  Shall  in  the  use  prove  deadly.     Your  life's  mine, 
If  ever  your  presumption  do  but  lead  you 
Into  these  walks  again, — ay,  or  that  woman; 
I'll  have  them  watched  o' purpose. 

[Cleanthes  retires  from  the  zvoody  followed  by 
HippoUta. 

1  Court.  Now,  now,  his  colour  ebbs  and  flows. 

Sim.  Mark  her's  too. 

Hip,  Oh,  who  shall  bring  food  to  the  poor  old 
man,  now! 
Speak  somewhat,  good  sir,  or  we're  lost  for  ever. 


546  THE  OLD   LAW. 

Clean.  Oh,  you  did  wonderous  ill  to  call  me 
again. 
There  are  not  words  to  help  us ;  if  I  entreat, 
Tis  found ;  that  will  betray  us  worse  than  silence  / 
Prithee  let  heaven  alone,  and  let's  say  nothing. 

1  Court.  You  have  struck  them  dumb,  my  lord. 

Sim.  Look  how  guilt  looks  ! 
I  would  not  have  that  fear  upon  my  flesh, 
To  save  ten  fathers. 

Clean,  He  is  safe  still,  is  he  not  ? 

Hip.  Oh,  you  do  ill  to  doubt  it. 

Clean.  Thou  art  all  goodness. 

Sim.  Now  does  your  grace  believe  r 

Evan.  'Tis  too  apparent. 
Search,  make  a  speedy  search  ;  for  the  imposture 
Cannot  be  far  off,  by  the  fear  it  sends. 

Clean.  Ha  ! 

Sim.  He  has  the  lapwing's  cunning,  I  am  afraid. 
That  cries  most  when  she's  furthest  from  the 
nest.' 

Clean,  Oh,  we  are  betray'd. 

7  ■  if  I  entreat, 

'Tis  found;  that  will  betray  us  worse  than  silence ;'\  The  sense 
of  this,  and,  indeed,  of  the  whole  speech,  is  sufficiently  clear. 
You  should  not  have  called  me  back,  says  Cleanthcs;  no  words 
can  help  us,  for  if  I  besee«h  the  duke  to  suffer  me  to  remain 
here,  the  secret  will  be  discovered;  entreaties  will  be  worse 
than  silence,  for  by  these  his  suspicions  will  be  confirmed.  This, 
however,  does  not  satisfy  Mr.  M.  Mason,  who  chooses  to  mo- 
dernize it  in  this  way  : 

'   '  if  I  entreat f 

*Tis  sound  that  will  betray  us  worse  than  silence; 
'  Sim.  He  has  the  lapwing's  cunning,  I  am  afraid, 
That  cries  most  when  she's  furthest  from  the  nest.]    Our  old 
poots  abound  in  allusions  to  this  stratagem  of  the  lapwing: 
thus  Jon  son  : 

"  He  that  knows,  will  like  a  lapwing  fly 
*'  Far  from  the  nest,  and  so  himself  belie 
"  To  others,"  &c.  Underwoods. 


THE   OLD    LAW.  547 

Hip.  Betray'd,  sir ! 

Sim.  See,  my  lord, 
It  comes  out  more  and  more  still. 

[Simonides  and  Courtiers  enter  the  wood. 

Clean.  Bloody  thief! 
Come  from  that  place  ;  'tis  sacred,  homicide  ! 
'Tis  not  for  thy  adulterate  hands  to  touch  it. 

Hip.  Oh  miserable  virtue,  what  distress 
Art  thou  in  at  this  minute ! 

Clean.  Help  me,  thunder, 
For  my  power's  lost !  angels,  shoot  plagues,  and 

help  me ! 
Why  are  these  men  in  health,  and  I  so  heart-sick? 
Or  why  should  nature  have  that  power  in  me 
To  levy  up  a  thousand  bleeding  sorrows, 
And  not  one  comfort  ?  only  make  me  lie 
Like  the  poor  mockery  of  an  earthquake  here, 
Panting  with  horror, 

And  have  not  so  much  force  in  all  my  vengeance, 
To  shake  a  villain  off  me. 

Re-enter  Simonides  and  Courtiers  with 
Leonides. 

Hip.  Use  him  gently, 
And  heaven  will  love  you  for  it. 

Clean.  Father  !  oh  father !  now  I  see  thee  full 
In  thy  affliction  ;  thou'rt  a  man  of  sorrow, 
But  reverendly  becom'st  it,  that's  my  comfort: 
Extremity  was  never  better  graced. 
Than  with  that  look  of  thine;  oh!  let  me  look 

still, 
For  I  shall  lose  it;  all  my  joy  and  strength 

[Kneels: 
Is  e'en  eclipsed  together:,  I  transgress'd 
Your  law,  my  lord,  let  me  receive  the  sting  on't; 


548  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Be  once  just,  sir,  and  let  the  offender  die : 
He's  innocent  in  all,  and  I  am  guilty. 

Leon.  Your  grace  knows,  when  affection  only 
speaks, 
Truth  is  not  always  there;  his  love  would  draw 
An  undeserved  misery  on  his  youth. 
And  wrong  a  peace  resolv'd,  on  both  parts  sinful. 
'Tis  I  am  guilty  of  my  own  concealment, 
And,  like  a  worldly  coward,  injured  heaven 
With  fear  to  go  to't : — now  I  see  my  fault, 
I  am  prepared  with  joy  to  suffer  for  it. 

Evan.  Go,  give  him  quick  dispatch,  let  him 
see  death : 
And  your  presumption,  sir,  shall  come  to  judg- 
ment. 
[Ej^eunt  Evander,  CourtierSf  Simonides  ;  and 
Cratilus  with  Leonides. 
Hip.  He's  going  !  oh,  he's  gone,  sir  \ 
Clean.  Let  me  rise. 

Hip.  Why  do  you  not  then,  and  follow  } 
Clean.  I  strive  for  it, 
Is  there  no  hand  of  pity  that  will  ease  me. 
And  take  this  villain  from  my  heart  awhile  ? 

[Rises, 
Hip.  Alas  1  he's  gone. 
Clean.  A  worse  supplies  his  place  then, 
A  weight  more  ponderous ;  I  cannot  follow. 
Hip.  Oh  misery  of  affliction  ! 
Clean.  They  will  stay 
Till  I  can  come ;  they  must  be  so  good  ever, 
Though  they  be  ne'er  so  cruel : 
My  last  leave  must  be  taken,  think  of  that, 
And  his  last  blessing  given ;  I  will  not  lose 
That  for  a  thousand  consorts. 
Hip.  That  hope's  wretched. 
Clean.  The  unutterable  stings  of  fortune  ! 
All  griefs  are  to  be  born  save  this  alone, 


THE  OLD   LAW.  549 

This,  like  a  headlong  torrent,  overturns 
The  frame  of  nature  : 
For  he  that  gives  us  life  first,  as  a  father, 
Locks  all  his  natural  sufferings  in  our  blood, 
The -sorrows  that  he  feels  are  our  heart's  too, 
They  are  incorporate  to  us. 

Hip.  Noble  sir  ! 

Clean.  Let  me  behold  thee  well. 

Hip.  Sir! 

Clean.  Thou  should'st  be  good. 
Or  thou'rt  a  dangerous  substance  to  be  lodged 
So  near  the  heart  of  man. 

Hip.  Wiiat  means  this,  dear  sir  ? 

Clean.   To    thy  trust    only  was    this    blessed 
secret 
Kindly  committed,  'tis  destroy'd,  thou  seest; 
What  follows  to  be  thought  on't  ? 

Hip.  Miserable  ! 
Why,  here's  the  unhappiness  of  woman  still  : 
That,  having  forfeited  in  old  times  her  trust, 
Now  makes  their  faiths  suspected  that  are  just. 

Clean.  What  shall  I  say  to  all  my  sorrows  then. 
That  look  for  satisfaction  } 

Enter  Eugenia. 

Eug.  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  cousin. 

Clean.  How  ill  dost  thou  become  this  time  ! 

Eug.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Why,  that's  but  your  opinion  ;  a  young  wench 
Becomes  the  time  at  all  times. 
Now,  coz,  we  are  even  :  an  you  be  remember'd, 
You  left  a  strumpet  and  a  wfiore  with  me, 
And  such   fine  field- bed  words,  which  could  not 

cost  you 
Less  than  a  father. 

Clean.  Is  it  come  that  way? 


550  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Eug.  Had  you  an  uncle, 
He  should  go  the  same  way  too. 

Clean.  Oh  eternity, 
What  monster  is  this  fiend  in  labour  with? 

Ei(g,  An  ass-colt  with  two  heads,   that's  she 
and  you  : 
I  will  not  lose  so  glorious  a  revenge, 
Not  to  be  understood  in't;  I  betray'd  him  ; 
And  now  we  are  even,  you'd  best  keep  you  so/ 
Clean.  Is  there  not  poison  yet  enough  to  kill 

me  ? 
Hip.  Oh,   sir,  forgive  me ;    it  was   I   betray'd 

him. 
Clean.  How! 
Hip.  I. 
Clean.  The  fellow  of  my  heart  1    'twill  speed 

me,  then. 
Hip.  Her  tears  that  never  wept,  and  mine  own 

.pity 

Even  cozen'd  mp  together,  and  stole  from  me 
This  secret,  which  fierce  death  should  not  have 

purchased. 
Clean.  Nay,  then  we  are  at  an  end  j  all  we  are 

false  ones, 
And  ought  to  suffer.  I  was  false  to  wisdom, 
.In  trusting  woman  ;  thou  wert  false  to  faith, 
In  uttering  of  the  secret ;  and  thou  false 
To  goodness,  in  deceiving  such  a  pity  : 
We  are  all  tainted  some  way,  but  thou  worst, 
And  for  thy  infectious  spots  ought'st  to  die  first. 

[Offers  to  kill  Eugenia. 
Eug.  Fray  turn  your  weapon,  sir,  upon  your 

mistress, 
I  come  not  so  ill  friended  : — rescue,  servants  ! 

'  And  now  toe  are  even,  you'd  best  keep  you  io.]  I  know  not 
how  Mr.  M.  Mason  understood  this  line,  but  he  altered  you  to 
him  ! 


THE   OLD   LAW.  .^  551 


Re-enter  Simonides  and  Courtiers. 

Clean.  Are  you  so  whorishly  provided  ? 

Sim.  Yes,  sir, 
She  has  more  weapons  at  command  than  one. 

Eug.  Put  forward,  man,  thou  art  most  sure  to 
have  me. 

Sim.  I  shall  be  surer,  if  I  keep  behind,  though. 

Eitg.  Now,  servants,  shew  your  loves. 

Sim.  I'll  shew  my  love,  too,  afar  off. 

Eug.  I  love  to  be  so  courted,  woo  me  there. 

Sim.  I   love   to  keep    good    weapons,  though 
ne'er  fought  with. 
I'm  sharper  set  within  than  I  am  without. 

Hip.  Oh  gentlemen  !   Cleanthes  ! 

Eug.  Fight  I  upon  him  ! 

Clean.  Thy  thirst  of  blood  proclaims  thee  now 
a  strumpet. 

Eug.  'Tis  dainty,  next  to  procreation  fitting; 
I'd  either  be  destroying  men  or  getting. 

Enter  Guard. 

1  Officer.  Forbear,  on  your  allegiance,  gentle- 
men. 
He's  the  duke's  prisoner,  and  we  seize  upon  him 
To  answer  this  contempt  against  the  law. 

Clean.  I  obey  fate  in  all  things. 

Hip.  Happy  rescue  ! 

Sim.  I  would  you'd  seized  upon  him  a  minute 
sooner,  it  had  saved  me  a  cut  finger:  I  wonder 
how  I  came  by't,  for  I  never  put  my  hand  forth, 
I'm  sure  ;  I  think  my  own  sword  did  cut  it,  if 
truth  were  known ;  may  be  the  wire  in  the 
handle  :  I  have  lived  these  five  and  twenty  ycars^ 
and  never    knew    what    colour  my  blood   was 


552  THE   OLD    LAW. 

before.    I  never  durst  eat  oysters,  nor  cut  peck- 
loaves. 

Eug.  You've  shewn  your  spirits,  gentlemen; 
but  you 
Have  cut  your  finger. 

Sim.  Ay,  the  wedding-finger  too,  a  pox  on*t  ! 

Court.  You'll   prove  a  bawdy  bachelor,   Sim, 
to  have  a  cut  upon  your  finger,  before  you  are 
married. 

Sim.  I'll  never  draw  sword  again,  to  have  such 
a  jest  put  upon  me.  [Exeunt, 


ACT   V.    SCENE   L 

A  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  Simon  ides  and  Courtiers,  sword  and  mace 
carried  before  them. 

Sim.  Be  ready  with  your  prisoner ;   we'll  sit 
instantly, 
And  rise  before  eleven,  or  when  we  please ; 
Shall  we  not,  fellow-judges  ? 

1  Court.  'Tis  committed 

All  to  our  power,  censure,  and  pleasure,  now ; 
The  duke  hath  made  us  chief  lords  of  this  sessions, 
And  we  may  speak  by  fits,  or  sleep  by  turns. 

Sim.  Leave  that  to  us,  but,  whatsoe'er  we  do. 
The  prisoner  shall  be  sure  to  be  condemn'd ; 
Sleeping  or  waking,  we  are  resolved  on  that, 
Before  we  sit  upon  him  ? 

2  Court,  Make  you  question 


THE   OLD    LAM^  553 

If  not? — Cleanthes  !  and  an'  enemy  ! 

Nay  a  concealer  of  his  father  too  ! 

A  vile  example  in  these  days  of  youth. 

Sim.  If  they  were  given  to  follow  such  ex- 
amples ; 
But  sure  I  think  they  are  not :  howsoever, 
'Twas  wickedly  attempted  ;  that^s  my  judgment, 
And  it  shall  pass  whilst  I  am  in  power  to  sit. 
Never  by  prince  were  such  young  judges  made, 
But  now  the  cause  requires  it :  if  you  mark  it, 
He  must  make  young  or  nOne ;  for  all  the  old  ones 
He  hath  sent  a  fishing — and  my  father's  one, 
I  humbly  thank  his  highness 

-E«/er  Eugenia. 

1  Court.  Widow! 

Eug.  You  almost  hit  my  name  now,  gentlemen  ; 
You  come  so  wonderous  near  it,  I  admire  you 
For  your  judgment. 

Sim.  My  wife  that  must  be  !  She. 

Eug.  My  husband  goes  upon  his  last  hour  now. 

1  Court.  On  his  last  legs,  I  am  sure. 
Sim.  September  the  seventeenth — 

I  will  not  bate  an  hour  on't,  and  to  morrow 
His  latest  hour's  expirfed. 

2  Court.  Bring  him  to  judgment; 

*     2  Court.  Make  yon  question 
Jfnot  ? — Cleanthes  !  and  an  enemy  ! 
Nay,  a  concealer  of  his  father  too  >]  The  old  copy  rfiads, 
Make  you  question 
If  not  Cleanthes  and  one  enemy — 
vhich  Coxetcr  printed,  though  he  conjectured  it  ihould  be, 
Make  you  question 
If  not  Cleanthes  Is  our  enciny  ! 
■while  Mr.  M.Mason  grarely  pronounce*  that,  stand  our  ^Mtay, 
ig  nearer  to  the  original ! 

VOL.  IV  ♦  O  O 


55'h  THE   OLD    LAW. 

The  jury's  panell'd,  and  the  verdict  given 
Ere  he  appears ;  we  have  ta'en  a  course  for  that. 
Sim.  And  officers  to  attach  the  gray  young  man. 
The  youth  of  fourscore  :  Be  of  comfort,  lady, 
You  shall  no  longer  bosom  January ; 
For  that  I  will  take  order,  and  provide 
For  you  a  lusty  April. 

Eug.  The  month  that  ought,  indeed, 
To  go  before  May. 

1  Court.  Do  as  we  have  said, 
Take  a  strong  guard,  and  bring  him  into  court. 
Lady  Eugenia,  see  this  charge  performed, 
That,  having  his  life  forfeited  by  the  law, 
He  may  relieve  his  soul. 

Eug,  Willingly. 
From  shaven  chins  never  came  better  justice 
Than  these  ne'er  touch'd  by  razor.'  [E.vit. 

Sim.  What  you  do, 
Do  suddenly,  we  charge  you,  for  we  purpose 
To  make  but  a  short  sessions  : — a  new  business  1 

Enter  Hippolita. 

1  Court.  The  fair  Hippolita  !  now  what's  your 
suit  ? 

Hip.  Alas  !  I  know  not  how  to  style  you  yet ; 
To  call  you  judges  doth  not  suit  your  years, 
Nor  heads  and  beards*  shew  more  antiquity  ; — 
Yet  sway  yourselves  with  equity  and  truth, 

3  From  shaven  chins  never  came  better  justice 
Than  these  ne'.er  touch'd  by  razor.]  This  is  the  conjectural 
emendation  of  Mr.  M.  Mason  :  the  old  copy  reads — Than  these 
new  tucht  by  reason;  which,  though  not  absolutely  void  of 
meaning,  is  so  poor,  in  comparison  of  the  substitution  in  tlie 
text,  that  few  doubts  can  remain  as  to  the  propriety  of  the 
exchange. 

♦  To  eall  you  Judges  doth  not  suit  your  years^ 


THE   OLD    LAW.  555 

And  I'll  proclaim  you  reverend,  and  repeat 
Once  in  my  lifetime  I  have  seen  grave  heads 
Placed  upon  young  men's  shoulders, 

2  Court,  Hark  1  she  flouts  us, 
And  thinks  to  make  us  monstrous. 

Hip.  Prove  not  so  ; 
For  yet,  methinks,  you  bear  the  shapes  of  men  ; 
(Though  nothing  more  than  merely  beauty  serves 
To  make  you  appear  angels,)  but  if  you  crimson 
Your  name  and  power  with  blood  and  cruelt}', 
Suppress  fair  virtue,  and  enlarge  bold  vice,* 
Both  against  heaven  and  nature,  draw  your  sword, 
Make  either  will  or  humour  turn  the  soul' 
Of  your  created  greatness,  and  in  that 
Oppose  all  goodness,  I  must  tell  you  there 
You  are  more  than  monstrous  ;  in  the  very  act, 
You  change  yourselves  to  devils, 

1  Court.  She's  a  witch  ; 
Hark  !  she  begins  to  conjure. 

Sim,  Time,  you  see, 
Is  short,  much  business  now  on  foot : — shall  I 
Give  her  her  answer? 

Nor  heads  and  beards  skew  more  antiquity; — ]    Mr.  M.  Ma\ 
son  reads, 

To  call  you  judges  doth  not  suit  your  years. 
Nor  heads  ;  and  brains  shew  more  antiquity  : 
It  is  etident  that  he  did  not  coraprehend  the  sense,  which,  though 
ill  conceived  and  harshly  expresst'd,  is— You  have  not  tho  years 
of  judges,  nor  do  your  heads  and    beards    (old    copy  brains) 
shew  more  of  age. 

5 and  enlarge  bold  ticc,]  The  quarto 

has,  of  old  vice,  of  which  the  former  editors  have  made  old ;  but 
I  know  not  in  what  sense  vice  could  here  be  termed  old.  This 
speech  has  suffered  both  by  alterations  and  interpolations.  I 
have  thrown  out  the  one,  and  reformed  the  other. 

6  turn  the  soul]  So  the  old  copy:  Coxeter 

and  Mr.  M.  Mason  read,  turn  the  scale,  which  has  neither  tb« 
spirit  nor  the  sense  of  the  original. 
*  O  o  2 


556  THE  OLD   LAW. 

2  Court.  None  upon  the  bench, 
More  learnedly  can  do  it. 

Sim.  He,  he,  hem  !  then  list : 
I  wonder  at  thine  impudence,  young  huswife, 
That  thou  darest  plead  for  such  a  base  offender. 
Conceal  a  father  past  his  time  to  die! 
What  son  and  heir  would  have  done  this  but  he  ? 

1  Court.  I  vow,  not  L 

Hip.  Because  ye  are  parricides  ; 
And  how  can  comfort  be  derived  from  such 
That  pity  not  their  fathers  ? 

2  Court.  You  are  fresh  and  fair;  practise  young 

women's  ends ; 
When  husbands   are    distress'd,   provide    them 
friends. 
Sim,  I'll  set  him  forward  for  thee  without  fee  : 
Some  wives  would  pay  for  such  a  courtesy. 
Hip.  Times  of  amazement !  what  duty,  good- 
ness dwell— — ' 
I  sought  for  charity,  but  knock  at  hell.      [Edit. 

Re-enter  Eugenia,  and  Guard  with  Lysander. 

Sim.  Eugenia  come  !  command  a  second  guard 
To  bring  Cleanthes  in;  we'll  not  sit  long; 
My  stomach  strives  to  dinner." 

£ug.  Now,  servants,  may  a  lady  be  so  bold 
To  call  your  power  so  low  ? 

7  Hip.  Times  of  amazement  /  what  duty,  goodness  dwell — ]  Mr. 
M.  Mason  takes  this  for  a  complete  sentence,  and  would  read, 
Where  do  you  goodness  dwell?  In  any  case  the  alteration  would 
be  too  violent ;  but  none  is  needed  here.  Hippolita  sees  the 
woman  who  betrayed  her  approaching,  breaks  oflF  her  intended 
speech  with  an  indignant  observation,  and  hastily  retires  from 
the  court. 

'  My  stomach  strives  to  dinner."]  This  is  sense,  and  therefore 
I  have  not  tampered  with  it:  the  author  probably  wrote,  ikfy 
stomach  strikes  to  dinner. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  557 

Sim.  A  mistress  may, 
She  can  make  all  things  low;  then  in  that  langua<>-e 
There  can  be  no  offence.  ° 

Eug.  The  time's  now  come 
Of  manumissions,  take  him  into  bonds, 
And  I  am  then  at  freedom. 

2  Court.  This  the  man  ! 
He  hath  left  off  o'  late  to  feed  on  snakes ; 
His  beard's  turn'd  white  again. 

1  Court.  Is't  possible  these  gouty  legs  danced 

lately. 
And  shatter'd  in  a  galliard.? 

Eug.  Jealousy 
And  fear  of  death  can  work  strange  prodigies. 

2  Court.  The  nimble  fencer  this,  that  made  me 

tear 

And  traverse  'bout  the  chamber? 

.   Sim.  Ay,  and  gave  me  't-'-.v  h:^'.-. 

Those  elbow  healths,  the  hangman  take  him  for*t! 

They'd  almost  fetch'd  my  heart  out:  the  Dutch 
what-you-call, 

I  swallow'd  pretty  well;  but  the  half-pike 

Had  almost  pepper'd  me;  but  had  I  ta'en  long- 
sword, 

Being  swollen,  I  had  cast  my  lungs  out. 

A  Flourish.    Enter  Evandek  and  Cratilus. 

1  Court.  Peace,  the  duke  ! 

Evan.  Nay,  back'  t*  your  seats:  who's  that? 

*  Evan.  Nay,  back  t'  your  seats :"]  The  old  copy  reads,  Nay, 
bathe  j/owr  seats,  out  of  which  Mr.  M.  Mason  formed  keep,  Daris, 
take;  and  every  one  may  make  what  he  can.  I  bcIiCTc  tho 
young  men  were  pressing  forward  to  receire  the  duke,  and  that 
his  exclamation  was,  as  above,  Nay,  back  t'  your  scats. 

Coxeter  has  changed  almost  all  the  speakers  in  this  scene ; 
gome  of  them  indeed  were  evidently  wrong,  but  I  can  see  no 


65S  ^     THE   OLD    LAW. 

2  Court  May't  please  your  highness,  it  is  old    . 

Lysaiider. 
Evan.  And  brought  in  by  his  wife  !  a  worthy 
precedent 
Of  one  that  no  way  would  offend  the  law, 
And  should  not  pass  away  without  remark. 
You  have  been  look'd  for  long. 

Lys.  But  never  fit 
To  die  till  now,  my  lord.     My  sins  and  I 
Have  been  but  newly  parted  ;  much  ado 
I  had  to  get  them  leave  me,  or  be  taught 
That  difficult  lesson  how  to  learn  to  die. 
I  never  thought  there  had  been  such  an  act. 
And  'tis  the  only  discipline  we  are  born  for : 
All  studies  else  are  but  as  circular  lines, 
And  death  the  centre  where  they  must  all  meet, 
I  now  can  look  upon  thee,  erring  woman, 
And  not  be  vex'd  with  jealousy;  on  young  men, 
And  no  way  envy  their  delicious  health, 
Pleasure,  and  strength;  all  which  were  once  mine 

own. 
And  mine  must  be  theirs  one  day. 
Evan.  You  have  tamed  him. 
Sim.  And  know  how  to  dispose  him;  that,  my 
liege, 
Hath  been  before  determined.     You  confess 
Yourself  of  full  age  ? 

Lys.  Yes,  and  prepared  to  inherit 

Evg»  Your  place  above. 
Sim.  Of  which  the  hangman's  strength 
Shall  put  him  in  possession. 
.  ;  Lys.  'Tis  still  cared* 

reason  for  giving  the  duke's  second  speech  to  Simonides,  as  it  is 

in  perfect  unison  with  his  real  character. 
'  Lys.  'Tis  still  cared 
To  take  me  willing  and  in  mind  to  die: 
And  such  arcj  xihen  the  earth  grows  weary  of  them, 


THE  OLD   LAW.  559 

To  take  me  willing  and  in  mind  to  die; 

And  such  are,  when  the  earth  grows  weary  of 

them, 
Most  fit  for  heaven. 

Sim.  The  court  shall  make  his  mittimus. 
And  send  him   thither  presently :    i'  the  mean 

time 

£van.  Away  to  death  with  him. 

[E.vit  Cratilus  with  Lysander. 

Enter  Guard  with  Cleanthes,  Hippolita 
following,  weeping, 

Sim.  So  1  see  another  person  brought  to  the 
bar. 

1  Court.  The  arch-malefactor. 

2  Court.  The  grand  offender,  the  most  refrac- 

tory 
To  all  good  order ;  'tis  Cleanthes,  he— 

Sim.  That  would  have  sons  grave  fathers,  ere 
their  fathers 
Be  sent  unto  their  graves. 

Evan,  There  will  be  expectation 
In  your  severe  proceedings  against  him ; 
His  act  being  so  capital. 

Sim.  Fearful  and  bloody; 
Therefore  we  charge  these  women  leave  the  court. 
Lest  they  should  swoon  to  hear  it. 

Eug.  I,  in  expectation 
Of  a  most  happy  freedom.  [Exit. 

Hip.  I,  with  the  apprehension 
Of  a  most  sad  and  desolate  widowhood.       [Edit. 

1  Court.  We  bring  him  to  the  bar 

Most Jt  for  heaven.]  Half  of  this  speech  Coxetcr  omits,  and 
gives  the  other  half,  which  in  his  edition  has  no  sense,  Jo  Si. 
monides :  it  is  needless  to  obser?c  how  ill  it  suits  with  his  cha. 
racter.    Mr.  M.  Mason  follows  him,  as  usual. 


660  THE    OLD    LAW. 

2  Court.  Hold  ujj  your  hand,  sir. 

Clean.  More  reverence  to  the  place  than  to 
the  persons : 
To  the  one  f  offer  up  a  [spreading'']  palm 
OF  duty  and  obedience,  as  to  heaven, 
Imploring  justice,  which  was  never  wanting 
Upon  that  bench  whilst  their  own  fathers  sat; 
But  unto  you,  my  hands  contracted  thus, 
As  threatening  vengeance  against  murderers. 
For  they   that  kill  in  thought,   shed   innocent 

blood. 

With  pardon  of  your  highness,  too  much  passion 
Made  me  forget  your  presence,  and  the  place 
I  now  am  call'd  to. 

Evan,  JiW  our  majesty 
And  power  we  have  to  pardon  or  condemn, 
Is  now  conferr'd  on  them. 

Sim.  And  these  we'll  use, 
Little  to  thine  advantage. 

Clean,  I  expect  it : 
And,  as  to  these,  I  look  no  mercy  from  them. 
And  much  less  mean'  to  entreat  it,  I  thus  now 
Submit  me  to  the  emblems  of  your  power, 
The  sword  and  bench ;  but,  my  most  reverend 

judges, 
Ere  you  proceed  to  sentence,  (for  I  know 
You  have  given  me  lost,)  will  you  resolve  me 
one  thing  ? 

*  To  the  one  I  offer  vp  a  [spreading]  palm]  I  have  inserted 
spreading,  not  merely  on  account  of  its  completing  the  verse, 
but  because  it  contrasts  well  with  conti  acted.  Whaterer  the 
author's  word  was,  it  was  shuffled  out  of  its  place  at  the  press, 
and  appears  as  a  misprint  (showdu)  in  the  succeeding  line. 

J  And  much  less  mean  to  entreat  it,']  For  mean  the  old  copy- 
has  shown,  which  is  pure  nonsense  :  it  stands,  however,  in  all 
the  editions.  I  have,  I  believe,  recovered  the  genuine  text  by 
adopting  tncan,  which  was  superfluously  inscrttvd  in  the  line 
immediately  below  it. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  56 

1  Courts  So  it  be  briefly  question'd. 

2  Court.  Shew  your  honour; 
Day  spends  itself  apace. 

Clean.  My  lords,  it*  shall.   ^^\^  li/A's^^  >  l» 
Resolve  me,  then,  where  are  yfeuf  filial  tears, 
Your  mourning  habits,  and  sad  hearts  become, 
That  should  attend  your  fathers'  funerals?"  ■'■ 
Though  the  strict  law  (which  I  will  not  accuse, 
Because  a  subject)  snatch'd  away  their  lives, 
It  doth  not  bar  you  to  lament  their  deaths : 
Or  if  you  cannot  spare  one  sad  suspire, 
It  doth  not  bid  you  laugh  them  to  their  graves, 
Lay  subtle  trains  to  antedate  their  years, 
To  be  the  sooner  seized  of  their  estates. 
Oh,  time  of  age  !  where's  that  iEneas  now, 
Who  letting  all  his  jewels  to  the  flames; 
Forgetting  country,  kindred,  treasure,  friends, 
Fortunes  and  all  things,  save  the  name  of  son, 
Which  you  so  much  forget,  godlike  ^neas, 
Who  took  his  bedrid  father  on  his  back. 
And  with  that  sacred  load  (to  him  no  burthen) 
Hew'd  out  his  way  through  blood,  through  fire, 

through  [arms,*] 
Even  all  the  arm'd  streets  of  bright-burning  Troy, 
Only  to  save  a  father? 

Sim.  We've  no  leisure  now, 

*  Clean.  My  lords,  it  shall.l  i.  e.  it  shall  be  briefly  questioned. 
This  would  not  have  deserved  a  note  had  not  Mr.  M,  Mason 
mistaken  the  meaning,  and  corrupted  thetextto,  My  lords,!  shall. 

*  Hew'd  out  his  way  through  blood,  through  Jire,  through  {arms^ 
Even  all  the  arm'd  streets  of  bright  burning  Troy, 

Only  to  save  a  fat  her?]  So  the  lines  stand  in  the  old  copy,  with 
the  exception  of  ithe  word  enclosed  in  brackets,  for  which  I  am 
answerable.  They  wanted  but  little  regulation,  as  the  reader 
Bees;  yet  both  the  editors  blundered  them  into  downright  prose. 
Coxeter,  a  circumstance  by  no  means  common  with  him,  gate 
an  incorrect  statement  of  the  original,  and  Mr.  M.  Mason,  who 
never  looked  beyond  bis  page,  was  reduced  to  random  guesses. 


562  THE  OLD   LAW. 

To  hear  lessons  read  from  Virgil;  we  are  past 

school, 
And  all  this  time  thy  judges. 

2  Court.  It  is  fit 
That  we  proceed  to  sentence. 

1  Court.  A^ou  are  the  mouth, 
And  now  'tis  fit  to  open. 

Sim.  Justice,  indeed, 
Should  ever  be  close-ear'd,  and  open-mouth'd ; 
That  is  to  hear  a  little  and  speak  much. 
Know  then,  Cleanthes,  there  is  none  can  be 
A  good  son  and  bad  subject ;  for,  if  princes 
Be  called  the  people's  fathers,  then  the  subjects 
Are  all  his  sons,  and  he  that  flouts  the  prince, 
Doth  disobey  his  father:  there  you  are  gone. 

1  Court.  And  not  to  be  recover'd. 
Sim,  And  again — 

2  Court.  If  he  be  gone  once,  call  him  not  again. 
Sim.  1  say  again,  this  act  of  thine  expresses 

A  double  disobedience ;  as  our  princes 
Are  fathers,  so  they  are  our  sovereigns  too; 
And  he  that  doth  rebel  'gainst  sovereignty, 
Doth  commit  treason  in  the  height  of  degree: 
And  now  thou  art  quite  gone. 

1  Court.  Our  brother  in  commission, 
Hath  spoke  his  mind  both  learnedly  and  neatly. 
And  I  can  add  but  little;  howsoever, 
It  shall  send  him  packing. 
He  that  begins  a  fault  that  wants  example, 
Ought  to  be  made  example  for  the  fault. 

Clean,  A  fault !  no  longer  can  I  hold  myself 
To  hear  vice  upheld  and  virtue  thrown  down. 
A  fault !  judge,  I  desire,  then,  where  it  lies, 
In  those  that  are  my  judges,  or  in  me : 
Heaven  stands  on  my  side,  pity,  love,  and  duty. 

Sim.  Where  are  they,  sir?  who  sees  them  but 
yourself? 


THE   OLD    LAW.  563 

Clean.  Not  you ;  and  I  am  sure, 
You  never  had  the  gracious  eyes  to  see  them. 
You  think  that  you  arraign  me,  but  I  hope 
To  sentence  you  at  the  bar. 

2  Court.  That  would  shew  brave. 

Clean.  This  were  the  judgment-seat  we  [stand 
at]  now  '/ 
Of  the  heaviest  crimes  that  ever  made  up  [sin], 
Unnaturalness,  and  inhumanity, 
You  are  found  foul  and  guilty,  by  a  jury 
Made  of  your  father's  curses,  which  have  brought 
Vengeance  impending  on  you;  and  I,  now. 
Am  forced  to  pronounce  judgment  on  my  judges. 
The  common  laws  of  reason  and  of  nature 
Condemn  you,  ipso  facto;  you  are  parricides, 
And  if  you  marry,  will  beget  the  like, 
Who,  when  they  are  grown  to  full  maturity,' 
Will  hurry  you,  their  fathers,  to  their  graves. 
Like  traitors,  you  take  council  from  the  living, 
Of  upright  judgment  you  would  rob  the  bench, 
(Experience  and  discretion  snatch'd  away 
From  the  earth's  face,)  turn  all  into  disorder, 

•  Clean.  This  were  the  judgment  seat  -we  [stand  af]  now  /]  i.  e. 
O,  that  this  were,  &c.    But,  indeed,  this  speech  is  so  strangely 
printed  in  the  quarto,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  guess  what 
the  writer  really  meant.    The  first  three  lines  stand  thus  : 
Clean.  This  were  the  judgment  seat,  ve  now 

The  heaviest  crimes  that  ever  made  up 

Unnaturalness  in  humanity. 
Whether  the  genuine,  or,  indeed,  any  sense  be  elicited  by  th« 
additions  which  1  hare  been  compelled  to  make,  is  not  mine  to 
say  ;  but  certainly  some  allowance  will  be  made  for  any  tem- 
perate endeavour  to  regulate  a  text  where  the  words,  in  too 
many  instances,  appear  as  if  they  had  been  shook  out  of  tho 
printer's  boxes  by  the  hand  of  chance. 

f  Who,  when  they  are  grown  to  full  maturity,']  Former  editors 
haye,  Who  when  you're  :  but  this  cannot  be  right. 


564,  .  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Imprison  virtue,  and  infrancbise  vice, 
And  put  the  sword  of  justice  in  the  hands 
Of  boys  and  madmen. 
Sim.  Weil,  well,  have  you  done,  sir? 
Clean.  I  have  spoke  my  thoughts. 
Sim.  Then  I'll  begin  and  end. 
Evan.  *Tis  time  I  now  begin — 
Here  your  commission  ends. 
Cleantbes,  come  you  from  the  bar.     Because 
I  know  you  are  severaly  disposed,  I  here 
Invite  you  to  an  object  will,  no  doubt, 
Work  in  you  contrary  effects. — Music  ! 

Loud   Music.      E?iter    Leon  ides,    Creon,  Ly- 
SAHi BER,  and  other  old  me?t. 

Clean.  Pray,  heaven,   I  dream  not !    sure  he 
moves,  talks  comfortably, 
As  joy  can  wish  a  man.  If  he  be  changed, 
(Far  above  from  me,)  he'»  not  ill  entreated ; 
His  face  doth  promise  fulness  of  content, 
And  glory  hath  a  part  iu't, 

Leo.  Oh  my  son  ! 

Evan.  Y  ou  that  can  claim  acquaintance  with 
these  lads, 
Talk  freely. 

Sim.  I  can  see  none  there  that's  worth 
One  hand  to  you*  from  me. 

Evan.   These    are    thy  judges,  and  by  their 
grave  law 
I  find  thee  clear,  but  these  delinquents  guilty. 
You  must  change  places,  for  'tis  so  decreed  : 
Such  just  pre-eminence  hath  thy  goodness  gain'd. 
Thou  art  the  judge  now,  they  the  men  arraign'd. 

[To  Cleanihes. 

1  Court,  Here's  fine  dancing,  gentlemen. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  565 

2  Court.  Is  thy  father  amongst  them  ? 

Sim.  Oh,   pox  !    1  saw  him  the  first  thing  I 
look'd  on. 
Alive  again  !  'slight,  I  believe  now  a  father 
Hath  as  many  lives  as  a  mother. 

Clean,  'Tis  full  as  blessed  as  'tis  wonderful. 
Oh  !  bring  me  back  to  the  same  law  again, 
I  am    fouler    than  all  these;    seize  on  me,  of- 
ficers, 
And  bring  me  to  new  sentence, 

Sim.  What's  all  this? 

Clean.  A  fault  not  to  be  pardon'd, 
Unnaturalness  is  but  sin's  shadow  to  it. 

Sim.  I  am  glad   of  that ;    1  hope  the  case  may 
alter. 
And  I  turn  judge  again. 

Evan.  Name  your  offence. 

Clean.  That  1  should  be  so  vile 
As  once  to  think  you  cruel. 

Evan.  Is  that  all  ? 
'Twas  pardon'd  ere  confess'd  :    you  that  have 

sons, 
If  they  be  worthy,  here  may  challenge  them. 

Creon.  I  should  have  one  amongst  them,  had 
he  had  grace 
To  have  retained  that  name. 

Sim.  I  pray  you,  father.  [Kneels, 

Creon.  That  name,  I  know, 
Hath  been  long  since  forgot. 

Sim.  I  find  but  small  comfort  in  remembering 
it  now. 

Evan.  Cleanthes,  take  your  place  with  these 
grave  fathers, 
And  read  what  in  that  table  is  inscribed. 

[Gives  him  a  paper. 
Now  set  these  at  the  bar, 


566  THE  OLD    LAW. 

And  read,  Cleanthes,  to  the  dread  and  terror 
Of  disobedience  and  unnatural  blood. 

Clean,  [reads.]  It  is  deci^eed  by  the  grave  and 
learned  council  of  Epire,  that  no  son  and  heir  shall 
be  held  capable  of  his  inheritance  at  the  age  of  one 
and  twenty,  unless  he  be  at  that  time  as  mature  in 
obedience^  manners^  and  goodness. 

Sim,  Sure  I  shall  never  be  at  full  age,  then, 
though  I  live  to  an  hundred  years ;  and  that's 
nearer  by  twenty  than  the  last  statute  allow'd. 

1  Court.  A  terrible  act ! 

Clean.  Moreover,  it  is  enacted  that  all  sons  afore- 
said,  whom  either  this  law,  or  their  own  grace,  shall 
reduce  into  the  true  method  of  duty,  virtue,  and 
affection,  [shall  appear  before  US']  and  relate  their 
trial*  and  approbation  from  Cleafithes,  the  son  of 
Leonides ^rom  me,  my  lord  ! 

Evan.  From  none  but  you,  as  fullest.  Proceed, 
sir. 

Clean.  JVhom^  for  his  manifest  virtues,  we  make 
such  judge  and  censor  of  youth,  and  the  absolute 
reference  of  Ife  and  manners. 

Sim.  This  is  a  brave  world  1  when  a  man 
should  be  selling  land  he  must  be  learning  man- 
ners. Is't  not,  my  masters  ? 

Re-enter  Eugenia. 

Eug.  What's  here  to  do  ?  my  suitors  at  the  bar  ! 

*  [Shall  appear  before  vs]  and  relate  their  trial,  &c.]  In  the 
old  copy,  which  the  modern  editions  follow,  and  relate  comes 
immediately  after  virtue  and  affection.  That  this  cannot  be 
right  is  evident :  whether  the  words  which  I  have  inserted 
convey  the  author's  meaning,  or  not,  may  be  doubted,  but  they 
make  some  sense  of  the  passage,  and  this  h  all  to  which  they 
pretend. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  567 

The  old  band  shines  again  :'  oh  miserable  ! 

[She  swoons, 

Evan.  Read  the  law  over  to  her,  'twill  awake 
her  : 
'Tis  one  deserves  small  pity. 

Clean.  Lastly,  it  is  ordained,  that  all  such  wives 
now  whatsoever,  that  shall  design  their  husbands' 
death,  to  be  soon  rid  of  them,  and  entertain  suitors  in 
their  husbands'  lifetime — 

Sim.  You  had  best  read  that  a  little  louder ; ' 
for,  if  any  thing,  that  will  bring  her  to  herself 
again,  and  find  her  tongue. 

Clean.  Shall  not  presume,  on  the  penalty  of  our 
heavy  displeasure^  to  marry  within  ten  years  after. 

Eug.  That  law's  too  long  by  nine  years  and  a 
half, 
I'll  take  my  death  upon't,  so  shall  most  women. 

Clean.  And  those  incotitinent  women  so  offending^ 
.to  be  judged  and  censured  by  Hippolita,  wife  to 
C  leant  hes. 

Eug.  Of  all  the  rest,  I'll  not  be  judged  by  her. 

Re-enter  Hippolita. 

Clean,  Ah  !  here  she  comes.     Let  me  prevent 
thy  joys, 
Prevent  them  but  in  part,  and  hide  the  rest; 

'  The  old  band  shines  again  :]  Coxeter  printed,  Tht  old  bard 
shines  again  ;  Mr.  M.  Masoo,  who  coulil  make  nothing  of  this, 
proposes,  as  the  genuin«  reading.  The  old  rcviTed  again  ! 
While  Mr.  Davies,  with  due  solemnity,  declares  that  the  in- 
sertion of  a  letter  will  make  ail  right,  and  that  it  should  be, 
The  old  beard  shines  again  !  Nothing  can  be  more  preposterous 
than  the  conduct  of  these  gentlemen,  in  thus  presuming  io 
correct  Massinger  upon  the  authority  of  Coxeter.  The  old 
copy  neither  reads  bard  nor  beard^  but  baud^  a  misprint, 
perhaps,  for  hand.  In  the  last  scene  of  the  Fatal  Dowry^  by  a 
similar  orersight,  band  is  printed  for  baud. 


568  THE  OLD   LAW. 

Thou  hast  not  strength  enough  to  bear  them, 
else. 

Hip.  Leonid es  !  [She  faints. 

Clean.  I  fear'd  it  all  this  while  ; 
I  knew  'twas  past  thy  power.  Hippolita ! 
What  contrariety  is  in  women's  blood  ? 
One  faints  for  spleen  and  anger,  she  for  grace. 

Evan.  Of  son's  and  wives  we  see  the  worst  and 
best.  -j^.'^ 

May  future  ages  yield  Hippolitas 
Many  ;  but  few  like  thee,  Eugenia  ! 
Let  no  Simonides  henceforth  have  a  fame, 
But  all  blest  sons  live  in  Cleanthes'  name — 

[Harsh  music  within. 
Ha  !  what  strange  kind  of  melody  was  that  ? . 
Yet  give  it  entrance,  whatsoe'er  it  be. 
This  day  is  all  devote  to  liberty.* 

*  It  IB  to  be  lamented  that  the  Old  Law  did  not  end  here : 
the  higher  characters  are  all  disposed  of;  and  the  clown  and  his 
fellows  might  have  been  silently  sunk  on  the  reader  without 
exciting  the  slightest  regret.  But  the  groundlings  of  those  days, 
like  the  godlings  of  the  present,  were  too  apt  to  cry  out  with 
Christophero  Sly,  When  does  the  fool  come  again,  Sim  ?  and, 
unfortunately,  they  have  had  but  too  much  influence,  at  all 
times,  over  the  managers. 

What  follows  is  utterly  unworthy  of  Massinger,  (indeed,  it 
was  not  written  by  him,)  and  may  be  past  over  without  loss:  of 
all  pertness,  that  of  folly  is  the  most  tiresome ;  and  here  is  little 
else :  but  the  audience  were  to  be  dismissed  in  good  humour, 
and  they  undoubtedly  walked  home  as  merry  as  noise  and  non- 
sense could  make  them. 

It  appears  from  the  title-page  of  the  quarto,  that  the  Old  Law 
^as  a  favourite  with  all  ranks  of  people,  and  not,  indeed,  with- 
out some  degree  of  justice;  for  the  plot,  though  highly  impro- 
bable, is  an  interesting  one,  and  conducted  with  singular  artifice, 
to  a  pleasing  and  surprising  end.  It  must  be  allowed,  however,' 
that  the  moral  justice  of  the  piece  is  not  altogether  what  it 
should  be ;  for  though  Cleanthes  and  Hippolita  receive  the  lull 
reward  of  their  filial  piety,  yet  Simonides  apd  Eugenia  do  not 
meet  a  punishment  adequate  to  their  unnatural  conduct.     As  a 


THE  OLD  LAW. 


569 


Enter  Fiddlers,  G  notho,  Courtezan,  Cook,  Butler. 
i^x.  with  theoldJVomen,  Agatha,  and  one  bearing 
«  bridecake  for  the  wedding, 

Gnoth,  Fiddlers,  crowd  on,  crowd  on;'  let  no 
man  lay  a  block  in  your  way.— Crowd  on,  I  say. 
Lvan.  Stay  the  crowd  awhile;  let's  know  the 
reason  of  this  jollity. 

Clean.  Sirrah,  do  you  know  where  you  are? 
Gnoth.  Yes,  sir;  1  am  here,  now  here,  and  now 

here  again,  sir. 
Zy*.  Your  hat  is  too  high  crowned,  the  duke 

in  presence. 
Gnoth.  The  duke!  as  he  is  my  sovereign,  I  do 
give  him  two  crowns  for  it,'  and  that's  equal 
change  all  the  world  over:  as  I  am  lord  of  the 
day  (being  my  marriage-day  the  second)  I  do 
advance  my  bonnet.     Crowd  on  afore. 

Leon.  Good  sir,  a  few  words,  if  you  will  vouch- 
safe them  ; 
Or  will  you  be  forced  ? 

Gnoth.  Forced  !    I  would   the  duke  himself 
would  say  so. 

composition,  this  play  has  sereral  charming  scenes,  aYid  not  a  U^ 
passages  of  exquisite  beauty  :  it  once,  perhaps,  had  more  ;  but 
the  transcriber  and  the  printer  have  conspired  to  reduce  them. 

*  Clown.  Fiddlers,  croud  on,  crowd  on;]  Mr.  M  Maion  ob- 
serves, that  a  fiddle  vfa^fornier/y  called  a  crowd.  "Why  formerly  f 
Is  it  not  still  called  so  in  almost  every  part  of  (he  kingdom? 
But  he  was  ambitious  of  fullowing  the  learned  commentators  on 
other  dramatic  writers,  who  gravely  tell  us,  that  words,  which 
are  in  every  one's  mouth,  once  signified  such  and  such  things  in 
Cornwall,  perhaps,  or  Northumberland  ! 

'  Gnoth.  T/ie  duke!  as  he  is  my  sovereign,  J  do  give  him  two 
crow  nsyor  it^  &c.]  Here  is  some  poor  pun.  A  sovereign  wat 
a  gold  coin  worth  ten  shillincs  ;  or,  is  the  wit  in  some  fancied 
•imilarity  of  sound  between  duke  and  ducat  (a  picc«  of  th« 
»ame  value  as  the  other  ?)  pudct,  pudet ! 

VOL.  IV.  •  P  p 


570  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Evan.  I  think  he  dares,  sir,  and  does;  if  you 
stay  not, 
You.  shall  be  forced. 

Gnoih.  I  think  so,  my  lord,  and  good  reason 
too;  shall  not  I  stay  when  your  grace  says  I 
shall?  I  were  unworthy  to  be  a  bridegroom  in 
any  part  of  your  highness's  dominions,  then: 
will  it  please  you  to  taste  of  the  wedlock- 
courtesy  ?  ' 

Evan.  Oh,  by  no  means,  sir;  you  shall  not 
deface  so  fair  an  ornament  for  me. 

Gnoth.  If  your  grace  please  to  be  cakated, 
say  so. 

Evan.  And  which  might  be  your  fair  bride, 
sir  ? 

Gnoth.  This  is  my  two-for-one  that  must  be 
the  uxor  iLvoris,  the  remedy  dolofis,  and  the  very 
syceum  amoris. 

Evan.  And  hast  thou  any  else  ? 
'    Gnoth.  I  have  an  older,  my  lord,  for  other  uses. 

Clean.  My  lord, 
I  do  observe  a  strange  decorum  here : 
These  that  do  lead  this  day  of  jollity, 
Do  march  with  music  and  most  mirthful  cheeks; 
Those  that  do  follow,  sad,  and  woefully. 
Nearer  the  haviour  of  a  funeral, 
Than  of  a  wedding. 

Evan,  'Tis  true ;  pray  expound  that,  sir. 

Gnoth.  As  the  destiny  of  the  day  falls  out,  my 
lord,  one  goes  to  wedding,  another  goes  to  hang- 
ing; and  your  grace,  in  the  due  consideration, 
shall  find  them  much  alike ;  the  one  hath  the 
ring  upon  her  finger,  the  other  the  halter  about 
her  neck.  /  take  thee^  Beatiice,  says  the  bride- 
groom ;  /  take  thee,  Agatha,  says  the  hangman ; 
and  both  say  together,  to  have  and  to  hold,  till 
death  do  part  us. 


THE  OLD   LAW.  SH 

Evan.  This  is  not  yet  plain  enough  to  my  un- 
derstanding. 
G?iof/h  If  further  your  grace  examine  it,  you 
shall  find  I  shew  myself  a  dutiful  subject,  and 
obedient  to  the  law,  myself,  with  these  my  good 
friends,  and  your  good  subjects,  our  old  wives, 
whose  days  are  ripe,  and  their  lives  forfeit  to  the 
law :  only  myself,  more  forward  than  the  rest, 
am  already  provided  of  my  second  choice. 
Evan.  Oh !  take  heed,  sir,  you'll  run  yourself 
into  danger; 
If  the  law  finds  yo\i  with  two  wives  at  once, 
There's  a  shrewd  premunire. 

Gnoth.  I  have  taken  leave  of  the  old,  my  lord. 
I  have  nothing  to  say  to  her;  she's  going  to  sea, 
your  grace  knows  whither,  better  than  I  do : 
she  has  a  strong  wind  with  her,  it  stands  full  in 
her  poop;  when  you  please,  let  her  disembogue. 
Cook.  And  the  rest  of  her  neighbours  with  her, 
whom  we  present  to  the  satisfaction  of  your 
highness'  law. 

Gnoth.  And  so  we  take  our  leaves,  and  leave 
them  to  your. highness. — Crowd  on. 

Evan.  Stay,  stay,  you  are  too  forward.     Will 
you  marry, 
And  your  wife  yet  living? 

Gnoth.  Alas!  she'll  be  dead  before  we  can  get 
to  church.  If  your  grace  would  set  her  in  the 
way,  I  would  dispatch  her:  I  have  a  venture 
on't,  which  would  return  me,  if  your  highness 
would  make  a  little  more  haste,  two  for  one. 
Evan.  Come,  my  lords,  we  must  sit  again ; 
here's  a  case 
Craves  a  most  serious  censure. 

Cook,  Now  they  shall  be  dispatch'd  out  of  the 
way. 

*Pp2 


572  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Gnoth,  I  would  they  were  gone  once ;    the 

time  goes  aM'ay. 
Evan.  Which   is  the  wife  unto  the  forward 

bridegroom  ? 
Aga.  I  am,  an  it  please  your  grace. 
Evan.  Trust  me,  a  lusty  woman,  able-bodied, 
And  well-blooded  cheeks. 

Gnoth.  Oh,  she  paints,  my  lord  ;    she  was  a 
chambermaid  once,  and  learn'd  it  of  her  lady. 
Evan.  Sure  1  think  she  cannot  be  so  old. 
Aga.  Truly  I  think  so  too,  an't  please  your 

grace. 
Gnoth.  Two  to  one  with  your  grace  of  thatT 
she's  threescore  by  the  book. 

Leon.  Peace,  sirrah,  you  are  too  loud. 
Cook,  Take  heed,  Gnotho:    if  you  move  the 
duke's  patience,  'tis  an  edge-tool ;  but  a  word 
and  a  blow,  he  cuts  off  your  head. 

Gnoth.  Cut  off  my  head  !  away,  ignorant!  he 
knows  it  cost  more  in  the  hair ;  he  does  not  use 
to  cut  off  many  such  heads  as  mine:  I  will  talk 
to  him  too ;  if  he  cut  off  my  head,  I'll  give  him 
my  ears.  I  say  my  wife  is  at  full  age  for  the  law, 
the  clerk  shall  take  his  oath,  and  the  church-book 
shall  be  sworn  too. 

Evan.  My  lords,  I  leave  this  censure  to  you. 
Leon.  Then  first,  this  fellow  does  deserve  pu- 
nishment, 
For  offering  up  a  lusty  able  woman, 
Which  may  do  service  to  the  commonM'ealth, 
Where  the  law  craves  one  impotent  and  useless. 

Creon.  Therefore  to  be  severly  punished. 
For  thus  attempting  a  second  marriage. 
His  wife  yet  living. 

Lys.  Nay,  to  have  it  trebled  ; 
That  even  the  day  and  instant  when  he  should 
mourn. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  573 

As  a  kind  husband,  at  her  funeral, 
He  leads  a  triumph  to  the  scorn  of  it; 
Which  unseasonable  joy  ought  to  be  punish'd 
With  all  severity. 

But»  The  fiddles  will  be  in  a  foul  case  too,  by 
and  by. 

Leon.  Nay,  further ;  it  seems  he  has  a  venture 
Of  two  for  one  at  his  second  marriage, 
Which  cannot  be  but  a  conspiracy 
Against  the  former. 

Gnoth.  A  mess  of  wise  old  men  ! 

Li/s.  Sirrah,  what  cm  you  answer  to  all  these? 

Gnoth.  Ye  are  good  old  men,  and  talk  as  age 
will  give  you  leave.  I  would  speak  with  the 
youthful  duke  himself;  he  and  1  may  speak  of 
things  that  shall  be  thirty  or  forty  years  after 
you  are  dead  and  rotten.  Alas !  you  are  here  to 
day,  and  gone  to  sea  to  morrow. 

Evan.  In  troth,  sir,  then  I  must  be  plain  with  you. 
The  law  that  should  take  away  your  old  wife 

from  you, 
The  which  1  do  perceive  was  your  desire, 
Is  void  and  frustrate;  so  for  the  rest: 
There  has  been  since  another  parliament, 
Has  cut  it  off. 

Gnoth.  I  see  your  grace  is  disposed  to  be 
pleasant. 

Evan.  Yes,  you  might  perceive  that;  I  had 
not  else 
Thus  dallied  with  your  follies. 

Gnoth.  I'll  talk  further  with  your  grace  when 
I  come  back  from  church  ;  in  the  mean  time,  you 
know  what  to  do  with  the  old  women. 

Evan,  Stay,  sir,  unless  in  the  mean  time  you 
mean 
I  cause  a  gibbet  to  be  set  up  in  your  way, 
And  hang  you  at  your  return. 


574  THE   OLD   LAW. 

^ga.  O  gracious  prince  ! 

Evan.  Your  old  wives  cannot  die  to  day  by  any 
law  of  mine  ;  for  aught  I  can  say  to  them, 
They  may,  by  a  new  edict,  bury  you, 
And  then,  perhaps,  you'll  pay  a  new  fine  too. 

Gnoth.  This  is  fine,  indeed  ! 

^ga.  O  gracious  prince  !   may  he  live  a  hun- 
dred years  more. 

Cook.  Your  venture  is  not  like  to  come  in  to 
day,  Gnotho. 

Gnoth.  Give  me  the  principal  back. 

Cook.  Nay,  by  my  troth  we'll  venture  still — 
and  I'm  sure  we  have  as  ill  a  venture  of  it  as  you; 
for  we  have  taken  old  wives  of  purpose,  that  we 
had  thought  to  have  put  away  at  this  marker, 
and  now  we  cannot  utter  a  pennyworth. 

Evan,  Well,  sirrah,  you  were  best  to  discharge 
your  new  charge,  and  take  your  old  one  to  you. 

Gnoth.  Oh  music !  no  musicj  but  prove  most 
doleful  trumpet ; 
Oh  bride  !    no  bride,  but  thou  mayst  prove  a 

strumpet ; 
Oh  venture!  no  venture,  I  have,  for  one,  now  none ; 
Oh  wife !  thy  life  is  saved  when  I  hoped  it  had 

been  gone. 
Case  lip   your  fruitless   strings;    no  penny,  no 

wedding ; 
Case  up  thy  maidenhead  ;  no  priest,  no  bedding  : 
Avaunt,  my  venture  !  ne'er  to  be  restored. 
Till  Ag,  my  old  wife,  be  thrown  overboard ; 
Then  come  again,  old  Ag,  since  it  must  be  so; 
Let  bride  and  venture  with  woful  music  go. 

Cook,  What  for  the  bridecake,  Gnotho  ? 

Gnoth.  Let  it  be  mouldy,  now  'tis  out  of  season. 
Let  it  grow  out  of  date,  currant,  and  reason  ; 
Let  it  be  chipt  and  chopt,  and  given  to  chickens. 
No  more  is  got  by  that,  than  William  Dickins 


THE   OLD   law:  575 

Got  by  his  wooden  dishes. 

Put  up  your  plums,  as  fiddlers  put  up  pipes, 

The  wedding  dash'd,  the  bridegroom  weeps  and 

wipes. 
Fiddlers,  farewell !  and  now,  without  perhaps, 
Put  up  your  fiddles  as  you  put  up  scraps. 

Lys.  This  passion*  has  given  some  satisfaction 
yet.  My  lord,  I  think  you'll  pardon  him  now, 
with  all  the  rest,  so  they  live  honestly  with  the 
wives  they  have. 

Evan.  Oh  !  most  freely  ;  free  pardon  to  all. 

Cook.  Ay,  we  have  deserved  our  pardons,  if 
we  can  live  honestly  with  such  reverend  wives, 
that  have  no  motion  in  them  but  their  tongues. 

^ga.  Heaven  bless  your  grace!  you  are  a  just 
prince. 

Gnoth.  All  hopes  dash'd;  the  clerk's  duties  lost, 
My  venture  gone;  my  second  wife  divorced; 
And  which  is  worst;  the  old  one  come  back  again! 
Such  voyages  are  made  now-a-days  I 
Besides  these  two  fountains  of  fresh  water,  I  will 
weep  twosaltoutof  my  nose.  Yourgracehad  heen 
more  kind  to  your  young  subjects — heaven  hless 
and  mend  your  laws,  that  they  do  not  gull  your 
poor  countrymen:  but  I  am  not  the  first,  by 
forty,  that  has  been  undone  hy  the  law.  'Tis  but 
a  folly  to  stand  upon  terms;  I  take  my  leave  of 
your  grace,  as  well  as  mine  eyes  will  give  me 
leave :  I  would  they  had  been  asleep  in  their 
beds  when  they  o|)ened  them  to  see  this  day! 
Come  Ag,  come  Ag.  [Exeunt  Gnotho  and  Agatha. 

'  Lys.  This  passion  has  given  some  $atitfaction  yet.']  l  e.  this 
pathetic  exclamation  :  it  is  parodied  in  part  from  t/ie  Spanish 
Tragcdt/^  and  is,  without  all  question,  by  far  the  stupidest  at- 
tempt at  wit  to  which  that  persecuted  play  ever  pare  rise  That 
it  aflbrded  some  satisfaction  to  Lysander  ought,  in  courtesy,  to 
be  attributed  to  his  having  more  good  natare  than  taste. 


S7S  THE   OLD   LAW. 

Creon.  Were  not  you  all  my  servants  ? 
Cook,  During  your  life,  as  we  thought,  sir; 
but  our  young  master  turn'd  us  away. 

Creon.  How  headlong,  villain,  wert  thou  in  thy 

ruin  ! 
Sim.  I  followed  the  fashion,  sir,  as  other  young 
men  did.  If  you  were  as  we  thought  you  had 
been,  we  should  ne'er  have  come  for  this,  I  war- 
rant you.  We  did  not  feed,  after  the  old  fashion, 
on  beef  and  mutton,  and  such  like. 

Creon.  Well,  what  damage  or  charge  you  have 
run  yourselves  into  by  marriage,  I  cannot  help, 
nor  deliver  you  from  your  wives ;  them  you  must 
keep;  yourselves  shall  again  return  to  me. 

All.  We  thank  your  lordship  for  your  love, 
and  must  thank  ourselves  for  our  bad  bargains. 

[Kreunt, 
Evan.  Cleanthes,  you  delay  the  power  of  law, 
To  be  inflicted  on  these  misgovern'd  men, 
That  filial  duty  have  so  far  transgress'd. 

Clean.  My  lord,  I  see  a  satisfaction 
Meeting  the  sentence,  even  preventing  it. 
Beating  my  words  back  in  their  utterance. 
See,  sir,  there's  salt  sorrow  bringing  forth  fresh 
And  new  duties,  as  the  sea  propagates. 

The  elephants  have  found  their  joints  too 

[Thei/  kneel. 
Why,  here's  humility  able  to  bind  up 
The  punishing  hands  of  the  severest  masters, 
Much  more  the  gentle  fathers'. 

Sim.  I  had  ne'er  thought  to  have  been  brought^ 
so  low  as  my  knees  again  ;  but  since  there's  no 
remedy,  fathers,  reverend  fathers,  as  you  ever 
hope  to  have  good  sons  and  heirs,  a  handful  of 
pity  !  we  confess  we  have  deserved  more  than  we 
are  willing  to  receive  at  your  hands,  though  sons 
can  never  deserve  too  much  of  their  fathers,  as 
lihall  appear  afterwards. 


THE   OLD   LAW.  577 

Creon.  And  what  way  can   you  decline  your 
feeding  now  ? 
You  cannot  retire  to  beeves  and  muttons  sure. 

Sim.  Alas!  sir,  you  see  a  good  pattern  tor  that, 
now  we  have  laid  by  our  high  and  lusty  meats, 
and  are  down  to  our  marrowbones  already. 

Creon.  Well,  sir,  rise  to   virtues;    we'll  bind 
you  now  ;  \They  rise. 

You  that  were  too  weak  yourselves  to  govern, 
By  others  shall  be  govern'd. 

Lys.  Clean thes, 
I  meet  your  justice  with  reconcilement: 
If  there  be  tears  of  faith  in  woman's  breast, 
I  have  received  a  myriad,  which  coufirms  me 
To  find  a  happy  renovation. 

Clean    Here's  viitue's  throne, 
Which  I'll  embellish  with  my  dearest  jeweU 
Of  love  and  faith,  peace  and  affection  ! 
This  is  the  altar  of  my  sacrifice, 
Where  daily  my  devoted  knees  sliall  bend. 
Age-honoured  shrine  !   time  still  so  love  you, 
That  I  so  long  may  have  you  in  mine  eye 
Until  my  memory  lose  your  beginning  ! 
For  you,  great  prince,  long  may  your  fame  sur- 
vive, 
Your  justice  and  your  wisdom  never  die, 
Crown  of  your  crown,  the  blessing  of  your  land, 
Which  you  reach  to  her  from  your  regent  hand! 

Leon.  O  Cleanthes,  had  you  with  us  tasted 
The  entertainment  of  our  letirement, 
Fear'd  and  cxclaim'd  on  in  your  ignorance. 
You  might  have  sooner  died  upon  the  wonder. 
Than  any  rage  or  passion  for  our  loss. 
A  place  at  hand  we  were  all  strangers  in, 
So  sphered  about  Nyith  music,  such  delights, 
Such  viands  and  attendance,  and  ouce  a  day 
3o  cheefcd  with  a  royal  visitant, 


578  THE   OLD   LAW. 

That  oft  times,  waking,  our  unsteady  fancies 
Would  question  whether  we  yet  lived  or  no, 
Or  had  possession  of  that  paradise 
Where  angels  be  the  guard  ! 

Evan.  Enough,  Leonides, 
You  go  beyond  the  praise  ;  we  have  our  end, 
And  all  is  ended  well:  we  have  now  seen 
The  flowers  and  weeds  that  grow  about  our  court. 

Sim.  If  these  be  weeds,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  wear 
none  so  good  again  as  long  as  my  father  lives. 

Evan.  Only  this  gentleman  we  did  abuse 
With  our  own  bosom  :  we  seem'd  a  tyrant, 
And  he  our  instrument.     Look,  'tis  Cratilus, 

[^Discovers  Cratilus. 
The  man  that'you  supposed  had  now  been  tra- 

vell'd  ; 
Which  we  gave  leave  to  learn  to  speak, 
And  bring  us  foreign  languages  to  Greece. 
All's  joy,  I  see  ;  let  pmsic  be  the  crown  : 
And  set  it  high,  "  The  good  needs  fear  no  law, 
It  is  his  safety,  and  the  bad  man's  awe." 

[Flourish.     E.reunt.* 

•  It  must  be  unacceptable  both  to  the  reader  and  to  myself 
to  enter  into  any  examination  of  this  unfortunate  comedy.  The 
purpose  which  it  professes  is  sufficiently  good  :  but  we  lose  sight 
of  it  in  the  meanness  and  extravagance  which  disfigure  the  sub- 
ject. Yet  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  touched  by  occasional 
passages,  which  in  tenderness  and  beauty,  are  hardly  excelled 
by  any  of  Massinger.  They  are  either  descriptive  or  sentimen- 
tal, and  are  rather  excrescences  from  the  story  than  essential 
parts  of  it;  and,  on  this  account  they  may  be  easily  detached, 
and  remembered,  for  their  own  excellence,  when  the  place  in 
which  they  were  found  is  deservedly  forgotten.  Perhaps  they 
derive  a  grace  from  their  very  situation ; — they  are  "  precious 
jewels"  in  the  "  head"  of  ugliness.  Any  attempt  to  ascertain 
the  portions  contributed  by  Middle(on  or  Rowley,  would  be 
but  loss  of  labour.  The  ruggedness  of  the  versification,  and 
the  obscurity  of  so  many  of  the  thoughts,  laboured  in  their  ex- 
pression, and  trivial  in  their  meaning,  prove  that  a  groat  part  of 


[  575)  ] 

the  play  came  from  some  other  than  Massinger.  Nor  could  the 
lighter  scenes,  if  the  awkward  movements  of  filth  and  dulness 
may  claim  that  name,  have  been  furnished  by  him.  His  manner 
is  chiefly  to  be  perceived  in  the  second  scene  of  the  fourth  act, 
and  where  Clcanthes  and  Leonides  fondly  expatiate  on  the  hap- 
piness of  their  contrivance,  at  the  very  moment  when  their 
security  is  about  to  be.interrupted. 

But  the  reader  shall  be  no  longer  detained  on  so  questionable 
a  composition  as  the  Old  Law.  He  may  be  better  pleased 
"With  a  few  observations  arising  from  a  general  view  of  the  Plays 
of  Massinger,  and  affording  some  illustration,  however  imper- 
fect, of  his  talents  and  character. 


It  is  truly  surprising  that  the  genius  which  produced  these 
Plays  should  have  obtained  so  little  no(icc  from  the  world.  It 
does  not  appear  that  in  any  age  since  his  own,  Massinger  has 
been  ranked  among  the  principal  writers  for  the  stage.  Rarely 
have  any  of  his  pieces  been  acted  ;  and  dramatic  criticism  has 
been  unwilling  to  mention  his  name.  It  has  attributed  variety 
and  greatness  of  character  io  Shakspeare  and  Fletcher,  as  if 
Massinger  had  never  existed,  or  were  entitled  to  none  of  this 
praise.  It  has  objected  to  the  clenches  and  bombast  which 
disfigure  the  scenes  of  our  great  bard,  as  if  it  were  no  credit  to 
Massinger  that  he  has  little  of  the  one  and  less  of  ihc  other ; 
and  it  has  lamented  the  too  close  and  laboured  language  of 
Jonson,  without  observing  that  the  language  of  Massinger  is 
some  of  the  most  chaste  and  flowing  which  the  English  stage  can 
boast. — One  of  his  characteristic  qualities  is  his  Sttle  ;  and, 
on  this  account  he  is  entitled  to  a  portion  of  the  praise  which 
has  followed  the  names  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  It  is  ob- 
vious, that  he  seldom,  if  ever,  approaches  the  harsh  compactness 
of  Jonson  ;  and  he  is  free  from  certain  peculiarities  which  too 
often  cloud  the  poetry  of  Shakspeare.  The  construction  of  his 
kentences  is  direct  and  uninvolved,  even  in  the  most  solemn  and 
passionate  of  his  scenes  ;  and  rarely  does  he  seek  for  uncommon 
meanings  by  forcing  his  words  upwards  to  their  original  sources. 
He  is  content  with  their  usual  acceptation,  and  does  not  at- 
tempt to  heighten  poetic  cflect  cither  by  inve^^lon  or  a  strange 
use  of  current  terms.  The  faults  into  which  ho  occasionally 
falls  are  his  own,  and  arise  from  the  case  which  generally 
distinguishes  him.  He  frequently  ends  a  line  with  an  unim- 
portant word  serving  only  as  a  passage  to  the  next  line  ;  and 
sometimes  two  following  lines  are  hurried  on  In  the  same  incon- 
siderate manner:   sometimes  b«  raiucs  a  jingle  by  throwing 


[  580  ] 

into  the  same  line  two  words  of  somewhat  similar  sotind,  but  of 
different  meaning:  now  and  then  too  he  rhymes  in  the  middle 
of  a  speech.  These  are  blemishes  ;  but  they  grow  from  the 
very  freedom  of  his  poetry,  and  shew  his  habitual  ease  through 
the  accidental  carelessness  which  they  betray :  nor  can  it  be 
denied  that  in  general  he  is  entitled  to  our  sincere  admiration 
for  the  purity  and  simplicity  of  his  language,  the  free  structure 
of  his  lines,  and  the  natural  flow  and  unaflFected  harmony  of  his 
periods.  It  is  observable  that  Mr.  Hume  regrets  the  want  of 
**  purity  and  simplicity  of  diction,"  qualities  which  he  cannot 
discover  in  Shakspeare.  He  might  have  praised  them  in 
Massinger;  but  he  must  have  been  a  stranger  to  these  Plays, 
and  affords  one  instance  more  of  the  undeserved  neglect  which 
has  hitherto  been  their  portion. 

Another  of  the  peculiarities  of  Massinger  arises  from  the  ma- 
nagement of  his  Plot.  The  reader  must  have  observed,  in  too 
many  instances,  with  what  rapidity  the  story  is  carried  on,  with 
what  neglect  of  time  and  place,  and,  not  unfrequently,  of 
character  itself.  This  indeed  was  not  unusual  with  other  writers 
of  that  age.  What  distinguishes  Massinger,  is  his  carefulness  of 
memory  amidst  his  neglect  of  probability.  He  does  not  fall 
into  hurry  of  scene  through  inadvertence.  He  draws  a  plan  of 
his  irregularities  before  he  enters  upon  the  execution  of  them. 
This  appears  from  the  caution  with  which  they  are  introduced ; 
for  some  of  the  strangest  incidents  which  are  to  befall  his  cha- 
racters are  pointed  out  by  early  strokes  and  studied  intimations. 
Thoughtlessness  as  to  the  conclusion  of  bis  story  does  not  there, 
fore  apply  to  him,  as  it  does  to  others.  He  looks  forward  to 
the  frequent  change  of  his  business,  and  is  satisfied.  He  is  rapid 
*'  by  advice,"  and  unites,  in  a  greater  degree  than  almost  any 
other  writer,  precipitation  with  precaution: 

— — — insanit  certd  ratione  tnodoque. 

Among  the  writers  of  that  age,  Jonson  alone,  perhaps,  knew 
all  the  impropriety  arising  from  a  frequent  and  violent  change 
of  scene.  This  sense  of  exactness  was  doubtless  impressed  upon 
him  by.  his  love  of  the  ancients;  and  he  has  obtained  the  difficult 
praise  both  of  copiousness  and  close  connexion  of  his  incidents. 
Yet  Jonson  himself,  who  blamed  Shakspeare's  change  of  scene, 
was  not  wholly  free  from  the  same  practice  :  and  this  has  been 
remarked  by  Dryden  with  some  appearance  of  triumph. 
Whatever  might  have  been  the  sentiments  of  Massinger,  his 
general  practice  was  a  disregard  of  consistency  of  plan ;  and  his 
striking  propensity  to  hurry  of  scene  is,  perhaps,  to  be  consi. 
dered  as  a  principal  cause  of  his  comparative  want  of  success, 
when  he  undertakes  the  higher  and  more  regular  subjects  of 
history.    Either  he  seems  constrained  by  the  new  restrictions 


[581  ] 

tb  which  he  occasionally  submits ;  or,  tired  of  these,  he  «nd- 
denly  falls  into  liberties  which  ill  accord  with  the  gravity  of  his 
first  design.  Sometimes  he  lessens  the  effect  of  history  by  a 
choice  not  sufficiently  sagacious  or  comprehensive ;  and  some- 
times  he  interrupts  its  influence  by  additions  extraneous  to  the 
tobject,  or  unimportant  in  themselves.  He  is  then  most  suc- 
cessful when  he  approaches  the  scenes  of  invention  under  cover 
of  some  previous  truth ;  when  he  glances  at  some  known  event, 
and  presently  resigns  himself  to  the  accustomed  license  of 
romance.  How  extravagant  is  the  mixture  fif  fable  with  fact 
in  several  of  these  plays,  the  reader  must  have  already  observed. 
But  if  he  feels  with  me,  he  will  derive  a  pleasure  from  the  de- 
tection of  some  circumstance  of  truth  amid  the  mass  of  inven- 
tion,  and  will  hail  the  "  sacred  influence"  of  historic  light,  which 
sometimes — 

**  Shoots  far  into  the  bosom  of  dim  night 
*'  A  glimmering  dawn." 
The  Learning  of  Massinger  here  suggests  itself.  It  seems 
to  have  been  not  without  respectability;  yet  rather  ornamental 
to  his  poetry  than  very  solid  or  very  comprehensive.  It  was 
such,  perhaps,  as  Jonson  might  have  sneered  at,  b\it  wifh  some 
injustice.  Apart  from  his  treatment  of  hisfory,  which  has  been 
just  noticed,  it  chiefly  consists  in  an  acquaintance  with  the 
moralists  and  poets,  and  shews  itself  in  an  occasional  introduc- 
tion of  some  ancient  maxim  resulting  frum  the  observation  of 
common  life ;  or  of  some  pretty  image  or  tender  sentiment 
transplanted  into  his  love  scenes.  Not  unfrequently,  indeed,  a 
classical  thought  is  discoverable  in  him,  not  formally  applied, 
but  incorporated  with  his  own  sentiment,  as  if  the  recollection 
of  an  ancient  writer  were  familiar  and  habitual  wi.h  him;  and, 
in  an  instance  or  two,  this  is  done  with  some  ruggedness,  as  if 
be  had  no  objection  to  make  a  momentary  experiment  on  what 
was  the  general  character  of  Jonson.  His  favourite  book  is 
Ovid ;  and  his  chief  display  is  of  the  common  and  popular 
mythology.  Of  this,  indeed,  he  is  by  far  too  fond.  Sometimes 
he  indulges  it  against  probability,  in  scenes  from  which  the 
ignorance  and  vulgarity  of  the  speakers  ought  to  have  excluded 
it ;  and  sometimes  against  propriety,  when  the  solemnity  of  the 
business,  and  the  engagement  of  the  attention  of  his  personages 
ought  to  have  been  secured  from  such  unseasonable  interrnption. 
He  is  also  apt,  on  some  of  these  untoward  occasions,  to  state 
his  mythological  tale  too  circumstantially,  and  to  adapt  it, 
point  by  point,  to  the  situation  which  he  means  to  illustrate. 
He  is  minutely  exact  in  applying  what  should  have  been  con- 
Teyed,  if  conveyed  at  all,  by  a  general  glance  ;  and  while  he 
pleases  himself  with  the  scrupulous  fidelity  of  bis  particulars, 


[  582  ] 

Ihe  reader  is  more  and  more  impationf  at  too  long  a  detention 
from  the  proper  business  of  the  stage.  There  is,  indeed,  another 
kind  of  reading  which  is  peculiar  to  himself,  and  claims  a 
separate  notice.  It  is  impossible  not  to  observe  how  zealous 
he  is  on  religious  subjects,  how  conversant  with  the  images  and 
sentiments  which  occur  in  the  history  of  the  early  persfcutions, 
and  how  ready  in  the  use  of  ecclesiastical  terms  and  arguments. 
He  seems  to  dwell  with  fondness  ou  conversions  to  the  faith; 
indulges  with  fervour  the  mode  of  reasoning  which  had  been 
used  between  the,  early  Christians  and  the  Pagans,  and  is  so 
impressed  with  it  that  he  employs  the  same  train  of  thought  for 
the  persuasion  of  Mahometans  and  idolaters.  Where  he  ob- 
tained this  knowledge,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  The  reader  must 
<Jetermine  whether  he  is  likely  to  have  drawn  it  from  the  source* 
pointed  out  in  the  observations  on  the  Virgin-Martyr,  or  in 
those  on  the  Renegado :  from  the  general  appearance  of  his 
learning,  I  have  no  objection  to  the  opinion  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  the  works  of  the  Christian  writers  themselves. 
One  thing  is  very  observable  in  him.  When  he  describes  the 
.ceremonies  of  religion  as  they  are  practised  in  the  church  of 
Rome,  it  is  with  an  earnestness  and  a  reverence  more  than 
sufficient  for  the  support  of  the  character  that  speaks.  Of  this 
the  Rcfiegado  alone  furnishes  several  instances  ;  and  not  only  is 
he  an)(ious  to  procure  from  any  hand  the  rite  of  baptism  for 
the  new  convert  (Donusa)  about  to  suffer  death  ;  but,  a  doubt 
being  raised  for  the  sake  of  an  authoritative  decision,  the  question 
of  lay  baptism  is  familiarly  settled  upon  Roman  Catholic 
principles — 

"  A  question  in  itself  with  much  ease  answered  : 

*'  Midwives,  upon  necessity,  perform  it ; 

"  And  knights  that,  in  the  Holy  Land,  fought  for 

*'  The  freedom  of  Jerusalem,  when  full 

*'  Of  sweat  and  enemies'  blood,  have  made  their  helmets 

"  The  fount,  out  of  which  with  their  holy  hands 

*'  They  drew  that  heavenly  liquor  :/&c.*  Vol.  II.  p.  211. 
One  circumstance,  however,  seems  to  have  escaped  his  at- 
tention, which  the  history  of  Christian  antiquity  would  have 
afforded  him.  In  cases  of  extremity,  when  the  rage  of  perse- 
cution would  not  allow  the  consolation  of  religious  rites,  the 
death  itself  of  the  sufferer  was  supposed  by  some  to  convey  the 
desired  benefit,  and  the  blood  of  the  martyr  was  the  salutary 
water  of  baptism.  But  I  will  add  no  more  on  this  subject.  Tho 
learning  of  Massingei'  appears,  in  this  view  of  it,  to  have  some 

*  The  reader  may  compare  this  with  the  pious  office  which  Tasso  makes 
Tancrcd  perform  to  Clorinda  : 

Poco  quindi  lontan  nel  sen  del  monte,  &«.    Canto  19,  St.  67, 


[  58S  ] 

connexion  with  his  religion.  Indeed,  the  sources  from  which 
his  plots  were  derived  might  have  furnished  some  of  the 
circumstances  just  noticed :  but  if  they  arc  his  own,  they  are 
suJ35cient  to  raise  a  suspicion  that  he  had  a  secret  attachment  to 
the  church  of  Rome :  and  this  seems  to  be  the  more  probable 
opinion. 

The  Morals  of  Massinger  shall  next  be  noticed.  It  maj 
seem  surprising  that  the  licentiousness  >vhich  too  frequently  ap- 
pears in  these  Plays,  should  be  accompanied  with  any  expressions 
of  regard  for  morality.  However,  we  must  remember  the  times 
in  which  he  wrote,  and  make  allowance  for  the  intluence  which 
the  general  state  of  society  will  always  have  on  compositions 
for  the  stage.  The  comparative  grossneis  of  common  conversa. 
tion,  the  rude  manner  in  which  theatrical  business  was  conducted, 
the  wish  of  giving  as  strong  an  effect  as  possible  to  tho  character 
represented,  and  a  taste  as  yet  imperfectly  formed  for  the  ma- 
nagement of  delicate  situations,  and  the  expression  of  wrong 
desires ;  these  and  many  other  causes  must  have  been  very 
unfriendly  to  the  purity  which  virtue  demands.  In  these 
particulars  Massinger  was  unhappy  with  other  writers.  Indeed 
no  situation  in  life  was  a  sufficient  security  for  theatrical 
decorum  ;  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  one  the  son  of  a  judge, 
the  other  of  a  bishop,  are  still  more  licentious  than  Massinger, 
without  the  consoling  attention  to  moral  consequences  which  he 
discovers. 

In  the  observations  on  several  of  these  Plays,  the  reader  will 
have  noticed  the  seriousness  of  the  moral  arising  from  the 
conclusion  of  the  story  :  and  in  justice  to  Massinger  it  must  be 
added,  that,  however  blamcable  he  is  for  the  admission  of  any 
indecency  of  others  into  a  work  over  w.hich  he  had  a  control, 
the  most  offensive  parts  are  not  his  own.  The  licentiousness 
for  which  he  is  personally  answerable,  is  of  two  sorts — one,  the 
chief  part,  consists  in  the  incidents  of  the  story  itself;  the  other, 
in  loose  conversation  not  strictly  subservient  to  the  plot,  but 
rather  gratuitously  indulged.  It  is  with  mucii  satisfaction  we 
observe,  that  the  indelicacy  in  the  former  case  is  in  some  mea- 
sure atoned  for  by  the  merited  punishment  to  which  he  com- 
monly conducts  the  offenders  ;  and  lest  his  design  should  be  mb- 
understood,  he  earnestly  reminds  us,  that,  notwithstanding  the 
grossness  of  the  story,  he  still  means  to  serve  the  cause  of  vir- 
tue, and  that  wickedness  is  sure  to  be  "  mulcted"  by  him  "  in 
the  conclusion."  The  Parliament  of  Love,  where  this  rautioa 
occurs,  is  a  convincing  instance  of  the  practice  just  noticed,  a^ 
it  combines  licentiousness  of  incident  with  characteristic  punish- 
ment on  the  contrivers  of  the  mischief.  For  the  other  part  no 
excuse  can  nor  ought  to  be  offered.  There  is  only  one  conso- 
lation under  it:  happily,  his  loose  dialogue  is  ill  managed.    It 


[  584  ] 

{s  without  spirit  or  attraction,  as  if  liis  mind  had  no  natural 
Inclination  to  it ;  and  the  reader  must  be  of  a  disposition  de- 
cidedly prunent  who  nill  turn  to  those  scenos  a  second  time. 
One  praise  remains  for  Massinger,  and  I  mention  it  with  heart*' 
felt  satisiaction  ;  he  is  entirely  without  profaneness.  How  it 
it  to  be  wished  that  Shakspeare  had  been  thus  I  and  that 
the  extraordinary  power  Mith  which  he  impresses  both-  good 
and  evil  stntimcnt  had  nerer  been  employed  in  loosening  the 
reverence  of  sacred  principles  in  the  mind  of  the  yonng  and 
inexperienced  reader,  or  in  teaching  other  men  of  genius  to 
recommend  the  most  pernicious  levity  through  the  attractions  of 
their  wit  ! 

The  Political  Chahacter  of  Massinger  is  very  creditable 
to  him.  His  allusions  to  the  public  events  of  the  times  are  not 
Tinfrequrnt ;  and  they  are  such  as  to  shew  him  a  man  of  honesty 
and  spirit.  He  ridicules,  with  successful  humour,  the  weak  and 
licentious  fops  w  ho  infested  the  court.  He  indignantly  exposes 
the  system  of  favouritism,  which  was  so  injurious  to  the  country 
in  the  rpi^n  of  James,  and  lashes  the  easy  or  corrupt  grant  of 
monopolies  with  the  honest  views  of  a  patriot.  In  return,  he 
takes  a  pleasure  in  contrastins;  the  loyalty  of  the  true  friends  of 
the  throne  with  the  interested  services  of  common  courtiers. 
He  also  endeavours  to  correct  the  profligate  facility  with  which 
a  personal  devotion  was  pledged  to  the  sovereign,  and  glances 
at  the  thoughtless  or  fallacious  offers  of  "  lives  and  fortunes." 
The  dreadlul  events  which  took  place  not  long  after  the  ex- 
pression of  these  sentiments  throw  an  unusual  interest  over 
them  ;  and  we  are  persuaded  by  his  persona!  satire,  as  well  as 
by  the  open  praises  which  he  liberally  bestows  on  his  country, 
how  strong  and  sincere  was  the  patriotism  of  Massinger.  It  is 
observable  too,  that  he  does  not  bend  io  the  slavish  doctrine 
which  was  inculcated  by  so  many  other  writers  of  the  age;  but, 
while  he  preserves  a  firm  and  substantial  reverence  to  the  throne, 
he  watches  over  the  actions  of  the  sovereign,  and  distinguishes 
between  his  just  authority  and  the  arbitrary  excesses  of  it.  One 
circumstance  more.  Massinger  lived  for  the  most  part  in  poverty 
and  neglect;  and  it  is  highly  honourable  to  him  that  there  are 
no  traces  of  public  spleen  or  faction  in  his  writings.  He  is 
always  a  good  subject ;  and  if  he  reprehends  the  follies  or  the 
vices  which  stood  too  near  the  throne,  he  does  it  as  a  friend,  • 
and  with  the  view  of  restoring  it  to  that  purity  and  wisdom 
which  became  ityand  to  that  lustre  in  which  he  loved  to  see  it 
shine. 

It  would  not  be  necessary  to  mention  Massinger's  Imitations 
of  his  contemporaries,  if  such  a  practice  had  not  been  unduly 
attributed  to  him.  Mr.  M.  Mason  seems  disposed  to  talk  of 
passages  remembered  from  Siiakspeare,     But  the  practice  is  not 


[  5S5  ] 

Tery  frequent,  and  whenever  it  does  occur,  the  obligation  it 
too  unimportant  to  be  dwelt  upon.     Indeed,  it  may  be  affirmed 
in  general,  that,  though  he  may  adopt  occasional  sentiments 
from  Shakspeare,  he  can  hardly  be  said  to  copy  his  incidents  or 
situations.     Perhaps  the  nearest  approach  to  such  an  obligation 
is  in  the  Emperor  of  the  East,  where  jealousy  on  account  of  the 
apple  recalls  to  our  mind  the  handkerchief  of  Othello.    Yet 
BTen  here  the  history  itself  may  well  be  supposed  to  furnish  the 
situation  without  assistance  from  any  other  quarter ;  and  the 
imitation  is,  after  all,  confined  to  a  few  scattered  thoughts.     It 
ought,  indeed,  to  be  allowed,  (since  the  subject  is  thus  entered 
upon,)  that  when  such  an  imitation  does  take  place,  it  is  some- 
times not  quite  so  happy  as  the  reader  might  wish.     Either  the 
thoughts  are  not  so  forcibly  expressed  as  by  Shakspeare,  or  they 
are  given  to  persons  whose  characters  do  not  so  well  agree  with 
them.     Thus,  when  Asambeg  (Renegado)  repeats  his  determi- 
nation to  do  something  terrible,  but  what,  he  does  not  yet  know, 
he  reminds  us  of  a  sentiment  highly  characteristic  of  the  wild 
and  ungoverned  temper  of  Lear.    But  Asambeg  is  of  a  different 
cast.     In  the  midst  of  his  passion  his  interest  is  consulted  ;  he 
blusters   indeed,  but  stops   to   calculate  consequences,  and  in 
reality  is  a  tame  character.    Again,  when  imprecations  are  used 
against  Richard,  and  guilty  fear  is  to  deprive  him  of  the  power 
of  wielding  his  sword,  we  feel  that  the  thought  is  natural.     But 
when  Overreach  (New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts)  finds  that  the 
curses  of  those  whom  he  has  undone  are  upon  him,  and  take 
away  his  strength,  we  perceive  an  incongruity.     A  sword  was 
the  natural  and  proper  weapon  of  Richard, — the  instrument  by 
which  his  situation  was  to  be  maintained.     Orerreach  has  a 
sword  never  intended  to  be  drawn :  he  endeavours  to  use  it  in 
the  moment  of  frenzy;  yet  talks  of  its  failure  in  the  terms  of  a 
baffled  soldier,  as  if  it  would  no  longer  avenge  his  cause,  or 
preserve  his  falling  fortunes. 
I      This  notice  will  be  sufficient  for  the  imitations  attributed  to 
(  Massinger,  and  the  circumstances  which  attend  them.     In  fact, 
\  he  has  borrowed  little  from  his  contemporaries,  and  has  given 
to  Milton  alone  perhaps  as  much  sentiment  as  he  has  himself 
taken  from  Shakspeare.     To  some  later  writers  he  has  been  too 
convenient  a  quarry.  Without  acknowledgment,  they  bate  dug 
from  his  scenes  for  the  construction  of  their  own,  and  hafc  done 
him  at  once  an  injustice  and  an  honour.    By  their  unskilful  uM 
tof  his  plundered  matter,  they  have  proved  how  much  he  is  th«ir 
isnperior.    The  imitation  of  the  Fatal  Dowry  in  the  Fair  Vcnitcntj 
has  been  already  noticed.     If  the  reader  will  pass  from  one  of 
these  Plays  to  the  other,  he  will  hardly  fail  to  acknowledge  the 
truth  of  this  assertion,  bold  as  it  may  appear:  he  will  find, 
VOL.  IV,  *  Q  q 


[  586  ] 

notwithstanding  the  praises  bestowed  on  Rowe  by  Dr.  Johnson, 
that  laboured  softness  and  artificial  sentiment  are  but  an  ill 
exchange  for  the  genuine  feelings  of  nature,  and  the  genuine 
expression  of  them.  Again,  if  he  will  compare  the  Guardian  of 
Massinger  with  the  imitation  of  it  in  the  Inconstant  of  Farqnhar, 
he  cannot  but  observe  how  much  the  natural  briskness  and  flow- 
ing humour  of  Durazzo  are  degraded  in  the  forced  levity  and 
empty  bustle  of  Old  Mirabel.  I  am  not  certain  that  Lee  remem- 
bered Massinger  in  his  Theodosius,  or  the  Force  of  Love;  but  he 
boasts  of  the  reception  of  that  piece  by  the  public.  Yet  who- 
CTCr  will  compare  the  Emperor  of  the  East  with  it,  will  soon  learn 
to  think  favourably  of  Massinger  on  this  account  also;  and  will 
wonder  that  his  nature  and  force  should  be  neglected,  while 
the  public  taste  has  been  content  to  admire  in  Lee  passion 
which  never  mores  the  soul,  and  vehemence  which  does  but 
excite  ridicule. 

From  these  few  particulars  some  conclusion  may  be  drawn 
respecting  the  genius  and  disposition  of  Massinger.  Perhaps  he 
cannot  be  called  sublime.  He  does  not,  like  Shakspeare,  seize 
the  soul,  and  in  a  moment  pierce  it  with  terror  or  affliction :  nor 
does  he  sustain  it  at  will  in  transports  beyond  the  usual  height 
of  nature.  He  moves  us  rather  by  the  accumulation  of  circum- 
stances, than  by  single  passages  ot"  unusual  strength  and  impres- 
sion. He  melts  too,  rather  than  terrifies.  Yet  while  we  surrender 
all  our  compassionate  feelings  to  the  Fatal  Dowry,  we  must  re- 
member the  horror  excited  by  the  Unnatural  Combat;  horror 
inherent  in  the  very  situations  of  the  principal  agents,  and  in- 
creased, with  equal  artifice  and  power,  by  dark  and  mysterious 
allusions  to  the  causes  of  their  strange  enmity,  and  of  the  fear- 
ful imprecations  which  they  utter.  He  does  not  venture  into 
the  ideal  world,  and  create  new  personages  and  imagine  strange 
agencies  for  them.  His  few  ghosts  deserve  no  mention.  The 
good  and  bad  spirit  in  the  Virgin  Martyr  are  not  to  be  compared 
with  the  fantastic  beings  of  Shakspeare :  their  appearance  is, 
for  the  most  part,  human ;  and  when  their  true  nature  breaks 
forth,  they  act  in  a  manner  which  custom  had  already  prescribed 
for  them.  The  most  imposing  use  of  an  event  beyond  the  expec- 
Tience  of  common  life  occurs  in  the  Picture;  yet  this  is  an  ex- 
traordinary trick  of  art,  which  appeals  rather  to  the  ear  than 
the  eye,  and  which,  once  allowed,  suffices  throughout  the  piece: 
there  is  no  magical  apparatus,  no  visible  agent  conducting  the 
train  of  surprise. 

His  comic  talenf  is  not  equal  to  his  tragic  power.  His 
merit  chiefly  consists  in  the  invention  of  comic  situations  ;  and 
in  these  he  is  often  remarkably  happy.  But  the  great  support 
of  Comedy  is  dialogue  \  and  in  this  he  is  deficient.    In  general 


[  587  ] 

it  wants  briskness  and  Tarietj.  Of  course,  we  roust  not  look 
into  him  for  those  characters  whose  wit  predominates  through 
the  piece,  or  whose  fatuity  is  the  principal  cause  of  laughter. 
He  has  neither  a  Falstaff  nor  a  Bessus ;  not  even  a  master  Ste- 
phen, or  a  Slender.  Sylli,  however  small  his  pretensions,  is  his 
chief  mirth-maker.  Indeed,  the  Comedy  of  Massinger  has  a 
near  connexion  with  history  and  the  graver  satire.  He  draws 
copious  descriptions  of  the  trifling  or  vicious  manners  of  the  age, 
and  discovers  strong  purposes  of  moral  correction,  rather  than 
smartness  of  conversation,  and  the  attacks  and  defences  of  dra- 
matic wit.  Of  this  sort  is  the  City  Madam.  This  I  regard  as 
the  chief  effort  of  his  Comedy ;  as  the  Fatal  Dowry  is  of  his 
Tragedy.  These  two  Plays  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  create 
an  high  reputation.  Pity  for  suffering  virtue  can  hardly  be  ex- 
cited in  a  stronger  manner  than  in  the  latter.  In  the  former  it 
is  difficult  to  say  which  quality  prevails,  the  powerful  ridicuU 
of  an  unfeeling  affectation,  or  the  just  reprobation  of  hypocrisy. 
This  determines  the  nature  of  Massinger's  writings.  He  does 
not  soar  to  the  heights  of  fancy ;  he  dwells  among  men,  and  de- 
scribes their  business  and  their  passions  with  judgment,  feeling, 
and  discrimination.  He  has  a  justness  of  principle  which  is 
admirably  fitted  to  the  best  interests  of  human  life;  and  I  know 
no  writer  of  his  class  from  whom  more  maxims  of  prudence, 
morality,  or  religion  may  be  drawn.  He  is  eminently  success- 
ful in  representing  the  tender  attachment  of  virtuous  love,  and 
in  maintaining  the  true  delicacy  and  dignity  of  the  female  cha- 
racter ;  and  in  general  he  displays  a  warmth  of  zeal  on  the  side 
of  goodness  which  at  once  pleases  and  elevates  the  reader.  To 
this  excellence  of  sentiment  he  adds  much  strength  and  variety 
of  talent;  nor  will  any  one  doubt  it  who  has  perused  these 
Plays  with  attention.  The  general  chasteness  of  language  with 
which  they  are  written,  the  peculiar  elegance  of  style  in  the 
Great  Duke  of'  Florence  and  the  Parliament  of  Love, — the  united 
dignity  and  madness  of  passion  of  the  Duke  of  Milan, — the  ani- 
mation and  heroism  of  the  Bondman,  and  the  talent  of  discrimt- 
nation  added  to  those  in  the  Maid  of  Honour, — the  striking  elo- 
quence of  the  Roman  Actor, — the  .comic  force  of  the  Fery 
Woman, — the  strong  ridicule  and  moral  reprobation  in  the  Nno 
Way  to  pay  Old  Debts, — and  the  peculiar  playfulness  of  the 
Picture;— these,  and  many  others  which  might  be  mentioned 
with  equal  justice,  are  incontrovertible  proofs  of  a  genius  far 
beyond  the  common  level.  Cartwright  has  invidiously  remarked 
the  '*  wretched  genius  and  dependent  fires"  of  those  who,  in  his 
time,  wrote  plays  for  bread.  This  cannot  be  said  of  Mawiinger 
without  the  greatest  injustice.  He  has  written  not  for  hi>  be- 
nefactors alone;  his  country  owes  him  an  obligation,  aud  it 
♦Qq2 


[  588  ] 

would  be  a  reproach  to  our  discernment  if  so  much  merit  were 
still  overlooked.  Indeed  it  is  very  difficult  to  account  for  the 
long  inattention  of  which  he  has  hitherto  to  complain.  The 
troubles  which  so  soon  followed  the  first  appearance  of  these 
Plays,  dropt  the  curtain  on  Massingcr  and  every  other  genuine 
•writer  for  the  stajje.  Perhaps  for  about  twenty  years  the  stage 
was  altogether  silent.  It  might  have  been  expected,  however, 
that  the  Restoration,  which  revived  several  of  the  plays  of 
Shakspeare,  and  more  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  would  have 
done  some  justice  to  Massinger. 

I  am  not  sanguine  about  my  conjecture,  but  the  following 
may  be  considered  as  one  of  the  leading  causes  of  the  neglect 
which  he  experienced.  It  appears  that  the  prevailing  taste  of 
those  times  was  such  as  his  scenes  were  not  much  calculated 
to  gratify.  An  extraordinary  attachment  burst  forth  to  the 
swift  turns  and  graces  of  the  stage,  as  Dryden  terms  them,  and 
to  the  chase  of  wit  briskly  pursued  in  dramatic  conversation. 
These  qualities,  as  it  was  just  now  observed,  do  not  distinguish 
Massinger.  They  were  supposed  at  that  time  to  be  possessed 
by  Fletcher  alone  ;  and  this  probably  was  the  reason  of  the- 
raarked  preference  w  hich  he  obtained ;  for  we  know  from 
Dryden,  that  two  of  Fletcher's  Plays  were  acted  for  one  of 
Shakspeare.  As  to  the  wit  of  Jonson,  it  was  considered  as  too 
stiff  for  that  age.  But  the  chief  injustice  seems  to  rest  with 
Dryden  himself.  In  his  Essai/  on  Dramatic  Poe^/'j/ he  praises 
others  for  qualities  of  which  Massinger  might  have  been  adduced 
as  an  example,  and  blames  them  for  failings  from  which  he  was 
free  ;  yet  of  Massinger  no  mention. is  made  :  and  probably  this 
was  sufficient  warrant  for  succeeding  critics  to  pass  by  a  name 
which  so  great  a  man  had  appeared  not  to  know,  or  not  to 
value.  As  to  the  attempts  in  the  last  century  to  make  Massingcr 
known  through  succeeding  editions  of  his  works,  they  call  for 
some  acknowledgment  on  account  of  their  motive  ;  but  the  per- 
formance can  hardly  be  mentioned  without  indignation.  Lord 
Bacon  somewhere  talks  of  the  disservice  done  to  literature  by 
the  "  ras/i  diligence''  of  some  "  in  the  correction  and  edition  of 
authors."  One  would  think  he  had  looked  forward  to  the 
treatment  of  poor  Massinger  by  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  ! — 
But  it  is  time  that  his  obscured  merit  should  at  length  appear  in 
its  proper  light ;  and  Massinger  has  found,  from  the  present 
Editor,  what  has  been  so  humanely  wished  for  him,  a  vindication 
of  his  name  in  a  pure  and  accurate  text. 

One  thing  yet  remains  :  to  explain  why  I  have  taken  a  part 
in  the  present  publication.  The  account  is  short  and  simple. 
The  Editor,  having  already  resolved  on  the  publication,  and  pre- 
pared the  text  for  the  press,  requested  of  me  a  revision  of  these 


[  589  ] 

Playg,  and  such  obserTatioiis  as  the  active  discharge  of  profes- 
sional duties  would  allow  me  to  bestow  on  them.  To  this  he 
was  doubtless  impelled  by  his  known  partiality  to  the  judgment 
of  his  friend  :  and,  in  some  measure,  perhaps,  by  the  recol- 
lection that,  in  our  early  days,  we  had  read  together  some 
of  the  works  of  our  dramatic  writers.  This  statement,  it  is 
hoped,  will  excuse  me  with  the  professed  lorers  of  the  drama, 
who  may  find  these  observations  of  too  serious  a  cast,  or  want- 
ing that  minute  acquaintance  with  the  stage  which  might  be 
required.  My  chief  attention  has  long  since  been  turned  to 
other  pursuits  ;  nor  have  I  thrust  myself  into  this  employment ; 
neither,  indeed,  has  any  ''  calling''  been  "  left"  for  it.  Mas- 
singer  has  truly  said,  that  to  be  able 

" to  pierce  to  the  depth, 

'*  Or  write  a  comment  on  the  obscurest  poets, 
"  Is  but  an  ornament." 
The  great  business  of  life  has  more  solemn  claims  ;  and  it  is  a 
consolation  to  add,  that  while  this  act  of  friendship  has  been 
performed,  the  higher  and  more  important  duties  have  not  suf- 
fered. If,  with  this  necessary  reservation,  the  talent  of  Massin- 
ger  has  been  at  all  unfolded  ;  and  especially,  if  his  writings  are 
now  made  more  useful  than  they  might  otherwise  have  been,  by 
the  careful  observation  of  his  subject,  and  the  pointing  of  hi? 
moral,  I  shall  be  satisfied.  As  to  the  rest,  it  is  but  a  trilling 
service  which  can  be  performed  by  mc  in  this,  or  perhaps  any 
other,  province  of  letters  ;  but,  to  apply  the  words  of  a  great 
man  on  a  far  higher  occasion,  "  so  have  I  been  content  to  tunc 
the  instruments  of  the  Muses,  that  they  may  play  who  hav« 
better  handy.*' 


POEMS 


OK 


SEVERAL  OCCASIONS, 


BT 


PHILIP  MASSINGER. 


*'l»B'p.3ff9  af  vH^ 


^   v^- 


'^tX     "TyO- 


3V    ^^H/v; 


*  A'  "-^-K. 


'^^ 


[593] 


POEMS. 


To  my  Honorable  ffreinde  S''. 

ffrancis  ffoliambe  Kfiight 

and  Baronet. 

S'.  with  my  service  I  praesent  this  booke, 

A  trifle,  I  confesse,  but  pray  you  looke 
Upon  the  sender,  not  his  guift,  with  your 

Accustomde  favor,  and  tlien  't  will  indure 
Your  serch  the  better.  Somethinge  there  may  bee 

You  '1  finde  in  the  perusall  fit  for  mee 
To  givef  to  one  I  honor,  and  may  pleade, 

In  your  defence,  though  you  descende  to  readc 
A  Pamplet  of  this  nature.    May  it  prove 

In  your  free  iudgement,  though  not  worth  you' 
Hove, 
Yet  fit  to  finde  a  pardon,  and  I'll  say 

Upon  your  warrant  that  it  is  a  play, 

ever  at  your  comaundment 

Philip  Massinoer. 


594  P  O  E  M  S. 


To  my  judicious  and  learned  Fi^iend  the  Author^ 
[James  Shirley]  upoji  his  ingenious  Poem^  the 
Grateiul  Servant,  a  Comedy , published  in  1630. 

Though  I  well  know,  that  my  obscurer  name 

Listed  with  theirs*  who  here  advance  thy  fame, 

Cannot  add  to  it,  give  me  leave  to  be, 

Among  the  rest  a  modest  votary 

At  the  altar  of  thy  Muse.     I  dare  not  raise 

Giant  hyperboles  unto  thy  praise ; 

Or  hope  it  can  find  credit  in  this  age, 

Though  I  should  swear,  in  each  triumphant  page 

Of  this  thy  work  there's  no  line  but  of  weight, 

And  poesy  itself  shewn  at  the  height: 

Such  common  places,  friend,  will  not  agree 

With  thy  own  vote,  and  my  integrity. 

I'll  steer  a  mid  way,  have  clear  truth  my  guide, 

And  urge  a  praise  which  cannot  be  denied. 

Here  are  no  forced  expressions,  no  rack'd  phrase ; 

No  Babel  compositions  to  amaze 

The  tortured  reader;  no  believed  defence 

To  strengthen  the  bold  Atheist's  insolence ; 

No  obscene  syllable,  that  may  compel 

A  blush  from  a  chaste  maid  ;  but  all  so  well 

Express'd  and  order'd,  as  wise  men  must  say 

It  is  a  grateful  poem,  a  good  play  : 

And  such  as  read  ingeniously,  shall  find 

Few  have  outstripp'd  thee,  many  halt  behind. 

Philip.  Massinger. 

■  Listed  vnth  theirs,"]  John  Fox,  John  Hall,  Charles  Aleyn, 
Thomas  Randolph,  Robert  Stapylton,  Thomas  Craford,  William 
Habiogton. 


POEMS.  595 


To  his  Son,  J,  S.  upon  his  Minerva.* 

Thou  art  my  son;  in  that  my  choice  is  spoke: 
Thine  with  thy  father's  Muse  strikes  equal  stroke. 
It  shew'd  more  art  in  Virgil  to  relate, 
And  make  it  worth  the  hearing,  his  gnat's  fate, 
Than  to  conceive  what  those  great  minds  must  be 
That  sought,  and  found  out,  fruitful  Italy. 
And  such  as  read  and  do  not  apprehend, 
And  with  applause,  the  purpose  and  the  end 
Of  this  neat  poem,  in  themselves  confess 
A  dull  stupidity  and  barrenness. 
Methinks  I  do  behold,  in  this  rare  birth, 
A  temple  built  up  to  facetious  Mirth, 
Pleased  Phoebus  smiling  on  it :  doubt  not,  then, 
But  that  the  suffrage  of  judicious  men 
Will  honour  this  Thalia ;  and,  for  those 
That  praise  sir  Bevis,  or  what's  worse  in  prose, 
Let  them  dwell  still  in  ignorance.     To  write 
In  a  new  strain,  and  from  it  raise  delight, 
As  thou  in  this  hast  done,  dotli  not  by  chance, 
But  merit,  crown  thee  with  the  laurel  branch. 

Philip  Massinger. 

*  To  his  son,  3.  S.  upon  Ms  Minenra  ]  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M. 
Mason  (or  rather  Coxetcr  alone,  for  Mr. M.  Mason  neither  knew 
nor  thought  any  thing  about  the  matter,)  say  this  little  poem 
was  addressed  to  James  Shirley;  and  Daries,  in  his  Life  of  Mau 
singer,  reasons  upon  it  as  an  indisputable  fact.  The  truth,  how- 
ever, is,  that  these  initial  letters  belong  to  James  Smith,  a  maa 
of  considerable  wit  and  learning,  and  a  dignitary  of  the  church. 
He  was  the  author  of  several  short  pieces,  and,  among  the  rest, 
of  that  to  which  (his,  with  other  commendatory  poem!),  is  pre« 
fixed,  the  Innovation  of  Penelope  and  Ulystes,  a  burlesque  satire 
upon  some  incoherent  translation  of  those  days,  and  the  proto- 
type,  perhaps,  of  Cotton's  Virgil,  and  the  Rehearsal.  Wood  says, 
that  Smith  "  was  much  in  esteem  with  the  poetical  wit*  of  that 
day,  particularly  with  Philip  Massioger,  who  called  him  hit  son." 

Athen.  Oxon.  Vol,  U.  p.  307. 


S96  POEMS. 


SERO  SED  SERIO. 

To  the  Right  Honourable  my  most  singular  good 
Lord  and  Patron,  Philip  Earl  of  Pembroke  and 
Montgomery,  Lord- Chamberlain  of  His  Majesty's 
Household,  S^c  upon  the  deplorable  and  untimely 
Death  of  his  late  truly  noble  Son,  Charles  Lord 
Herbert,  S^c.^ 

'TwAS  fate,  not  want  of  duty,  did  me  wrong; 
Or,  with  the  rest,  my  hymenseal  song 
Had  been  presented,  when  the  knot  was  tied 
That  made  the  bridegroom  and  the  virgin  bride 
A  happy  pair.     I  curs'd  my  absence  then 
That  hindered  it,  and  bit  my  star-cross'd  pen,  * 
Too  busy  in  stage-blanks,  and  trifling  rhyme, 
When  such  a  cause  call'd,  and  so  apt  a  time 
To  pay  a  general  debt ;  mine  being  more 
Than  they  could  owe,  who  since,  or  heretofore. 
Have  labour'd  with  exalted  lines  to  raise 
Brave  piles,  or  rather  pyramids  of  praise 
To  Pembroke  and  his  family :  and  dare  I, 
Being  silent  then,  aim  at  an  elegy  ? 
Or  hope  my  weak  Muse  can  bring  forth  one  verse 
Deservins:  to  wait  on  the  sable  hearse 
Of  your  late  hopeful  Charles?  his  obsequies 
Exact  the  mourning  of  all  hearts  and  eyes 
That  knew  him,  or  loved  virtue.    He  that  would 
Write  what  he  was,  to  all  posterity,  should 

•  Charles  lord  Herbert,  whose  early  death  is  here  lamented, 
was  the  eldest  surviving  son  of  Philip  earl  of  Pembroke  and 
Montgomery.  He  was  made  a  knight  of  the  Bath  at  the 
coronation  of  Charles  I.  and  married  in  1634  to  Mary, 
daughter  of  the  great  duke  of  Buckingham ;  soon  after  which 
he  went  abroad,  (for  she  was  too  young  for  cohabitation,)  and 
died  of  the  smalUpox  at  Florence,  in  January  1635-6. 


POEMS.  597 

Have  ample  credit  in  himself,  to  borrow, 
Nay,  make  his  own,  the  saddest  accents  sorrow 
Ever  express'd,  and  a  more  moving  quill. 
Than  Spenser  used  when  he  gave  Astrophil 
A  living  epicedium.     For  poor  me, 
By  truth  I  vow  it  is  no  flattery, 
I  from  my  soul  wish,  (if  it  might  remove 
Grief's  burthen,  which  too  feelingly  you  prove,) 
Though  I  have  been  ambitious  of  fame, 
As  poets  are,  and  would  preserve  a  name. 
That,  ray  toys  burnt,  I  had  lived  unknown  to  men, 
And  ne'er  had  writ,  nor  ne'er  to  write  again. 
Vain  wish,  and  to  be  scorn'd !  can  my  foul  dross, 
With  such  pure  gold  be  valued  ?  or  the  loss 
Of  thousand  lives  like  mine,  merit  to  be 
The  same  age  thought  on,  when  his  destiny 
Is  only  mentioned?  no,  my  lord,  his  fate. 
Is  to  be  prized  at  a  higher  rate  ; 
Nor  are  the  groans  of  common  men  to  be 
Blended  with  those,  which  the  nobility 
Vent  hourly  for  him.    That  great  ladies  mourn 
His  sudden  death,  and  lords  vie  at  his  urn 
Drops  of  compassion  ;  that  true  sorrow,  fed 
With  showers  of  tears,  still  bathes  the  widow'd  bed 
Of  his  dear  spouse ;    that  our  great  king  and 

queen 
(To  grace'your  grief)  disdain'd  not  to  be  seen 
Your  royal  comforters ;  these  well  become 
The  loss  of  such  a  hope,  and  on  his  tomb 
Deserve  to  live :  but,  since  no  more  could  be 
Presented,  to  set  off  liis  tragedy, 
And  with  a  general  sadness,  why  should  you 
(Pardon  my  boldness  !)  pay  more  than  his  due. 
Be  the  debt  ne'er  so  great:  No  stoic  can, 
As  you  were  a  loving  father,  and  a  man, 
Forbid  a  moderate  sorrow;  but  to  take 
Too  much  of  it,  for  his  or  your  own  sake, 


598  POEMS. 

If  we  may  trust  divines,  will  rather  be 

Censured  repining,  than  true  piety. 

I  still  presume  too  far,  and  more  than  fear 

My  duty  may  offend,  pressing  too  near 

Your  private  passions.     I  thus  conclude. 

If  now  you  shew  your  passive  fortitude, 

In  bearing  this  affliction,  and  prove 

You  take  it  as  a  trial  of  heaven's  love 

And  favour  to  you,  you  ere  long  shall  see 

Your  second  care*  return'd  from  Italy, 

To  bless  his  native  England,  each  rare  part, 

That  in  his  brother  lived,  and  joy'd  your  heart, 

Transferr'd  to  him ;  and  to  the  world  make  known 

He  takes  possession  of  what's  now  his  own. 

Your  honour's 

most  humble 

and  faithful  servant, 

Philip  Massinoer.' 


♦  Your  second  care]  Philip  Herbert,  -who  surTired  him,  and 
succeeded  to  his  title  and  estates. 


THE  END. 


London :  Printed  by  W.  Bulmer  and  C©. 
Cleveland-Row,  St.  James's. 


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