of Cali^ 
 n Regie 
 y Facil
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 DRAMATISTS OF THE EESTORATION. 
 
 D'AVENANT. 
 I.
 
 THK DliAiMATlG 
 
 W0EK8 OF SIE WILLTAAI D'AVENANT, 
 
 WITH PREFATORY MEMOIR AND NOTES. 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST. 
 
 MDCCCLXXII. 
 
 EDINBURGH: WILLIAi\[ PATERSOX. 
 LONDOX: SOTHERAN & CO.
 
 ?R=-i\-11 
 
 v<g-l 
 
 •^ 
 
 'A
 
 TO 
 nil: i;iGHT IIONOL'HAbl.E 
 
 hord IjJoughto'n, of (fircat IfJoucjhton, 
 
 IN 
 THE WEST HIDING OF YOliK, 
 
 A rOET AND A DISTINGUISHED LOVER OF LITERATUIiE, 
 
 THE DKAMATIC WORKS 
 
 OK 
 
 sri! WILLIAM D'AVENANT, KNIGHT, 
 
 ARE 
 
 liESPECTFlLLY INSCRIBED.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Prefatory Memou;, 
 
 Albovine : A Tragedy, 
 
 The Cruel Brother : a Tragedy, 
 
 The Just Italian : a Tragi-Comedy, 
 
 The Temple of Love : a Masque, 
 
 The Prince D'Amour: a Masque, 
 
 Appendix, 
 
 Page 
 ix 
 
 17 
 
 109 
 
 207 
 
 281 
 
 317 
 
 341
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Sir William D'Avenaiit, although popular as a 
 poet during the times in which Milton, Dryden, 
 and many other men of note also lived — so much 
 so, that he was deemed a fitting successor to 
 Ben Jonson in the Laureateship, — has, for up- 
 wards of two hundred years, been suffered to pass 
 unregarded, except in so far as his very vigorous 
 Poem of Gondibert and some minor pieces have 
 from time to time courted notice through the 
 medium of several collected editions of the 
 works of British Poets, under the editorship of 
 Dr Anderson (1795), Chalmers (1810), Sandford 
 (1819), &c.; and by the introduction of his Comedy 
 called " The Wits" into Dodsley's collection of Old 
 Plays, (1744 and 1825). This Comedy, Sir Walter 
 Scott also reprinted in his Ancient Drama (1810). 
 The cause of such neglect of a man, whose plays 
 (nearly thirty in number) are ably constructed, and 
 redolent of innumerable flashes of Avit and high 
 poetic imagery, — in every way comparable with most 
 of the recognized best poets since the days of Shake- 
 speare, — may, there is every reason to believe, be 
 ascribed to the careless and garbled manner in which 
 the Editor has dealt with the collected edition of his 
 Avorks, published in folio in 1673, live years after 
 his decease. The Dramas of Albovine, The Cruel
 
 VI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Brother, and the Just Italian, which are printed 
 in the present volume, as well as many of those 
 which will appear in subsequent volumes, have 
 had such unnecessary liberties taken with them as 
 to render them scarcely to be identified with the 
 original editions, the text having been converted 
 from good blank verse into indifferent prose, while 
 the tyi^ography employed is of a most uninviting 
 character even for an antiquary, far less for the 
 general reader. 
 
 This book was put forth by Henry Herringham, 
 bookseller, "at the sign of the Blew Anchor in the 
 lower walk of the New Exchange," and purports to 
 be the works of Sir William D'Avenant, "consisting 
 of those which were formerly printed, and those 
 which he designed for the press, now published 
 out of the author's original copies." The dedication, 
 which is subscribed by Lady D'Avenant, is as 
 follows : — 
 
 " To His Royal Highness : 
 
 " Your Highness is no sooner returned from ex- 
 posing your person for the honour and safety of 
 these kingdoms, but you are persecuted by a poor 
 widow, who humbly begs you to protect the works 
 of her deceased husband from the envy and malice 
 of this censorious age. For whoever sees your 
 Royal Highness's name in the front of this book, 
 and dares oppose what you are pleased to defend, 
 not only shews his weakness, but ill-nature too. 
 
 " I have often heard, and I have some reason to 
 believe, that your Royal father, of ever blessed 
 memory, was not displeased with his writings ; 
 that your most excellent mother did graciously 
 take him into her family ; that she was often 
 diverted by him, and as often smiled upon liis 
 endeavours. 1 am sure he made it the whole
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR, vii 
 
 study, and labour of the latter j^art of his life, to 
 entertain his Majesty and his Royal Highness, and 
 I hope he did it successfully. 
 
 " AVhenever we are, or whenever we fear to be, 
 opprest, we always fly to your Highness for re- 
 dress or prevention, and you were ever graciously 
 pleased to protect us. 'Tis that has emboldened 
 me to present these papers to your Royal High- 
 ness, and I humbly beg pardon for the presumption 
 of your most humble and obedient servant : 
 
 Mary D'Avenant." 
 
 By " His Royal Highness " is of course meant the 
 Duke of York, afterwards James II. 
 
 The printer, in his address to the reader, says : — 
 " I here present you with a Collection of all 
 those pieces of Sir William D'Avenant, ever de- 
 signed for the press. In his lifetime he often ex- 
 pressed to me his great desire to see them in one 
 volume, Avhich, in honour to his memory, Avith a 
 great deal of care and pains, I have now accom- 
 plished. 
 
 " In this work you have Gondibert, Madagascar, 
 &c., to which is added several poems and copies 
 of verses never before printed ; amongst them there 
 is the Death of Astragon, called The Philosopher's 
 Disquisition, directed to the dying Christian, which 
 the author intended as an addition to Gondiliert. 
 In this volume you have likewise sixteen plays, 
 whereof six were never before printed. 
 
 " My author was Poet-Laureate to two great 
 kings, which certainly bespeaks his merits ; be- 
 sides, I could say much in honour of this excellent 
 person, but I intend not his panegyric. He Avas 
 my Avorthy friend. Let his works, that are noAv 
 l)efore you, speak his praises, Avhilst I subscribe 
 myself, your servant, Henry Herringham."
 
 viii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 The dramatic pieces written by Sir William 
 D'avenant are as follows : — - 
 
 Printed in 
 
 Albovine, King of the Lombards. A Tragedy. 1(J29 
 
 The Cruel Brother. A Tragedy. ... 1 6:50 
 
 The Just Italian. A Tragi-Comedy. . . 1G30 
 
 The Temple of Love. A Masque. . . . 1G."4 
 
 The Triumphs of Prince D'Amour. A Masque. 1G3.5 
 
 The Platonic Lovers. A Tragi-Comedy. . 1G3G 
 
 The Wits. A Comedy 1G86 
 
 Britannia Triumphans. A Masque. . . . 1G37 
 
 Salmacida Spolia. A Masque. . . . 1G39 
 
 The Unfortunate Lovers. A Tragedy. . • 1G43 
 
 Love and Honour. A Tragi-Comedy. . . 1G49 
 
 The First Day's Entertainment at Rutland House. 1G56 
 
 The Siege of Rhodes. An Operatic Piece. . 1G56 
 
 Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru. . . . 1658 
 
 The History of Sir Francis Drake. . . . 1659 
 
 These last two pieces, subsequently revived, 
 
 formed a portion of a piece called 
 
 A Playhouse to be Let. .... 1673 
 
 The Siege of Rhodes. 2 parts. . . . 1663 
 
 This was an extended version of the play of 
 
 the same name of 1656. 
 
 The Rivals, A Tragi-Comedy. . . . 1668 
 
 The Man's the Master. A Comedy. . . 1669 
 
 Macbeth. A Tragedy, altered from Shakespeare. 1674 
 
 The Tempest, altered from Shakespeare, in con- 
 
 jimction with John Dryden. . . . 1670 
 Julius Csesar. A Tragedy, also from Shakespeare. 1719 
 
 The Siege. A Tragi-Comedy. . . . 1673 
 
 News from Plymouth. A Comedy. . . 1673 
 
 I^aw against Lovers. A Tragi-Comedy. . 1673 
 
 The Fair Favourite. A Tragi-Comedy. . 1673 
 
 The Distresses. A Tragi-Comedy. . . 1673 
 
 Winstanley, in his "Lives of the most famous 
 Poets," Lond. 1687, 12mo, attributes the tragi- 
 comcHly of " The Lost Lady " to D'Avenant. The 
 " Biographia Dramatica " says that the " Lost
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. IX 
 
 Lady " is by Sir William Barclay, but no account 
 of him is given. Further, mention is made that 
 " in the Stationers' Book, 1st Jan. 1G29," is entered 
 a play, written by D'aveuant, called "The Colonell," 
 which was not printed. 
 
 From this list it will be perceived that Herring- 
 ham, with all his " care and pains," has not suc- 
 ceeded in collecting together the complete works 
 of Sir AVilliam D'avenant. The Shakespearian plays 
 are wanting as well as the Rivals and Salmacida 
 Spolia, and in place of the Masque of " Britannia 
 Triumphans" (1637), which had been printed 
 shortly after its performance, with the name of 
 D'avenant on the title, — but which, by the way, is 
 not mentioned by Langbaine — Carew's Masque of 
 " Ccelum Britannicum," (performed 1G33, printed 
 1640,) is given. The omission of the former is not 
 readily understood, but the insertion of the latter 
 may have arisen from a belief, prevalent at one 
 time, that D'avenant was its author, and upon the 
 authority of the copy in the British Museum, 
 the present of Lady Banks, which has his name 
 upon its title page, written in a coeval hand, 
 although now qualified by the suggestion in pencil, 
 " or rather by Thomas Carew." 
 
 Sir William D'Avenant thus writes of Carew : — 
 
 ' ' Not but thy verses are as smooth and high 
 
 As glory, love, and wine from wit can raise ; 
 And now the de^^l take such destiny, 
 
 ^Miat should commendthem, turns to their dispraise. 
 Thy wit's chief virtue is become its vice ; 
 
 For every Beaiitj^ thou hast rais'd so high, 
 That now coarse faces carry such a price, 
 
 As must undo a lover that would buy." * 
 
 The six plays, printed for the first time " from 
 the author's original copies," are indicated by the 
 
 * See further respecting Carew, p. 204.
 
 X rilEFATOllY MEMOIR. 
 
 date 1G73, but it becomes a question as to the 
 source whence the others were obtained. _ They 
 are certainly not from the " original copies " as 
 previously given to the world, and it is not at all 
 likely that D'avenant would first have written them 
 in prose, and subsequently have extended them 
 into blank verse. Neither is it probable that he 
 would have excised the original printed versions 
 of their most poetical passages, in order to trans- 
 mute them into commonplace prose for no apparent 
 purpose whatsoever, inasmuch as in their primitive 
 form they were more adapted for stage popularity _ 
 than in their abridged state, Avhile the alterations ' 
 made could not render them in point of subject or 
 in point of language more refined and delicate. 
 Besides, any alterations or corrections for acting 
 purposes, after the accession of Charles II. to the 
 throne, would have been in an inverse direction. 
 D'avenant himself, it is pretty evident, could have 
 had no hand in the ill-judged emendations and 
 inane interpolations ; and the chance is that both 
 his widow and his publisher, in a mistaken idea of 
 compromising their own character, have employed 
 some bungling hack to take cognizance of such 
 words and phrases as he might deem objectionable, 
 and calculated to give offence to the more straight- 
 laced of the subscribers — if any such then existed. 
 The dates when Sir Henry Herbert, the Master 
 of the Revels, licensed the following plays were : 
 
 The Cruel Brother— Jan. 11, 1626-7. 
 
 The Colonel— July 22, 1629. 
 
 The Just Italian— Oct. 2, 1629. 
 
 The Wits— Jan. 19, 1633-4. 
 
 Love and Honour — Nov. 20, 1634:. 
 
 News from Plymouth — Aug. 1, 1635. 
 
 Platonick Lovers — Nov. 16, 1635. 
 
 Britannia Triumphaus, licensed for Press — J an. 8, 1637.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XI 
 
 Unfortunate Lovers — April 16, 1638. 
 Fair Favourite— Nov. 17, 1638. 
 The Spanish Lovers— Nov. 30, 1639. 
 
 Conjectured by many to have been the play which 
 in his works is called The Distresses. 
 
 An excellent paper " on the Heroic Poem of 
 Gondibert," will be found in " miscellaneous pieces 
 in prose, by J. and A. L. Aikin. London, 1773," 
 12nio. It commences thus: " A person engaged in 
 the pursuit of literary fame must be severely morti- 
 fied on observing the very speedy neglect into 
 which writers of high merit so frequently fall. 
 The revolution of centuries, the extinction of 
 languages, the vast convulsions which agitate a 
 whole people, are causes which may well be sub- 
 mitted to in overwhelming an author with obli- 
 vion; but that in the same country, with little 
 variation of language or manners, the delights of 
 one age should become utter strangers in the next, 
 is surely an immaturity of fate, which conveys re- 
 proach upon the inconsistency of national taste. 
 That noble band, the English Poets, have ample 
 reason for complaining to what unjust guardians 
 they have entrusted their renown. While we 
 crown the statue of Shakespeare as the prince of 
 dramatic poets, shall we forget the works, and 
 almost the names of his contemporaries who pos- 
 sessed so much of a kindred spirit 1 " Anon the critic 
 goes on to say : — " The capital work of Sir William 
 D'Avenant, which I now desire to call forth from 
 its obscurity, may well be considered as in a state 
 of oblivion, since we nowhere meet with allusions 
 to it, or quotations from it, in our modern writers ; 
 and few, I imagine, even of the professed students 
 in English classics, would thinktheirtaste discredited 
 by confessing that they had never read Gondibert. 
 . . . The author of Gondibert could not intend to
 
 xn PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 reduce his poem to mere history; but he chose to 
 take a poetical license in the dignity and elevation 
 of its sentiments, rather than in the marvellous- 
 ness of its events. He thought he might attriljute 
 to the exalted personages of Courts and camps the 
 same nobleness of mind which himself, a courtier 
 and a soldier, possessed. If his work be allowed 
 less grand and entertaining, from the want of such 
 ornaments as those of his predecessors are decorated 
 with, it will yet be difficult to show how, at his 
 time, they could have been applied consistently 
 with good sense and improved taste. . , . That 
 his sentiments are frequently far-fetched and af- 
 fected, and his expressions quaint and obscure, is 
 but too obviously apparent; and these faults, to- 
 gether with the want of harmony in versification, 
 will sufficiently account for the neglect into which 
 the work is fallen, though interesting in its story, 
 and thick sown with beauties. . . . The author's 
 faulty execution, however, arose from a source di- 
 rectly contrary to the ' dread of imitation. ' Imi- 
 tation itself led him to it; for almost all the 
 models of polite literature existing in his own 
 country, and indeed in the other polished nations 
 of Europe, were characterized by the very same 
 vitiation of taste. Among our ovm writers it is 
 sufficient to instance Donne, Suckling, and Cowley 
 for this constant affectation of wit and uncommon 
 sentiment, and for a constant obscurity of expres- 
 sion. Yet all these, and Sir WiUiam D'Avenant, 
 perhaps, in a more eminent degree than the rest, 
 had for great occasions, above the temptation of 
 trifling, a majestic and nervous simplicity both of 
 sentiment and expression; which, Avitli our more 
 refined taste and language, we have never been 
 able to equal. I shoidd now hope that the reader 
 M'ould set out with me u})on a nearer inspection of
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Xlll 
 
 this poem, with the general idea of its being the 
 work of an elevated genius, pregnant with a rich 
 store of free and noble sentiment, fashioned by an 
 intimate commerce with the great world, and 
 boldly pursuing an original, but not an unskilful 
 plan. 
 
 " The measure chosen for this poem is that which 
 we now almost confine to elegy. This choice does 
 not appear very judicious. A redundancy of 
 thought, running out into parentheses, seems to 
 have been produced, or at least encouraged, by the 
 measure. But I think he has generally preserved 
 a force and majesty of expression." 
 
 In giving a precis of the story of Gondibert, the 
 critic quotes pretty largely from the poem. Among 
 others, the following stanza ; in which we agree with 
 his observation that it is " little inferior to Shake- 
 speare's famous description of concealed love:" — 
 
 " Yet sadly it is sung that she in shades 
 
 Mildly as mourning doves love's sorrows felt ; 
 Whilst in her secret tears her freshness fades, 
 As roses silently in lymbecks melt." 
 
 Numerous other extracts of high poetic beauty 
 are given. Pursuing these, Aikin goes on to say: — 
 
 " We are next led to the 'Cabinet of Death,' a 
 receptacle for skeletons and anatomical curiosities 
 of every kind; and from thence, by a pleasing anal- 
 ogy to the library, or, as it is termed, ' the monu- 
 ment of banished minds.' The feelings of his 
 guests on entering this room are thus described : — 
 
 Where, when they thought they sawinwell sought books, 
 Th' assembled souls of all that were held wise. 
 
 It bred such awful rev'rence in their looks 
 As if they saw the bury'd writers rise.' 
 
 " The poet then goes through a particular survey
 
 XIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 of the authors, distinguished into their several 
 periods, countries, and professions; in which he 
 exhibits a great extent of learning, and, much more 
 to his honour, a sound and lil)eral judgment of 
 what is truly valuable in learning. Of this, his 
 account of the polemic divines will be thought no 
 unfavourable specimen. 
 
 ' About this sacred little book did stand 
 
 Unwieldy volumes, and in number great ; 
 And long it was since any reader's hand, 
 
 Had reach 'd thena from their unfrequented seat. 
 
 For a deep dust (which time does softly shed, 
 Where only time does come) their covers bear; 
 
 On which grave spiders streets of webs had spread, 
 Subtle and slight, as the grave writers were. 
 
 In these heaven's holy fire does vainly burn, 
 Nor warms, nor lights, but is in sparkles spent ; 
 
 Where froward authors which disputes have torn 
 The garment seamless as the firmament.' " 
 
 The lines upon the three Temples dedicated to 
 Prayer, Penitence, and Praise, are aptly character- 
 ized by the critic as " noble stanzas." 
 
 Of " Birtlia," her father's humble disciple and 
 assistant, educated in the bosom of rural sim- 
 plicity, the poet thus speaks: — 
 
 " Courts she ne'er saw, yet Courts could have undone 
 With untaught looks and an unpractis'd heart ; 
 Her nets the most prepar'd could never shun, 
 For nature spread them in the scorn of Art." 
 
 " But I check any desire," continues Aikin, " of 
 copying more from this exquisitely pleasing picture. 
 My intention is to excite curiosity, not to gratify 
 it. I hope I have already done enough for that 
 purpose." 
 
 He then runs briefly through the incidents of
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XV 
 
 the third Book, aiul thus brings his specimens of 
 D'Avenant's poetic power to a close :—" Various 
 conflicts of passion arise, and interesting situa- 
 tions, well imagined and painted in lively colours. 
 Much is given, as in the former parts, to the intro- 
 duction of elevated sentiment ; with an example of 
 which I shall finish my quotations. Several well- 
 born youths are placed about the person of Gondi- 
 bert as his pages, whose education consists of the 
 following great lessons from their lord : — 
 
 " But with the early sun he rose, and taught 
 
 These youths by growing Virtue to gi-ow great ; 
 Shew'd greatness is without it blindly sought, 
 A desperate change which ends in base retreat. 
 
 He taught them Shame, the sudden sense of ill : 
 Shame, nature's hasty conscience, which forbids 
 
 Weak inclination ere ifc grows to will, 
 
 Or stays rash will before it grows to deeds. 
 
 He taught them Honour, Virtue's bashfulness ; 
 
 A fort so yieldless that it fears to treat ; 
 Like power it grows to nothing, growing less ; 
 
 Honour, the moral conscience of the great. 
 
 He taught them Kindness, soul's civility. 
 In which, nor courts, nor cities have a part ; 
 
 For theirs is fashion, this from falsehood free. 
 Where love and pleasure know no lust nor art. 
 
 And Love he taught ; the soul's stol'n visit made, 
 Tho' froward age watch hard, and law forbid ; 
 
 Her walks no spy has trac'd, nor mountain staid ; 
 Her friendship's cause is as the loadstone hid. 
 
 He taught them love of ToU ; Toil which does keep 
 Obstructions from the mind, and quench the blood; 
 
 Ease but belongs to us like sleep, and sleep, 
 Like opium, is our med'cine, not our food." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, reviewing the quality of the 
 several poets prior to and contemporary with the
 
 XVI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Restoration, in liis Life of Dryden, which prefaces 
 tlie collected edition of that poet's works under 
 his editorial care — 18 vols. 8vo., Edinburgh 1821 
 — thus remarks : — " A single poet, Sir William 
 D'Avenant, made a meritorious, though a misguided 
 and unsuccessful effort, to rescue poetry from be- 
 coming the mere handmaid of pleasure, or the par- 
 tizan of political or personal disputes, and to restore 
 her to her natural rank in society, as an auxiliary 
 of religion, poetry, law, and virtue. His heroic 
 poem of ' Gondibei-t' has, no doubt, great imperfec- 
 tions ; but it intimates everywhere a mind above 
 those laborious triflers, who called that poetry which 
 was only verse, and very often exhibits a majestic, 
 dignified, and manly simplicity, equally superior to 
 the metaphysical school, by the doctrines of which 
 D'Avenant was occasionally misled. Yet, if that 
 author too frequently imitated their quaint affect- 
 ation of uncommon sentiment and associations, he 
 had at least the merit of couching them in stately 
 and harmonious verse ; a quality of poetry totally 
 neglected by the followers of Cowley. I mention 
 D'Avenant here, and separate from the other poets, 
 who were distinguished about the time of the 
 Restoration, because I think that Dryden was, at 
 that period, an admirer and imitator of ' Gondi- 
 bert,' as we are certain that he was a personal and 
 intimate friend of the author." 
 
 Gondibert was much abused by the critics of the 
 time, but these were men for whom even Milton's 
 Paradise Lost subsequently presented no charms. 
 
 The " measure" which D'Avenant employed in 
 Gondibert, and to which exception was taken, 
 is, as may have been observed, the quatrain, 
 the style of which he formed from Sir John 
 Davies. la this he was followed by Hobbes in a 
 translation of Homer; and Dryden "ever judged
 
 PliEFATORY MEMOIR. XVll 
 
 it more noble and of greater dignity, both for the 
 sound and number, than any other verse in use 
 amongst us," although he only adopted it in 
 his Annus Mirabilis. In later times, Words- 
 worth has successfully used the quatrain, for 
 narrative, in his Hartleap AVall. D'Avenant him- 
 self says in " the author's preface to his much- 
 honoured friend, Mr Hobbes :"— " I shall say a 
 little, why I have chosen my interwoven stanza 
 of four, though I am not obliged to excuse the 
 choice ; for numbers in verse must, like distinct 
 kind of musick, be exposed to the uncertain and 
 different taste of several ears. Yet I may declare 
 that I believed it would be more pleasant to the 
 reader, in a work of length, to give this respite or 
 pause between every stanza (having endeavoured 
 that each should contain a period), than to run him 
 out of breath by continued couplets." 
 
 The heroic couplet, popular at the time, had 
 been introduced by " silver-tongued" Sylvester, 
 and was the favourite metre for works of lengtli. 
 His followers in this were Sandys, Browne, May, 
 Chamberlaine, Wither, Quarles, and Cowley. 
 
 " Nor doth alternate rhyme," again observes 
 D'Avenant, " by any lowliness of cadence make the 
 sound less heroic, but rather adapt it to a plain and 
 stately composing of music ; and the brevity of the 
 stanza renders it less subtle to the composer, and 
 more easy to the singer, which in stilo recitativo, 
 when the story is long, is chiefly requisite. _ And 
 this was indeed (if I should not betray vanity in 
 my confession) the reason that prevailed most 
 towards my choice of this stanza, and my division 
 of the main work into cantos, every canto including 
 a sufficient accomplishment of some worthy design, 
 or action ; for I had so much heat, which you, sir, 
 may call pride, as to presume they might, like the
 
 XVlll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 works of Homer ere tliey were joined together and 
 made a volume by the Athenian kniglit, be sung at 
 village feasts ; though not to monarchs after victory, 
 nor to armies before battle. For so, as an inspira- 
 tion of glory into the one, and of valour into the 
 other, did Homer's spirit, long after his body's rest, 
 wander in music about Greece." 
 
 He further says : " I'll only tell you my endea- 
 vour was in bringing truth, too often absent, home 
 to men's bosoms, to lead her through unfi-equented 
 and new ways, and from the most remote shades, by 
 representing nature, though not in an affected, yet 
 in an unusual dress." " If I be accused of innova- 
 tion, or to have transgressed against the method of 
 the ancients, I shall think myself secure in believing, 
 that a poet who hath wrought with his own instru- 
 ments at a new design, is no more answerable for 
 disobedience to predecessors, than law-makers are 
 liable to those old laws which themselves have 
 repealed." 
 
 Thomas Hobbes, in his " Answer to the Preface,'' 
 commends the poem highly, adverts to several most 
 poetic passages, and finally observes : — " I never 
 yet saw Poem that had so much shape of art, 
 health of morality, and vigour and beauty of ex- 
 pression as this of yours. And but for the clamour 
 of the multitude, that hide their envy of the pre- 
 sent under a reverence of antiquity, I should say 
 further that it would last as long as either the 
 zEneid or Iliad, but for one disadvantage ; and the 
 disadvantage is this : the languages of the Greeks 
 and Romans (by their colonies and conquests) have 
 put off flesh and blood, and are become immutable, 
 which none of the modern tongues are like to be. 
 I honour antiquity, but that Avhich is commonly 
 called ' old time' is ' young time.' The glory of 
 anticjuity is due, not to the dead, but to the aged."
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XIX 
 
 Waller and Cowley also offer commendatory 
 verses upon the two first books of Gondibert. 
 
 Dr Richard Whitelock, in his " Zowro/i/a, or 
 observations on the present manners of the Eng- 
 lish, briefly anatomizing the living by the dead," 
 8vo. 1654, speaking in this essay on poetry's pre- 
 eminence, of its excellency and use through all the 
 three regions of men {as Mr Hobbes observes), the 
 city, coui't, and country, refers to Sir William 
 D'Avenant's account thereof: "A poem," says he, 
 " as amply commending poetry as can be wished, 
 by its own perfection," p. 472. 
 
 Professor Masson, in his Life of Milton, review- 
 ing the Dramatists of the period, places D'Avenanb 
 about the sixth of the set, and dismisses him very 
 summarily. He states that D'Avenant wrote 
 Albovine, a tragedy in prose 1629, and two other 
 tragedies — the Cruel Brother and the Just Italian, 
 1630— also in prose. Then he winds up with Sir 
 John Suckling's very effete stanzas respecting the 
 Laureateship, the theme of which is poor Sir 
 William's nasal defect. 
 
 We mention this to show that even this eminent 
 writer must have founded his estimate of D'Aven- 
 ant's merits on Herringham's imperfect edition. 
 
 William (afterwards Sir William) D'avenant was 
 born at Oxford towards the latter end of February 
 1605-6, and on the 3d of March following was bap- 
 tised at St Martin's Church, in which parish his 
 father resided. He was the second son of John 
 D'avenant, vintner, a man of good reputation, who 
 was owner of an inn in that city, subsequently 
 known as the Crown Tavern. 
 
 The term " Vintner" was in those days adopted 
 only by wine merchants, who were generally men 
 of opulence. In Oxford, more especially, the
 
 XX PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 business of vintner was very exclusive, the privi- 
 lege of granting licenses being vested in the Uni- 
 versity by a charter of Henry VII I., and confirmed 
 by an Act of Parliament in 13th Elizabeth. 
 
 It is believed that the families of D'avenant 
 emanated from the Avenants of Lombardy. This 
 is treated as a matter of fact in an " Elegy on Sir 
 William D'avenant," privately printed by H. Huth, 
 Esq., from a manuscript discovered on the fly-leaves 
 of a copy of Denham's Poems, London, 1668. 
 
 According to Anthony a Wood — Ath. Oxon., 
 ml. ii., col. 411 — our poet's "mother was a very 
 beautiful Avoman, of a good wit and conversation, 
 in which she was imitated by none of her children 
 but by this William. The father, who was a very 
 grave and discreet citizen (yet an admirer and 
 lover of plays and playmakers, especially Shake- 
 speare, who frequented his house in his journies 
 between Warwickshire and London), was of a me- 
 lancholic disposition, and was seldom or never seen 
 to laugh, in which he was imitated by none of his 
 children but by Robert, his eldest son." 
 
 The inference deduced by Jacobs, a later 
 writer, in his " Lives of the Poets," vol. ii., p. 58, 
 from this account by Wood, of the habitual liveli- 
 ness of the landlady of the Crown, the saturnine 
 disposition of the host, coupled Avith the introduc- 
 tion of Shakespeare's name, is altogether unwar- 
 ranted, although such had been previously sug- 
 gested, by Pope. Speaking of William D'avenant, 
 he says : " His father's house being frequented by 
 the famous Shakespeare, his poetical genius, in his 
 youth, was by that means very much encouraged, 
 and some will have it that the handsome land- 
 lady, as well as the good wine, invited the tra- 
 gedian to those quarters." 
 
 From Aubrey's " Lives of Eminent Men," pub-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXI 
 
 lished at London in 1813, from the original manu- 
 scripts in the Ashmolean Museum, we learn that 
 Shakespeare " was wont to goe into Warwickshire 
 once a-year, and did commonly, in his journey, lye 
 at this house in Oxon, where he was exceedingly 
 respected." 
 
 Oldys, in his "Choice Notes," privately printed, 
 with a Memoir by Mr W. J. Thorns, in 18G2, says : 
 " Young Will. Davenant was then a little schoolboy 
 in the town, of about seven or eight years' old, and 
 so fond also of Shakespeare, that, Avhenever he 
 heard of his arrival, he would fly from school to 
 see him. One day an old townsman observing 
 the boy running homeward almost out of breath, 
 asked him whither he was posting in that heat 
 and liurrj^ He answered to see his godfather, 
 Shakespeare. ' There is a good boy,' said the 
 other, ' but have a care that you don't take God's 
 name in vain.' This story Mr Pope told me at 
 the Earl of Oxford's table, upon occasion of some 
 discourse which arose about Shakespeare's monu- 
 ment, then newly erected in Westminster Abbey; 
 and he quoted Mr Betterton, the player, as his 
 authority. I answered, that I thought such a story 
 might have enriched the variety of those choice 
 fruits of ol)servation he has presented us in his 
 preface to the edition he had published of our poet's 
 works. He replied, ' There might be in the garden 
 of mankind such plants as would seem to pride 
 themselves more in a regular production of their 
 own native fruits, than in having the repute of 
 bearing a richer kind by grafting ;' and this was 
 the reason he omitted it." 
 
 Anthony a Wood very judiciously does not ap- 
 pear to have given heed to this scandal against 
 Shakespeare, or to have believed in any sinister 
 design on the poet's part while making; those 
 
 b
 
 XXll PEEFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 annual journeys between his native place and the 
 great metropolis, although, if he had been inclined 
 to torture words into a meaning they were never 
 intended to convey, he might, as others have done, 
 have so interpreted the following passage, with 
 which, among other information, Aubrey had sup- 
 plied him : — 
 
 " Now S""- W™' would sometimes, when he was 
 pleasant over a glasse of wine with his most inti- 
 mate friends — e.g., Sam. Butler, author of Hudi- 
 bras, &c. — say that it seemed to him that he writt 
 with the very spirit that Shakespeare [did], and 
 seemed contented enough to be thought his son." 
 
 The fact here recorded was just a reiteration 
 of previous statements uttered in Sir William's 
 enthusiastic moments when led to speak of him- 
 self. The obvious meaning is, that having fol- 
 lowed Shakespeare's style of writing very closely, 
 and in his earlier plays even having borrowed 
 phrases from his great master, he had frequent 
 cause to say he was proud of having had such a 
 father, i.e., so excellent a poet as a guide and one 
 so worthy of imitation. The original scandal, 
 which, with the exception of the story of his nose, 
 is the only circumstance in the life of D'avenant 
 known to the moderns generally, must rest Avith 
 Betterton, if Pope is to be believed. If Betterton 
 gave circulation to such a story, it was in all like- 
 lihood a green-room canard, for it is scarcely con- 
 ceivable that he could have done so with a mali- 
 cious intention towards the memory of one who 
 had been his best friend. 
 
 It is probable that Shakespeare may have stood 
 sponsor for William, although there is no record 
 of the fact. He appears to have been very much 
 attached to cliildren, and particularly so to tlie 
 eldest son of mine host of the Crown, Kobert, after-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXlll 
 
 wards Fellow of St John's College, and a reverend 
 doctor of divinity. This, Aubrey thus confirms :— 
 " I have heard Parson Robert say that Mr William 
 Shakespeare has given him a hundred kisses." 
 
 D'avenant was educated at the Grammar School 
 of All Saints, Oxford, under the tutelage of Edward 
 Sylvester, who had the credit of rearing several 
 pupils who became eminent for their learning and 
 capabilities. His early intercourse with Shake- 
 speare could not fail to imbue him with a poetic 
 spirit, and to induce him to try a flight ere his 
 pinions were fully fledged. On the decease of the 
 great dramatist, he made his first entree into the 
 regions of the Muses, he being at the time scarcely 
 eleven years of age. The theme was " An Ode in 
 remembrance of Master William Shakespeare," 
 which is as follows : — 
 
 ODE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Beware, delighted poets, when you sing 
 To welcome natiire in the early spring ; 
 
 Your numerous feet not tread 
 The banks of Avon ; for each floure, 
 As it ne'er knew or sun or shoure, 
 
 Hangs there the pensive head. 
 
 2. 
 Each tree, whose thick and spreading growth hath made 
 Rather a night beneath the boughs than shade, 
 
 (Unwilling now to grow). 
 Looks like the plume a captain wears, 
 Whose ri&ed falls are steept i' the teares 
 
 Whicli from his last rage flow. 
 
 3. 
 
 The piteous river wept itself away 
 Long since, alas ! to such a swift decay, 
 
 That, reach the map and look ; 
 If you a river there can spie, 
 And for a river your mock'd eye 
 
 Will find a shallow brook.
 
 XXIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 As this ode was not printed until 1G38, when 
 the poet had attained maturer years and had had 
 considerable experience in Poesy, it may safely he 
 conjectured that it had undergone revision prior to 
 being submitted to the eye of the general public. 
 
 Mr Bolton Corney of Barnes, writing in " Notes 
 and Queries" on 6th July, 1867, respecting this 
 Ode, observes that, wishing to refresh his memory 
 on the career of Sir William D'Avenant, he had 
 recourse to the General Biographical Dictionary of 
 Mr Alexander Chalmers, "wherein, after a proemial 
 flourish, which calls for no remarks, we have this 
 exciting statement : — ' Young Davenant, who was 
 born Feb., 1605, very early betrayed a poetical 
 bias, and one of his first attempts, when he was 
 only ten years old, Avas an ode in remembrance of 
 Master William Shakespeare ; this is a remarkable 
 production for one so young !" After cavilling at 
 the Avant of the apostrophe in D'Avenant's name, 
 and at other trifles, Mr Corney goes on to say that 
 Moseley, Malone, Steevens, Reed, and others were 
 all in error in substituting the word "captain" for 
 " captive," which was the word in the first edition 
 of this Ode accompanying the poem of Mada- 
 gascar, printed in 1638. The great offence of this 
 (in our eyes) judicious alteration is attributable, 
 in the first instance, to Moseley, who brought out 
 the second edition of these poems, which, be it 
 remembered, was published in 1648, during the 
 lifetime of the poet himself. 
 
 In the year 1621 the poet's father was elected 
 Mayor of Oxford, and in that year he died, his 
 wife having predeceased him only fourteen days. 
 They seem to have been a very loving couple, and 
 their reputation must have stood high in the city, 
 ere, unsolicited, John D'avenant would have been 
 preferred to its highest honours. This circum-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXV 
 
 stance alone ought to go far to show that the 
 cahimny cast upon the memory of Mrs D'avenant, 
 some fifty years after her decease, was without 
 any foundation. They left four sons and three 
 daughters to lament their loss. 1. Robert, who 
 became a Fellow of St. John's College in Oxford, 
 and was afterwards preferred to the parsonage of 
 West Kingston by Bishop D'avenant, whose chap- 
 lain he was. 2. William. 3. Nicolas, who became 
 an attorney. 4. George. "And," as Aubrey has 
 it, " two handsome daughters," one of whom was 
 married to Gabriel Bridges, B.D. of C. C. College, 
 beneficed in the Vale of White Horse, the other to 
 Dr Sherburne, minister of Pembridge, in Hereford, 
 and a Canon of that church. Aubrey, when he 
 wrote, must have been ignorant of the existence of 
 a third daughter, as well as of a fourtlfson. 
 
 During his father's Mayoralty, William was 
 entered a member of the University of Oxford in 
 Lincoln College, under Mr Daniel Hough, but he 
 did not remain there very long, being strongly 
 affected to lighter studies, and, it is surmised, 
 encouraged by some of the young noblemen and 
 gentlemen whom he met there, he quitted Oxford 
 in the hope of making his fortune at Court. 
 
 The will of John D'avenant, Vintner, proved 
 21st Oct., 1622, was printed by Mr J. O. Halli- 
 well, in July, 1866, in small 4to, the impression 
 being limited to twelve copies only. It is endorsed 
 "Will of John Davenentt, late Mayor of the City 
 of Oxford." To his " three daughters, Elizabeth, 
 Jane, and Alice, he bequeathed two hundred pound 
 a-peece;" to his four sons, "one hundred fiftie 
 pound a-peece." Further, he gave to his son 
 Nicholas his house " at the White Beare in Dett- 
 ford, which is let to Mr Harries, schoolmaster of 
 Merchant Tailors' Schoole." To his son Kobert he
 
 XXVI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 gave his " Seal-ring." And for the better provision 
 of his family, his wife being dead, "My will is 
 that my house shall be left still as a taverne, and 
 supplied with wines continually, for the bringing up 
 and entertainment of my children, until such time 
 as Thomas Hallom, my servant, comes out of his 
 years, and the yearly profitt thereof, necessary 
 expenses of rent, reparacion, and housekeeping 
 being deducted, to returne at the time of his 
 comeing forth of his years to my seaven children in 
 equall portions, together with the stock in the 
 cellar, and the debtis, or to the survivors, if any 
 happen to dye in the meane tyme." Thomas 
 Hallom was to have the management, and to give 
 a true account of his dealing to the executors 
 " four times in the yeare." His son George was 
 to be maintained there " until his yeares come 
 forth," when he was to be made free of the Merchant 
 Tailors in London, and to receive " five pounds." 
 The will further recites :— " And to the intent 
 that this my devise of keeping my house as a 
 taverne for the better reliefe of my children may 
 take the better effect, according to my meaning, 
 in consideration that my three daughters, being 
 maidens, can hardly rule a thing of such conse- 
 quence, my will is that my sister Hatton, if it 
 stand with her good liking, may come with her 
 youngest sonne, and lye and table at my house 
 with my children till Thomas Hallom come out of 
 his years, for the better comfort and countenancing 
 of my three daughters, and to have her said dyett 
 free, and five pound a yeare in money, knowing 
 her to have bin alwaies to me and my wife loving, 
 just, and kind." He enjoined that " twoe of my 
 youngest daughters doe keepe the barre by turnes, 
 and sett doune every night under her hand the 
 dayes taking in the viewe of Thomas Hallom, my
 
 PKEFATORY MEMOIR. XXVU 
 
 servant, and that this booke be orderly kept for 
 soe long time as they shall thus sustaine the house 
 as a taverne, that, if need be, for avoiding of 
 deceite and distrust there may be a calculation 
 made of the receites and disbursements." Respecting 
 the future Poet-Laureate he says : — " My will is 
 also that my sonne William, being now arrived 
 sixteen years of age, shall be put to prentice to 
 some good marchant of London or other trades- 
 man by the consent and advise of my overseers, 
 and that there be fortie pound given with him to 
 his master, whereof 20 li, to be payd out of his 
 owne stocke, and 20 li out of my goodes, and double 
 apparell, and that this be done within the com- 
 passe of three moneths after my death, for avoyding 
 of inconvenience in my howse for mastershippe 
 when I am gone." He willed that twenty-four 
 hours after his funeral " the wynes of all sortes 
 and condicions be filled up and reckon how many 
 tunnes of Gascoyne wine there is, which I would 
 have rated at twenty-five pound per tunne, and 
 how many butts and pipes of sweet wynes there 
 are, which I would have rated at twentie pound 
 per ceece, both which drawn e into a summe are to 
 be sett downe in a booke." His son Robert, then 
 at the university, was to " have entertainment as 
 a brother for meal tydes and the like," but that 
 any wyne he might call for " with his friendes 
 and acquaintances," he was presently to pay for 
 or have it set doAvn as chargeable out of his 
 portion. 
 
 In a MS. collection of Poems, chiefly temp. 
 James, Charles 1st, and Commonwealth, quoted by 
 Oldys in his notes to Langbaine, preserved in the 
 British Museum, are some verses " on the death of 
 Mr John Davenant, Maior of Oxford," in which he 
 is particularly described as being so very much at-
 
 XXviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 tached to his wife that he " pined," and survived 
 her only a few days. 
 
 ' ' His life was an encomium large enough, 
 True gold do't need noe foyle to sett itt off. 
 He had choice gifts of nature and of art. 
 Neither was fortune spareing on her part. 
 To him in honors, wealth, or progenye, 
 He was on all sydes blest, why shold he dye ? 
 And yett why shold he liue, his mate being gone, 
 And turtle-like sighe out an elder's moone ? [sic] 
 Noe, nofi, he lou'd her better and wold not 
 Soe easily loose what he as hardly gott; 
 He lives to pay the last rites to his bride, 
 That done he pynes out fourteene days and dyed. 
 Tlorice happye paire, oh ! cold my simple verse 
 Reare you an everlasting trophye o'er your herse. 
 You might liue yeares with tyme, had you your due. 
 ^ternitie were as short-liu'd as you ; 
 Farewell ! and in one grave now you are layed, 
 Sleepe undisturb'd as in your marriage bed." 
 
 Although William Davenant's residence in Lin- 
 coln College was not of sufficient duration to allow 
 him the power of distinguishing himself, or of 
 taking a degree, still Wood informs us that the 
 strength of his genius was conceded, and so desig- 
 nates him " The sweet Swan of Isis." 
 
 On reaching London, he, being then sixteen, was 
 preferred to the appointment of first Page in the 
 service of Frances, Duchess of Richmond, a lady of 
 great influence at Court, and famous for her sump- 
 tuous entertainments to the best people in the 
 Metropolis. Incidental notice of this lady will be 
 found in the notes to the Masque of the Temple of 
 Love, printed in this volume. 
 
 Aubrey says : — " He was preferred to the first 
 Dutchess of Eichmond, to wayte on her as a page. 
 I remember he told me, she sent him to a famous
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXIX 
 
 apothecary for some Unicornes-horne, which he was 
 resolved to try with a si)ider,Avhich he empaled in it, 
 but without the expected successe ; the spider Avould 
 goe over, and through and through unconcerned." 
 This superstition Davenant touches on in his 
 tragedy of the "Cruel Brother," wherein the brag- 
 gart Lothario is made to say: — 
 
 " Knew ye not rogues, that I can muzzle up 
 The testy Unicorn in a spinner's web ?" 
 
 Decker's "Gull's Hornbook," 1609, treating of 
 the dressing of a Gallant of these times, cites 
 among other instances, that of " the unicorn, whose 
 horn is worth half a city," going "with no more 
 clothes on their backs than what nature hath 
 bestowed upon them." Again, Webster, in his 
 admirable play of "Vittoria Corombona ; or, the 
 White Devil," speaks of the "precious Unicorn's 
 horn," to try which, men 
 
 " Make of the powder a preservative circle, 
 And in it put a spider." 
 
 The horn of the Unicorn was regarded as an 
 antidote against poison. The animal is supposed 
 to be aware of its possession of this property, for 
 it is said that it invariably dips its horn into the 
 water before it drinks, and that other beasts watch 
 its drinking to be assured of the purity of the stream. 
 In such great estimation has the Unicorn's horn 
 been held as a counter-jioison, that Andrea Racci, 
 a Florentine physician, tells that it had been sold 
 at the apothecaries for £24 sterling per ounce, Avhen 
 the current value of gold was only £2, 6s. 3d. 
 The high price induced a spurious article, which 
 Ambrose Pare, a French surgeon of 1590 or there- 
 abouts, detected and exposed. 
 
 The bezoar stone was supposed to be possessed 
 of the like virtue. Ben Jonson, through Carlo 
 Buffone, the jester, in "Every Man out of his
 
 XXX PKEFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Humour," laughingly alludes to both. Massiuger 
 also, thus : — 
 
 " His syrups, julips, bezoar stone, nor his 
 Imagined unicorn's horn, comes in my belly." 
 
 Volpone, the hero of Ben Jonson's " Fox," 
 enumerating to Celia the several luxuries he 
 would afford her, introduces the Unicorn under 
 a different aspect, respecting which there seems to 
 be no tradition : — 
 
 "Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers, 
 Spirit of roses, and of violets. 
 The milk of unicorns, and panther's breath _ 
 Gathered in bags, and mixed with Cretan wines." 
 
 There was printed at Paris, " Chez Pierre de 
 Bats," 1682, small 8vo., " Inventaire du Tr^sor 
 de St Denys," the first article in which is, "Un 
 grande corne de Licorne, qui a pr6s de sept pieds 
 de long." This Unicorn's horn had been sent with 
 " un ongle de Griffon d'une grandeur prodigieuse," 
 to Charlemagne, in the year 807, by "Aaron Roy 
 de Perse," and thereafter " envoy^es k S. Denys 
 par Charles le Chauve." Whether these extra- 
 ordinary curiosities, or any of the others mentioned 
 in the " Inventaire," escaped the patriotic vengeance 
 of the Revolutionary mob of 1792, is a question. 
 
 Sir Thomas Browne has an interesting chapter 
 on the unicorn, the unicorn's horn, and the bezoar 
 stone, for which see Book III. chapter 23, in 
 Wilkin's edition of his works, 4 vols 8vo, 1835. 
 In discoursing of the horn he incidentally refers to 
 this particular one. He says, "Some are wreathed, 
 some not. That famous one which is preserved at 
 St Denis, near Paris, hath wreathy spires and 
 cockleary turnings about it, which agreeth with 
 the description of the unicorn's horn in ^lian." 
 
 From the service of the Duchess of Richmond,- 
 D'avenant was translated to that of Sir Fulke
 
 PKEFATORY MEMOIR. XXXI 
 
 Greville, Lord Brook, an intimate friend of Sir 
 Philij) Sidney, and a favourite of Queen Elizabeth 
 and of King James, who, in the 17th year of his 
 reign, had raised him to the peerage with the title 
 of Baron Brook of Beauchamp Court, his father's 
 residence in Warwickshire. Lord Brook had 
 become eminent as a man of letters as well as for 
 his great courage. His poetical pieces were com- 
 posed in sestines — the same as, in more modern 
 times, Lord Byron adopted in Beppo, Don Juan, &c. 
 He wrote two tragedies, " Alaham " and " Musta- 
 pha" which were not printed until 1G33. Being 
 written after the manner of the ancients, they Avere 
 quite unfitted for the English stage. 
 
 Whether from congeniality of tastes, or the 
 natural amiability of this nobleman, who was a 
 great patron of those Avho pursued the divine art, 
 Davenant won his Avay into his good graces, and, 
 there is every reason to believe, would have been 
 advanced in fortune and position through his in- 
 fluence had he not been suddenly deprived of life. 
 On the 30th Sej^tember 1628, his lordship being 
 then seventy-four years of age, one Haywood, who 
 had been long in his service, came to his bed- 
 chamber in Brook House, Holborn, to expostulate re- 
 specting his emolument which he Avished increased. 
 His lordship deeming the request was preferred 
 with too great an air of insolence, administered a 
 sharp rebuke to Haywood, who, instantly drawing a 
 weapon, stabbed him mortally in the back, and, in 
 desjoeration at the position in which he had thus 
 placed himself, rushed to another room, locked the 
 door, and fell upon his sword. His lordship, a 
 bachelor, died without issue. Aubrey's account of 
 this occurrence is : " that a servant of his that had 
 long wayted on him, and his lordship had often 
 told him that he would doe something for him,
 
 XXXll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 but did not, but still putt him off with delayes, as 
 he was trussing up his lord's poiutes, . . (for then 
 their breeches were fastened to the doubletts with 
 pointes, then came in hookes and eies, which not to 
 have fastened was in my boy-hood a great crime,) 
 stabbed him. This was at the sametime that the 
 Duke of Buckingham was stabbed by Felton, and 
 the great noise and report of the Duke's, Sir 
 William told me, quite drowned this of his lord's, 
 that 'twas scarce taken notice of ... . He wrote 
 a poeme in folio, which he printed not till he was 
 old, and then, as Sir W. said, with too much judg- 
 ment and refining spoyld it, which was at first 
 a delicate thing;." 
 
 Deprived thus of his patron, Davenant, cast 
 upon his own resources, applied himself to dramatic 
 literature, and in the following year produced his 
 first play, Albovine, which was received with 
 favour. Judging from the general tendency of plot 
 and scenes, as well as from the Shakespearian 
 phrases used in this and his subsequent dramatic 
 effort, it may be inferred that tlie tragedy of 
 Othello had made a deeper impression on his mind 
 than any other of the works of his great master. 
 The next eight years of his life were characterized 
 by an almost constant attendance at Court, relieved 
 by frequent recreations with the muses, from which 
 emanated several Plays, Masques, and Miscellaneous 
 Poems, these gaining for him the approbation of 
 the great wits of the day and of Royalty itself, 
 as well as the friendship of the accomplished 
 Endymion Porter, Sir John Suckling, Mr Henry 
 Jermyn, afterwards Earl of St Albans, and many 
 others of the nobility and gentry. Campbell, 
 in the Biographia Britannica, commenting on his 
 tragi-comedy, the Just Italian, which appeared 
 in 1630, observes : "it cannot certainly be denied
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXIll 
 
 to have much wit, deep contrivance, and a quick 
 succession of busy scenes handsomely expressed. 
 Some of our later poets, who had read this piece, 
 lost nothing by their reading, and if it were not an 
 invidious task, one might shew what and where 
 they gained."* 
 
 The intimacies thus formed, together with the 
 interest taken in him by the Queen, procured for 
 him, in ] 637, the laurel wreath, which the death 
 of Ben Jonson had left vacant. For this high 
 honour Mr Thomas May had been a competitor, 
 and so splenetic did he become when he found 
 another and a better man preferred, that from 
 being a warm adherent of the King, he became 
 one of his most determined enemies, attaching 
 himself to the body of malcontents who were daily 
 gaining strength, and subsecpiently exerting himself 
 strenuously against his Royal master, by advocating 
 and becoming the historian of the "Commonwealth," 
 as %it was termed. D'avenant, on the other hand, 
 remained steadfast in his political principles, kept 
 on the usual even tenor of his way, rejoicing in the 
 favour of his old friends, writing new poems and new 
 
 * Pope, whose custom it was to malign those from whom he 
 filched some of his best lines, as witness his aspersions on Flat- 
 man, from whom he appropriated the germ of "The Dying 
 Christian to his Soul," was one of the ghouls who fed upon the 
 then deceased Laureate's bi-ains. Thus, from the sweet-flowing 
 verses, " to the Queen, entertained at night by the Countess of 
 Anglesey," which are among the smaller Poems published with 
 " Madagascar " : — 
 
 " Smooth as the face of waters first appear 'd ; 
 Ere tides began to strive, or winds were heard ; 
 Kind as the willing saints, and calmer far 
 Than in their sleeps forgiven hermits are." 
 
 So Pope : — 
 
 " Still as the sea ere winds were taught to blow." 
 And again ; — 
 
 " Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven."
 
 XXXIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 plays, and having the chief direction and manage- 
 ment uf the diversions at Court, so long as the 
 disorders of the time permitted.* 
 
 During this period he was obliged to submit to 
 much raillery, in consequence of an unlucky accident 
 which injured his nose so materially as to destroy 
 the expression of his otherwise handsome counten- 
 ance ; and many verses were cruelly penned by his 
 brother poets reflecting upon this " mischance," 
 which might as readily have happened to themselves. 
 
 The poetic vigour and frolicsome spirit of 
 Davenant, however, did not desert him under 
 these inflictions, neither did any coolness arise 
 between him and Sir John Suckling, who had been 
 one of his principal satirists. A good example of the 
 practical joking of these two poets is thus related by 
 Aubrey in his own quaint style. — Vol. III., p. 547: 
 
 "A.D. 1637.— Sir John Suckhng, Will. Daven- 
 ant, Poet-Laureate (not then knighted), and Jack 
 Young, came to the Bathe. Sir John came like a 
 
 * Ben Jonson, during the time he was poet-laureate, but 
 not apparently in consequence of that office, had, by letters 
 patent of King James, an annuity or yearly pension for life of 
 one hiuidred merks. In 1630, King Charles by letters patent, 
 reciting the former grant, and that it had been surrendered, 
 was pleased "in consideration of the good and acceptable ser- 
 vice done unto us and our said father by the said B. J., and 
 especially to encourage him to proceed in those services of his 
 wit and pen which we have enjoined unto him, and which we 
 expect from him " to augment his annuity to one hundred 
 pounds per annum during his life, payable from Christmas 
 1629, and the first pajTiient to commence at Lady-day 1630. 
 Charles at the same time granted him a tierce of Canary 
 Spanish wine yearly during liis life, out of his Majesty's cellars 
 at Whitehall. 
 
 Sixteen months after the period of Jonson's death, when it 
 is understood D'avenant succeeded to the poet-laureateship, 
 viz., Dec. 13, 1638, letters jaatent passed the Great Seal grant- 
 ing, "in consideration of service heretofore done and hereafter 
 to be done by William D'avenant, gentleman," an annuity of 
 one hundred pounds per annum to him dnrlng his Majesfi/s 
 pleaxure. This annuity also appears simply to have been com- 
 plimentary, and not attached to the ofiice of laureate.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. XXXV 
 
 young prince for all manner of equipage and con- 
 venience, and Sir W. Davenant told ine that he 
 had a cart-load of bookes carried downe, and 'twas 
 there, at Bath, that he writt the little tract in his 
 booke about Socinianism. 'Twas as pleasant a 
 journey as ever men had ; in the height of a long 
 peace and luxury, and in the venison season. The 
 second night they lay at Marlborough, and walking 
 on the delicate fine downes at the backside of the 
 towne, whilest supper was making ready, the 
 maides' were drying of cloathes on the bushes. 
 Jack Young had espied a very pretty young girle, 
 and had gott her consent for an assignation, which 
 was about midnight, which they happened to heare 
 on the other side of the hedge, and were resolved 
 to frustrate his designe. They were wont every 
 night to play at cards after supper a good while ; 
 but Jack Young pretended weariness, &c., ancl 
 must needs goe to bed, not to be persuaded by any 
 meanes to the contrary. They had their landlady 
 at supper with them ; said they to her, ' Observe 
 this poor gentleman how he yawns, now is his mad 
 fit comeing upon him. We beseech you that you 
 make fast his dores, and gett somebody to watch 
 and looke to him, for about midnight he will fall 
 to be most outrageous : gett the hostler or some 
 strong fellow to stay up, and we will well content 
 him, for he is our worthy friend, and a very honest 
 gentleman, only, perhaps, twice in a year he falls 
 into these fitts.' Jack Young slept not, but was 
 ready to goe out as the clock struck to the houre of 
 appointment, and then goeing to open the dore he 
 Avas disappointed, knocks, bounces, stamps, calls 
 'Tapster! Chamberlayne ! Hostler!' sweares and 
 curses dreadfully ; nobody Avould come to him. 
 Sir Jo. and W. D'avenant were expectant all this 
 time, and ready to dye with laughter. I know not
 
 XXXVl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 how he happened to gett open the (lore, and was 
 comeing downe stayres, the hostler, a huge histy 
 fellow, fell upon him, and held him, and cryed, 
 ' Good sir, take God in your mind, you shall not 
 goe out to destroy yourselfe.' J. Young struggled 
 and stormed insomuch that at last he was quite 
 spent and dispirited, and faine to goe to bed to 
 rest himselfe. In the morning the landlady of the 
 house came to see how he did, and brought him a 
 cawdle. ' Oh, sir,' sayd she, ' you had a heavy fitt 
 last night ; pray, sir, be pleased to take some of 
 this to comfort your heart.' Jack Young* thought 
 the Avoman had been mad, and being exceedingly 
 vexed, flirted the porringer of caAvdle in her face. 
 The next day his camerades told him all the plott, 
 how they cross-bitt him. That night they went to 
 Bronham-house (then a noble seate, since burnt in 
 the civill warres). Sir Edw. Baynton's, where they 
 were nobly entertained several dayes ; from thence 
 they Avent to West Kingston, to Parson Davenant, 
 Sir Wm.'s eldest brother, where they stayed a 
 weeke — mirth, Avitt, and good cheer flowing. From 
 thence to Bath, six or seven miles. 
 
 " Mem. — ^Parson Robert Davenant hath told me, 
 that that tract about Socinianism was writt on the 
 table in the parlour of the parsonage at West 
 Kingston." 
 
 In 1639, according to Malone, D'avenant Avas 
 appointed " Governor of the King and Queen's 
 Company, acting at the Cock-pit in Drury Lane, 
 during the lease Avhich Mrs Elizabeth Beeston, alias 
 Hutcheson, hath or doth hold in the said house." 
 
 . * This is the same Jack Young who, walking in the north aisle 
 of Westminster Abbey when Jonson's grave was covering, gave 
 the fellow eightoenpence to cutt the inscription, "0 rare Ben 
 Jonson." Jack Young was afterwards knighted.
 
 PIIEFATUKY MEMOIR. XXXvii 
 
 Oil the 16th March 1 G39-40 D'avenaut had letters 
 patent granted to hiiu for building a play-house 
 behind the Three Kings ordinary in Fleet Street, 
 (Bijmers Fcedera, xx. 377.) The events which im- 
 mediately followed naturally extinguished all hopes 
 of his proceeding with such an undertaking at that 
 time. 
 
 The convocation of a Parliament twice during 
 the year 1 640, by King Charles, after a lapse of 
 eleven years, led to consequences ftital to himself 
 and to the Kingdom generally. The malcontents 
 usurped the Royal power even with his consent, 
 and grew into a majority in the House. The 
 nature, therefore, of these civil commotions which 
 had for some time subsisted, required that popular 
 resentment should be fomented against all public 
 amusements, and D'avenaut, who had so adminis- 
 tered to the pleasures of the Court, was in May 
 1641 accused of being conjoined with many of the 
 King's friends in a design to subvert the army from 
 adherence to Parliamentary authority, and to bring 
 it to London for his Majesty's personal protection. 
 Wisely deeming the better part of valour was dis- 
 cretion, he, as well as the others engaged in this 
 alleged conspiracy — among whom were Mr Henry 
 Percy, afterwards Lord Percy, Mr Henry Jermyn, 
 Captain Billingsly, and Sir John Suckling — ■ 
 placed his security in flight. Upon a proclama- 
 tion Ijeing issued for their apprehension, D'avenaut 
 was stopped at Feversham, and sent up to London, 
 where, after having been detained in custody for 
 two months, he was bailed, but, attempting to leave 
 the country for France, was again seized in Kent 
 by the authority of the Mayor of Canterbury. At 
 last, however, he effected his escape, and joined the 
 Queen in France. 
 
 The subversion of the kingly prerogative in 1641 
 
 c
 
 XXXVIU PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 liiiving banished Court favour from " the players" 
 — all of whom then ranked as gentlemen, each 
 having his own man — their adhesion to the Royal 
 cause evoked the vengeance of the stern men in 
 power. The Lords and Commons met on the 2d 
 September, and published this " ordinance :" — 
 " Whereas the distressed estate of Ireland, steeped 
 in her own blood, and the distracted estate of 
 England, threatened with a cloud of blood, by a civil 
 warre ; call for all possible meanes to appease and 
 avert the wrath of God, appearing in these judg- 
 ments ; amongst which, fasting and prayer having 
 been often tried to be very effectual!, have bin 
 lately, and are still enjoyned ; and whereas public 
 sports doe not well agree with public calamities, 
 nor publike Stage Playes with the seasons of 
 humiliation, this being an exercise of sad and pious 
 solemnity, and the other spectacles of pleasure, too 
 commonly expressing lascivious mirth and levitie : 
 It is therefore thought fit, and ordeined by the Lords 
 and Commons in this Parliament assembled, that 
 while these sad causes, and set times of humiliation 
 doe continue, publike Stage Playes shall cease, and 
 bee foreborne. Instead of which, are recommended 
 to the people of this land, the profitable and 
 seasonable considerations of repentance, reconcili- 
 ation, and peace with God, which probably may 
 produce outward peace and prosperity, and bring 
 againe times of joy and gladnesse to these na- 
 tions." 
 
 The tenour of this ordinance being strictly 
 enforced, and thereby " Othello's occupation gone," 
 many young actors joined the King's army, in 
 which for the most part they obtained commis- 
 sions, while others retired to live upon such funds 
 as they had acquired in the pursuit of their voca- 
 tion, resolved to wait for better times, which (for
 
 PKEFATORY MEMOIR. xxxix 
 
 tlieiu) did not, however, occur until the Restoration, 
 some twenty years afterwards. 
 
 D'avenant remained sometime abroad. More 
 deejDly than ever attached to the Royal cause, he 
 ventured to return once more to England entrusted 
 by the Queen with a quantity of military stores for 
 the Earl of Newcastle, who had, without hesitation 
 and at many personal sacrifices, warmly espoused 
 the King's cause. So zealous was the Earl that he 
 not only supjilied the King with money, but raised 
 an army in the north, for which fidelity Charles ap- 
 pointed him Commander-in-chief of the forces to be 
 raised in Lincoln, Nottingham, Lancaster, Chester, 
 Leicester, Rutland, Cambridge, Huntingdon, Nor- 
 folk, Suffolk, Essex and north of Trent, with power 
 to confer knighthood, coin money, and issue such 
 declarations as he should think fit. Within three 
 months the Earl had an army of eight thousand 
 horse and foot, with which he marched into York- 
 shire, and defeated the enemy who opposed him at 
 Fierce-Bridge. Continuing his most important 
 mission, by levying troops for the king's service, 
 chiefly at his own private expense, his majesty 
 created him, in 1643, Marquis of Newcastle, enu- 
 merating in the patent, with suitable encomia, his 
 several particular services. 
 
 In the Marquis, who was himself a writer of 
 poetry and plays, D'avenant had recognized an old 
 friend and patron, and was not slow to off"er to 
 serve under so gallant a nobleman, who in return 
 requited him with the appointment of lieutenant 
 general of the ordnance. 
 
 Sir Philip Warwick,* in noticing the Marquis, 
 says : " He was a gentleman of grandeur, generosity, 
 loyalty, and steady and forward courage, but his 
 
 * See Warwick's " Memoirs of the Reign of Charles I." 2d 
 edition, edited hy Sir Walter Scott. Edin. 1813.
 
 xl I'HEFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 (^(lue had too much of the razor in it, for he liad a 
 tincture of a romantic spirit, and had the nns- 
 foi'time to have some part of the poet in him ; so 
 he chose Sir William D'avenant, an eminent and 
 good poet and loyal gentleman, to be lieutenant- 
 general of his ordnance. This inclination of his 
 own, and such kind of witty society, to be modest 
 in the expression of it, diverted many counsels, and 
 lost many opportunities which the nature of that 
 affair this great man had now entered into required." 
 This sneer at poets and their romantic tendencies, 
 is levelled more at the Marquis himself than at 
 D'avenant, although it seems evident that excep- 
 tion was taken to his preferment, as is usual in 
 such cases, by many who had not one tithe of the 
 powers with which he was gifted, and wlio were, as 
 is still the case, incompetent to reconcile literary 
 ability with ordinary business habits. 
 
 Despite all envious misgivings, in his military 
 capacity he appears to have excelled, as was his 
 wont in all undertakings, so that, at the siege 
 of Gloucester, in September 1643, he received the 
 honour of knighthood for his signal services, 
 whether at the hands of the King himself, as has 
 been stated, or at the King's request, through the 
 Marquis, is not of much moment: the fact remains. 
 Aubrey observes : " I have heard his brother Ro- 
 bert say, for that service there was owing to him 
 by King Charles the First 10,000 lib." 
 
 During these severe contentions which distracted 
 the country, D'avenant amid his life in the camp 
 still found occasional leisure to cultivate his in- 
 timacy with the muses, the result of which he did 
 not, until after years, make known to the public. 
 
 His interest in the King's cause, and his know- 
 ledge of military strategy are forcibly manifested 
 in the following letter to Prince Rupert, written
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. xli 
 
 just three weeks before the fatal battle of Marston 
 Moor, which the impetuosity of that Prince hurried 
 on, and in Avhich the Royal party was totally de- 
 feated on the 2d July 1644. The original manu- 
 script is preserved in the British Museum : — 
 
 The letter is backed "Prince hastned to 
 Yorke, June 13, 1644." 
 To his Highness the Prince, 
 
 May it please your Highness, 
 
 This enclos'd is accompany'd with many 
 others no lesse complayning and importunate ; and 
 I feare least the rumor which is comon at Chester 
 (of the King's necessities and consequently of your 
 Highness marching towards him) may come to 
 their ears, who will not fayle to convoy it to 
 Yorke, which would prevaile upon the people 
 there more than their want of victuall or the 
 enemies continuall assaults. To prevent this I 
 have written that the reason of your not marching 
 thither yet was by being necessitated to call upon 
 the enemy in Lancashire, who els had binne in 
 posture to have marched at the heels of your army, 
 Avith a great and a form'd army, which is now dis- 
 persed by severall great actions in this County; 
 and that you are hastning towards Yorke. I will 
 presume to put your Highness in remembrance 
 that if the pressures upon the King, force him to 
 march northward he will hardly be followed by 
 those Armys which consist of Londoners; for it 
 was never heard that any force or inclination could 
 lead them so far from home. If your Highness 
 should l)e invited towards the King, you lose im- 
 mediately 8000 old foote in Yorke which witli 
 those that may be spared from the Garrisons of 
 Newcastle, Hartlepool, and Tinmouth, with those
 
 xlii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 under Clavering, under my lord Crafford, Montrose, 
 Westmoreland, and Bishoprick forces will make at 
 least 14,000 foote and horse, which is a much 
 greater army than ever the South will be able to 
 rayse in his Majesties behalf, besides your Highness 
 will by that diversion perceave the 3 great mines of 
 England (Cole, alleme, and lead) immediately 
 in the enemys possession, and a constant treasure 
 made from them ; which formerly my Lord 
 Marquis had done but that he was hindred by 
 want of shipping ; and they having the advantage 
 of the sea will make those mines a better main- 
 tenance to their cause than London hath binne. 
 I humbly beseech you to excuse for this presump- 
 tion. — Sir, your Highness most humble and most 
 obedient Servant, 
 
 Will D'avenant. 
 
 Haleford, ISth June 1644. 
 
 The fortunes of King Charles having, after the 
 defeat of his army, become totally desperate, not 
 only did the Marquis of Newcastle withdraw 
 abroad, where for many years he and his young 
 wife suffered much privation, but Sir William 
 D'avenant again betook himself to France, where 
 he was well received by the Queen and remained 
 with her and the Prince of Wales for a consider- 
 able time. During his stay, he embraced the 
 religion of the Church of Rome, no doubt insti- 
 gated to this movement by the fact that both the 
 Queen and his friend. Lord Jermyn, were of that 
 ancient persuasion. The Queen and the Prince 
 held him in high esteem, so much so that in the 
 summer of 1646, her Majesty employed him, on a 
 mission of much importance, to the King, who was 
 then at Newcastle-on-Tyne. For particulars of 
 this matter, not the least interesting passage in
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. xliii 
 
 the Laureate's life, we are indebted to his early 
 friend Edward Hyde, afterwards Lord Clarendon. 
 Sir William, a favourite of Henrietta Maria — 
 " an honest man, and a Avitty," as Clarendon desig- 
 nates him, was accredited by the Queen with a let- 
 ter to her husband declaring her opinion, " that 
 he should part with the church for his peace and 
 security." The selection of the Laureate, who had 
 so recently become a Papal convert, for so im- 
 portant a mission, was, to say the least of it, in- 
 judicious, as his Majesty " knew the person well 
 enough under another character than was like to 
 give him much credit in the argument in which he 
 was instructed." * This of course means D'Ave- 
 nant's attachment to the muses, which in 1629, 
 had drawn forth from the same friend encomiastic 
 verses, wherein it is said, thou hast 
 
 " rear'd thyself a shrine 
 Will outlive Pyramids, "t 
 
 What was the result of this interview will be 
 seen by Clarendon's own account of what took 
 place. 
 
 " Sir William Davenant had, by the counten- 
 ance of the French ambassador, easy admission 
 to the king, who heard him patiently all he 
 had to say, and answered him in that manner 
 that made it evident he was not pleased with 
 the advice. When he found his Majesty un- 
 satisfied, and that he was not like to consent 
 to what was so earnestly desired by them by 
 Avhose advice he was sent, who undervalued all 
 those scruples of conscience which his majesty 
 himself was strongly possessed with, he took upon 
 himself the confidence to off'er some reasons to 
 
 * Clarendon's History, vol. v., p. 411, Oxford, 1826, 8vo. 
 t Lord Clarendon's inflated lines prefixed to the Tragedy of 
 Albovine.
 
 xliv I'REFATOltY MEMOJlt. 
 
 the king, to induce him to yield to what was pro- 
 posed, and among other things said, ' it was the 
 advice and opinion of all his friends ;' his majesty 
 asking, ' what friends,' and he answering, ' that 
 it was the opinion of the Lord Jermyn,' the king 
 said, ' that the Lord Jermyn did not understand 
 anything of the Church,' the other said, ' the 
 Lord Colejiepper was of the same mind,' the king 
 said, ' Colepepper had no religion,' and asked 
 whether the Chancellor of the Exchequer* was 
 of that mind,' to which he answered, ' he did not 
 know, for that he was not there, and had deserted 
 the prince, and thereupon said somewhat from 
 the queen of the displeasure she had conceived 
 against the Chancellor ; to which the king said, 
 ' the Chancellor was an honest man, and would 
 never desert him, nor the prince, nor the church, 
 and that he was sorry he was not with his son ; 
 but that his wife was mistaken.' Davenant then 
 offering some reasons of his own, in which he 
 mentioned the church slightingly, as if it were not 
 of importance enough to weigh down the benefit 
 that would attend the concession, his Majesty was 
 transported with so much indignation, that he 
 gave him a sharper reprehension than was usual 
 for him to give to any other man, and forbid him 
 to presume to come again into his presence. 
 Whereupon the poor man, who had in truth very 
 good affections, was exceedingly dejected and 
 afflicted, and returned into France to give an 
 account of his ill success to those who sent him." + 
 This attempt at conciliation took place in 1646, 
 and its failure cannot, it is thought, have arisen 
 from the injudicious appointment of D'avenant — if 
 appointment it might be called. In truth, Charles, 
 
 * Clarentloii— appointed in 1643. 
 t Vol. v., pp. 111-12.
 
 rREFATORY MEMOIR. xlv 
 
 naturally of an obstinate disposition, having been 
 unfortunately educated in a belief of the Divine 
 right of Kings, was not disposed to deal with 
 the Church as its enemies wished. Nor can 
 he be blamed, for its destruction would have 
 been speedily followed by a sacrifice of his crown ; 
 and his unhapi^y yielding to the clamour which 
 demanded the life of Strafford, was a warning 
 against concession. He plainly saw that if the 
 mitre were cast down, the crown would follow. It 
 is Avorthy of observation, that Clarendon who could 
 not deny the honesty of D'avenant, should speak so 
 slightingly of the abilities of the friend of his youth. 
 It is palpable that his account of what occurred at 
 an interview where he was not present, was not a 
 little coloured by what D'avenant had said as to 
 the Chancellor himself — his desertion of the Prince 
 — and the dislike entertained against him by the 
 Queen. In estimating the value of the opinion of 
 Clarendon we must bear in mind that both Lord 
 Jerinyn and Lord Colepepper were men of ability 
 and intelligence, and it is not to be imagined that 
 they would have consented to her Majesty sending 
 to her husband a person so unfitted for the errand, 
 as the Chancellor would make the Avorld believe 
 D'avenant to have been. 
 
 The assertion by Charles that Ijord Jermyn 
 knew nothing about the church, and that Lord 
 Colepepper had no religion at all, may possibly 
 be true, but it cannot affect the inference that in 
 the opinion of both these noblemen, as well as 
 in that of Henrietta Maria, the party emploj^d 
 on the occasion was fully qualified to discharge, 
 with ability, whatever was necessary for carrying 
 out the object of his embassy. D'avenant may 
 have had no particular liking for any church, but 
 it is to be remarked that in his dramatic writings
 
 xlvi PREFATOllY MEMOIR. 
 
 prior to the restoration, he has not introduced any 
 priest of questionable character, or said aught that 
 could be construed into a sneer against the Pro- 
 testant faith. 
 
 Aubrey says : " His private opinion was, that 
 Religion at last, e.g., a hundred yeares hence, would 
 come to a settlement, and that in a kind of ingeni- 
 ose Quakerisme." 
 
 Colepepper prior to his being created a Baron in 
 1644* was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and a man 
 of "unblemished" reputation and "confessed"+ 
 ability. As Jermyn was a personal enemy of 
 Clarendon, he might not perhaps speak favourably 
 of him, but the fact cannot be denied that he was 
 a man of talent and energy, and a steady adherent 
 to the Royal cause. 
 
 Upon his return to France, D'avenant became 
 the guest of his friend Lord Jermyn, who had 
 apartments in the Louvre, and it was here that he 
 commenced a long contemplated project of writing 
 a Heroic Poem, which he proposed to comprise 
 in five books, from the circumstance that plays 
 were in five acts, while each book was to be sub- 
 divided in cantos, to answer for scenes. He was 
 stopi^ed short in his design, after having completed 
 the second book, as the Queen signified her in- 
 tention of despatching him upon business, though 
 of a nature quite new to him. 
 
 The disasters which the Colony of Virginia had 
 sustained during the reign of James the First, by 
 the irruptions of the savages, as well as by reason 
 of the slow progress it was making, had induced 
 Charles, on his accession to the throne, to revoke 
 the charter his father had granted in 1606, and to 
 take the colony under his immediate protection. 
 
 * The title became extinct in 1710. t Vol. ii. p. 140.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIIt. xlvii 
 
 The attention of the Queen having been directed 
 towards Virginia, and upon the information that 
 very great advantages might be derived if proper 
 artificers were sent thither, encouraged Sir William 
 to engage a number of those destitute of employ- 
 ment in France, and to proceed with them to the 
 Colony to see what could be done to improve it. 
 Accordingly the Queen having obtained from the 
 King of France liberty for him to transport planters, 
 weavers, and others to Virginia, he set sail from one 
 of the ports in Normandy, but before the vessel was 
 clear of the French coast, he was captured by one of 
 the Parliament ships, carried to the Isle of Wight 
 and imprisoned in Cowes Castle. Prior to his 
 leaving France, he had Avritten a discourse upon 
 his Heroic Poem, — Gondibert — as a preface to it, 
 in a letter to Mr Thomas Hobbes, of Malmesbury, 
 dated from the Louvre at Paris, January 2, 1650. 
 To this Mr Hobbes replied in high compli- 
 mentary terms of the Poem The reply, which 
 is dated lOtli January, was shortly afterwards 
 published along with the original discourse, and 
 some specimen pages of the Poem. 
 
 While kept in close confinement in Cowes Castle, 
 D'avenant having been accorded the luxury of 
 writing materials resumed his heroic poem, but 
 after having written about one-half of the Third 
 Book amid all the disadvantages of a gloomy 
 prison and apprehensions respecting the uncertainty 
 of his fate, once more broke off, observing in his 
 " postscript to the reader," dated " Cowes Castle, 
 October 22nd, 1650": — "'Tis high time to strike sail 
 and cast anchor, though I have run Ijut half my 
 course, when at the helme I am threatened \Wth 
 Death ; who, though he can visit me but once, 
 seems troublesome ; and even in the innocent may 
 beget such a gravity as diverts the musick of verse."
 
 xlviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 It is reported on the authority of Gibber's Lives of 
 the Poets, that he also wrote a letter to Hobbes on 
 this occasion, " in which he gives some account of 
 the progress he had made in the third book of 
 Gondibert, and offers some criticisms upon the na- 
 ture of that kind of poetry, but why, says he, should 
 I trouble you or myself with these thoughts, when 
 I am pretty certain I shall be hanged next week V 
 
 D'avenant's position began to assume a very 
 ominous aspect when the order came for his re- 
 moval from the Isle of Wight to the Tower of 
 London, but his gaiety of temper appears never to 
 have deserted him under any circumstances. For 
 some time his life was placed in extreme jeopardy. 
 He was, however, preserved from falling a sacrifice 
 to the prevailing party rage through the instru- 
 mentality, there is every reason to believe, of John 
 Milton, the Poet, in his capacity of Latin Secretary 
 to the Commonwealth. Of this more particularly 
 hereafter. Still, although his life was saved, he 
 was detained in the Tower for sometime after- 
 wards, when we find him returning thanks to the 
 Lord Keeper Whitelocke to whose favour he was 
 indebted for much consideration and indulgence. 
 Thus he wrote : — 
 " My Lord, 
 
 I am in suspense whether I should present 
 my thankfulness to your Lordship for my liberty 
 of the Tower, because when I consider how much 
 of your time belongs to the public, I conceive that 
 to make a request to you, and to thank you after- 
 wards for the success of it, is to give you no more 
 than a succession of trouble ; unless you are 
 resolved to be continually patient, and courteous 
 to afflicted men, and agree in your judgment with 
 the late wise Cardinal, who was wont to say, if I 
 had not spent as much time in civilities as in
 
 rREFATORY MEMOl!!. xlix 
 
 business, he had undone his master. But wliilst I 
 endeavour to excuse this present thanlcfuhiess, I 
 should ratlier ask your pardon, for going about to 
 make a present to you of myself ; for it may argue 
 me to be incorrigible, that, after so many afflictions, 
 I have yet so much ambition, as to desire to be at 
 liberty, that I may have more opportunity to obey 
 your Lordship's commands, and shew the world 
 how much I am, my Lord, your Lordship's most 
 obliged, most humble, and obedient servant, 
 
 Wm. D'avenant. 
 
 Finally, however, he was set at liberty, and, en- 
 couraged by the interest of his friends, resolved to 
 make a bold effort to improve his depressed circum- 
 stances. 
 
 His poem of Gondibert had been published in 
 
 8vo in 1651 ; and in 1653, there appeared verses 
 
 written by the author's friends, " to be reprinted 
 
 with the second edition." These were written by 
 
 a cabal of wits, of which Avere Denham, Donne, 
 
 Broderick, &c. Aubrey says of this collection of 
 
 squibs, " The courtiers with the Prince of Wales 
 
 at Paris] could never be at quiet about this piece 
 
 Gondibert], which was the occasion of a very witty 
 
 3ut satericall little booke of verses in 8vo, about 
 
 four sheetes, writt by G[eorge] D[uke] of Buckes, 
 
 Sir J[ohn] Denham, &c. — 
 
 ' That thou forsak'st thy sleepe, thy diet 
 And which is more than that, ovr qvlet ! ' " 
 
 This last word Mr Hobbes told me was the occasion 
 of their writing." 
 
 The author of Gondibert almost immediately 
 published an answer in defence of his pet poem.* 
 
 Of those actors who had gone into active service 
 in the wars we have the following account : — 
 
 * It is yrorthy of notice that the Rev. WiUiam Thomson of 
 Queen's Coll., Oxon, wrote a traoedv— Gondibiit and Bertha 
 —1756.
 
 1 PREFATOllY MEMOIR. 
 
 liowiii, Taylor, and Pollard had at the com- 
 mencement of the war excused themselves from 
 military service under the plea of superannuation. 
 
 Eobinson was killed by the Enthusiast Harri- 
 son, who refused him quarter, and shot him in the 
 head after he had laid down his arms, saying, 
 " Cursed is he tliat doeth the work of the Lord 
 negligently." This murder is touched upon by Sir 
 Walter Scott in his novel of Woodstock. Chal- 
 mers questions whether this was Richard Robin- 
 son, the comedian, who had acted female parts 
 originally, and to whom Cowley alludes in the 
 dedication of Love's Riddle, 1638, thus — 
 
 " Nor has't a part for Robinson, whom they 
 At school account essential to a play." 
 
 He is of opinion that " Richard Robinson died 
 quietly at London in 1647, as the parish register 
 of St Anne's, Blackfriars, expressly records, that 
 Richard Robinson, a Player, was buried on the 23d 
 of March 1646-7." Geneste, in his "Account of 
 the English Stage," assuming Chalmers' view to 
 be correct, suggests that it might have been Wil- 
 liam Robins of the Cockpit, usually called William 
 Robinson, or a John Robinson, who acted a part 
 in Messalina, whom Harrison killed. 
 
 Mohun became a captain, and after the civil 
 wars were over, served in Flanders, where he re- 
 ceived pay as a major. He acted in the King's 
 Company after the Restoration. 
 
 Hart was a lieutenant of horse in Prince 
 Rupert's Regiment. Burt was cornet in the same 
 troop, and Shatterel, quarter-master. 
 
 Allen of the Cockpit was a major, and quarter- 
 master-general at Oxford. 
 
 Swanston is said to have been the only player of 
 any note who sided with the other party. He was 
 a Presbyterian, and took up the trade of a jeweller.
 
 PllEFATURY MEMOIR. U 
 
 The Puritans having the ascendancy in Parlia- 
 ment were the means of getting an Act passed, 
 Feb. 11, 1647-8, "That all stage galleries, seats, 
 and boxes should be pulled down by warrant of 
 two justices of the peace ; that all actors of plays 
 for the time to come, being convicted, should be 
 publicly whipped ; and all spectatoi's for every 
 offence should pay five shillings." — See Neale's 
 History of the Puritans. 
 
 When the Eoyalists were entirely subdued, most 
 of the actors who survived made up a company, 
 and in the winter of 1648 ventured to act as pri- 
 vately as possible at the Cockpit. They were 
 unmolested for a few days, but during a i)erform- 
 ance of the Bloody Brother (Rollo, Duke of Nor- 
 mandy), in which Lowin played Aubrey ; Taylor, 
 EoUo ; Pollard, the Cook ; Burt, La-torch ; and 
 (probably) Hart, Otto ; — a party of the Parliamen- 
 tary forces surprized them, and carried them to 
 prison in their stage dresses, where they were de- 
 tained a while, robbed of their clothes, and then 
 turned adrift. After the king's death, they used 
 to perform in private, sometimes at one place, 
 sometimes at another within a radius of four miles 
 of town. Occasionally they were invited to give 
 entertainments at noblemen's houses ; and, in 
 particular, at Holland House, Kensington, where 
 the nobility and gentry there assembled made 
 a collection for them. At Christmas, and at 
 Bartholomew Fair, they took means to bribe the 
 officer who commanded at Whitehall, and so got 
 to act for a few days at the Red Bull ; but even 
 then they were not always certain of being dis- 
 turbed by the soldiery. To such straits were 
 many of the actors reduced that they had recourse 
 to the publication and sale of several plays never
 
 lii PREFATORY ^rKMuIR. 
 
 l)efore printed. Among these, in 1G52, was Bean- 
 mont and Fletcher's Wild Goose Chase, " printed 
 for the use of all the ingenious, and the private 
 benefit of John Lowin and Joseph Taylor," and 
 by them dedicated to " the honoured few lovers of 
 dramatic poetry," intimating at the same time their 
 want. 
 
 Lowin, who, with Taylor, became principal 
 performer in the King's Company by the death 
 of Burbage in 1619, and the retirement of 
 Hemmings and Condel (Shakespeare's colleagues) 
 in 1623, kept, in his latter days, the Three Pigeons 
 at Brentford, where he died very old and very 
 poor. His Hamlet was considered a great per- 
 formance. He was the original Henry VIII. in 
 Shakespeare's play. Taylor died at Richmond. 
 Pollard, who lived single and had acquired a com- 
 petency, went to live with some relations he had 
 in the country ; and Perkins and Sumner of the 
 Cockpit kept house together at Clerkenwell, and 
 were there buried. All these died some years be- 
 fore the Restoration. (See Wright's Historia 
 Histrionica. ) 
 
 Malone says, Wright is mistaken in regard to 
 the place of Lowin's death, " for he died in London 
 at the age of eighty-three, and was buried in the 
 ground belonging to the parish of St Martin-in-the- 
 Field, March 18, 1658-9." 
 
 Taylor is said to have painted the Chandos por- 
 trait of Shakespeare. 
 
 Tragedies and comedies, nay, the very name 
 of a theatre having thus been long regarded 
 as intolerable by the Puritans, were still in- 
 consistent with the gloominess and hypocrisy 
 of the times, yet Sir William felt assured that 
 there were peoi)le of taste sufficient in London 
 to patronize and appreciate a dramatic entertain-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. li 
 
 ment, if such could be arranged. With consider- 
 able address he projected and brought about 
 a theatrical scheme of an operatic character, 
 calculated not to injure the feelings of the most 
 rigid Presbyterian; and in this he was countenanced 
 by the Lord Keeper Whitelock, Serjeant Maynard, 
 and several other persons of high position. Some 
 of the men in power were lovers of music, and among 
 them was the Lord Protector himself. Sir William 
 therefore, when he applied for permission, desig- 
 nated his intended representation an entertainment 
 of declamation and music, after the manner of the 
 ancients. This operatic performance he first began 
 at Rutland House, in Charter-house-yard, on May 
 21st 1656. He afterwards removed to the Cockpit 
 in Drury Lane, "where," Aubrey notices, "were 
 acted very well, dylo reciiatlvo, Francis Drake and 
 the Siege of Rhodes. It did affect the eie and eare 
 extremely. This first brought scenes in fashion in 
 England ; before, at playes, was only a hanging." 
 Being well received. Sir William became gradually 
 bolder, and produced several five-act plays, besides 
 his entertainments, which included, in addition to 
 those mentioned by Aubrey, the Cruelty of the 
 Spaniards in Peru. The Plays he produced were his 
 own Fair Favourite, Law against Lovers, the Siege, 
 and the Distresses. He thus introduced new designs 
 for the stage, and paved the way for further im- 
 provements which he effected after the Restoration. 
 Dryden in his Essay on heroic plays thus speaks of 
 him : — " The first light we had of them, on the 
 English Theatre was from Sir AVilliam D'avenant. 
 It being forbidden him in the religious times to act 
 tragedies or comedies, because they contained some 
 matter of scandal to those good people, who could 
 more easily dispossess their lawful sovereign than 
 endure a wanton jest, he was forced to turn his 
 
 e
 
 Hi PRKFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 thoughts another way, and to introduce the 
 examples of moral virtue written in verse, and per- 
 formed in recitative music. The original of this 
 music, and of the scenes which adorned his works, 
 he had from the Italian Operas ; but he heightened 
 his characters, as I may probably imagine, from the 
 examples of Corneille and some French poets. In 
 this condition did this part of poetry remain at his 
 Majesty's return. . . . For myself and others who 
 came after him, we are bound with all veneration 
 to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we 
 received from that excellent groundwork, which he 
 laid, and since it is an easy thing to add to what 
 is already invented, we ought all of us, without 
 envy to him, or partiality to ourselves, to yield him 
 the precedence in it." 
 
 Immediately after the restoration of the House 
 of Stuart, 1660, patents were granted to Thomas 
 Killegrew, Esc{., and to Sir William D'avenant, to 
 form two separate companies of players, one of 
 which was designated by the title of the King's 
 Servants, while Sir William's was named the Duke's 
 Company. It has been alleged that his patrons, 
 Endymion Porter and Henry Jermyn, not only 
 assisted to obtain tliis patent for Sir William, 
 but procured him an appointment as a Commis- 
 sioner of the customs. 
 
 Under the favour of King Charles, D'avenant had 
 now an o^iportunity of serving one who, though a 
 political opponent, had during the Commonwealth 
 saved his life. This was no other than Milton, who, 
 having great influence with the Protector at the time, 
 had exerted it effectually for his brother poet. Thus 
 the author of the exquisite Masque of Comus became 
 the preserver of the writer of the Court Masques, so 
 honoured by Royalty before the great rebellion. 
 
 Milton, Avhose Republican principles, anti-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. liii 
 
 monarchical writings, and personal attachment to 
 Cromwell made him especially obnoxious to the 
 Cavaliers, would without doubt have shared the 
 fate of his compatriots had not D'avenant, who was 
 high in favour with the King, with the Queen 
 mother, her son the Duke of York, and Jermyn 
 Earl of St Albans, the Queen's especial proteg5, 
 solicited for, and obtained his pardon and release. 
 
 Aubrey, in his notice of D'avenant, in touching 
 upon his narrow escape from the scaffold, attri- 
 butes his safety to the exertions of " two Aldermen 
 of York," who, in turn, had previously, by his tact, 
 been enabled to leave the camp where they were de- 
 tained as prisoners when the King's troops occupied 
 the northern parts of England. This, by no means 
 establishes the non-intervention of Milton, who 
 might naturally enough have been the influ- 
 ential person to whom these worthy dignitaries 
 would deem it judicious to apply; for it is not to be 
 thought they would have been sufficiently bold to 
 have personally troubled Cromwell to spare the life 
 of a man who had been so resolute a foe. 
 
 In Todd's life of Milton, prefixed to the edition of 
 his poetical works, it is observed "that the story [of 
 Milton's intervention] had been related to Richard- 
 son (the painter) upon the authority of Pope, who 
 received it from Betterton, the proteg^ of Dave- 
 nant."* If Betterton did communicate the " story" 
 to Pope, a better witness of its authenticity can 
 scarcely be procured. He was in the poet's confi- 
 dence, and constantly in his company. In the 
 course of an intimacy which therefore subsisted 
 till the Laureate died, it is not improbable that he 
 would have disclosed to his youthful friend the 
 most prominent passages of his eventful career. 
 
 Pope survived until the 30th May, 1744, and had 
 * p. 102.
 
 liv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 been intimately acquainted with Richardson, many 
 of whose letters are printed in his works. D'aven- 
 ant died in 16G8, survived by Milton, whose 
 demise did not occur until 1674, whilst Betterton 
 saw the next century, and expired in 1710. Keep- 
 ing these dates in view, we may next be per- 
 mitted to refer to a confirmation of the verity of 
 this pleasing anecdote, which will be found in the 
 Gentleman s Magazine for 1738, a periodical work 
 which had entered on existence seven years before, 
 and did not cease to be carried on under the nmnme 
 de plume of Sylvan us Urban until within a few years 
 since. The original projector of this popular work, 
 Edward Cave, a man of great energy and perse- 
 verance, engaged the best literary talent of the 
 time in his service, amongst whom may be named 
 Samuel Johnson, Avho became one of the contri- 
 butors in 1738. 
 
 The October number of that year presents a 
 paper, entitled the Apotheosis of Milton. It 
 is a vision, in which the writer, having fallen 
 asleep in Westminster Abbey, dreams that a 
 venerable person has taken him to a spacious hall, 
 " sacred to the spirits of the bards whose remains 
 are buried, or whose monuments are erected, within 
 this pile." Having done this, he next explains 
 that " This night an assembly is to be held upon 
 the admission of the great Milton into the Society." 
 The sleeper is then invited to witness the meet- 
 ing of the spirits, who would appear in the attire 
 to which they had been accustomed on earth. 
 This courteous offer is accepted, and shortly there- 
 after the departed spirits begin to assemble. They 
 come in gradually one by one after short intervals, 
 and are named by the visionary guide as they enter. 
 Of the more ancient of the assembled worthies,
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Iv 
 
 there is little occasion to speak, as it is with those 
 who must have been in the recollection of people 
 living at the time that we conceive it necessary 
 to deal.. In 1738 many must have remembered 
 Dryden, Shadwell, — whose portraiture is admirably 
 drawn, — Otway, Dennis, Aphra Behn, Atterbury, 
 Prior, and Phillips. All the persons so intro- 
 duced have their character stated, and their per- 
 sonal appearance described, by the obliging atten- 
 dant ghost.* 
 
 What was said of D'avenant is this : — " The 
 person in that military Habit, large boots, and 
 long sword, who is so familiar with Dryden, is 
 one for whom I have a particular regard ; his 
 name is Sir Willkmi Davenant ; he has a right to 
 a seat here, but, upon some disgust at his not 
 meeting with the respect he thinks he deserves, 
 has not appeared in the assembly for a long time. 
 I guess what brings him this night. You must 
 know, that he once was discovered by Cromwell to 
 be in a plot for restoring the King, but Milton 
 obtained his pardon. Upon the restoration, Sir 
 William performed the same piece of service to 
 Milton. Thus far they were on a level, but it 
 seems my friend is resolved to conquer ingratitude. 
 See with what earnestness he solicits, because he 
 knows that a strong opposition will be made by 
 some to Milton's admission, on account of his 
 principles. I am glad Sir PFUliam has not deceived 
 me in the good opinion I always had of him." 
 
 In again adverting to the truth of this matter, 
 it will not be disputed: — 1. That D'avenant's life 
 was spared. 2. That he held a high command in 
 the Royalist Army. 3. That conspiring against 
 the Commonwealth he had placed himself in the 
 
 * The account of the Apotheosis was continued in several 
 following numbers.
 
 Ivi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 position of a rebel, and subjected himself in penal 
 consequences. 4. That he was finally liberated. 
 On the other hand it is notorious : — 1. That 
 Milton was a violent opponent of monarchy. 
 2. That he held the office of Latin secretary of a 
 Commonwealth, which sprung into existence after 
 the execution of the King. 3. That he was a per- 
 sonal friend and zealous supporter of Cromwell. 
 4. That on the Restoration, while ample vengeance 
 Avas taken on the prominent members of the Com- 
 monwealth, Milton was permitted to retire into 
 private life, Avhilst his associates suffered either 
 in their persons or estate. 
 
 It may therefore be conceded that in both in- 
 stances the two poets escaped by powerful influence 
 exerted in their behalf. 
 
 The same reasons which would in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances have induced Cromwell to put Sir 
 William to death, were by an opposite course cal- 
 culated to give him great and deserved influence 
 with the restored Royalists. The fact, too, that 
 Milton had begged Sir William's life from the Pro- 
 tector, accounts for Charles extending mercy to 
 him, although his political aspirations were in- 
 tolerable in a monarchy. Without some sufficient 
 reason such as this it would be difficult to ascer- 
 tain how the then future author of "Paradise Lost" 
 was separated from the host of persons who had 
 upheld the Commonwealth, and had been protected 
 from those prosecutions, criminal and civil, which 
 had been meted out to them. Charles's poetical 
 taste was not of a quality to appreciate the beauties 
 of Comus, or to recognize the elegance of the verse 
 then before the world, which emanated from the 
 pen of Milton. No powerful Royalist was there to 
 plead for him, with -the exception of D'avenant, 
 Avho not unmindful or ungrateful, repaid the great
 
 TREFATORY MEMOIR. Ivii 
 
 obligation formerly conferred on him, by shield- 
 ing his benefactor from the serious perils with 
 which he was environed. 
 
 One of the writers in the periodical journals of 
 the day was John Lockman — who compiled the 
 life of Butler in the " Biographia Britannica," and 
 who died on the 2d of February 1771. William 
 Oldys, that indefatigable collector of the literature 
 of times past, was similarly employed, — and it may 
 be noted that the life of D'avenant in Gibber's Lives 
 of the Poets,* gives the anecdote in the Apotheosis 
 as an undoubted fact. That work adopted the 
 manuscript notes of Oldys from his first annotated 
 copy of Langbaine, which had been lent to Coxeter 
 but never returned, and which has now and for 
 many years been lost sight of. The notes of Oldys, 
 at present so much prized, are written on a second 
 copy of Langbaine, carefully preserved amongst 
 the literary treasures in the British Museum, f 
 May not either Lockman or Oldys have wi-itten 
 the Apotheosis in which the merits, personal ap- 
 pearance, and habits of the deceased worthies 
 are painted with such accuracy] We cannot help 
 fixing the authorship on Oldys. 
 
 In 1659-60, at the time when General Monck was 
 returning to London with his army, Ehodes, a book- 
 seller near Gharing Gross, who had formerly been 
 wardrobe-keeper to the King's Gompany of come- 
 dians in the Blackfriars, obtained a license to 
 erect a dramatic company, which he was not long 
 in filling up. They were, however, almost, if not 
 all, novices, and consisted of Thomas Betterton, 
 Sheppy, Lovel, Lilliston, Underbill, Turner, Dixon, 
 and Robert Nokes, with six others who commonly 
 
 * Cibber'H Lives of the Poets, vol. ii. p. 82 ; London, 1753. 
 t See the interesting Life, Diary and the Choice Notes of 
 William Oldy.s, Esq. : London, 12mo. By W. J. Thorns, Esq.
 
 Ivui PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 played female characters, Kynaston, James Nokes, 
 Angel, William Betterton, Mosely, and Floid. 
 The place of performance was the Cockpit in 
 Drury Lane.* 
 
 Thomas Betterton and Kynaston had both been 
 apprentices of Ehodes in his vocation of bookseller. 
 
 Betterton, then about twenty-four years of age, 
 met with great applause. " His voice," according 
 to Downes, who was prompter, "was then as 
 strong, full, and articulate as in the meridian of 
 his acting." The same authority says respecting 
 Kynaston : " He being then very young, made a 
 complete stage beauty, and performed some charac- 
 ters so well, especially Arthiope [in the Unfortu- 
 nate Lovers] and Aglaura [in Sir John Suckling's 
 play], that it was disputed among the judicious, 
 whether any woman that succeeded him touched 
 the audience so sensibly as he had done." 
 Thomas Betterton, designated by his critics " the 
 English Roscius," was, upon the credit of Pope, 
 Steele, Gibber, and all the first theatrical judges 
 of his day, without a parallel. He was born in 
 Tottle Street, Westminster, in 1635. His father, 
 Matthew Betterton, was under - cook to King 
 Charles I. After having received a good educa- 
 tion, he was apprenticed to Mr Rhodes, bookseller, 
 just mentioned. 
 
 The military spirit of the times, as well as the 
 fact of his father being in the Royal household, 
 induced him, though but a stripling, to volunteer 
 into the King's service, as Mr Hart, Mr Smith, 
 and Mr Mohun had previously done. These four 
 Avere all engaged at the battle of Edgehill in War- 
 wickshire, Avhere Mr Mohun, having signalised 
 himself in a remarkable manner, obtained a com- 
 
 * The Cockpit or Phosnix in Drviry Lane was converted into 
 a playhouse during the reign of James I. It was originally 
 used for cockfighting.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. lix 
 
 mission as major. After the murder of the King 
 these gentlemen went upon the stage. About the 
 same time, the few remaining performers who had 
 belonged to the old companies commenced to act at 
 the Red Bull in St John's Street,* where they met 
 with considerable success, so much so that Pepys, 
 on 23d February, 1660-61, remarks upon their great 
 pride which had arisen out of their newly acquired 
 gain : — " To the playhouse, and there saw the 
 Changeling the first time it hath ben acted these 
 twenty years, and it takes exceedingly. Besides, 
 I see the gallants do begin to be tyred with the 
 vanity and pride of the theatre actors, who are 
 indeed grown very proud and rich." The plot 
 of the Changeling is taken from a story in God's 
 Revenge against Murder. 
 
 The two patents granted by Charles II. to Kille- 
 grew and D'avenant were issued in August 1660. 
 Each patentee was empowered to build a new 
 theatre, engage a company, and to do all other 
 acts necessary for the conduct of theatrical pur- 
 poses. These patents were granted to the exclu- 
 sion of all other companies in London and West- 
 minster, much to the displeasure and injury of Sir 
 Henr}^ Herbert, Master of the Revels, the privileges 
 of whose office, dating from the time of Henry VIII., 
 being thereby perforce annulled, and the customary 
 fees abolished. Thomas Killigrew, to whom one of 
 the patents was granted, had rendered himself 
 serviceable to his Majesty while in exile, as much 
 by ministering to his vices and follies, as by his 
 wit and his attachment to him in his distress. He 
 
 * The Red Bull was in St John's Street, Clerkenwell. It 
 was of an inferior order to the Globe and Blackfriars Theatres, 
 and was written of, thus : — 
 
 " that degenerate stage. 
 Where none of the nntnn'd kennel can rehearse 
 A line of serious sense."
 
 Ix PRKFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 engaged the remains of the old companies perform- 
 ing at the Red Bull, and afterwards removed to a 
 new built house situated in Gibbons's Tennis Court, 
 near Clare Market ; which, however, not being 
 well adapted for a theatre, the King's Company 
 finally betook themselves to " more removM 
 ground " in Drury Lane, whereon Killigrew had 
 erected a more convenient house. Here they 
 opened on the 8th of April 1663. 
 
 Sir William D'avenant, the other patentee, who 
 had been favoured by the King with the privilege, 
 owed this bounty not only to his services and 
 sufferings in the royal cause, but to his possess- 
 ing a former patent granted 14 Car. I., 1639. 
 This was exemplified by 13 Car. II., 1661 ; and 
 both were surrendered on 15th January 1662-3, 
 when, by 14 Car. II., new letters patent were then 
 granted. 
 
 He adopted all those actors who were perform- 
 ing under Mr Rhodes, and commenced to play at 
 the theatre in Salisbury Court, the 15th November 
 1660. From thence, after some time, the Duke of 
 York's Company are believed to have removed to 
 the Cockpit, and finally they took up their position 
 in a new theatre erected by Sir William in 
 Portugal Row, near Lincoln's Inn Fields. Better- 
 ton and Kynaston were among the chief attrac- 
 tions of the Duke's Company. 
 
 All of the actors in both companies were sworn 
 by the Lord Chamberlain as servants of the Crown. 
 
 Cibber in his Apology says : " About ten of the 
 King's Company were in the royal household esta- 
 blishment, having each ten yards of scarlet cloth, 
 with a proper quantity of lace allowed them for 
 liveries ; and, in their warrants from the Lord 
 Chamberlain, were styled Gentlemen of the Great 
 Chamber. Whether the like appointments were
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixi 
 
 extended to the Duke's Company, I am not cer- 
 tain." 
 
 In the articles of agreement made between 
 D'avenant and Rhodes' performers occur these 
 clauses among many others : — 
 
 " That the general! receipte of money of the said 
 playhouse shall, (after the house-rent, hirelings [i.e., 
 supernumeraries] and all other accustomary and 
 necessary expenses in that kind be defrayed) bee 
 divided into fourteene proportions or shares, where- 
 of the said Sir William Davenant shall have foure 
 full proportions or shares to his owne use, and the 
 rest to the use of the said companie 
 
 "That a private boxe be provided and established 
 for the use of Thomas Killigrew, Esq., one of the 
 governors of his Majesty's bed-chamber, sufficiente 
 to conteine sixe persons, into which the said 
 Mr Killigrew, and such as he shall appoint, 
 shall have liberty to enter without any sallary or 
 pay for their entrance into such a place of the said 
 theatre as the said Sir WilUam Davenant, his 
 heirs, executors, administrators, or assignees shall 
 appoint." 
 
 In October 1660, Sir Henry Herbert had brought 
 an action in a case against Mr Mohun and several 
 members of Killigrew's Company, which was tried in 
 December 1661, for representing plays without being 
 licensed by him, and obtained a verdict against them. 
 Encouraged by his success, soon after D'avenant's 
 Company opened in Portugal Row, be brought a 
 similar action May 6, 1662, against Mr Betterton. 
 In his declaration, it is stated that D'avenant's Com- 
 pany, between the 15th Nov. 1660 and the 6th May 
 1662, produced ten new plays, and one hundred 
 revived plays. The latter number is questionable, 
 as it may be regarded only as a style used in 
 law. Sir Henry Herbert also brought two actions
 
 Ixii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 on the same ground against Sir William D'Ave- 
 nant, in one of which he failed, and in the other 
 was successful. To put an end to the contest, Sir 
 Wilham, in June 1662, appealed to his Majesty. 
 The result was, that by the letters patent which 
 were granted him in January following, he had 
 full power, license, and authority, to entertain 
 players, &c. " And such powers to permit, and 
 continue at and during the pleasure of the said 
 Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assignees, 
 from time to time, to act plays and entertainments 
 of the stage, of all sorts, peaceably and quietly, 
 without the impeachment or impediment of any person 
 or persons whatsoever, for the honest recreation of 
 such as shall desire to see the same." 
 
 The two companies having thus obtained a mono- 
 poly, were now fully established, and free from all 
 let or hindrance at the instance of the Master of 
 the Eevels. The interests of each were fully 
 secured to the patentees, inasmuch as "no actor 
 or other person employed about either of the 
 said theatres, deserting his company shall be 
 received by the governor or any of the said other 
 company, or any other person or persons, to be 
 employed in acting, or in any matter relating to 
 the stage, without the consent and approbation of 
 the governor of the company whereof the said 
 person so ejected or desertingwas a member, sig- 
 nified under his hand and seal." 
 
 In April 1662, the total receipts of the new 
 theatre in Portugal Street, after deducting the 
 nightly charges of "men, hirelings, and other 
 customary expenses," were divided into fifteen shares, 
 of which it was agreed, by the articles previously 
 quoted from, that ten should belong to D'Avenant, 
 viz., two "towards the house-rent, buildings, scaf- 
 folding, and making of frames for scenes ; one for
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixiii 
 
 a provision of habits, properties, and scenes, for a 
 supplement of the said theatre ; and seven to 
 maintain all the women that are to perform or 
 represent women's parts, in tragedies, comedies, 
 &c., and in consideration of creating and establish- 
 ing his actors to be a company, and his pains and 
 expenses for that purpose for many years." The 
 other five shares were divided in various propor- 
 tions among the rest of the troop. 
 
 In a paper prepared by Sir Henry Herbert he 
 states that D'avenant " drew from these ten shai*es, 
 two hundred pounds a week." If so, each share in 
 his theatre produced annually six hundred pounds, 
 calculating the season to have lasted for thirty 
 weeks. 
 
 Puppet-plays, or "villanous motions," as Dekker 
 calls them, had been long popular in England. 
 The subjects chosen for these exhibitions were 
 similar to those of the Mysteries, being stories 
 taken from the Old and New Testaments ; and 
 although towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, his- 
 torical and other fables Avere introduced, the 
 arguments from Holy Writ Avere not entirely aban- 
 doned. Puppet-plays continued to be presented 
 during the time of the Commonwealth, and so 
 great was the favour extended to one scriptural 
 motion in particular, called " Nineveh, Avith Jonas 
 and the \Yhale," that even the Puritans, as CoAvley 
 asserts in his " Cutter of Colman Street," laid 
 aside their detestation of " profane stage plays," 
 and frequently attended as spectators of this 
 " holy performance." Another favourite motion 
 was one called "Babylon." 
 
 So formidable did the rivalry of puppet-plays 
 become to the performers of "the legitimate 
 drama" that the pi-oprietors of the theatres in 
 Drury Lane and Lincoln's Inn Fields formally
 
 Ixiv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 petitioned Charles II. for the removal from the 
 position which the puppets occupied on the pre- 
 sent site of Cecil Street to a greater distance, as 
 the performances there materially affected their 
 prosperity. 
 
 There are entries in Pepys' Diary of his having 
 been to see puppet-plays at Covent Garden, " with- 
 in the rayles there," in 16G2, and to Bartholomew 
 Fair in August 1667. 
 
 "Drolls," also, which were chieflythe comic under- 
 plots of formerly poj^ular five act plays, were also 
 tolerated during the time of the Commonwealth. 
 Robert Cox, comedian, was the contriver of these 
 entertainments. They were represented at the 
 several fairs in town and country, " in halls and 
 taverns," and on several mountebanks' stages at 
 Charing Cross,Lincoln's Inn Fields, and other j^laces." 
 
 With the Restoration came the introduction of 
 women on the English stage. It had long been the 
 prevailing custom in Continental theatres to employ 
 actresses, but with exception of the appearance of 
 Mrs Coleman, the wife of Henry Coleman, in the 
 character of lanthe in the musical piece of the 
 Siege of Rhodes, when first produced by D'Avenant 
 some three years before that time, the female charac- 
 ters had all been used to be performed by young men. 
 Of these,the most distinguished was Kynaston, who, 
 even after Charles the Second's accession to the 
 throne, continued for a time in the same line of 
 business, and it is said that Major Mohun then also 
 reassumed the female garb to personate Bellamente 
 in Shirley's " Love's Cruelty," there being still a 
 necessity for putting the handsomest young men 
 of the company into such characters. There is a 
 story told that when the King was at a perform- 
 ance of Hamlet, the entry of Hamlet's mother 
 seemed to him unnecessarily delayed, ami, grow-
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixv 
 
 ing impatient, an actor came forward to apologize 
 by humbly informing the audience that her 
 Majesty was not quite shaved. It is alleged, on 
 slender authority however, that Kynaston was 
 the impersonator of the Queen. 
 
 The beard, in Shakespeare's time, appears to have 
 been regarded as a great hindrance to the imper- 
 sonation of women by the male actors, who, when 
 occasion demanded, had recourse to vizards, as may 
 be inferred by a passage in A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream. Flute objects to play a woman's part 
 because he has "a beard acoming ;" but Quince 
 tells him how to obviate the difficulty, saying : 
 " that's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, and 
 you may speak as small as you will." 
 
 Edward Kynaston Betterton's fellow-apprentice, 
 upon his master obtaining a patent to re-create 
 the Cockpit into a theatre, became one of his 
 company to represent the principal female charac- 
 ters. So great a favourite was he with the ladies, 
 that many of them used to take him with them, 
 after the play, in their coaches to Hyde Park in 
 his theatrical garb. 
 
 The parts in which he was most eminent, besides 
 that of Arthiope in the Unfortunate Lovers, were 
 the Princess in the Mad Lovers ; Ismenia in the 
 Maid of the Mill ; Aglaura, &c. 
 
 He subsequently became equally successful in 
 male parts. He had a piercing eye, and excelled 
 in stage tyrants. In Morat in Aureng-Zebe, and 
 Muley Moloch in Don Sebastian, " he had a 
 fierce, lion-like majesty in his port and utterance, 
 that gave the spectators a kind of trembling 
 admiration." In Shakespeare's Henry IV., when 
 he whispered the plain line to Hotspur, 
 
 "Scud lis ynxw pri.soiicrs or you'll hoar of it ;"
 
 Ixvi niEFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 he conveyed a more terrible menace than the 
 loudest intemperance of voice could impart. But in 
 the private scenes between the king and the prince 
 his son, " I thought," says Gibber, " Kynaston 
 shewed his most masterly strokes of nature, express- 
 ing all the various motions of the heart with the 
 same force, dignity, and feeling they are written ; 
 adding to the whole that peculiar and becoming 
 grace, which the best writer cannot inspire into 
 any actor that is not born with it." 
 
 Mr Kynaston continued on the stage till the 
 end of King William's reign. It has been said 
 he stayed too long, even till his memory and 
 spirits began to fail him. He had acquired a 
 handsome fortune by his acting. He left a son, 
 who was bred a mercer, and who by trade im- 
 proved his patrimony. This son resided in Covent 
 Garden, and in that parish he and his father lie 
 interred. He in turn had a son who was bred a 
 clergyman, and purchased the impropriation of 
 Aklgate. 
 
 Pepys, in his diary, 17th August 1660, makes 
 mention of Kynaston. " Gaptain Ferrers took me 
 and Greed to the Gockpit play, the first that I 
 have had time to see since my coming from sea, 
 * The Loyall Subject,' where one Kinaston, a boy, 
 acted the Duke's sister, but made the loveliest lady 
 that ever I saw in my life. After the play done, 
 we went to drink, and by Gaptain Ferrers' means, 
 Kinaston and another that acted Archas the 
 General, came and drank with us." 
 
 Again, in January 1660-1. — "Tom and I, and 
 my wife to the Theatre, and there saw ' The Silent 
 Woman.' Among other things here, Kinaston, 
 the boy, had the good turn to ai)pear in three 
 shapes : first, as a i)oor woman in ordinary clothes 
 to })lease Morose ; then m fine clothes .as a gallant,
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. IxAii 
 
 and in them was clearly the prettiest woman in the 
 whole house ; and lastly as a man, and then like- 
 wise did appear the handsomest man in the house." 
 In the face of a strong prejudice whicii had long 
 prevailed against women appearing on the stage, 
 such a course of life being thought indelicate, and 
 only to be pursued by the most depraved of their 
 sex, Sir William D'Avenant, who, with his royal 
 master, had been habituated in France to such 
 exliibitions, obtained the insertion of this clause in 
 the patent granted to him in 1662-3: — "That, 
 ■whereas the women's parts in plays have hitherto 
 been acted by men in the habits of women, at which 
 some have taken offence, we permit and give leave 
 for the time to come, that all women's parts be 
 acted by Avomen." The same alteration was author- 
 ized for adoption by Killigrew at the other theatre. 
 Hence, some confusion has arisen as to the name of 
 the actress who first trode the boards of a regular 
 theatre, some asserting it was Mrs Hughes, others 
 Mrs Norris, both seemingly married women. To 
 mitigate in some degree the presumed breach of 
 decoriun, Thomas Jordan an actor, and author of 
 "A Royal Arbour of Loyal Poesie," 1662, was 
 employed to write " a prologue, to introduce the 
 first woman that came to act on the stage, in the 
 tragedy called 'The Moor of Venice.'" Some of 
 his lines run tluis :— 
 
 " 'Tis possible a virtuous woman may 
 Abhor all sorts of looseness, and yet play ; 
 Play on the stage — where all eyes are upon her : 
 Shall we count that a crime, Fi-ance counts an honour ? 
 In other kingdoms husbands safely trust 'em ; 
 The difference lies only in the custom. 
 
 But to the point : — In this reforming age 
 We have intents to civilize the stage. 
 
 /
 
 Ixviii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Our women are defective, and so siz'd, 
 
 You'd think they were some of the guard disguis'd ; 
 
 For to speak truth, men act, that are between 
 
 Forty and fifty, wenches of fifteen ; 
 
 With bone so lai'ge, and nerve so incompliant, 
 
 When you call Desdemona, enter Giant." 
 
 The Epilogue, which consisted of twelve lines 
 only, thus concludes : — 
 
 " But, ladies, what think you ? for if you tax 
 Her freedom with dishonour to your sex. 
 She means to act no more, and this shall be 
 No other play but her own tragedy ; 
 She wHl submit to none but your commands. 
 And take commission only from your hands. " 
 
 See also the Prologue to our author's second part 
 of the Siege of Rhodes. 
 
 At the opening of the Portugal Row Theatre 
 in the spring of 1G62-3, actresses formed a portion 
 of Davenant's company. The unmarried ladies 
 resided in the patentee's house. These were Mrs 
 Davenport, Mrs Sanderson, Mrs Davies, and ]\Irs 
 Long. In addition to these, were Mrs Gibbs, Mrs 
 Norris, Mrs Holden, and Mrs Jennings. Betterton 
 continued to be the leading actor, and Mrs Sander- 
 son being leading actress, he married her in the year 
 following. With this lady he lived through the 
 whole course of his remaining life, upAvards of 
 forty years ; and so great was the estimation in 
 which they were held, that, in 16G5, when the 
 Pastoral, called Calista, or the Chaste Nymph, 
 written by Mr Crowne, at the desire of Queen 
 Catherine, consort of King Charles II., was to be 
 performed at Court by persons of the greatest dis- 
 tinction, Mr Betterton was employed to instruct the 
 gentlemen and Mrs Bettez^ton the ladies, amongst 
 whom were the two princesses, Mary and Anne, 
 daughters of the Duke of York ; in grateful remem-
 
 PKEi-'ATUllY MEMOIR. Ixix 
 
 brance of wliich, the latter, when Queen, settled a 
 pension of £100 a-year upon her old instructress. 
 
 To Betterton's acting Pepys was very partial and 
 has invariably accorded him the highest praise. 
 
 On the 4th November 1661, he has this entry: 
 " With my wife to the opera, where we saw ' the 
 Bondman,' which of old we both did so doate on,, 
 and do still ; though to both our thinking not so 
 well acted here (having too great expectations) as 
 formerly at Salisbury Court. But for Beterton he 
 is called by us the best actor in the world." 
 
 The " Opera " was the title by which D'avenant's 
 Theatre was known to many, in consequence of his 
 having previously produced musical dramas. 
 
 Again on 19th March 1661-2 : "Mr Creed and 
 I to Whitefryars, where we saw 'The Bondman' 
 acted most excellently, and though I have seen it 
 often, yet I am every time more and more pleased 
 with Beterton's action." 
 
 The Theatre in Whitefriars and the Theatre in 
 Salisbury Court, were conjectured by Mr. Keed to 
 be one and the same, and this Pepys here con- 
 firms. 
 
 The following year he still continues in terms of 
 admiration. " 28th May 1663. By water to the 
 Royal Theatre ; but that was so full they told us 
 we could have no room. And so to the Duke's 
 house; and there saw 'Hamlet' done, giving us 
 fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton," 
 
 As to his excellence, Colley Cibber in his Ape- 
 logy thus speaks of him: " I never heard lines in a 
 tragedy come from him, wherein my judgement my 
 ear and my imagination were not fully satisfied ; 
 which, since his time, I could not equally say of 
 any one actor whatsoever.'' 
 
 In 1693 Mr Betterton, with a select company, 
 obtained the Royal license to act in a separate
 
 Ixx Tin:rAT(»nY memoir. 
 
 theatre, and a voluntary subscription of many of tlie 
 nobility and gentry supplied him with the means 
 to erect one within the walls of the Tennis Court, 
 in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. Betterton died in 1710, 
 in the 74th year of his age, and was buried in the 
 cloister of Westminster Abbey. 
 
 After his retirement from the stage, his friends, 
 as he had not acquired a ministerial fortune, resolved 
 to become his patrons for an aimual benefit, the 
 first of which took place on the 7th April 1709, 
 Avlien, though upwards of seventy years of age, he 
 acted the part of Valentine in the comedy of Love 
 for Love. Of this, the author of the Tailer speaks 
 in high terms. On the occasion a prologue was 
 written by Mr. Congreve, and an epilogue by Mr. 
 Rowe. The latter was spoken by Mrs Barry, who 
 came upon the stage supporting Mr Betterton on 
 one side, while Mrs Bracegirdle came on the other. 
 Both actresses had quitted the profession some 
 years previously. His last appearance was on the 
 occasion of his second benefit on 25th April 1710, 
 as Melanthius in the Maid's tragedy. He had been 
 suddenly seized with gout, but in order not to 
 disappoint his friends had repelled the swelling, so 
 as to enable him to come upon the stage in slippers. 
 This experiment caused his death, which took 
 place on the 28th May following. So great was 
 the public excitement in regard of his last benefit, 
 that many spectators got into the playhouse by 
 nine o'clock in the morning, and carried with 
 them provisions for the day. The hour of dinner 
 at the time was twelve o'clock noon, and the hour 
 of performance was three p.m. 
 
 Betterton brought five plays upon the stage. 
 Among these was an alteration of Webster's 
 tragedy of Appius and Virginia, which was played 
 at the Duke's Theatre, 12th May 1669, under the
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxi 
 
 title of " The Roman Virgin." It was again 
 revived by him in 1694. 
 
 He died intestate, and no one appears to have 
 administered to him. It may therefore be inferred 
 that his estate had not been in a thriving condi- 
 tion. Impressed with the difficulty of attaining 
 full perfection in his art, not long before his death 
 " he confessed that he was yet learning to be an 
 actor." His wife survived him two years. By 
 her last will, March 10, 1711-2, and proved in 
 the following month, she bequeathed to Mrs Mary 
 Head, her sister, and to two other persons, £20 
 a-piece, "to be paid out of the arrears of the 
 l)ension which her Majesty had been graciously 
 pleased to grant her;" to Mrs Anne Betterton, 
 Mr Wilks, Mr Dent, Mr Dogget, and Mrs Brace- 
 girdle, twenty shillings each for rings, and to her 
 residuary Legatee Mrs Frances Williamson, the 
 wife of Williamson, " her dearly beloved hus- 
 band's picture." 
 
 Mrs Mary Head, Mr Malone conceives, was 
 Betterton's own sister, Mrs Betterton's name being 
 also Mary. 
 
 The late Edmund Glover claimed to be a des- 
 cendant. 
 
 Betterton w^as much indebted to D'avenant for 
 various hints in acting, and more especially for 
 information as to the points made by Lowin, who 
 is mentioned by Massinger as a famous actor : — He 
 was later than Burbage, but established a reput- 
 ation for his judicious realization of the character 
 of Hamlet. He Avas the original performer of 
 Henry the Eighth. 
 
 Wright observes : " We have seen at both 
 houses several actresses, justly famed, as well for 
 l)eauty, as perfect good action. And some plays, 
 in particular the Parson's Wedding, have been
 
 Ixxii I'KEFATOKY MEMOIK. 
 
 presented all by women, as formerly all ])y men. 
 Thus it continued for about twenty years." 
 
 One of D'avenant's performers of women's parts, 
 Angell, was acting at the Duke's playhouse in 
 1667-8, in low comedy — Trinculo in Albumazar, 
 Woodcock in the Sullen Lovers, &c. 
 
 Although it had been ordered by royal autho- 
 rity that all passages in plays to be performed 
 which might be deemed l)y the governors of the 
 theatres to be contra bonos mores, and the alleged 
 indelicacy of having male performers to personate 
 female characters having been discontinued, women 
 of all denominations frequented the theatre after 
 the Restoration, many of whom wore masks. This 
 is alluded to by Pope, thus : — 
 
 The fair sat panting at a courtier's play, 
 And not a mask went unimproved away ; 
 The modest fan was Hf ted up no more, 
 And virgins smiled at what they blushed before. 
 
 The fashion of wearing masks did not disappear 
 until after the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
 On the 1st June 1704, a song was sung at the 
 theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, called " The 
 Misses' Lamentation for want of their Vizard 
 Masques at the Theatre." 
 
 The wearing of vizards did not pass unnoticed 
 by the indefixtigable Pepys : — "12th June 1663. 
 Here I saw my Lord Falconbridge and his lady, my 
 Lady Mary Cromwell [third daughter of Oliver 
 Cromwell], who looks as well as I have known her, 
 and well clad ; but when the house began to fill, 
 she put on her vizard, and so kept it on all the play ; 
 which of late is become a great fashion among the 
 ladies, which hides their whole face." 
 
 The first introduction of scenes, and more espe- 
 cially of moveable scenery on the British stage has 
 l)een attributed, and justly so, to Sir William
 
 PIIEFATOKY MEMOIR. Ixxiii 
 
 D'avenant. When he gave his musical entertain- 
 ments at Rutland House in 1656, it would appear 
 that he there used some stage decorations, until 
 that time unknown in England, but it was only- 
 after obtaining a patent, that he gradually improved 
 upon those scenic displays, until he had effected a 
 very superior order of stage accessories, both as 
 regards scenery and machinery, with which he illus- 
 trated the two parts of his siege of Rhodes, when 
 produced on the opening of his new theatre in 
 Portugal Street, Liucohi's-Iim-Ficlds, early in the 
 spring of 1662. 
 
 " Scene — Scena " is thus explained in Blount's 
 Glossographia, 2d edition, 1661: — "The front or 
 forepart of a theatre or stage, or the partition be- 
 tween the players' vestry and the stage ; a Comedy or 
 Tragedy, or the division of a Play into certain parts, 
 viz., first into acts, those again into scenes, which 
 sometimes fall out more, sometimes fewer in every 
 act ; the definition of a scene being mukUiopersonarum. 
 In old time it signified a place covered with boughs, 
 or the room where the players made them ready." 
 
 Winstanley calls D'avenant the reviver and im- 
 prover of painted scenes. 
 
 The King's Company followed in his wake, not- 
 withstanding the numerous protests against the use 
 of scenery, it being held, and truly, that such 
 shows, while attractive to the unthinking, were 
 calculated to destroy all feeling for poetry on the 
 part of the audience, and so detract from the 
 merits of the performers, who would not then be 
 listened to with the same degree of attention which 
 had been usually paid to them. 
 
 The attraction of the sceneiy alone tended as a 
 matter of course to draw good audiences. Pepys, 
 on the 13th June 1663, notes:— "To the Royal 
 Theatre : here we saw ' 'The faithful Shepeardesse,'
 
 IXXIV PKEFATUKY iMEMUlll. 
 
 a most simple thing, and yet much thronged after, 
 and often shown, but it is only for the scene's sake, 
 which is very fine indeed, and worth seeing." 
 
 Although painted scenes were in use in perform- 
 ances at Court at a very early date, as may be 
 gathered from the accounts of paJ^nents of the 
 ex2)enses of the Revels during the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, it does not appear that they were introduced 
 on the public stage until adopted by Sir William 
 D'avenant, who had taken his observations from 
 the novel appliances which the French theatre had 
 adopted, under the auspices of Cardinal Richelieu, 
 whose taste was highly commended. Malone 
 observes that the first notice of anything like 
 moveable scenes being used in England, is " in the 
 narrative of the entertainment given to King 
 James at Oxford in August 1 605, when three plays 
 were performed in the Hall of Christ Church." 
 Heywood informs us that during the performance 
 of his comedy of Love's Mistress at Court in 1636, 
 Inigo Jones "changed the stage" to " every act 
 and almost to every scene." These changes were 
 called " appearances." They were not, however, 
 as Malone surmises, scenes shifting or moving in 
 sight of the audience, but more in the style of 
 what is now known in stage parlance, as " sets," 
 the curtains requiring to be closed during the time 
 of setting. 
 
 " When his (Sir John Suckling's) Aglaura Avas 
 acted, he bought all the cloathes himselfe, which 
 were very ricli ; no tinsill, all the lace pure gold 
 and silver, which cost him .... I have 
 now forgott. He had some scenes to it, which in 
 those dayes were only used at Masques." — Aubrey, 
 vol. 3, art. Sir John Suckling. This was in 1638. 
 
 Until D'avenant made the alteration, curtains of 
 ;in;is and worsted, wliich wore drawn upon a rod
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. IxxV 
 
 and opened in the centre, formed the only scenery 
 used in pnljlic theatres. There were two sets of 
 curtains — those in front of the stage, and 
 those at the back which were called traverses. 
 Occasionally the balcony at the back of the stage 
 was provided with curtains, and when a play 
 within a play, such as in Hamlet and the Spanish 
 Tragedy, was exhibited, Malone states, but on 
 questionable authority, that a curtain or travers 
 was hung across the stage, the performers enter- 
 ing between it and the general audience, and on 
 its being draAvn, addressing themselves to those 
 seated in the balcony, who were the jjersons before 
 whom the play was supposed to be represented. 
 
 The stage, on ordinary occasions strewed with 
 rushes,* was frequently covered witli matting. At 
 other times a jjortion must have been left un- 
 covered, to alloAV the use of the trap door neces- 
 sary for the performance of Macbeth, Ben Jonson's 
 Poetaster, Marston's Antonio's Eevenge, and others. 
 The other machinery of the theatres was a con- 
 trivance attached above to effect the descent and 
 ascent of gods and goddesses. 
 
 The curtains of the Red Bull Theatre in St John 
 Street, in 1640, Avere of "pure Naples silk, not 
 worsted," and in "a prologue upon the removing 
 of the late Fortune players to the Bull," by J. 
 Tatham, printed in " Fancies' Theatre, ] 640," the 
 audience are enjoined to forbear the *' wonted 
 custom " of throwing j^ieces of tile or peas against 
 them " to lure the actors forth." 
 
 The Frontispiece to the first part of " The Wits, 
 or Sport upon Sport," — a collection of drolls, 
 Lond. 1662, 12mo, — shows the interior of the 
 Red Bull Playhouse, The stage is simply a plat- 
 form extending into the pit, around which " the 
 
 * Rushes were used generally as tlie covering for floors.
 
 Ixxvi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 groundlings " sat. In the centre, at the back, is the 
 arras, through the opening in whicli the several 
 characters have entered. Immediately above the 
 arras is a box or balcony, with curtains also to draw, 
 projecting semi-circularly. On either side of this 
 box are balconies or galleries for spectators let in 
 from the wall. Facing those two side galleries 
 are two chandeliers with eight candles each, de- 
 pending from the roof. In front of the stage, where 
 the modern float is, six small oil lamps with two 
 burners each, are ranged. There are no other 
 curtains, such as Malone describes, save the arras 
 at the back. Several dramatic characters occupy 
 the stage. These consist of Sir John Falstaff and 
 Dame Quickly ; Clause in the Beggars' Bush ; the 
 French dancing-master, from the Duke of New- 
 castle's Comedy of Variety, and the Changeling and 
 the Simpleton from a Droll by Cox. A figure 
 advancing from behind the curtain, with a label in 
 his mouth, on which are the words " Tu quoque," 
 represents Green as Bubble, in Croker's comedy of 
 that name. This engraving has been repi'oduced 
 to illustrate the first volume of Ryan's Dramatic 
 Table-Talk. 3 vols., 12mo., London, 1825. 
 
 There is also a reduced copy of it, with alter- 
 ation of the figures on the stage, engraved on wood 
 and inserted in the first volume of Baldwyn's Old 
 English drama. 2 vols., cr. 8vo., Lond., 1825. 
 
 That scenic illustrations of a moveable and 
 shifting nature prevailed in many Continental 
 cities, long prior to their use in this country, is well 
 ascertained, but when these were first introduced 
 is not very clear. Dramatic pieces, chiefly of an 
 allegorical nature, some of them got up to do hon- 
 our to kings or nobles, were there represented. 
 One of them which, however, partook more of a 
 gratulatory pageant, was printed at Antwerp in
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. Ixxvii 
 
 1595, with engravings by Peter Vander Borcht. 
 It is noticed by Sharp in his Coventry Mysteries, 
 accompanied bj"^ a reduced copy of one of the plates 
 representing a " Pegma'"^ ad D. Jacobi." He 
 characterizes it as " a splendid book." It is titled 
 "Descriptio publicje gratulationis, Spectaculorum 
 et Ludorum," prepared for the visit of Prince 
 Ernest to Antwerp in 1594. There is no mention, 
 however, made of shifting scenery. 
 
 In the representations of the Mysteries in 
 France, says Riccoboni, the theatre exhibited 
 paradise, heaven, hell, and earth all at once ; there 
 Avas no change of the decorations. The actor, 
 after performing his part, retired to a corner of the 
 stage, and sat there until he was again required. 
 
 In Pageants and in Masques generally, no shifting 
 scenery, as at present in use, appears to have pre- 
 vailed. In the latter, mechanical changes in a 
 more subdued form than those now introduced in 
 the transformation scenes of Pantomimes, would 
 seem to have been the order of the day. The 
 contrivance apparently consisted in the back of the 
 scene being made to open, either for the influx of 
 the sea, or for the descent of some of the heathen 
 deities in a cloud. 
 
 It is doubtful whether Sir William D'avenant 
 introduced at first moveable and shifting scenes 
 without lowering the curtain during each change, 
 the more so as he cluu\acterizes his oi'iginal scenic 
 displays as "the art of perspective in scenes." 
 The probability is that he began by adopting the 
 pictorial effects and machinery of masques. There 
 was a complimentary entertainment in Latin given 
 
 * Pegma was an ornamented wooden sti-iictnre with actors 
 and scenery, used by the Greeks and Romans in processions 
 of a triumphal character. Hence, it is supposed the word 
 " Pageant." 
 
 ■V
 
 Ixxviii I'KEFATOKY MJ^MOIR. 
 
 to Leopold, King of the Romans, at Presljurg in 
 January, 1659, which was printed in 4to, with 
 seven folding engravings, illustrative of the several 
 scenes, designed by Elias Gedeler, archit. et pinct. 
 Theatri. These exhibit the art of perspective in 
 an eminent degree. Each scene, however, is 
 evidently a sejiarate "set." The top machinery, 
 as in masques, for lowering clouds containing 
 dramatis jiersonae, was used in four of the scenes, 
 while the moving sea with sea monsters disporting, 
 and a ship at the back is used in one. Such appliances 
 as adopted in this performance would suit all the 
 requirements of Sir William D'avenaut's " Cruelty 
 of the Spaniards in Peru," and, with simply a 
 back scene to draw aside, his " Sir Francis Drake," 
 as presented before the Restoration. The " Siege 
 of Rhodes," therefore, may be considered as the 
 vehicle which first introduced repeated changes of 
 scenery in sight of the audience, without the di'op 
 scene being let down. The entertainment at 
 Presburg was titled " Fatum Austriacum sivi 
 Ludi Scenico-votivi." The musical Composer and 
 Director was Joannes Kusser. 
 
 D'avenant also made an alteration in the position 
 of the orchestra, which previously had been placed 
 in an upper balcony, and the musicians appear to 
 have been brought upon the stage and stationed 
 immediately behind the curtain, when required to 
 accompany a singer. Thus, in Massinger's City 
 Madam " musicians come down to make ready for 
 a song at the arras." 
 
 When Dryden and D'avenant's alteration of 
 Shakespeare's Tempest was produced in 1667 at the 
 Duke's theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,the orchestra 
 was placed between the audience and the stage, as, 
 Mr Payne Collier conjectures, not unwisely, " for 
 tlie fiist time." The introductory description runs
 
 PKEFATOllY MEMOIR. Ixxix 
 
 thus : — " The front of the stage is opened, and the 
 band of twenty-four violins, with the harpsicals 
 and theorbos, wliich accompany the voices, are 
 placed between the pit and the stage." 
 
 This arrangement, in all probability, was, as were 
 most of the alterations wliich D'avenant adopted, 
 imported from France. After the discontinuance 
 of the chorus in 1630, the Histoire Universelle des 
 ThMtres mentions that " a la place du chant qui 
 distinguoit les actes, et qui marquoit les repos 
 n^cessaires, on introduisit des joueurs d'instru- 
 mens, qui d'abord furent places sur les ailes du 
 theatre, ou ils ex^cutoient diff6rens airs avant le 
 commencement de la pitjce, et entre les actes. 
 Ensuite ils furent mis au fond des troisi^mes loges, 
 puis aux secondes, enfin e7itre le thhltre et le parterre, 
 oil ils sont rest^s." — Essais Hisioriques, ii. 290. 
 
 It was the custom of some of the "choice 
 spirits" or gallants of the day, who wished to 
 render themselves of consequence in the eyes of 
 the town men, to pay the admission-money for the 
 reserved seats on the stage. Dekker in his Gull's 
 Hornbook, 1609, instructs his hero thus : — " At a 
 new play you take up the twelve-penny room next 
 the stage, because the Lords and you may seem to 
 be hail fellow Avell met." Those, who wished so to 
 sit, entered by the 'tiring house, were presented 
 with a tripos or three-legged stool and ushered 
 through the arras on to the stage, attended by 
 their page, whose chief occupation was to fill his 
 master's pipe with tobacco. 
 
 This practice of mixing up a portion of the 
 audience with the actors while performing also pre- 
 vailed in France, but was obviously very incon- 
 venient to those concerned in the piece, and con- 
 fusing to those in front, and although discontinued 
 in England for awhile, it was again in vogue in the
 
 Ixxx I'itEFATUllY MEMOIR. 
 
 early part of the eighteenth century, as is illustrated 
 by Hogarth's celel^rated scene from the Beggar's 
 Opei'a, in which ajDpear Walker as Macheath, Miss 
 Fenton as Polly, and her keeper and future 
 husband, the Duke of Bolton, seated among the 
 spectators at the side of the stage. 
 
 The inconvenience of admitting strangers behind 
 the scenes was so severely felt in the Duke of 
 York's Theatre as to become a nuisance ; and 
 resulted in the following Royal order, preserved 
 in the State paper office ; " Whereas, complaint 
 hath been made unto us of great disorders in 
 the attiring-house of the Theatre of our dearest 
 brother the Duke of York, under the government 
 of our trusty and well-beloved Sir Wm. D'avenant, 
 by the resort of persons thither to the hinderance 
 of the actors and interruption of the scenes. Our 
 will and pleasure is that no person of what quality 
 soever do presume to enter at the door of the 
 Attiring House, but such only as do belong to the 
 company and are employed by them. Requiring 
 the guards attending there, and all whom it may 
 concern, to see that obedience be given hereunto. 
 And that the names, &c. Ut supra, dated the 25th 
 February 1664-5. By order." 
 
 The performances at both Houses were of a very 
 high order, and their exertions to win the public 
 favour were crowned with success. The taste for 
 theatrical entertainments was rapidly advancing, 
 when an interruption to all kinds of amusements 
 took place by the recurrence of the plague, which 
 broke out in London in 1665 with great violence, 
 casting a gloom over the whole town. This 
 calamity was followed, in the next year, by the 
 great fire, which, although causing much destruction 
 of lives and property, was the means of purifying 
 that city from the pestilent causes whicli had given 
 rise to the plague itself.
 
 PKEFATOllY MEMOIJl. Jxxxi 
 
 After a discontinuance of dramatic performances 
 for eighteen months, both houses were re-opened 
 at Christmas 16GG. Past miseries Avere soon 
 forgotten, and public diversions were again eagerly 
 resorted to. 
 
 Notwithstanding the industry of the patentee 
 and managers of the Portugal Street Theatre, " it 
 seems the King's House then carried the vogue of 
 the town," and the former being now deemed not 
 sufficiently commodious for display, Sir William 
 Davenant laid the foundation of a new Playhouse in 
 Dorset Gardens, Salisbury Court, which however he 
 did not live to see completed. The management of 
 his property therein came into the hands of his 
 widow Lady D'avenant, Mr. Betterton, and Mr. 
 Harris, assisted by Charles D'avenant, afterwards 
 Avell known as a politician and civil lawyer. This 
 new Theatre was opened 9th November 1671, 
 " with all the machines and decorations the skill of 
 those times could afford," but in the face of strong 
 opposition offered to it by the City of London. 
 
 Here Betterton improved upon Sir William 
 D'avenant's ideas of scenery and decorations, 
 having been commanded by King Charles II. 
 to proceed to Paris, for the purpose of taking a 
 view of the French stage, so as he might be the 
 better able to judge what would contribute to the 
 improvement of our own. The result was, that the 
 Theatre in Dorset Gai'dens was greatly patronized 
 on account of its embellishments, while the Drury 
 Lane Company were cast into the shade. Thus 
 red paint and Dutch metal gained an ascendancy, 
 which they have ever since retained. 
 
 The opening play was Dryden's Sir Martin 
 Marall. According to a statement given in a 
 petition presented to Queen Anne about the year 
 1709, by Charles D'avenant, Charles Killegrew,
 
 Ixxxii PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 Cliristoplier Rich, and others, the building, scenes, 
 Sec, of that Theatre cost £5000. 
 
 The death of Sir William D'avenant occurred on 
 the 7th April 1C68, but respecting its cause no 
 information has been afforded us. There is an 
 entry in Pepys' Diary of that date to the following 
 effect : — 
 
 *' I hear Sir W. D'avenant is just now dead ; 
 and so who will succeed him in the master-ship of 
 the House is not yet known." 
 
 "This great man died," says Langbaine, " on the 
 7th day of April 1668, aged 63, and was buried, 
 amongst the Poets in Westminster Abbey, near to 
 his old antagonist, and rival for the Bays, Mr. 
 Thomas May. 'Twas observed, that at his funeral 
 his coffin wanted the ornament of his Laureat's 
 Crown, which, by the Law of Heraldry, justly 
 appertained to him ; but this omission is sufficiently 
 recompensed by an eternal fame, which will always 
 accompany his memory." 
 
 Having again recourse to Aubrey, we find he 
 gives this account: — 
 
 " A.D. 1660, was the happy restauration of his 
 Majesty Charles H. Then was Sir William made 
 
 and the Tennis Court 
 
 in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fielde was turn'd into a 
 playhouse for the Duke of Yorke's Players, where 
 Sir William had his lodgeings, and where he dyed, 
 April the . . 166 . . I was at his funerall : he 
 had a coffin of walnutt tree. Sir John Denham 
 saide 'twas the finest coffin that ever he saw. His 
 body was carried in a hearse from the play-house 
 to Westminster Abbey, where, at the great west 
 dore, he was received by the singing-men and 
 choristers, who sang the service of the church
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. I.vxxiii 
 
 (" I am the Resurrection," &c.,) to his grave,* 
 which is in the south crosse aisle, on which, no 
 a paving stone of marble is writt, in imitation 
 of that on Ben Jonson, ' O rare Sr. Will. 
 Davenant.' 
 
 Pepys thus notices Sir William's funeral : " 9th 
 April 1668. I up, and down to the Duke of 
 York's playhouse, there to see, which I did. Sir W. 
 Davenant's corpse carried out towards Westminster, 
 there to be buried. Here were many coaches ancl 
 six horses, and many hacknies, that made it look, 
 methought, as if it were the buriall of a poor poet. 
 He seemed to have many children, by five or six 
 in the first mourning-coach, all l)oy.s." 
 
 Sir William Davenant was twice married. All 
 the notice we have of his wives is from Aubrey ; 
 who has not informed himself of their maiden 
 names. "His first lady," he writes, "was Dr. , . . 
 
 daughter, physitian by whom he had a very 
 
 beautifull and ingeniose son that dyed above 20 
 years since. His second lady was the daughter of 
 .... by whom he had severall children. I sawe 
 some very young ones at the funerall. His eldest 
 is Charles Davenant, LL.D., who inherits his 
 father's beauty and jihancy. He practises at 
 Doctors Commons." 
 
 Sir William left no Avill, but his widow, " Maria 
 D'avenant," administered to his effects in May 1668. 
 He is described as of the Parish of St. Clements 
 Danes, Miles. 
 
 Lady D'avenant, and a particular friend of Sir 
 William, took under their charge when young, Mrs 
 Barry, daughter of Robert Barry, Barrister, who, 
 having raised a regiment for his Majesty's service 
 
 * Which is near to the monument of Dr Isaac Barrow. 
 Mem. My hojioiirerl friend Sir Rohert Moray lies hy him : hut 
 Sans I. N.S. 
 
 9
 
 Ixxxiv PREFATORY MEM<»IR. 
 
 at the beginning of the civil war, was known as 
 Colonel Barry. Lady D'avenant gave her a good 
 education, and made her not only her companion 
 but carried her wherever she visited. Mrs Barry, 
 tutored by the Earl of Rochester, subsequently 
 became one of the first actresses of her day. 
 
 Charles D'avenant, Sir William's eldest son, was 
 born, according to Kippis, " some time in the j'^ear 
 1656, as ai>pears from the time at which he died, 
 and his age at the time of his death ;" but this is 
 very much open to doi;bt, as, at his father's decease, 
 he would have been only twelve years of age, and 
 unfit to take any part in the management of the 
 theatre in Dorset Gardens. Besides, the ages of other 
 members of the family contradict this. For instance, 
 Sir William's fourth and youngest son, William, 
 was bred to the church, and beneficed in Surrey, 
 but was unfortunately drowned in France in 1681. 
 He translated M. la Mothe le Vayer's " Animad- 
 versions on the famous Greek and Latin Histories," 
 j^rinted at Oxford, 8vo, 1698. If Kippis is right 
 as to the date of Charles' birth, William must have 
 met his death at the age of nineteen — rather a 
 youthful period of life for a man to have got 
 through his studies, and to have become a bene- 
 ficed clergyman. 
 
 AYriting of Dr. Charles D'avenant, Langbaine 
 (1691) observes : 
 
 " He has, as I have been informed, a share in 
 the present theatre, in right of his father ; and 
 is jointly empowered with the Master of the 
 Revels, to inspect the plays designed for the stage, 
 that no immoralities may be presented. This 
 gentleman has writ a play called Circe, a tragedy 
 acted at the Duke of York's Theatre, the pro- 
 logue by Dry den, the epilogue by the late Earl 
 of Rochester. This play I have seen acted with
 
 PllEFATORY MEMOIK. Ixxxv 
 
 good applause. The scenes and Machines may- 
 give it a good title to that species of dramatic 
 poetry called an Opera." 
 
 The East India Company having resolved, April 
 23-25, 1700, to send Dr D'avenant into the East 
 Indies to take care of their aflfairs, he was accord- 
 ingly sent out on the 1 0th prox°. He is made the 
 subject of ridicule in Heraclitus Ridens, vol. 2, No. 
 40, December 14-18, 1703. 
 
 Dr. Charles D'avenant was Inspector-General of 
 the Exports and Imports of the Customs. He 
 w^as severely criticised in his character of a speaker 
 in 1705. He died Gth November 1714. Had. 
 M.S., vol. 2, p. 356. 
 
 In 1771, were published in 5 vols. 8vo, "The 
 Political and Commercial Works of that celebrated 
 writer, Charles D'avenant, LL.D., collected and 
 revised by Sir Charles Whitworth, M.P." 
 
 His son Henry was Envoy at Frankfort during 
 1703-8. — Harry D'avenant had given the Electress 
 of Hanover his father's political Books, and the 
 Doctor, upon hearing how complacently she had 
 received his last, wrote thus to him at Hanover 
 from London, February 18th 1703, "I am very 
 glad to hear her Royal Highness is pleased with my 
 l)ook, which had not created me so many enemies 
 as it hath done if we had in England but three 
 or four persons with understandings as enlight- 
 ened as hers is. The rancour begins noAv to wear off, 
 but I may venture to say that for this last age there 
 has not been so persecuted a martyr to truth and 
 right sense as I have lately been." Further, he 
 desires him to let her know that in a little time 
 he shall be in a temper lit for wiiting a letter to her. 
 
 Henry, after being settled in London, appears to 
 have ultimately got into difficulties, as "the house- 
 hold goods of Henry D'avenant Esq., taken by
 
 Ixxxvi PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 execution at his late dwelling-house in Albeniarle 
 Street," were advertised to be sold by Naud on 18th 
 December 1731 . " As also, his curious collection of 
 pictures by the most celebrated Italian masters, 
 collected by himself when in Italy, together with 
 his curious library, consisting in most Faculties and 
 Languages, and some curious manuscripts collected 
 by himself when in Italy. N.B. The house to be 
 lett, or the Lease sold, being two rooms on a floor, 
 and a closet on each floor, neatly fitted up with 
 Italian marble chimney-pieces, brass locks to th6 
 door. Pier and chimney glasses neatly set in 
 marble frames." 
 
 Oldys' choice notes, from his manuscript Adver- 
 saria, which Mr. Tlioms has privately printed, 
 thus record : 
 
 " I gave above three score letters of Dr D'avenant 
 to his son, who was Envoy at Frankfort in 1703 
 to 1 708, to Mr James West, with one hundred and 
 fifty more about Christmas 1746, 
 
 But the same fate they found 
 
 As grain that may be sowed in barren ground." 
 
 The following announcement occurs in the 
 obituary notices in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
 nth June 1745. 
 
 " Col. Richard Davenant, son to the late Sir W. 
 Davenant. He was page of honour to the Duke 
 of Monmouth, and with him on the scaff'old at the 
 time of his death. He afterwards served several 
 campaigns under King William. He married the 
 
 Lady Halford, sister to Boothby, Esq., of 
 
 Tooley Park, Leicestershire, by whom he left two 
 daughters." 
 
 Shortly after Sir William's death there was 
 ])ublished " Sir AVilHam D'avenant's voyage to the 
 otlier world, with his adventures in the Poets' 
 Lliziitni." It was written by Richard Flecknoe.
 
 rUEFATUllY MExMOJll. Ixxxvii 
 
 An entire absence of wit characterizes this effu- 
 sion, which was no doubt intended to be immensely 
 satirical. 
 
 There is a portrait of Sir William D'avenant 
 prefixed to the folio edition of his works, painted 
 by Greenhill, engraved by Faithorne. The painter 
 has by no means flattered him, but has rather 
 exceeded in the contrary direction, his physiogno- 
 mical defect being presented rather too prominently 
 to be agreeable. This portrait has been engraved 
 in a reduced form, but has been deemed unavail- 
 able for reproduction here. 
 
 To the kindness of Henry Huth, Esq., we owe 
 the privilege of including in our present notes the 
 following lines, referred to at page 20, which he 
 had printed in a small volume, titled, " Unedited 
 Poetical Miscellanies," for private circulation among 
 his friends. He thus jH-efaces them : 
 
 "These lines have not, it is believed, hitherto 
 appeared in print. They occur on some of the fly- 
 leaves of a copy of Denham's Poems, London, 1668, 
 8vo, and are written in a legible hand of nearly 
 coeval date. The same person has transcribed on 
 the other spare leaves some of the satirical verses 
 against Davenant's ' Gondibert,' 1651, which were 
 published in 1653 and 1665 in two duodecimo 
 tracts, now of considerable rarity." 
 
 ELEGY ON SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT. 
 
 Thougli lie is dead, th' immortcal name 
 Of William who from Avenaiit came, 
 Who mixed with English Lombard flame, 
 Shall live in the records of fame. 
 
 He lies, who saith he wanted wit 
 Both for the table and the pit ; 
 Which like his face had never split, 
 Had 'nacute* judgment steered it. 
 
 * The original reads yoruli-.
 
 Ixxxviii PREFATORY MEJ[()]R. 
 
 Industrious to a prodigy : 
 Of that nor th' importunate* bee 
 Nor the gi-ave ant had more than he, 
 As by his laboured lines you see. 
 
 Had he to law become a drudge, 
 And learn'd to Westminster to trudge, 
 He had long since gone forth a judge, 
 [But from his Muse he would not budge. ] t 
 
 Had he with some good trade began, 
 When into rhyming rage he ran. 
 He had l:)een may'r or alderman ; 
 But still his Muse did him trepan. 
 
 Twelve lustres his Icarian quill, 
 Striving to top the Muses' hill, 
 Weary, about the midst stood still : 
 Will loved them, but they loved not Will. 
 
 He out of breath himself did run. 
 When with high rapture he begun, 
 By emulating Doctor Donne — X 
 I mean the father, not the son.§ 
 
 Now roosting in the Poet's nest 
 Amongst his kindred he doth rest ; 
 With haitt (joiits they their welcome guest 
 In Umbo Poetarum feast. 
 
 First, in the l>road Elysian streets, 
 He his old father Jonson meets : 
 Then him his cousin Shakespeare greets ; 
 But his friend Suckling lent him sheets. 
 
 Cowley a fair apartment keeps ; 
 Receiving him with joy he weeps ; 
 Into his bed Sir William creeps. 
 And now in Abraham's bosom sleeps. 
 
 * The original reads important, clearly an error for import' nat^. 
 
 t This line conjecturally supplied. — Ed. 
 
 % Donne's name was usually pronounced, and not seldom 
 spelt, Dunne, by his contemporaries; the latter, indeed, is the 
 orthography of his name, as we find it in the title of his Manu- 
 script Satires preserved in the llarleian collection. 
 
 § John Donne the eldest son of Donne, the poet, was a 
 civilian. He is said to have met with a misfortune similar to 
 that of D'avcnant. -Miilone.
 
 PREFATORY MKINloli;. Ixxxix 
 
 His friend lie to the Ancients shows ; 
 Their former feuds he doth compose ; 
 To show him they are no longer foes, 
 Naso has lent him half his nose.* 
 
 In poetry he raised a schism 
 'Gainst the old bards of Paganism : 
 Styled by the moderns Davtnautlsni, 
 Condemn'd for want of syllogism. 
 
 And yet I fear thy want of breath 
 Will prove the English stage's death ; 
 Could 1 to thee new life bequeath, 
 No other head should wear the wreath. 
 
 * In the G'reat Assizes hohleii in Parnassus, 1645, the anony- 
 mous writer says of him : — ■ 
 
 " And as for him, whose vote he did reject, 
 Upon a cavill against some defect, 
 Hee him assur'd that all the world might know. 
 His art was high, although his nose was low.'" 
 
 It only remains for the Editors to say that the 
 text of the following Plays has been carefully col- 
 lated with that used in every known edition, and 
 they have elected to adopt the earliest, pointing 
 out, when necessary, anything of importance which 
 occurs in the others. 
 
 In concluding, it would be ungrateful were they 
 to refrain from acknowledging the facilities so 
 politely afforded them by William Brenchley Eye, 
 Esq., of the British Museum, and by Thomas H. 
 Jamieson, Esq., of the Advocates' Library, Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
 James Maidment. 
 W. H. Logan. 
 
 Edinburgh, 
 l.s^ March, 187:^
 
 CORKIGENDA. 
 
 Page 22, line 3, /or "complement," read "compliment." 
 23, last line, /or " Tosing," 7-eml. ''to sing." 
 
 31, line 21, /or " anatomy," 7-ead " anotomy." 
 
 32, line 29, after " within," delete full stop. 
 36, line 33, delete full stop after " I'll esteem you." 
 
 48, for " Phenix " in footnote, read " Phcenix." 
 
 49, last line of footnote, /or " Bateman," read " Bat- 
 man." 
 
 70, last line, read " I' th' wind." 
 90, the footnote is applicable to the passage ending 
 with " rheumatic Babe," in line 26. 
 103, line 24, delete " e" in "Avreathes." 
 
 143, line 18, insert " as " after " meant." 
 
 144, line 3, in place of a period after " winks," in.'^ert 
 a comma. 
 
 148, line 17, for " splenative," read " splenetive. " 
 153, line 2, delete "e" in "ruine." 
 
 „ line 9, for "Lores," read "Fores." 
 173, line 29, /or "to," read "too." 
 188, line 2,/or "servant," read "servants." 
 219, line 19, after "doubled," delete comma, 
 231, line 21, delete comma after "dwarf." 
 
 ,, line 22, for "I do not intend," reml "I do intend." 
 240, last line, /or "you must not move," read "you 
 must not mow" — i.e., "make no wry faces." 
 " Sometimes like apes that mow and chatter at 
 me. " — Shakespeare. 
 244, line 9. /or " It," read " Its." 
 250, line 26, /or "you," read "your." 
 271, line 24,/or "Mervollo," read " Mervolle." 
 300, line 27, delete " with."
 
 ALBOVINE, 
 KING OF THE LOMBARDS.
 
 Tlie Tragedy of Alhovhie, King of the Lombards: By 
 Win. D\tue7ia7it ; London^ Printed for R. M., and are to 
 be sold in Saint Dunstanes Church-yard^ 1629. 
 
 The Tragedy of Albovine, King of the Lombards, in 
 " The Works of Sir William Dhivenant, Kt., consisting 
 of those ichich ivere formerly jwinted, and those ichich he 
 design'' d for the Press: now piddished out of the Author''s 
 originall copies. London, Printed by T. N. for Henry 
 Herringham, at the sign of the Blew Anchor, in the Lower 
 Walk of the New Exchange, 1QT3,^^ folio.
 
 The tragedy of Albovine, as printed in the collected 
 edition of Sir "William D'aveuant's Works, London, 
 1673, folio, — is entirely in prose, while the first and 
 only other edition is in blank verse. The prose version, 
 published some years after the Author s death, is for 
 the most part an abridgement of the original play, 
 with a few brief but by no means improving substi- 
 tutions and interpolations. 
 
 Although Kippis' 'Biographia Britaunica,' in men- 
 tioning that in 1629 D'avenant "produced his first 
 play to the world," observes that it was " very well 
 received, and some very honourable recommendations 
 were prefixed when it was printed," there is no evidence 
 to shew that it was ever acted at that time, nor does 
 it appear that the alterations subsequently made, and 
 given to the public upwards of fifty years afterwards, 
 were for stage purposes, as there is no record that even 
 then Albovine was exhibited in a theatre. 
 
 In compai-ing the prose edition of Albovine with 
 that in blank verse, it is palpably evident that the 
 alterations were not the work of D'avenant himself. 
 There is an attempt, but a clumsy one, to render the 
 play more suitable for what is now termed family 
 reading, many poetical passages presumed objectionable 
 having been struck out, sometimes very unnecessarily ; 
 but, as the plot itself tiu-ns upon the machinations of an 
 amorous villain and a lascivious queen, no alteration, or 
 omission of particular passages, could soften the object 
 the Dramatist had in view. 
 
 The publisher of the folio edition of Sir ^^'illiam 
 D'avenant's Works was Henry Herringhara, " at the 
 sign of the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk of the 
 New Exchange." With Herringham, Dryden is supposed 
 to have lodged. At all events they were intimately 
 connected, Dryden writing prefaces and other occasioiial 
 pieces for him. Whether the publisher, or Sir AVilliam's
 
 * ALBOVINE. 
 
 widow, were the abbreviators of the several Plays in the 
 folio edition, is uncertain ; but it is nuich more probable 
 that the alterations were effected by some hireling of the 
 press. 
 
 The Historical source whence the subject of Albovine 
 has been derived, may be found among the lives of the 
 Kings of Lombardy, and reference is made by Lang- 
 baine, and reiterated by Kippis, to Paulus Diaconus 
 de Gestis Langobaixlorum lib. 2, c. 28. Gregorius Espisc. 
 Turonensis Hist. Francorum, lib. 2, c. 28, and to Heylin's 
 Cosmography. " This story is likewise related at large 
 in a novel by Bandello, which is translated by Belle- 
 foiTst ; see Histoires Tragiques, Tom. 4, Nov. 19." 
 
 In the article "Italy," in Dr Heylyn's Cosmography, 
 " improved by Edmund Bohun, Esq.," London, folio 
 1703, " Alboinus," stands as first in the list of "The 
 Lombardian Kings of Italy." He succeeded to the 
 crown A.D. 568 and reigned six years. He came into 
 possession of Lombardy thus : — " The Goths, being 
 the first and last of those barbarous nations who had 
 anything to do in the spoil of Italy, after they had 
 reigned here under eight of their Kings, for the space 
 of 72 years, were at last subdued by Belisarius and 
 Narses, two of the bravest soldiers that had ever served 
 the Eastern Emperors ; and Italy united once more to 
 the Empire in the time of Justinian. But Narses 
 having governed Italy about seventeen years, and being 
 after such good services most despightf ully used by Sophia 
 (never the wiser for her name), the wife of the Emperor 
 justinus, abandon'd the country to the Lombards. For 
 the Empress envying his glories, not only did procure 
 to have him recalled from his government, but sent hitu 
 word ' That slie would make the Eunuch (for such he 
 was), come home and spin among her maids.' To 
 whicli the discontented man returned this answer ' That 
 he would spin her such a web, as neither she nor any of 
 her minions should ever be able to unweave.' And 
 thereupon he opened the passages of the country to 
 Alboinus, King of the Lombards, then possessed of 
 Pannonia ; who coming into Italy -with tlieir wives and 
 children, possessed themselves of all that country wdiich 
 anciently was inhabited by the Cisalpine Gauls, calling it
 
 ALBOVINE. 
 
 by their own names 'Longobardia,' now corruptly 'Loni- 
 bardy.' Nor staid he there, bvit made himself master of 
 the countries lying on the Adriatick, as far as to the 
 borders of ApiUia ; and for the better government of 
 his new dominions, erected the four famous Dukedoms. 
 1 . Of Friuli, at the entrance of Italy, for the admission of 
 more aids if occasion were, or the keeping out of new 
 invaders; 2. Of Turlin, at the foot of the Alps against 
 the French ; 3. Benevent, in Abruzzo, a province of 
 the realm of Naples, against the incursions of the 
 Greeks, then possessed of Apulia, and the other Eastern 
 parts of that kingdom ; and 4. Of Spoleto, in the 
 midst of Italy, to suppress the natives ; leaving the 
 whole, and hopes of more unto his successors." The 
 materials in Albovine's History upon which the dramatist 
 has seized, being of a somewhat meagre description, 
 have undergone considerable augmentation and change 
 ere he could adapt them to stage uses. Heylyn's 
 account is this : — "■ Before his coming into Italy he had 
 waged war with Cunimundus, a King of the Gepidfe ; 
 whom he overthrew, and made a diinking-cup of his 
 skull. Rosamund, daughter of this King, he took to 
 wife ; and being one day merry at \^erona, forced her 
 to drink out of that detested cup ; which she so 
 stomached, that she promised one Helmichild, if he 
 would aid her in killing the King, to give him both 
 herself and the kingdom of Lombardy. Tliis, when he 
 had consented to, and performed accordingly, they were 
 both so extremely hated for it, that they were fain to 
 flee to Ravenna, and put themselves into the protection 
 of Longinus the Exarch, who partly out of a desire 
 to enjoy the hidy, partly to be possessed of that mass of 
 treasure which she was said to bring with her, but 
 principally hoping by her power and party there to 
 raise a beneficial war against the Lombards, persuaded 
 her to despatch Helmichild out of the way, and take 
 him for her husband; to which she willingly agreed. 
 Helmichild coming out of a bath called for drink, and 
 she gives him a strong poyson ; half of which when he 
 had di'unk, and found by the strange operation of it; 
 how the matter went, he compelled her to drink the 
 rest ; so both died together."
 
 6 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Several of the namt^s given to the Dramatis Person a3 
 of Albovine agaiu figure in Davenaut's poem of Gondi- 
 hevt, subsequently written, the scene of which is also 
 laid in Lombardy. But here all vraiseniblance terminates. 
 The plot of the one and the plot of the other is entirely 
 dissimilar. 
 
 The Earl of Somerset, to whoiii this tragedy is dedi- 
 cated, was the once favoured minion of King James the 
 First, but his Lordship's participation, under the influence 
 of his unprincipled wife, in the murder of Sir Thomas 
 Overbmy, was a fact not calculated, it might have been 
 thought, to make him popular with the public, and 
 it creates some surprise why he should have been selected 
 by Davenant as the patron of his iii-st-born. Somerset 
 and his countess were fomid guilty of the murder on tlie 
 25th of ]\Iay 1616. Their lives were nevertheless spared, 
 although the instruments employed by them suffered the 
 pmiishment which ought in justice to have fallen on 
 themselves. 
 
 But our surprise is increased when, after turning 
 to the commendatory verses prefixed, we find that 
 Edward Hyde, subsequently well known as Earl of 
 Clarendon, compHments his "friend" the author, especi- 
 ally because his "wit" — 
 
 "Hath purchased such a patron's name, 
 To deck thy front, as must derive to fame 
 These tragic raptures." 
 
 Thirteen years had elapsed since the conviction of the 
 patron for murder, which in an ordinary case, it may be 
 presumed, might have been forgotten, had it not been 
 historically known ; but it still remained so thoroughly 
 in the recollection of the multitude that, when the son 
 of the Earl of Bedford sought in marriage the only 
 daughter and heiress of the Earl and Countess, the 
 father, for a long time, refused his consent, until Lord 
 Somerset finally obtained it by the sacrifice of a large 
 sum of money. 
 
 It has been generally understood that Lord Somerset 
 wiis very much reduced in circumstances after his con- 
 viction, but this is to a certain extent negatived by the 
 following letter, still in existence : — 
 
 "Sju, — I am to make knowen to vou that there is
 
 ALBOVIXE. / 
 
 some ControTCisie likely to grow betwixt the Executoi-s 
 of JMr George Heryot, his Maicsties late Jeweller de- 
 ceased, and uiyselfe, about a piece of worke which I did 
 some years since intreate him to make for me, which in 
 his life tyme I did earnestly desire to get out of his 
 hands, & to come to an accompt with him for, and spent 
 a great time in solliciting him for that purpose, euer in- 
 tending to give him all reasonable satisfactioun of what- 
 soever should upon a just accompt betwixt vs, remame 
 due vnto him. But it being (partly by reason of his 
 long sicknes, & partly vpon some other cause now too 
 long to be related) from time to time delcyed, I am 
 fallen into the hands of his executors, vnto whom I 
 make this just and reasonable offer. Mv Heryot had of 
 me for the making up of the sword, which I bespake of 
 him, so many diamonds, and so much gold, as I con- 
 ceived would goe neare to finish it ; yet he added there- 
 vnto some stones of his owne, which, with the 
 workmanship he euer told me, he thought would come 
 to about 400 or 500 li: Now in the accompt which he 
 givetli me in of the sword, he valued his stones and 
 workmanshipp at 890, a proportion doubly exceeding 
 that which I ever understood from him they were likely 
 to amount vnto. I am readie to setesfie vnto Mr Heryot's 
 Executors the full value of the things, but herein it 
 is not fitt that he himselfe or I should be our own 
 judges ; I doe therefore make this offer, that the stones 
 put in by Mr Heryot and the workmanshipp may be 
 valued by two persons of judgment in commodities of 
 this nature indifferently chosen betwixt vs, & what they 
 shall value them at I will willingly yeeld vnto, and make 
 good payment. To this proposition I finde the Execu- 
 tors loth to give their assent, not because they hold it 
 not reasonable, but because they say they are persons 
 trusted for the disposing of the money set downe by ^Ir 
 Heryot to charitable vses in the Citye of Edenburgh ; 
 and so canot yeeld to an abatement without the consent 
 of the Citizens of that place. Which consent, that it 
 may the more easily be obtained, I entreat you to re- 
 present vnto them the justncs of my offer ; which I 
 doubt not but they will so well approve as that, by their 
 assent, a friendly and speedy end may be made betwixt
 
 8 ALBOVINE. 
 
 vs. This I desire out of the love I beare to that noble 
 Citye of my Couutrey : for whose sake I will rather buy 
 that I haue bespoken (and haue bene thus long without) 
 at a deare rate (so it be not too deare) then enter into 
 any contestacion about it. So, committing the whole 
 busynes to your approued care and discretion, and en- 
 treating that, so soone as conveniently may be, I may 
 heare from you and receive your auswere. I commit 
 you to God's protection and rest euer 
 
 " Yor assured loving freind, R. Somerset. 
 
 "Cheswicke, 20 Novembr 162-i. 
 
 Addressed on the back : — 
 
 "To my much respected Freind Mr John Hay, 
 Commissioner for the City of Edenburgh, these." 
 
 Somerset from the above letter must, notwithstanding 
 his fall, have retained considerable wealth. His married 
 life was unhappy. His countess died in 1632 ; and his 
 daughter, the Lady Anne, in 1637, became the wife of 
 Lord Russell, afterwards fifth Earl of Bedford, whose 
 father's consent had been purchased by the dower he ex- 
 tracted from Somerset — a noble sacrifice, which reduced 
 the donor to comparative poverty. He died in 1615 — 
 passing the latter years of his existence in retirement. 
 He had prudently removed his daughter, whose conduct 
 throughout life was most exemplary, from under the 
 guidance of her mother, otherwise no amount of money 
 could compensate a husband for the consequences of an 
 education superintended by this English JMessalina. 
 
 Langbaine erroneously states that Albovine was dedi- 
 cated to the Duke of Somerset, and in this strange 
 mistake he has been followed by other writers. The 
 printed dedication to the play itself distinctly indicates 
 the Earl of Somerset, the Dukedom of Somerset not 
 having been restored to the Seymour family until the 
 25th April 1660, when the attainder of the Protector 
 Somerset was reversed. 
 
 Of those who write the verses to the author in 
 commendation of Albovine, Henry Blount, Edward 
 Hyde, W. Habingtou, and H. Howard are the most 
 distinguished. The two EUices and Roger Lort are less 
 known, while Richard Clerk ap})ears to have left no 
 mark, otherwise, upon the sands of time.
 
 ALBOVINE. 9 
 
 Henry Rlouut was born 15th December 1602, at his 
 father's seat at Tittenhauger, in Hertfordshire, and was 
 placed in the free school of St Albans, where he mani- 
 fested an unusual quickness of parts, and was removed 
 to Trinity College in Oxford, and entered a Gentleman 
 Commoner there in 1616, before he was full fourteen 
 years of age. He was in his youth of a cheerful disposi- 
 tion. His acquaintance with tlie ancients, his easy 
 address, his entertaining conversation, charmed everyone 
 and made him a general favourite. In 1618 he took the 
 degree of Bachelor of Arts, and soon afterwards left 
 Oxford, when he went to Grays-Inn and applied himself 
 to the study of the law. 
 
 In 16o-l he resolved to visit the continent, and, after a 
 peregrination of two years, returned to England, Avhen 
 he published an account of his travels in quarto, which 
 passed through two editions. It was then published in 
 12mo and reached eight editions, a proof of its popu- 
 larity, 
 
 Blount in 1638 succeeded his father. Sir Tiiomas 
 Pope Blount, inheriting from him the ancient seat of 
 Blount's Hall in Staffordshire, and a very considerable 
 fortune. On the 21st of March following, he received 
 the honour of knighthood. In 1654, he succeeded on 
 the death of his elder brother to the estate of Titten- 
 hauger. Although he had taken office under Cromwell, 
 he was received with favour on the Kestoration, and was 
 appointed High Sheriff of Hertford in 1661. After this 
 he lived on his estate which was ample, and died on the 
 9th October 1682, when he wanted but four months of 
 fourscore, and was interred in the family vault at Kidge, 
 Hertfordshire. 
 
 He shewed his regard to the Drama by editing and 
 publishing in 1632, the six Court comedies of John Lilly. 
 Wood asserts he was the author of a satire entitled " The 
 Exchange Walk in 1647." He also wrote an Epistle in 
 praise of Tobacco and Coffee, prefixed to a little treatise 
 entitled " Organum Salutis," "penned by Walter Rumsey, 
 Esq., and printed in 1657." His eldest son, Thomas 
 Pope Blount, was created a baronet, January 27th 
 1649. He had two other son,s and a daughter. 
 The youngest son obtained considerable notoriety as
 
 10 ALBOVINE. 
 
 translutor of the two first Looks of Apollonius Tj^anseus 
 in 1680 — tlie notes of wliicli gave great oiTeuce, having 
 been taken from some unpublished Mss. of the famous 
 Lord Herbert of Cherbury. 
 
 " I remember twenty-seven years since," says John 
 Aubrey, in his 'Lives of Eminent Men,' from MSS. in 
 Bodleian Library, &c., vol. ii. part 1, 8vo., 1813, "he 
 inveighed much against sending youths to the Universi- 
 ties; because they learnt there to be debaucht; and that 
 the learning that they learned there they were to unlearn 
 againe, as a man that is buttoned or laced too hard, must 
 unbutton before he can be at his ease. Drunkennesse he 
 much exclaimed agaiust but wenching he allowed." . . . 
 "He is a gentleman of a very clear judgment, great 
 experience, much contemplation, not of very much read- 
 ing, of great foresight into Government. His conversa- 
 tion is admirable. When he was young he was a great 
 collector of bookes as his sonne is now. He was hereto- 
 fore a great shammer — i.e., one that tells falsities not to 
 do aiiy body any injury, but to impose on their under- 
 standing." ... " He is now (168U) near or altogether 
 eighty yeares, his intellectuals good still, and body 
 pretty strong." 
 
 Edward Hyde, subsequently Earl of Clarendon, and 
 Lord Chancellor, would appear from his verses to have 
 been a friend of Davenant at the date of this Tragedy. 
 Whether the friendly intercourse continued is not known. 
 The civil wars in which our Dramatist espoused the 
 cause of King Charles, would of necessity interrupt much 
 intercourse. 
 
 AYilham Habington, Author of the beautiful collection 
 of verses called Castara, written in honour of his wife, 
 was born in November 1 605, and educated in France. He 
 married Lucia a daughter of Lord Powis, and died at 
 HenUp in the County of Worcester, on the 30th of 
 November 1654. He wrote one Dramatic piece, "The 
 Queen of Arragon," folio, 1G40, reprinted in Dodsley's 
 Old Flays. 
 
 Henry Howard was, it is believed, the third son of 
 Thomas, first Earl of Suffolk, and brother of Thomas 
 Howard, created, February 1625-26, Earl of Berkshire, 
 K.G., whose daughter, the Lady Elizabeth, became the
 
 ALBOVINE. 11 
 
 wife of the poet Dryden. Henry married Elizabeth, 
 only daughter and heiress of William Barret of Blore 
 ill the County of Staiford, by whom he had one 
 child, called after her mother, Elizabeth. He died 
 young, and his widow espoused William Cavendish, after- 
 wards Marquis and Duke of Newcastle, by whom she 
 had four sons and four daughters. After her death 
 his Grace took as her successor Margaret Lucas, the 
 voluminous authoress, who has been so graphically 
 introduced by Scott, in Peveril of the Peak. Henry 
 Howard prefixes verses to the folio edition of the 
 dramatic works of Beaumont and Fletcher, London, 
 16-47. Mr Dyce, the accomplished Editor of the 
 latest edition, was not aware that he had previously 
 favoured D'avenant with a similar compliment. See 
 Dyce's Beaumont and Fletcher, vol. L p. xvi., 8vo, 
 London, 1843. 
 
 It is supposed that the writer of the lines signed 
 Thomas Ellice, is Thomas EUis or Ellys of Wyham, 
 Lincolnshire, created a Baronet by Charles IL, June 
 :30th 16G0. The family of Ellis, or Ellys, or EUice had 
 long been settled in the County of Lincoln, and it is 
 mentioned in the Baronetage, vol. iii. p. 89, London 
 1741, 8vo, that his ancestor Anthony, who married a 
 lady of the name of Ascough, built the Parish Church 
 of Great Paunton in Lincolnshire, and their " arms 
 and the inscription [are] yet remaining on the Tower 
 of the church, which is esteemed one of the finest old 
 buildings in that part of England." 
 
 Sir Thomas had one brother, William, a Lawyer of 
 eminence, who was Attorney-General, and one of the 
 Judges of the Court of Common Pleas, in the reign of 
 Charles IL Robert Ellice, who also favoured "his 
 honoured friend " with commendatory verses, may 
 possibly have been another brother. The title failed in 
 the person of Sir Richard, the third Baronet, who 
 although twice married had no family by either of his 
 wives. 
 
 Of Roger Lort there is a brief notice in AYood's 
 Athense, intimating that he was a student at Oxford and 
 the author of a volume of poems which AVood was not 
 so fortunate as to have seen. He was proprietor of Stack-
 
 12 ALBOVINE. 
 
 pool Court in the county of Pembroke, and was, upon 
 the 15th July 1662, created an English Baronet by 
 Charles II. He was twice married. His first wife Hester 
 was a sister of Arthur, Earl of Anglesea, and his second, 
 was Anne daughter of Humphrey Wyndham of Dunraven, 
 county of Glamorgan, who survived him, and married 
 Sir Edward Mansell. Sir Roger died about 1664, and 
 the honom- became extinct in the person of his grandson, 
 Sir Gilbert, who died unmarried at the early age of 
 twenty-eight, 19th September 1693.
 
 Upon the Trar/ic Muse of my Honoured Friend, 
 Mr William D'ayenant. 
 
 OcK stately Tragic Scene (whose high disdains 
 
 Slight humble Muses) courts thy lofty strains : 
 
 And witli ambitious love doth climb thy Bays, 
 
 Whose ample branches her bright glory rays : 
 
 Whence (as from Heaven) her spacious eye doth view 
 
 Of storyed tears, and blood, the heavy crew, 
 
 How low they crawl, while she (far more Divine!) 
 
 Sides great Sejanus, and fierce Catiline : 
 
 Where, in calm virtue, she more sweet doth show 
 
 Than Jove, when he in Golden drops did flow : 
 
 But if in Stygian Lake her veins she steep, 
 
 Her act infernal runs so horrid deep 
 
 As saints Medea : makes th' Herculian rage 
 
 Seem a tame patience to thy ravisht Stage. 
 
 Had stern Achilles' breast such fury known, 
 
 His Story had turn'd Miracle, and grown 
 
 Too much for his great Poet, unless Fate 
 
 Had rackt his spirit up to thy high rate. 
 
 Rash Imitation at thy heavenly Air, 
 
 In tombs faint Envy in a just despair. 
 
 Hen. Blount. 
 
 To his Friend, ISIr William D'avenant, 
 
 Why should the fond ambition of a friend, 
 AVith such industrious accents strive to lend 
 A Prologue to thy worth? Can aught of mine 
 Enrich thy A'olume? th'ast rear'd thyself a Shrine 
 AVill out-live Pyramids ; Marble Pillars shall, 
 Ere thy great Muse, receive a funeral :
 
 14 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Thy Wit hath purchas'd such a Patron's name 
 To deck thy front, as must derive to Fame 
 These Tragic raptures, and indent with Eyes 
 To spend hot tears, t' enrich the Sacrifice. 
 
 Ed. Hyde 
 
 To my honoured Friend, the Author, on his Tragedy of 
 the loarlike Albovixe. 
 
 Great Albovine, whose Fate in war had exit 
 
 His passage through the neighb'ring Earth, and shut 
 
 Large Provinces within his grasping pahn, 
 
 Had sunk from honour in the patient cahn 
 
 Of a long silenc' t Fame, had not thy pen 
 
 (With soaring language) rais'd him up again. 
 
 He vows, by cool Elyzium (from whence 
 
 He breath'd the valiant oath) he would dispense 
 
 With all those joys that court his soul, to fling 
 
 His open'd breast upon the jwis'nous sting 
 
 Of rougher wars, if the triumphant Bays 
 
 Sprung from thy Ink might crown his second praise. 
 
 This is a Poet's height ; conquest by thee 
 
 Describ'd becomes a double victory. 
 
 Rich. Clerk. 
 
 To my deserving Friend, the Author. 
 
 Were those Tragedians, whom the world so fame 
 
 For their ingenious and admired strain, 
 Alive, to see this Poem and thy Name, 
 
 Asham'd they'd die, finding their Lines too vain. 
 
 Were that pure Spring the winged hoof brought forth ; 
 
 Wanting supply, dry'd up, thy abler Pen 
 Would work a second wonder by its worth, 
 
 In making it a running stream again.
 
 ALBOVINE. 15 
 
 Be then assurVl, tliis Tragic strain shall live 
 A pattern for tli' next age to imitate, 
 
 And to the best wits of our times shall give 
 Just cause of envy for thy learned Fate. 
 
 Rob. ElUce. 
 
 To Ms noble Friend, the Author, on his Tragedy of 
 Albovine. 
 
 The gelid North grows warm, and by thy fire 
 
 Cold ignorance exil'd, the Virgin choir 
 
 0' th' soft-hair'd Muses leave the Thespian Spring, 
 
 To tread a fun'ral Measure, whilst you sing 
 
 This Tragic Story. With sad plaints of love 
 
 Fam'd Orpheus charm'd rude heaps, did Cedars move, 
 
 Forc'd Mountains from their station : but thy Fen 
 
 Hath now amaz'd the fiery souls of men. 
 
 Will. Habington. 
 
 To my Friend, Mr D'avenant. 
 
 Scarce home return'd, but straight I find great Fame 
 
 Airmg her wings to spread abroad thy Name. 
 
 One of the Nine (before of me ne're seen, 
 
 Sure sent by thee) assaults my merry si^leen 
 
 With mighty Verse ; and makes me laugh at those 
 
 That are so dull to melt their thoughts in Prose. 
 
 I wish her prosp'rous flight, may she return 
 
 ^Vith happier wings, if happier may be worn. 
 
 My flame is spent. I dare not undertake 
 
 Thy praise, who am but newly for thy sake 
 
 A fierce Poet, and doubtless had been one 
 
 Ne'er but for thee, or else had been unknown. 
 
 Fog. Lorte.
 
 1 G ALBOVINE. 
 
 To his much hoiumixd Frii-i/d, the AUTIIOR. 
 
 IjET not loud Envy's sulpli'rous blasts cast forth 
 Venom'd aspereions on thy noble worth : 
 'Gainst saucy Critics thou need'st no defence, 
 Whose sacred lines, arni'd with sweet eloquence. 
 Are })roof against their censures, w^ho'd proj^hane, 
 With their bold breath, the glory of thy strain : 
 Wise Fame shall sing the praise of thy deserts. 
 And voice thee glorious both in Arms and Arts. 
 Whilst thou, releast from the Wars sad mishaps. 
 Rests in soft dalliance on the Muses' laps ; 
 Those beauteous Ladies' love shall high advance 
 Thy fame, whose worth exceeds my utterance. 
 Their Tragic falls, who in thy Scenes appear, 
 Shall on these Monuments fair Trophies rear 
 Unto their Fame. Thus are thy works become 
 To be to them as their Elyzium. 
 
 Tho. EUice. 
 
 To his ivoTthjj Friend, Mr William D'avenant. 
 
 Hast thou unmaskt thy Muse? And shall the Air 
 
 Bi'eathe on her matchless Fabric '? then repair 
 
 To some soft censure, lest the churlish sense 
 
 Of Ignorance accrues thy recompense ; 
 
 And hoodwinkt Error do surprise the Fame 
 
 Due to thy Story and Verona's name. 
 
 Whose limits Plinies and Catullus bred, 
 
 But in thy Muse her joys are centupled : 
 
 For her invention, truth, rare wit, and state, 
 
 Copper-lac'd Christians cannot personate. 
 
 Her Tragic Scenes, like well-tun'd Chimes i' th' sky, 
 
 Leave Time loud Echoes of thy memory. 
 
 II. Hdirard.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE EARL OF SOMERSET, &c. 
 
 Mv Lord, — You read this Tragedie. and smil'd upon't, 
 that it might live : and therein, your Mercy was divine, 
 for it exceeded Justice. My Numbers I do not shew 
 unto the public Eye, with an ambition to be quickly 
 known (for so I covet noise, not fame), but that the 
 world may learn, with what an early haste, I strive 
 to manifest my service to your Lordship. I have 
 imaginations of a greater height than these, which I do 
 also dedicate to your Lordship. And I shall live in vain, 
 unless you still continue to acknowledge 
 
 Your humblest Creature, 
 
 Uavenant.
 
 THE ACTORS IN THIS TRAGEDY. 
 
 Albovine, King of the Lombards. 
 Paradine, a captive Soldier, his faroiirite. 
 Hermegild, a captive Statesman, the Queen's favourite. 
 Grtmold, a rough old Captain. 
 GoNDiBERT, A Captain, his friend. 
 YOLLTERRI, A Soldier, friend to both. 
 CuNYMOND, A Courtier. 
 
 CONRADE, ) TT- n 
 
 Frollo, } ^'' Companions. 
 
 The Governor of Verona. 
 
 Rhodolinda, Captive, and Queen to Albovine. 
 
 Valdaura, Wife to Paradine. 
 
 Thesina, a Court Lady. 
 
 A Page to Paraxline. 
 
 A Gentleman, A Messenger. 
 
 The Guard, Servants, Attendants, &c. 
 
 The Scene : 
 VERONA.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF ALBOYINE. 
 
 Act the First. — Scene First. 
 
 Enter Paradine, Grimold, Gondibert : tlw 
 dnims ceasmg. 
 
 Parad. Give the word aloud 1 
 
 Grim. Stand. 
 
 Within. 1. Stand ! 2. Stand ! 3. Stand ! 
 
 Parad. Our motion has been swift : Ave out- 
 march time. 
 Verona (which with the morning's dim eye 
 We seem'd to view like landscape afar off) 
 Is our full object now. She must repent ; 
 Our king is steward unto fate ; the world 
 Receive from him their destinies. 
 
 Grim. Sure, the governor sleeps. My lord, is't fit 
 We wait upon such silkworms, crepp'd in avooI '? 
 
 Parad. Since we attain'd the town not liy 
 assault, 
 But composition free ; he shall express 
 Humility enough to meet us at the gate. 
 
 Enter Hermegild. 
 
 GoND. Here comes Hermegild. 
 
 Herm. Hail, young soldier, my noble Paradine ! 
 The king must hold my nature much excus'd, 
 If I do greet his safe approach with love, 
 Less violent than I express to thy rich soul. 
 I am resolv'd thou art in health 
 And favour with thy stars. 
 
 Parad. Ere I return your kind salute, I would 
 After your fair charge enquire. Say the queen
 
 20 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Smiles in captivity, iny Valduura 
 
 Hurts not her health with grief ; then I have heard 
 
 Enough to make me cherish life. 
 
 Herm. Rliodolinda doth become her title 
 And her birth. Since depriv'd of popular 
 Homage, she hath been queen o'er her great self. 
 In this captivity ne'er passionate 
 But when she hears me name the king, and then 
 Her passions not of anger taste, but love : 
 Love of her conqueror : he that in fierce 
 Battle (when the cannon's sulphurous breath 
 Clouded the day) her noble father slew : 
 Our royal master once ; now sunk into 
 His soil ; where, like the lilly wither'd 
 He never shall renev/ his growth again. 
 My memory disturbs my tongue ! your fair 
 Valdaura makes the queen her rare and just 
 Example, and is in patience skilful. 
 
 Parad. Know, Hermegild, no hasty minute 
 pass'd 
 (Since their captivity) wherein I ftxil'd 
 To be a suitor to the king for both. 
 But he's in kindness prompt, and still doth speak 
 Like music, when he Rhodolinda names : 
 You hear 'tis his edict we call her Queen 1 
 
 Herm. Thy vanquish'd country owes unto thy 
 fame 
 A tall pyramid ! the cr.ptiv'd virgins 
 Of our nation shall in their last dirges 
 Sing thy praise with mirth. 0, I could grow old 
 Within thy sight. Something we now must talk 
 Together, and heaven will listen to't. 
 As to the breath of saints 
 
 Parad. I knew we should have use of conference : 
 Which made me beg the leading of the van. 
 The more t' assist our opportune meeting. 
 
 Herm. Afford your cais in piivatc
 
 ALKO VI .%!■:. 21 
 
 Grim. Thougli Paradine look flourishing, and like 
 A tiling new lirnsh'd, a flame of triumph, 
 (As if his father surfeited in some 
 O'er-grown city when he got him) yet he 
 Hath in him seeds of war, bold thoughts, and we 
 1' th' camp esteem him honest too. 
 
 GOND. He is our king's minion, sleeps in his 
 bosom. 
 
 GrIjM. True, and the royal fool greets him with 
 such 
 Ravenous kisses, that you would think he meant 
 To eat his lips. 
 
 GoND. The captive captivates the conqueror. 
 Three moons have not expire! their usual change, 
 Since he was prisoner to the king ; though now 
 His favourite. 
 
 Grim. Th' art too loud ! If thou'lt talk safely, 
 go get 
 A sore throat ; hoarse men speak low. 
 The captiv'd Rhodolinda (whose father 
 All)ovine depriv'd of life and kingdom) 
 Hath Avith such amorons subtlety behav'd 
 Her gesture, that Albovine is now her 
 Prisoner. This martial ])rogress was but made 
 To visit her. She makes him guilty of 
 Idolatry, and knows the thrifty use 
 Of time : as she ascends, her countrymen 
 Must rise. 
 
 GoND. You have call'd that Hermegild her 
 creature ? 
 
 Grim. He was her father's counsellor ; a man 
 Created in the dark : he w^alks in\dsibly; 
 He dwells in labyrinths ; he loves silence ; 
 But when he talks, his language carries more 
 Promiscuous sense than ancient oracles. 
 So various in his shapes, that oft he is 
 Disguis'd from his own knowledge. An cnor
 
 22 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Much incident to human politics, 
 
 AVho strive to know others more than themselves. 
 
 GoND. Observe their complement. 
 
 Grim. Pox o' these French jigs 1 Courtiers 
 always dance. 
 This is to Hermegild mere lechery: 
 This wanton gesture doth obscure 
 Thoughts of such consequence and weight, as 
 
 hang 
 Like plummets on his heart. Paradine is 
 A soft, easy fool, and must be gull'd. 
 
 Herm. my sweet Lord 
 
 Grim. Now the motion * sjDeaks. 
 
 Herm. Such endearments would too much im- 
 j^overish 
 My gratitude : yet, 'tis meet our actions 
 Carry smooth equality; your consent 
 Must further all my suits. You are the king's 
 Jewel, and hang richly in his ear. 
 
 Parad. You are precious unto her, whom loud 
 noise 
 Already calls our queen : fair Ehodolinda ! 
 We may (if they prove natural and kind) 
 Govern the nation that hath conquered us ; 
 Gain our country liberty, and yet 
 Not stray from noble arts : such hopes our free 
 Embraces prophecy. The king ! 
 
 [Loud music. 
 
 Enter Alboyink, Frollo, Conrade, Vollterri, &c. 
 
 Froll. Your troops, sir, are so divided into 
 Mix'd files, that to the city you do march 
 Between thick walls of men. 
 
 Alb. Let my horse-guard bring up the rear. 
 We'll sport 
 With war. We have no use of safety now, 
 
 * The puppet.
 
 ALBOVINE. 23 
 
 But of magnificence. 
 
 VoLLT. Tlie order is already given. It was 
 Your royal will we hasten in our march ; 
 Therefore each squadron double their paces. 
 
 Alb. My boy, I bring thee home my chief 
 trophy : 
 Thou dost delight me more than victory. 
 Retire ; I am in love too violent. 
 My embraces crush thee, thou art but yet 
 Of tender growth • 
 
 Parad. My countryman Avould kiss your royal 
 hands, 
 And then expect no greater happiness 
 Till he arrive in heaven. He hath done your 
 
 Rhodolinda service 
 
 [Presents Hernicg. on his Jcnee to the king. 
 
 Herm. Rhodolinda is your humblest captive. 
 She inserts you often in her prayers. 
 And call'd it my chief duty to present 
 Her true service to your Majesty. 
 
 Alb. Her name doth enrich our language. My 
 boy 
 Can witness that I love her : She makes me 
 Prattle in my sleep. I've drunk mandragora 
 To become drowsy, in hope that I might 
 Dream of her. Rise, and expect honour. 
 
 Enter Governor of Verona. 
 
 Govern. High and sacred Majesty ! Verona 
 Hath unhing'd her wide gates : proud to admit 
 The fate of kingdoms. Our crooked matrons 
 Forget their age : and, as the ragged earth 
 At the spring's warm approach, look fresh, and 
 
 young, 
 To entertain you. Our timorous virgins, 
 With the bold youth, join in one wanton choir 
 To sing your welcome.
 
 24 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Grim. How the spaniel fawns, 'cause he dares 
 not bark ! 
 
 Govern. Th' amorous vine clips not the shady 
 poplar 
 With such regard, about whose mossy waist 
 She hangs a smiling lover. Our city is. 
 By the reflection of your blest approach, 
 Like Pelion deck'd, whom Tython's mistress, 
 Leaving the weeping east, with brightness gilds. 
 There's not a wrinkle left in all Verona, 
 Wherein pale sorrow, or rebellious envy 
 Can find their loathed mansion. Flattering joy 
 Swells big each loyal bosom. All implore 
 You as their safety, who hath hush'd the noise 
 Of discord and loud war. 
 
 Grim. The rascal flatters, as if he had serv'd 
 His prentiship in court. 
 
 Alb. Th'ast done me justice, governor, and 
 know'st 
 The way to make me thankful, but not proud. 
 I understand thou hast with honour'd safety 
 Preserv'd those jewels to thy charge committed, 
 (My Khodoliiida, and my boy's Valdaura), 
 And so increas'd new motives of our thanks. 
 
 Govern. Heaven has made your memory too 
 humble. 
 Thus to record your creature's service. 
 
 Alb. Let now the knotty labourer rust with ease, 
 And aloud proclaim that the upland Boor 
 Eelease his team, and his industrious plough. 
 Let him sing glad los to the rustic 
 Powers that guard his fields, and unto me. 
 
 Govern. It is by you we are. No warlike ram, 
 Nor battering engine forc'd a bloody entrance 
 Through our thick walls. It was the powerful 
 
 breath 
 Of your victorious fame that conquered us.
 
 ALBOVINE. 25 
 
 To tluit we yielded : which, as a rough ]>la.st 
 That posts from the cold Arctic pule, hath borne 
 Before it captiv'd nations. 
 
 Alb. By heaven a good old man; if he be 
 learn'd, 
 I'll have him write my annals. 
 
 Grim. Indeed he looks like a chronicler. 
 
 Alb. Paradine ! Inform him of my deeds. 
 Thou hast bt-held my discipline full of 
 Shape and order, when confusion did oppress 
 The foe, and stifled them in throngs. Hah ! look ! 
 Rhodolinda's come to gild our triumph ! 
 
 Enter Rhodolinda, Valdaura, Thesina, and 
 
 Attendants in mourning. 
 
 Par AD. And my Valdaura too ! let nature shew 
 A third object so delightful, we'll swear 
 She is not old, nor her first materials 
 Wasted, but in creation still retains 
 Her former strength and skill. 
 
 Alb. But why, my beauteous captive, art thou still 
 In sables wrapp'd % 
 
 Rhod. Your stars bid you be happy. My cross 
 fate, 
 Like the raven, croaks a funeral note : 
 This swarthy haliit but paints forth the grief 
 That chains my soul in darkness. And filial love 
 Commands me mourn for him, whom you too soon 
 Depriv'd of life, my conquer'd father. 
 
 Alb. Let his ashes rest 
 At quiet in their urn. His ghost long since 
 Hath wash'd away the memory of his fate 
 In slow-pac'd Loethe. Take me, modest fair. 
 Into thy bosom ; hide me there ! 
 My glad soul, how full is thy content. 
 Now thou fear'd thing, that guid'st the heavenly 
 empire,
 
 26 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Rend all the murmuring clouds, and dart 
 Thy thunder at me : I am safe. 
 
 Rhod. My captivity must needs seem easy, 
 Whilst the conqueror proves so kind. 
 
 Alb. I could gaze thus on thee, till my wonder 
 Did convert me into marble ; and yet 
 My soul would in herself retain a hre. 
 Lively as that which hold Prometheus stole. 
 AX'ere the sea coagulate, and the world 
 Return'd to tli' antick chaos, a blind lump, 
 Thy look would force the warring elements 
 Into a sacred order ; and beget 
 A. harmony like this they now enjoy. 
 
 Rhod. You are too powerful in your speech. 
 
 Alb. Yet Avhen I value thus thy excellence, 
 Let me not forget my own high being. 
 I've humbled all the nations of the earth ; 
 Brought home as spoils the whole wealth of nature : 
 Yet Rhodolinda, nought like thee. Let me 
 Whisper my content, for soft music most 
 Delights the female ear. [They walk aside. 
 
 PaR/VD. Why, my dear Valdaura, dost thou 
 suspect 
 My warm embraces 1 Let hungry death seize 
 On my honour, before it seize on me. 
 If in my breast I entertain a thought unlawful. 
 
 Vald. I esteem you, sir, a friend to virtue, 
 And in that hope would cherish all your love. 
 
 Parad. In thy fair brow there's such a legend writ 
 Of timorous chastity, that it doth blind 
 Th' adulterous eye. Not the mountain ice, 
 Congeal'd to chrj^stal, is so frosty chaste 
 As thy victorious soul, which conquers man. 
 And man's proud tyrant-passion. But I am 
 Too rough for courtship, the soft harmony, 
 Which wanton peace instructs the tongue to make, 
 I have forgot. Trust me, briglit maid !
 
 ALBOVINE. 27 
 
 I love thee dearly. Though I've found thy heart 
 Like peljljhi, smooth but stoney. 
 
 Vald. I've heard my mother say : the curled 
 youth 
 Of Italy wer(! prompt in wanton stealths, 
 And sinful arts. Till time had given me 
 Assurance of your noble thoughts ; 'twas safe 
 To doubt your love. But now I wish I were 
 More worthy, and then would i)rove more liberal 
 Of myself. 
 
 PARiVD. Let me enjoy thy hand ! that moist 
 adamant " 
 That so attracts my soul ! * We will, ere night 
 Her black curtain draws, make complete this love 
 With marriage rites. 
 
 Alb. How now, boy ! Is my interest so decay'd 
 In your young person, that you give away yourself 
 Without my leave 1 
 
 Parad. Humbly on my knee I beg the vulgar 
 Privilege due to all hearts. To love, and not 
 
 enjoy, 
 Is a torture I cannot suffer long, 
 And still remain possess'd with breath. 
 
 Alb. Thou hast sliew'd me physick for my passion. 
 Take him, Valdaura, and be proud ! 'Tis I 
 That love him : nor shall your joys be single. 
 I'll make the number yet more full. This day 
 We'll consecrate to Hymen's use. Behold 
 Your queen, who, though my captive, for her birth 
 And beauty is the first of queens. 
 
 Govern. High heaven increase your joys ! 
 
 * " Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady ; 
 This augiirs fruitfuhiess and hbcral heart — 
 Hot, hot, iind moist." — S/iaiesj.eare's ()t/ie//o. 
 Tlie blood of the goat, as Alex. Ross alleges, does not, as 
 Pliny and others have said, soften the diamond, " yet doth ho 
 not a whit the less believe this assertion as applied to adumuKt.' 
 — Arcana, p. 196.
 
 28 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Herm. And may you live together until time 
 Shall sicken with his age. 
 
 Froll. Conr. Long live Albovine, king of t\w 
 Lombards ! 
 
 Herm. Cry up Rhodolinda too ! 
 
 Froll. Conr. Live Rhodolinda, queen of the 
 Lombards ! 
 
 Alb. Governor ! 'tis our will that you expect 
 Honour and true safety. Your city's love 
 I shall perceive by popular noise, and your 
 Behaviour in this great solemnity. 
 Let the sun smile ; the wind sport with our 
 
 plumes ! 
 This day let sick men too forget to groan — 
 Let all glad hymns in one mix'd concord sound. 
 And make the echoing heavens your mirth rebound. 
 [Exeunt all but G-rimold, FoUterri, Gondibert. 
 
 Grim. The king's head must now convert to 
 rotten wood. 
 
 GOND. "Why, Grimold 1 
 
 Grim. That, court earwigs may live there, and 
 devour 
 His brains. Dost not perceive how they begin 
 To creep into his ears 1 
 
 GoND. Generous souls are still most subject to 
 Credulity. 
 
 Grim. He is a German in his drink : busied 
 With a wanton pride, which his flatterers 
 Admire for mirth, but his friends do pity. 
 
 VoLLT. He should be told his sins. 
 
 Grim. By whom 1 Vollterri, now the king for- 
 sakes 
 The Camp, he must maintain luxurious mouths. 
 Such as can utter perfum'd breath, and these 
 Straight compose a faction, engross his ears. 
 They limit still his conversation. 
 Even as the slow finger of the dial
 
 ALliuVlNE. 29 
 
 Doth in its motion circular remove 
 
 To distant figures : so by a subtle 
 
 Leisure they do prefix the hours, 
 
 "When he must change his rotten parasite 
 
 For one more skilful, Ik^v t' admire, and praise. 
 
 No honest tongue can ever interpose 
 
 To tell him he is mortal. 
 
 GOND. It is the chief misery of jirinces. 
 Ne'er to understand their own crimes, — to sin 
 In ignorance. 
 
 Grim. True, his confessor, that in sight extern 
 A patriarch seems, will gain by flattery, 
 And superscribe unto the king, as to the Pope, 
 His Holiness. But Gondibert, 
 Whom conclaves here in Court do canonize 
 For saints, will scarce admitted be in heaven 
 For angels. 
 
 VOLLT. Now Rhodolinda is become his rival 
 In high sovereignty, she will permit 
 No errors but her own : the king must mend 
 What she mislikes. 
 
 Grim. )Slie gives us leisure to expect 
 Her character. Women make themselves more 
 
 known 
 When they do rule, than when th' obey. 
 
 GoND. Valdaura is enrich'd with a sweetness 
 80 religious, that Paradine must sin 
 In jn'ivate, or need no mercy. 
 
 Grim. Th' ast nam'd her ! though my obdurate 
 sufferance 
 In active war hath ipiite depriv'd me of 
 All amorous gesture ; * though not these forty 
 AVinters have I seen any of her sex 
 But suttlers' wives, who, instead of fillets, 
 Wrap their sooty hair in horses' girts; though 
 My marrow is frozen in my bones, 
 
 * "Tho.io-lits." Fotm.
 
 30 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Yet I melt l)efore her eyes. Wlien I .see her, 
 1 grow proud* below the navel. For she 
 Is none o' th' French nursery that practise 
 The sublime frisk. None o' your jigging girls, 
 That perch paraquitoes on their fists, 
 And ride to the Court like Venus' falconers. 
 
 GoND. Grimold, hoarse men speak low : 
 Thou hast not caught a cold yet. 
 
 Grim. She's none of those that on their heads 
 advance 
 High swagg'ring plumes, like a gay forehorse 
 In a country team. 0, she's worth the tempting ! 
 
 VOLLT. Dost thou so commend her virtues, and yet 
 Wouldst tempt her unto vice '? 
 
 Grim. That's a trick I learnt of the devil. Those 
 That are virtuous need his temptation, 
 The wicked have power enough to damn themselves. 
 
 GoND. Hark how they shout ! Away Grimold, 
 or we 
 Shall lose the triumph ! 
 
 [Shouting within. 
 
 Grim. Eoom for Cuckolds, whose horns are so 
 high, 
 They bore the moon as she frisks in the sky ! 
 
 [Exeimt omnes. 
 
 Act the Second. — Scene First. 
 Enter Grimold, Gondibert, Vollterri. 
 
 Grim. This peace makes me rotten, dusty 
 As a cobweb. I live like a cricket 
 r th' corner of an oven. Pox o' these o'ergrown 
 Cities. To be valiant here is to forfeit 
 The statute : and these furr'd gowns hold 
 
 ♦ The /o//o ha.s : — "I grow as proud and as nimble as lier 
 Paradine. " Then follows : 
 "GoND. Grimold, speak low."
 
 ALBOVINE. 31 
 
 There is no sin so great as poverty. 
 
 GoND. Thou art as mehuichuly as a lean judge ! 
 
 Grim. Ay, or a corrupted officer at the noise 
 Of a parliament. In this division 
 Of unvalued trophies, territories 
 Vast and ample, gain'd partly by my sweat, 
 Not a single acre falls to my share. 
 
 Unter Cunymond, Frollo, Conrade, Servants 
 with a banquet. 
 
 CUNY. Bear back there ! they thrust as if they 
 meant 
 To get me Avitli child 
 
 Froll. You, sirrah ! d'ye get the king's officer 
 With child? 
 
 CoNR. Bear back there ! or we'll put ye to the 
 charge 
 Of surgery 
 
 CuNY. Dispatch, fellows ! 
 
 GoND. Is not that Cunymond 1 
 
 Grim. The same. He is a great astrologer. 
 The mere anatomy* i' tli' front o' th' kalender. 
 You may know where the sign is by some toy 
 Ill's habit, which he removes as the sign 
 Removes. 
 
 CuNY. Frollo, did they enter here by your per- 
 mission ] 
 
 Froll. Not by mine, sir. 
 
 CUNY, Nor yours, Conrade 1 
 
 CoNR. They are men of China, for aught I know. 
 
 CuNY, Then they must out. Gentlemen, pray 
 avoid 
 The presence. 
 
 Grim. 'Sdeath, sir ! d'ye make us your voiderslf 
 
 * '•'Anatomy." Folio. — A skeleton. Jlr Ainsworth, in his ro- 
 mance of Rookwood, uses the word "otomy " in the same sense. 
 
 t Baskets for recei\'ina: trenchers, broken bread, and the 
 debris of a dinner tabic.
 
 32 ALBOVINE. 
 
 VoLLT. Must we carry away your cheesei)aring.s / 
 Thrust your l)odkins forth ! 
 
 GoND. Draw i' th' presence 1 art thou mad 1 
 
 Grim, How he stands ; he is created of stai'cli, 
 And dares not use a boisterous motion 
 Lest he shoukl fall in rumples. 
 
 CuNY. Sir, you may speak like a cannon ! but you 
 Shall either go, or 
 
 Grim. Or what, sir 1 
 
 CuNY. Or stay, sir. 
 
 CoNR. By heaven ! he shall do one, sir- 
 
 Froll. Nay, captain, do not look as if y' had 
 drunk 
 
 Vinegar. You must, or go, or stay, sir 
 
 [Loud hiocking. 
 CuNY. Hey ! we are tumbling in a drum.* 
 Within. Fellows o' the guard, make way there ! 
 Officers 
 
 Open the door . 
 
 CuNY. Bear back there ! Gentlemen ! what d'ye 
 mean 1 
 Pray bear back [Loud music. 
 
 Enter Albovine, Ehodolinda, Paradine, 
 Valdaura, Hermegild, Thesina, &C. 
 
 Herim. Phoebus will be thought more rash than 
 Phaeton, 
 If now he hasten to the west. Sir, this 
 Glorious day merits well a longer age, 
 Than what is limited to all within. 
 Our kalendar. 
 
 Alb. Hermegild, thy free heart adds to our 
 triumph ! ' 
 
 * This phrase, like that known at the time as " Jack Drum's 
 Entei'tainment," meant "ill treatment, or turning- an \in wel- 
 come guest out of doors." — //(i/h'/rcl/'x /'mr. /tIcfi'oiiKri/.
 
 ALP.OVINE. 33 
 
 Grim. Sir, I've some few words I needs must utter : 
 Since my last services in Hungary, 
 You remain on my tally six thousand 
 Ducats : I'm loth to score up still, and pay 
 Myself with my own chalk. 
 
 Alb. Wouldst have thy soul dismiss'd a natural 
 way 1 
 
 Grim. I would not starve ; look like a parch' d 
 anotomy 
 Sewed in a kid-skin. Pay your debts, sir ! 
 
 Alb. I never met with boldness until now ! 
 My courage is quite puzzl'd ! 
 
 Grim. Do your ears blister to hear this 1 My 
 breath is 
 Wholesome. I cannot tipple like a duck 
 In a green pool, nor feed on berries in 
 A hedge, like some lost remnant o' my fathers' 
 Scattered lust. Sir, pay your debts ! 
 
 Alb. Sure thou art some spirit ! I cannot kill 
 thee ! 
 
 Grim. In this division of the lands I help'd 
 To conquer ; I am not furnish'd with 
 A mole-hill for a pillow. 
 
 Alb. Hermegild sat chief in the committee 
 For division of those lands : bid him reward 
 Your service : besides, I mistake the custom, 
 Or 'tis my treasurer's office to pay 
 My debts, not mine. 
 
 Grim. No, sir (thanks to your royal thrift), it is 
 Your office to pay all ; your treasurer's 
 Custom to pay nothing. 
 
 Alb. Do not interrupt my marriage rites ! 
 
 [Thrusts him mmy. 
 
 Grim. I cannot take your reference for payment. 
 
 Alb. Would thou wert dead ! 
 
 Grim. Sir, I'll make my ghost my executor, 
 And walk after death ere I'll lose my money. 
 
 C
 
 34 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Alb. Sit, my Rliodolinda ; this is thy sphere ! 
 In th' absence of the sun we must receive 
 Our hght from thee. Paradine, thy bride expects 
 Thy service. 
 
 Parad. Sh'as an ill bargain on't, to rule one night, 
 And ever after to obey. 
 
 Herm. Captain, though the king be prompt in 
 mercy, 
 Yet hath he so much anger in him, 
 As will express him mortal. 'Tis for your 
 Safety to avoid the presence. 
 
 Grim. I'll bribe your lordship with a Ginny 
 toothpick 1* 
 
 Herm. You must repent this language. 
 
 Parad. He must not, Hermegild ! 
 
 Herm. How, my lord ! 
 
 Parad. These whom you number in your faction 
 Enjoy, by your assistance, proud structures 
 And fertile granges, to maintain their gaudy 
 Kiot. Sir, you had a frail memory, 
 Or a degenerate heart, when you forgot 
 His merit ; might you incorporate those in one, 
 The sordid bulk could ne'er make \xp his shadow. 
 
 Herji. I am prescrib'd my discipline in court ! 
 
 Parad. Grimold, away ! 'tis my desire you leave 
 The presence. 
 
 Grim. I am obedient, sir, to your desire, 
 
 * "Ginny" is a provincial term, signifying a strong service- 
 able article, but, it is surmised, is of more modem date than 
 that of the play. As Shakespeare has said, " I will fetch you 
 a toothpicker from the farthest inch of Asia," it may be that 
 D'avenant proposed to import his from Africa, Guinea just 
 shortly before ha%T.ng begun to shew its wealthy resources, and 
 to trade with England and other countries. Toothpicks came 
 into use as the necessary concomitants of forks, which were im- 
 ported from Italy about 1600, and were popularly regarded as 
 a superfluous article of luxury. In how much more derision 
 were toothpicks held, and those who affected them were charac- 
 terized as conceited coxcombs. The subject formed a butt for 
 the shafts of satire, and was consequently seized upon by Ben 
 Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, and the other wits of the day.
 
 ALBO\aNE. 35 
 
 GoND. 'Slight, thou hast made a brave retreat. 
 
 VoLLT. I look'd Avhen both of us should taste 
 Of immortality. [Exeunt Grimold, Goad. VoIIt. 
 
 Herm. He that iuflam'd this fire will scorch his 
 busy 
 Fingers. My lord, it was unkindly done 
 T' affront my anger thus : but I have hope 
 It is your last fault. 
 
 Parad. I cannot reckon it among my faults. 
 Sir, you involve your meaning in your speech. 
 The world shall find me honest. 
 
 Herm. You are a bridegroom now. 
 
 Alb. Hermegild, make your anger known, 
 For else your frowns will cause your loyalty 
 To be suspected. This night should be as smooth 
 And pleasant, as that to which we owe our bless'd 
 Nativity. 
 
 Herm. Sir, you are great on earth ! I am merely 
 Your creation. My passions do afford 
 Your high delight all sympathy. 
 Old Time hath thrown his feathers from his heels, 
 And slowly limps in's motion to prolong 
 This triumph : but if Paradine affront 
 Hymen, and me with sullen rage, it shall 
 Be call'd my piety to suffer. 
 
 [Rliod. stands up. 
 
 Rhod. Hold ! Your Excellence ought t' excuse 
 my speech ! 
 Wlien your victorious sword depriv'd me of 
 My father, I enter'd to captivity, 
 As to th' oblique shade, where death inhabits. 
 Till j'ou allow'd me Hermegild, who with 
 His high philosophy did make 
 My bondage sweet. My father lov'd him well : 
 He was his noblest servant, and must not 
 For his virtues suffer, until your sacred tongue 
 Forbid me share with you in sovereignty.
 
 36 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Alb. Boy, this was a bold crime. You must 
 not give 
 Me cause to chide my fond heart. Valdaura, 
 Urge him to proffer friendship unto 
 Hermegild ; you are powerful o'er his nature. 
 I have deserv'd to lose my chief prerogative 
 
 Vald. I am too timorous to deal with anger 
 If he prove stern of nature, my marriage 
 Is my funeral. My lord ! 
 
 Herm. Paradine, I've an humble love. I will 
 Present it first to your refusal 
 
 Parad. I want your phrase to make my man- 
 ners seem 
 Less rugged. All that is love I cherish 
 With such religious heat, as my Valdaura 
 Claims, since our young nuj^tial 
 
 Alb. This embracement is a sacrifice 
 To thee my queen ; whose deity 
 Consists of love. Sit, and with your 
 Persons straight intrench the table. Some wine ! 
 Fill in my German plate ; I'll drink as when 
 I'm hot with victory. This to my bride 
 
 CuNY. Sound high ! 
 
 Alb. More wine and noise ! Now, boy, I cele- 
 brate 
 Valdaura's health 
 
 CuNY. Bid their instruments speak louder. 
 They're afraid to wake the neighbours. 
 
 Alb. This is legitimate blood of the rich 
 Corsick grape : precious as thy tears, 
 My royal girl, when thou ai-t penitent 
 To heaven. [JFhilst the king lalks, they drinTc. 
 
 Herm. Spare me in the next, and I'll esteem you. 
 Courteous ; so much wine will put me to the charge 
 Of physic. 
 
 CuNY. Your lordship owns it as a prime 
 virtue
 
 ALIJUVINE. 37 
 
 Alb. Shall the world bleed, but frown, and 
 thou renew'st 
 A chaos. Malign the pride of some far 
 Eastern queen, whom travellers belie, 
 And I will forage there like loud thunder ; 
 Or like the northern wind upon the main, 
 Where lazy hulks are toss'd like chips. 
 
 Ehod. I merit no such compliment. 
 
 Alb. I'll do't. 'Tis thought I am immortal. 
 The chief of my great ancestors, that made 
 A wild incursion o'er this fertile soil, 
 Was but a type of me. More wine ! — Thy breath 
 Is as the smoke of spices. I taste thy 
 Melting lips, and straight ingender kisses. 
 Heart ! boy, you are too ravenous. 
 
 Parad. I ever held your Majesty my best 
 Example. Kisses nimbly gather'd 
 The faster grow. 
 
 Herm. The Lombards use to share this sport ! 
 
 [He kisses Thesina. 
 
 Alb. Is not your name Pigwiggin 1 
 
 CuNY. Pigwiggin ! your Grace was wont to 
 call me 
 Cunymond : I am no fairy. 
 
 Alb. Nor I the king of fairies. 'Slight, sir, d'ye 
 Present me with a cup made o' th' bottom 
 Of an acorn, or Queen Mab's thimble I 
 Fill me a bowl, where I may swim 
 And bathe my head, then rise like Phoebus from 
 The ocean, shaking my dewy locks. 
 A health to Caesar's memory. Boy, do me 
 Justice, or thou afront'st my triumph ! 
 
 Parad. Conrade, the king will drown us all ! 
 
 CoNR. Y'have now, sir, but the moiety of Ids 
 draught. 
 
 Rhod. Though fame lends you licr truinjtct, 
 gives you lea\ p
 
 38 ALBOVINE. 
 
 To speak your own praise, you cannot utter more 
 Than my belief shall warrant. 
 
 Alb. Now thou whisper'st like the amorous lute ! 
 I am the broom of heaven ; when th' world grows 
 
 foul, 
 I'll sweep the nations into th' sea, like dust. 
 Thy father was magnanimous, and great 
 King of the Girpides.* Yet his title 
 Sat not so nobly on him as my conquest. 
 Know, his unkind fate was his chief glory : 
 For it was I that slew him ; and thou his 
 Captiv'd daughter art my queen. 
 
 Rhod. Sir, if you continue this narration, 
 I shall weep. 
 
 Alb. Do, weep ! then on my heart-strings I will 
 thread 
 Thy tears instead of pearl : such a wealthy 
 Bracelet Jove would present unto his queen ; 
 And she tuck up her sleeves to shew her gaudy 
 
 wrists. 
 More wine ! bring us the bowl of victory. 
 
 [Exit Cunymond ; Paradine kneels. 
 
 Parad. Sir, you engag'd your royal word, never 
 To present that fatal object. 
 
 Alb. Paradine, do not resist my pleasure. 
 I'll crush thee into air. 
 
 Parad. I am in my ambition virtuous. 
 If I desire t' expire a sacrifice 
 To loyalty. Sir, ruin what you made, 
 But do not violate your vow. 
 
 Alb. Hence ! I shall delight in fury ! 
 
 Enter Cunymond, icith a sJcuU made into a driuhing 
 
 hoivl. 
 
 Welcome, the horrid trophy of my chief war ! 
 Rhodolinda, I'll try thy fortitude. 
 
 * Gepidse.
 
 ALBOVINE. 39 
 
 This was thy father's skull : thou shalt pledge a 
 
 health 
 Unto his ghost. [He drinks : all rise up. 
 
 Rhod, fatal ! my eyes shrink within my brow ! 
 I gather agues like the spring, and tremble 
 Like the unlick'd lamb, newly yeaned upon 
 A sheet of snow. 
 
 Vald. Hide me, Paradine ! the object doth so 
 Penetrate, that when I wink I spy it 
 Through my lids. 
 
 Alb. Tame, feeble soul ! will she not pledge 
 What we do celebrate 1 Eeturn her person 
 
 CuNY. Madam, the king 
 
 Ehod. The king's a tyrant ; and thou his slave. 
 
 [Strikes him, and Exit. 
 
 Froll. That's a favour, signior. 
 
 CuNY. I wear it as a jewel in my ear. 
 
 Parad. Fly, dear Valdaura ; sweeten her censure 
 Of this act, and mediate for the king. 
 
 Vald. Thesina, pr'thee help me in discourse ; 
 My wonder, wench, doth so disturb my speech, 
 I fear I shall grow dumb. 
 
 Thes. The work is pious we attempt. 
 
 [Exeunt Vald. Thes. 
 
 Her. The harmony of your sweet tongue is his 
 Best physic : divorce him from those black thoughts, 
 Whilst I employ my utmost skill to win 
 The queen to his embraces. She's great of soul, 
 And may determine what my fond heart laments 
 To prophesy. 
 
 Parad. Y'are my best countryman, kind and 
 loyal. [Exit Herm. 
 
 Alb. So pale and timorous ! I'll sooner couple 
 With a mandrake, and beget groans.* 
 
 * The mandrake grows like lettuce, but its leaves are of a 
 darker green. The flowers are purple, and the root for the most 
 part forked. The groans or shrieks mandrakes are supposed to
 
 40 ^ ALBOVINE.. 
 
 ParAd. My royal lord, — 
 
 Alb. Hah ! am I alone ] have they all left me ? 
 Where is my empire 1 Do I govern in 
 The vacant air ? 
 
 Parad. Sir, am I lost unto your memory ] 
 You were wont to trust my service : the way 
 Unto your couch lies here 
 
 Alb. None shall be proud but I. My smiles 
 revive 
 The dead : but when I frown, the living straight 
 Melt into Ghosts. 
 
 CuNY. Lights for the king there ! 
 
 Parad. Cunymond, you are too oflScious. The 
 king's 
 Departure must be private, [Exeunt Alb. Parad. 
 
 Froll. The king is light enough himself. 
 He needs no torches. 
 
 CuNY. And heavy enough ; for he seems to reel 
 With his own weight. 
 
 Con. No masks ! no epithalamion now ! 
 Call for a bone-setter, for time hath sprain'd 
 His feet, and goes a^\Ty. [E:ceu7it omties. 
 
 Enter Ehodolinda, Hermegild, 
 
 Rhod. Hermegild ! a general eclipse 
 In nature would not seem so horrid ! 
 To cut those cordial strings which Hymen had but 
 newly tied. 
 Herm. Ay, there's the horror ! whilst his vows 
 sat warm 
 Upon liis lips ; his breath not mingled yet 
 With cooler air ; thus to perturb by stern 
 Practice your sweet rest, was worse than perjury. 
 
 emit when pulled, are probably similar to the sound made by 
 parsnips, liijuorice, erJ^lgium, and other plants, when subjected 
 ni a like process. Albertus Magnus affirms that mandrakes 
 repr««Bnt mankind, with the distinction of either sex.
 
 ALBOVINE. 41 
 
 Ehod. To present my royal father's skull, 
 In drunken triumph. 
 
 Herm. Take heed ! you will distract your 
 memory. 
 There's a record time strives to lose ; and fame 
 To hide beneath some oblique fold in her 
 Thick volume, as loth to discredit all 
 Mankind. Your father valued you next to 
 His interest in heaven. I've seen the good 
 Old king search for his picture in your eyes ; 
 Then 
 
 Rhod. No more ; patience is sinful now. Thou 
 art 
 Deeply read and wise : instruct me to be bold, 
 For Albovine hath taught me to be cruel. 
 
 Herm. Y'are now by holy church incorporate ; 
 Therefore divinity forbids me use 
 My natural motions. Howe'er I think 
 It fit, you give him direful cause soon to 
 Repent : repentance sure is physic for his soul. 
 
 Enter Para dine, Valdaura. 
 
 Paradine and's young bride ! your Excellence 
 Shall please that we retire : whil'st I disguise 
 My kind gesture, and seem to flatter in 
 The king's behalf 
 
 Parad. To bed, soft modesty ! I will myself 
 Deliver to the queen the king's intent. 
 
 Vald. Sir, the king is cruel. Should you 
 prove so 
 To me, I'd soon distill my soul to tears, 
 And weep an ocean deep enough to drown 
 My sorrows and myself. 
 
 Parad. 'Twere stern guilt to doubt my nature. 
 Fair saint. 
 To bed. I long to lose my youth in warm 
 Embraces ; and ere the pearly morn appear
 
 42 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Make tliee a teeming mother. To bed ! With winged 
 
 haste 
 Expect my presence. [Exit Valdaura. 
 
 Herm. How smooth appears the brow of youth ! 
 
 Parad. Hail, Ehodolinda ! the royal mistress 
 Of this night. Thus Albovine, our great king, bade 
 Me say, Y'are dearer to his eyes than light. 
 Though every bride may claim from Hymen 
 Privilege to rule her lord, till Hesperus 
 Appear and cancel her brief charter. 
 Yet he doth humbly beg you'll not infringe 
 The Lombards' custom, whose virgins never vow 
 A continence the nuptial night. 
 
 Ehod. I yet want your meaning. 
 
 Parad, 'Tis his chief hope that you will straight 
 expect 
 His person in your bed. 
 
 E.HOD. How ! lye with him % I'll sooner choose 
 a mansion 
 In a sepulchre : there commit incest 
 With the raw remnant of my father's bones. 
 Sooner embrace an airy incubus ; 
 Mingle limbs with some ulcerous cripple, 
 Able to infect an hospital. 
 
 Parad. take heed ! take heed, fair majesty ! 
 let not 
 His rash sin provoke you to intend so dire 
 An abstinence, ere yet the wine hath lost 
 Th' unruly operation. The king disclaims 
 His wanton pride, and mortifies himself 
 With sullen grief 
 
 Ehod. Canst thou suspect I will prove inconstant 
 Td) what in cold temperance I determine 1 
 
 Parad. Heaven avert you should approve your 
 error. 
 
 Ehod. I'll kneel, and vow with all solem- 
 nity
 
 ALBOVINE. 43 
 
 Hekm. hold ! 'twere black imi^iety in us 
 To suffer such a horrid crime. You may 
 Inform the king of my religious loyalty. 
 Already I have us'd persuasive speech 
 To reconcile this odds : but she grows wild, — 
 Eepugnant to all mercy. 
 
 Parad. As you esteem your royal self, or us 
 Wlio, when kinder planets rul'd, were servants 
 To th' unhappy king your father ; cherish 
 No more this anger in your breast, lest time 
 Afford it growth and violence, till it 
 Disturb the world. 
 
 Herm. He counsels like a sacred oracle. 
 
 Parad. I will inform the king, your continence 
 You only celebrate to this black night. 
 And give him hope that you'll hereafter smile ; 
 His kind enticements meet with equal heat 
 And fertile love. Though I'm unhewn and shap'd 
 In^war, this softens all my faculties 
 
 Ehod. Stay, Paradine ; didst thou not name my 
 father? 
 
 Parad. I did with a devout remembrance ! 
 
 Rhod. And thou know'st how thy good country 
 suffers 1 
 
 Parad. I think on it, and my heart hangs heavy 
 On its strings ; galls them Avith its sullen weight. 
 
 Rhod. Hermegild oft receives certificate 
 From some in bondage there, which writ in 
 
 prose, do, 
 I' th' reading, into verse dissolve : so sad 
 The business is, so fit for elegy. 
 
 Herm. So sad a requiem yet was never sung, 
 Though the hoarse raven, and the whistler * shrill, 
 The howlet and the evening dorr, made up 
 
 * The whistler is the curlew or whaiip, and the howlet the 
 owl. The dorr, like the beetle, being sheath- w^inged, makes a 
 noise as it flies.
 
 44 ALBOVINE. 
 
 The fatal choir. The young men there are yok'd 
 In pairs, and stretch their sinews in a team, 
 To draw the wealthy harvest to the Grange, 
 Where th' insulting foe resides. The aged, 
 Heretofore in purple cloth'd,— that dispos'd 
 Of law and justice, are now sewed up 
 In dunghill clouts ; and dwell on parched hills. 
 To tend the flocks, whose fleece the victor wears 
 In gaudy triumph. 
 
 Parad. harsh captivity ! Our country groans ! 
 Till now I thought the conqueror 'gan to ease 
 Their bondage, not add to the weight of their 
 Compell'd burdens. 
 
 Rhod. The king's a stern tyrant. 
 
 Parad. Yet he hath us'd me still with gentle 
 power, 
 Ta'en me from the cold earth, and warm'd me in 
 His bosom ; and Hermegild has full cause 
 To bless his bounty. But you, now our queen, — 
 He values next to heaven ; howe'er this rash 
 Error strives to disgrace his love. We are 
 His captives too ; heretofore not heeded 
 By our stars ; though we now grow tall with titles 
 And his favour. 
 
 Herm. My lord, the king is kind ! Our memories 
 Were frail should we forget what hath so much 
 Pertain'd unto our knowledge. I'm so fond 
 O'er my religion, I dare not taste 
 Ingratitude : yet give me leave to say 
 You may mistake his love unto the queen. 
 The dry Tartar, who yokes his female's neck 
 With rusty iron, not with carcanets 
 Of threaded pearl ; whom he preserves for j^hysic 
 More than increase, will, the first night of their 
 Conjunction, feast her in's embroader'd tent ; 
 Call her sovereign, and, like some amorous wind, 
 Sport with her liair.
 
 ALBOVINE. 45 
 
 Rhod. But my nuptial the king did celebrate 
 In Golgotha, where skulls and dusty bones 
 Inhabit. 
 
 Hekm. Y'are skilful in the deeds that appertain 
 To strength and fury; but they that aim 
 At victory in Court must practise smooth 
 And subtle arts. Wise favourites do walk 
 I' th' dark, and use false lights. Nay, oft disguise 
 Their breadth and stature ; seem lesser than they are : 
 For know, the slender worm or niml^le grig 
 May wriggle down into th' oblique and low 
 Descent o' th' narrow hole, whilst th' o'ergrown snake 
 Peeps at the brim, but ne'er can view the bottom. 
 
 Rhod. Think on thy country, Paradine ! Is there 
 In story no mention of some great soul 
 That did his country prize above his own 
 Mortality, and died to gain his nation freedom 1 
 
 Herm. The noble Brutus, for his country's health, 
 Made Cpesar bleed ; Cassius was heroic too, 
 And had in war loud fame, which he increas'd 
 By mingling in this act. 'Tis wrought with skill 
 And apt leisure. His thoughts grow numerous. 
 And engender horrid sliapes, such as fright 
 His fancy. 
 
 Rhod. Paradine, good night ! 
 
 Herm. Hymen and your bride will blame your 
 tardy 
 Service. Sweet lord, a thousand times good night. 
 
 [Ex£imt Herm. mid Rhoclolhida. 
 
 Parad. False unto me ! when thunder wakes 
 the dead. 
 When the sky looks swai-thy ; the clouds like ink 
 In water poured ; when the earth seems to stand 
 As in a gloomy shade. When the wind blows 
 Till it grows hoarse ; till it convert 
 And sprinkle seas even to a dew, then I 
 Shall try the king, and fathom his wide soul.
 
 46 ALBOVINE. 
 
 If he start, complain of his mortality, 
 
 Kneel oft, and pray aloud, as heaven 
 
 Were deaf : if thus, I will conclude him false. 
 
 For horrid storms that tyrants waking keep, 
 
 Do rock the noble conscience safe asleep. [Exit 
 
 Act the Third.— Scene First. 
 Ente7- Rhodolinda, Valdaura, Thesina. 
 
 Vald. I knew your Excellence did visit me 
 For mirth and laughter. 
 
 Rhod. So early up "? your lord is temperate. 
 
 Thes. I should like their tempers better, if she 
 Were down, and her lord up. 
 
 Vald. Fye, Thesina, your tongue's unruly. 
 
 Rhod. The morning might have shewn me too 
 for mirth, 
 Had not the false king made the night so sad. 
 Black fancy fly ! 
 
 Thes. She moves as she were siek, this Finnish 
 has 
 Much weakened her. 
 
 Rhod. Dost thou call't a skirmish 1 
 
 Thes. Ay, madam, a French skirmish; where 
 th' onset 
 Is hot and fiery, but the retreat cold and tame. 
 
 Enter Hermegild. 
 
 Herm. Madam, the king ! — 
 
 Rhod. Hah ! 
 
 Herm. He greets your Excellence in a smooth 
 
 phrase. 
 And begs you will permit his early visit. 
 
 Rhod. I'ld rather lose my eyes than 'see him. 
 Vald. (kneeling) When you did triumph in your 
 
 father's Court,
 
 ALBOVINE. 47 
 
 My entreaty then had power to alter 
 Your commands ; reward my young service 
 With kindness to yourself. When the tall 
 Cedar falls, with burly weight it strikes 
 The neighbouring shrubs low into the ground ; 
 So we, that spring like rushes near your root, 
 Must in your death receive a funeral. 
 
 Ehod. AVhat's this 1 D'ye moralise 1 
 
 Vald. The king may have his anger Avarranted. 
 For heaven forbids such wild division 
 'Tween those whom holy church unites. 
 
 Ehod. Hark ye, Thesina ! She has been gos- 
 sijiing 
 With the holy sisters : she preaches to me 
 Of matrimonial zeal. Troth, Valdaura, 
 If thy husband do infuse such schism, 
 I'll practise a divorce, 
 
 Thes, We court ladies grow so squeamish after 
 We have tasted man. Your majesty may 
 Much profit her behaviour, if you 
 Awhile divide her from her lord. 
 
 Herm. So soon ? Ere time permits them second 
 Their embraces 1 
 
 E.HOD. Ay, Hermegild. If those embraces do 
 Include such high delight, such rhapsody; 
 She makes me envious then, since all my hopes 
 Are widowed by the king. To night, Valdaura, 
 You are to sleep beneath my roof. This I 
 Impose as a command. [Exeunt Ehod., Thesina. 
 
 Herm. Is not this a harsh compulsion ? 
 
 Vald, Sir, I Avillingly obey it. But as 
 Y'are noble, use your ablest skill t* instruct 
 The queen how of her anger to dispose 
 A safer way than 'gainst the king. 
 
 Herm. Alas ! I'd rather cut my eyelids off 
 To prevent sleep, than lose one minute that 
 Could advantage a design so pious.
 
 48 ALBOVINE. 
 
 And be it part of your kind cliarity 
 
 T' endear me to your lord. 'Tis all the pride 
 
 In my ambition to do him ser\ace. 
 
 Vald. Sir, he already knows your worth, and 
 thinks 
 Your friendship precious. [Exit. 
 
 Hekm. I kiss your fair hands. The king already 
 come] 
 I must seem pensive as the night. 
 
 Enter Albovine, Paradine, Cunymond, Frollo, 
 
 CONRADE. 
 
 Alb. She's lost, my boy ; blown from my fist ; 
 her wings 
 Have gather'd wind, they fly (like those of Time) 
 Swiftly forward, but never back return. 
 
 Parad. Sir, I have hope she will repent this 
 breach 
 Of duty, and court your royal smiles again. 
 
 Alb. Is it a sin to drink 1 Nature has given 
 To fishes a prerogative, greater 
 Than we enjoy. They can ever tipple 
 And not be drunk. 
 
 CuNY. Fishes are dumb. They never fox them- 
 selves with talk. 
 
 Alb. Slave ! thy mirth is treacherous ! Paradine, 
 Thou hast consum'd to-night the wealth of love ; 
 Wasted thy lips in moist kisses, embraced 
 A warmth that would give life to marble. 
 Whilst I (like the solitary Phcenix) 
 Expect no heat but in my funeral flame, 
 And stx'ive t' engender of myself.* Yet, boy, 
 
 * " Phenix is a bird, and there is but one of that kind in all 
 the wide worlde, therefore ignorant men wonder thereof. . . . 
 fr^he is without make, and liveth iii hundred or v hundred yeares ; 
 when the which yeares be passed she feeleth hir owne defaulte 
 and feeblenesse, and maketh a nest of sweet sm el lintr sticks," 
 into which, after the summer sun has set it on tire, "she
 
 ALBOVINE. 49 
 
 Thou canst not make me envious ; thou art more 
 Delightful than my Rhodolinda's smiles. 
 Let me survey those blue circles : his lids 
 Fall down as if weighty plummets hung on 
 Their fins. Thou art not temperate. Preserve 
 Thy dear eyes. Love was pictured blind, because 
 
 It makes men blin 1, I hug thee as my health 
 
 Pa RAD. [aside] He bruis'd me in his arms. Can 
 love express 
 Such violence and yet be false 1 Hermegild 
 Still Avhispers in my ear, the king doth hate 
 Thee, Paradine. But Hermegild is read in all 
 The arts of court, and strives perhajis 
 My sense to poison with lean jealousy. 
 
 Herm. Sweet lord ! y' appear blushing like the 
 morn ! 
 Something your bride and you have done t' in- 
 crease 
 The number of the worthies. 
 
 Parad. He courts me too ! I want a perspective 
 To draw these distant figures near my sight. 
 I ne'er shall sleep again. 
 
 Alb. Hermegild, thy aspect shews ominous ! 
 How thrives our embassy 1 
 
 Herisi. I have consum'd my breath till I grew 
 faint. 
 And wept to invite her mercy; but tears 
 Were spilt like water in the forge, only 
 T' inrage the fire. She doth abjure your visit. 
 Alb. Harsh, iron, nature ! 
 Herm. [aside] The king seems fettered in his 
 limbs ; he wreaths 
 His arms as if he meant to bruise his heart. 
 
 commcth wilfully, and is there burned to ashes, and within 
 three dais a little wornie is gendered in the ashes, and waxeth 
 little and little, and taketh feathers, and is shapen and turned 
 to a bii-d." — Bateman upon Bartkolome. 1582, Folio. 
 
 D
 
 50 ALBOVINE. 
 
 And Paradine doth find my charms predominant. 
 Alb. He that drinks forfeits his mortality ! 
 
 Enter Grimold. 
 
 Grim. How, sir, must we not drink 1 
 
 Alb. Soldier, to keep thy bladder moist, I will 
 Permit thee gape i' the morning's face, and catch 
 Her mizzling tears. 
 
 Grim. If youll extirpate this vice of drinking, 
 Give order for a privy search i' th' ocean ; 
 There dwell the greatest drinkers. The whale, sir. 
 Drinks deep ; let's hale * her on shore, and impound 
 
 her 
 In a cistern. 
 
 Alb. Good ! we will embark for sea. 
 
 I press thee up for this employment. 
 
 Grim. Stay, sir, ere I engage myself in new 
 Services, pay me for my old. You rest 
 Upon my ticket six thousand ducats ; 
 And I have not seen your Majesty's face 
 In any other metal, but your own 
 Flesh and blood these three months. 
 
 Alb. Thou grumblest like a grey wolf 
 
 Grim. 'Tis then for hunger, sir. 
 
 Herisi. Captain, you mistake the king : He's 
 loyal 
 As his blood, and liberal as the sun 
 That shines on all. This unruly breath, where 
 The city meet in council, might perhaps 
 Blow their purse-strings loose, so fill the Exchequer, 
 And then you shall number your pay with your own 
 Fingers. 
 
 Grim. I will outroar thunder, or the cannon ! 
 Must they still walk in wealthy furs, whilst men 
 
 * To drag violently. 
 
 " The plebeians have got yoxir fellow tribune, 
 And hale him up and down." — Shakespeare.
 
 ALBOVINE. 51 
 
 Of merit here are cloth'd in cal;)bage leaves ] 
 
 Parad. Grimold, you endanger your friends. 
 
 Grim. My lord, give losers leave to speak. I've 
 lost 
 My youth and blood i' th' wars, and I want food. 
 A reverend ass bears my wife and her young eggs 
 In paniers up and down the streets. I travel 
 Like a Tartar, with all my family 
 About me. Nay, nay, nay 1 you would be gone 1 
 
 Alb. Art thou not yet dead 1 
 
 Grim. You must not move till y'have paid me. 
 I know 
 You may be angry with more safety than I. 
 Bid some colossus of your guard cleave me 
 With his falchion ; yet I shall steal a passage 
 O'er the black river when Charon slumbers, 
 And fright your grace. 
 
 Alb. I dare not strike thee, old man, lest thou 
 
 Shouldst fall to dust, and choke me. 
 
 Grim. Good king, pay me. I love thy grace : 
 And will fight for thee whilst I've motion left 
 To stir a feather. My want constrains me to't. 
 By this hand, I'm fain to eat bran and parsley 
 Like a tame rabbit. 
 
 Herm. Lend me your ear, captain ! 
 
 Grim. You'll entice me now to enter into 
 bond ? 
 
 Herm, You look indeed like a young heir. 
 Well, sir, 
 Value me according to my true rate. 
 I am your friend. You make ill choice of hours 
 For help of your design. The king hath now 
 Sad and tumultuous thoughts about his heart. 
 
 Grim. Great men are always sad, when they 
 
 Should pay their debts. 
 
 Herm. Sir, you interpret ill. Grow more solier, 
 Then cliallenge all my power in your behalf.
 
 52 ALROVINE. 
 
 Grim. He that receives a kindness from the 
 devil, 
 Shall be sure to lose by his gains. 
 
 CuNY. Captain, you should choose a luckier 
 minute : 
 The king is now in love. 
 Grim. With Avhom ] 
 Froll. With the queen. 
 
 Grim. In love with his own wife ! that's held 
 incest 
 In Court : variety is more luscious. 
 
 Alb. Be powerful in thy speech, my Paradine, 
 Yet gentle too. She is the star that rules 
 My faculties. 
 
 Parad. The queen will bless your temperance, 
 and repent. 
 Hermegild is too busy ; he must be more 
 At leisure, and I more active. [Exit Parad. 
 
 Alb. Hermegild, wear thy senses near us 
 
 Grim. Your majesty has a frail memory 
 
 To forget me so soon 
 
 Herm. You'll forfeit me, and the king's mercy ! 
 away ! [Exeunt Alh. end Herm. 
 
 Grim. 'Tis no piece of unkindness to wish thee 
 In hell, for all thy friends dwell there. Th'ast none 
 Upon the earth. Gentlemen, Avill you be open 
 to me ? 
 CuNY. In all parts, sir, but our purses. 
 Grim. Draw near ! let us communicate our 
 hearts ! 
 Does not that wealth, which you disburse for 
 
 powders, 
 Perfumes, clothes, and physick for the face, 
 Return with gain 1 
 
 Froll. Expound your riddle, sir. 
 Grim. Have you not each a mistress that main- 
 tains
 
 ALiiUVlNE. 53 
 
 You in expense caud riot 1 Hah ! fame gives 
 It out, you smooth gallants are much obliged 
 Unto the sins of ladies. 
 
 CuNY. Conrade can prattle somewhat, sir, to that 
 Purpose. 
 
 CoNR. Good faith, you do me wrong. I've worn, 
 sir, 
 A lady's slipper in my hat, or so. 
 Frollo is the man that gets their pendants, 
 Armlets, rings, and all the toys of value. 
 
 Froll. Excuse me, sir; not I. Signor Cuny- 
 mond 
 Has all the voice at Court. We know, sir, when 
 And where a certain duchess, sir ; — 
 You copulate with titles, you. 
 The heralds are your bawds. 
 
 CuNY. Hold ! grow particular in such a theme as 
 this ! 
 
 Grim. Well, gentlemen, I must be furnish'd 
 too. 
 
 CuNY. With a mistress ? 
 
 Grim. Yes, encjuire me out some old land-carack. 
 I am content to stretch my loins for a 
 Pension. 
 
 CuNY. At what rate do you value yourself? 
 
 Grim. I was never pawn'd, sir. 
 
 CUNY. How, captain ! 
 
 Grim. In this lean age we value all things 
 According to the rate they pawn for. 
 
 Froll. But we must know how much you would 
 receive 
 In price of your activity 1 
 
 CoNR. You must never stray after fresh pas- 
 ture. 
 
 Grim. Some eight ; ay, ay, eight hundred crowns 
 a-year will do't. 
 I am desirous of no more, than will
 
 54 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Maintain my genet and my dwarf. * 
 
 CuNY. Your excuse procur'd, 'tis fit you now tell, 
 How far in your defence I may engage 
 My honour : is not your flesh a little tainted ! 
 Are you not unwholesome 1 
 
 Gkim. death, no ; no, no, no ! Do not think 
 I have 
 A conscience so ill-bred to put myself 
 Upon a lady, when unfit for the afiair. 
 
 CuNY. Well, captain, now with your own eyes 
 survey 
 Your limbs ; what use can a lady have 
 Of you 1 to propagate the cough o' th' lungs 1 
 
 Froll. Or beget cripples to people an hospital 1 
 
 CoNR. Or produce another nation that may 
 Wage fierce battle 'gainst the cranes 1 
 
 Grim. Yet I can follow your bodies with rough 
 Motion, and not shed my limbs by the way 
 
 CuNY. I told ye he'ld make a jest on't. 
 
 Grim. But I will kick ye in earnest, kick ye 
 
 For my exercise and warmth, till my toes 
 
 Grow crooked [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Valdaura, reading to herself, then Albovine, 
 Hermegild, 
 
 Herm. Pursue Valdaura, sir. 
 
 Alb. I hate these jiggeries. 
 
 Herm. You knoAv I am material in my speech, 
 Full of duty ; you want the silken garl) 
 That must endear you to the ladies' eyes. 
 
 Alb. Yet I am loving in my drink. 
 
 Herm. Greet her kindly, sir : 'tis Paradine's 
 bride. 
 You have not seen her since she endeavour'd 
 
 * The king and the nobles of the time generally numbered a 
 fool and a dwarf among their retinue.
 
 ALBOVINE. 55 
 
 To increase the number of your subjects, 
 With loss of her virginity. 
 
 Alb. EhodoHnda doth so ingross ray love, 
 That on other ladies I've but little 
 To bestow. 
 
 Heiim. Sir, practise but your courtship here : in 
 troth 
 You must affect the amorous cringe, gestures 
 Smooth and pliant ; it will never do else. 
 I've heard the queen complain you are too rough : 
 And what these ladies do observe will take 
 A sudden flight unto her ear. Strike but 
 Their senses gently with your tongue. Often 
 Flatter 'em, and with a vigorous breath ; 
 They'll then implore the queen in your behalf ; 
 And, sir, th' endeavour of their praise will soon 
 Procure your peace. 
 
 Alb. If they would soften Ehodolinda's heart. 
 And reconcile me to her smiles, I would 
 Grow fond, and dally then Avith all the sex. 
 
 Herm. Begin your trial. If you salute this. 
 And other ladies too, with some impression on 
 Their lips ; Avith managing their fingers thus, — 
 AVith seizure on her Avrist, as if you had 
 Some business with her pulse, then you enchant. 
 Be flexive in your smiles, and, Avanton-like, 
 Seek pictures in their eyes ; and when they move, 
 Then, with personal conduct, guide their feet. 
 'Mongst them you cannot seem too cheap. They will 
 Admire you for't, and sing your praises to 
 The queen. 
 
 Alb. I shall be taught to spin and starch. 
 
 Herm. The engine's now compact; each wheel 
 doth move 
 "With silent screws. The mole's the subtle pioneer : 
 For, Avhen she undermines the earth, her slow 
 Motion makes no noise. [Exit.
 
 56 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Alb. Y'are devout, Valdaura. Teach me to 
 pray : 
 We have no leisure for't in war, and 't has 
 Been long time out of fashion here in Court. 
 
 Vald. I fear I make some breach of duty with 
 Your Excellence, to hinder thus 
 The passage of your royal thoughts. 
 
 Alb. You teach me now t' excuse my own abrupt 
 Demeanour; but I can do't. My harsh queen 
 (Whom the perspicuous eye of heaven forgive) 
 Doth much mistake the posture of my limbs, 
 And gesture of my tongue among your sex. 
 I never use, like rugged Polypheme, 
 To dandle cubs : Thus, I gently touch 
 
 A lady's lips yet make no battery on 
 
 Her teeth. [Kisses her] Was it not an airy pressure ! 
 Tell my proud queen I've lost my iron garb, 
 And now am grown thus fond and smooth. 
 
 Vald. royal sir, her cruelty hath put 
 My eyes unto th' expense of many tears. 
 
 Alb. Ay, but in vain ! those clouds must weep 
 apace. 
 That mean to penetrate the marble or 
 The flint. I wear no gauntlet on my hand, 
 Why should you think that I would bruise 
 
 Your fingers with my touch? 
 
 [Sports tvtth her hand. 
 
 Enter Hermegild, Rhodolinda. 
 
 Rhod. Is this Paradine's garden ? 
 
 Herm. Ay, Madam, and your excellence may 
 
 find 
 A sudden growth in all that shadows us. 
 Rhod. Hah ! ay, look there ! 
 Herm. What is't your eyes so eagerly discern 1 
 Rhod. The King ! liow .sportful he is grown : 
 
 how fidl
 
 ALBOVINE. 57 
 
 Of amorous game and dalliance ] 
 
 Herm. I spy Valdaura there : but is that the 
 King ? 
 
 Rhod. Thou dost enquire t'affront my sight. 
 
 Alb. You must inform the Queen of this : 
 Say, I 
 Am smooth, and musical, and trim, and that 
 I talk no more of war ; nor drink. 
 
 Vald. 'Tis my duty to urge all circumstance 
 That may credit you in her esteem. 
 
 Alb. It is a piece of courtship to salute 
 At parting [Kisses her. Exit Vakhiura. 
 
 Khod. Is that a safe conjunction in so hot a 
 climate 1 
 
 Alb. Hell and death ! what raw discipline is 
 this 1 
 I should conduct her in her way [Exit. 
 
 Rhod. So violent in pursuit of your game 1 
 Let's follow, Hermegild. 
 
 Herm. Not for all the sun beholds in 's journey 
 Throu2;h the world 
 
 ■o' 
 
 Rhod. Why 1 Be nimble in thy speech. 
 
 Herm. It shews but silly art in industry, 
 To seek what you Avould not find. 
 
 Rhod. I jmthee grow particular ! Dost think 
 They purpose aught i'th'dark ] or, was this same 
 But ceremonious form ! such a greeting 
 As courtship will admit in public interview ! 
 
 Herm. The king was never given to compliment, 
 You know. As for Valdaura. 
 
 Rhod. What of her ? 
 
 Herm. I think that she is chaste, but — 
 
 Rhod. Do not involve thy language thus 
 In periods of suspense. 
 
 Herm. I wish the king had not deserv'd to be 
 Depriv'd of your soft embraces, then 
 He might have kept this fonstitutiou tame.
 
 58 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Ehod. 0, is it so 'i 
 
 Herm. It ill becomes the garb of Majesty, 
 To run thus neighing, like a riotous horse, 
 After each female that he spies. 
 
 Rhod. Why, does he use it 1 
 
 Herm. Madam, you question me, as if wh„t I 
 Declare, were to your knowledge new and strange. 
 
 Rhod. By heaven ! and so it is. 
 
 Herm. my officious soul ! must it be my crime 
 To give the information up ? Would I 
 Had known the King was here, you should have 
 
 made 
 Another path your walk. 
 
 Rhod. Hermegild, you did mis-spend that 
 breath. 
 
 Herm. Alas, you had enough of grief before. 
 This addition will l)ut shew a tjTanny 
 In fate and me. It works with hight,* like new 
 Mighty wine ! as if 'twould split the cask. 
 
 Rhod. perjur'd, black, adulterous King ! 
 affront 
 IVIy father's ghost ] disturb his ashes in 
 His tomb 1 When cbunk -with pride, he mocked 
 
 me with 
 The gaudy title of a queen, and now 
 I am become a stale for all his lust, f 
 Valdaura too ! so pure of heart, forsooth. 
 That she would blush to see her own hand, if nak'd : 
 They are proscribed. Know, Hermegild, 
 Our country shall be free. 
 
 Herm. This is a noble rage ! Heaven knows 
 how I 
 Have griev'd at your decay of soul. 'Twas my 
 Sad fear, that all the angry sparks, which Avere 
 
 * A brisk movement. 
 
 t " I stand dishonoured, that have gone about 
 
 To link my dear friend to a common stale."— S/iakespeare.
 
 ALBOVINE. 59 
 
 By justice kindled in your breast, had been 
 Extinguished quite, now they grow up in flames. 
 You now like Pho3bus shew, when he hath wash'd 
 His face with dew. Your influence doth infuse 
 A noble heat, such as would motion give 
 Unto aged statues ; make them pluck up 
 Their mossy feet, and walk. 
 
 Rhod. Thou giv'st my senses pride. What, in 
 this great 
 Business wilt thou do t'encourage hope 1 
 
 Herm. I will mingle poison in my ink, write 
 With a raven's quill ! 'twill be a fatal 
 Scripture ; and shall charm like those wise jigs 
 The syrens sing. Some must direction bear 
 T' our pensioners, that in our country rule 
 The stern edicts of law : some to martial 
 Spirits, who Avith their able skill do lead 
 Those regiments, the king hath garrison'd 
 I' the bordering towns. They shall revolt, my 
 
 queen, 
 And seat thee in thy father's chair : they must 
 Be drunk with the elixir of my gold. 
 
 Rhod. WTien first I chose thee out for this great 
 work, 
 I saw thee through a perspective reversed ; 
 For thou didst seem much lesser than thou art. 
 
 Kneel, and be happy ! Before 
 
 The genius of this place, and what is here 
 Immortal, I vow to assist with my 
 Most active skill, all thy designments 'gainst 
 The king ; and when my just hopes are flnish'd 
 To be thy wife. Such as do perjur'd prove. 
 Lightning will surely clothe with subtle flames, 
 And they shall burn like dark tapers 
 In dark hell : pale and sickly as that fire 
 The ghost of Nero makes. 
 
 Herm. This new ambition hath so exalted
 
 60 ALBOVINE. 
 
 All my faculties, that I seem taller 
 
 Kneeling, than when I stood. But here with strict 
 
 Solemnity I vow to teach my soul 
 
 New ways of merit : to revenge with stern 
 
 And horrid wrath, the King's proud tyranny. 
 
 To make your greatness absolute and high, 
 
 Or sink myself lower than a plummet 
 
 In the Baltic sea. Should I not this perform, 
 
 The stars would fall like cinders on my head; 
 
 And winds, imprison'd in the earth, break forth 
 
 In a wild ruin, and shake me into sand : 
 
 Then blow me in your eyes ; where if in tears 
 
 You drown me, I am entomb'd in pearl : and then 
 
 My obsequies requite my death. 
 
 Rhod. Enough. I proifer to thy lip, the first 
 Taste of my affection [Theij kiss, then rise. 
 
 Herm. 'Twas moist and luscious ! and I will 
 cherish this 
 Endearment. Trees that tallest grow, do take 
 The deepest root ; so I must first sink low 
 I'th' earth ; and, after, climb to fathom clouds. 
 First, praise her mimic laughter : when she weeps, 
 Then gather up with covetous regard 
 Her tears for scatter'd pearl. Lick her spittle 
 From the ground. This disguis'd humility 
 Is both the swift, and safest way to pride — 
 
 Ehod. Sure, Hermegild, I have amaz'd thy 
 sense, 
 Thou look'st like some o'er grown fiend, chain' d up 
 Within a silent cave. Let us retire, and I'll 
 Discover how I've practis'd my revenge. 
 
 Herm. I project to make you mighty ! You 
 shall 
 Ascend, my beauteous sovereign, till you 
 Can reach the moon, and pick those seeds of light, 
 Tlie lesser stars, from forth their wand'ring 
 spheres ;
 
 ALBOVINE. Gl 
 
 To wear as neAV embroidery on your sleeve. 
 
 I long to hear your fatal arts. Let's mix 
 
 Our senses, and contrive. A woman's will 
 
 Is not so strong in anger, as her skill. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Paradine, a Gentleman, and Page. 
 
 Parad. You bring no letters from Cracovia, Sir % 
 
 Gent. None, my lord. 
 
 Parad. Nor from Sienna 1 
 
 Gent. Your lordship in those few, receives th' 
 entire 
 Purpose of my journey. 
 
 Parad. Alas, my countrjTnen ! captivity 
 Is hoarse, — they have more griefs than tongue: they 
 
 speak 
 Not loud enough to Avake the ear of heaven. 
 Henceforth to Hermegild bid them direct 
 Their sighs ; for I'm so dull, so weary, and 
 Neglectful of ambitious ends, that I 
 Shall lose my strength, and favour with the King. 
 
 Gent. My noble lord, our prayers will over-rule 
 that prophecy. 
 
 Parad. You may expect, whilst I am able to 
 Perform. Boy, bespeak the gentleman a free 
 And bounteous welcome. Sir, I will hasten 
 Your despatch. [Exeunt Gent., Page. 
 
 Enter Thesina. 
 
 TheS. My lord, I have tir'd myself in your 
 search. 
 
 Parad. The fair Thesina ! You are rarely here 
 A visitant. Where have you left my bride 1 
 
 Thes. With the queen, my lord, who is so fond 
 Of her attendance, she'll scarce allow her space 
 To wink in her own service, and to-night 
 She lyes within her chamber.
 
 62 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Par. Hall! so soon divided! Tli' approaching 
 night 
 Shoiikl help to second our embraces. 
 
 Thes. Y'are now to trust my art. For Val- 
 daura 
 Sent me t'express her joy, i'th'delivery 
 Of this message. You shall lye with her to-night. 
 
 Parad. How can my faith admit of this, since she 
 Is billeted where the queen sleeps ] 
 
 Thes. I'll perfect my assurance ; so you'll please 
 T'obey what I enjoin. When you approach 
 The spheres, where your bright Phoebe rules, 
 Do not occasion so much noise as shall 
 Express you living. You must not speak to her, 
 Nor, by your gestures, invite her speech. All this 
 Perform, lest you should wake the queen. 
 
 Parad. To be dumb in copulation ! This is 
 A fine receipt to get a silent girl. 
 But I shall prove obedient. 
 
 Thes. And, sir, as y'are merciful to ladies, 
 Kipe in growth, do not breathe too loud, lest we 
 I'th' neighbouring room o'erhear the harmony, 
 And sin in wishes. 
 
 Parad. Fear not, Thesina : I shall be temperate. 
 
 Thes. But you young soldiers are so boisterous, 
 You'll think anon y'are battering some Town-wall. 
 Follow, Sir, I'll direct ye to the place, 
 Where, when the dai-k hour arrives, you must 
 Address your visit. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Act the Fourth. — Scene First. 
 Enter Paradine dressing himself. 
 
 Parad. The early lark climbs higher than his 
 voice ;
 
 ALBOVINE. 63 
 
 And whispers into Phoebus' ear, a glad 
 
 Welcome ; who smiles, and seems to prophecy 
 
 A gaudy day. Valdaura ! Madam ! speak 
 
 Sweet lady ! or, if for concealment of 
 
 Our stolen rapture you silence still assume ; 
 
 Yet rise, and bless my sight with thy fair 
 
 Presence. Come, and eclipse the envious day ! 
 
 Not talk i'tli' business, nor yet behold 
 
 The ground we till, as if we both were blind 
 
 And dumb. I'll no more by stealth engender ; 
 
 Cripples are got thus. Kind Valdaura, speak ! 
 
 [A hand is thrust out between the Arras. 
 See a new day breaks in her hand ! These are 
 The rosy fingers of the morn ! 
 
 [Pulls iih Ehodolinda. 
 
 Hah ! the queen ! Valdaura ! Bride, where art 
 
 thou ] [Looks m. 
 
 Rhod. In vain thou call'st. The cannon's iron 
 throat. 
 Although high mounted on yon pinnacle, 
 Scarce could reach her ear. She's in Pavia now, 
 Two leagues from hence. 
 
 Pakad. Thou art mysterious as an oracle ! 
 
 Rhod. I sent her thither, with pretence she 
 sliould 
 Survey the model of a garden-work. 
 But 'twas done, that Thesina might entice, 
 With apter leisure, thy person to my bed. 
 At noon thy wife returns. 
 
 Parad. I've mistaken then my warm embraces, 
 And sinn'd with thee, th' adulterous queen ! 
 
 Rhod. Thou hast enjoy'd what Albovine, with all 
 His royal sighs, his tears swoll'n bigger than 
 His eyes, despair'd to merit. 
 
 Parad. horror ! Gape, rugged earth ! Suck 
 me in 
 Like some old pyramid, whose ponderous limbs
 
 64 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Have been thy burden since the fiuod, and now 
 Their own foundation sink. Could you make 
 No choice to quench your ravenous hist, l)ut nie ] 
 Where were tlie broad-chin' d Zwitzers of your 
 guard ] 
 Rhod. This, Paradine, denotes a melting brain : 
 Which out of vulgar pity I forgive. 
 'Twas not the wanton taste of thy smooth limbs 
 That could provoke me use this stratagem ; 
 But love of my revenge. I've strongly now 
 Engag'd thy power, to kill the king. 
 Parad. Hah ! 
 
 Rhod. Which do, and ere the sun arrive i'th' 
 west ; 
 Or with dishevell'd hair, my vestments torn 
 (As if rd wandered through some hawthorn hedge) 
 I will approach the tyrant, acquaint him 
 With this deed, and call my own adultery 
 Thy foul rape. 
 
 Parad. Who's within there? Hoa ! my hogs- 
 head's empty. 
 I was not born with so much brains as would 
 Bedew a clout, that my cold nostril stopt. 
 These Court smocks contain the very devil. 
 Good heaven ! how lean should I have made my 
 
 heart 
 With studious thoughts, ere I the skill had reach'd 
 Of such a damn'd projection. 
 
 Rhod. Collect thy scatter'd thoughts. What thy 
 respect 
 To thy cajitiv'd country could ne'er charm thee 
 To revenge ; be prompted to, by a kind 
 Affection of thy own dear life : revenge 
 Upon a tyrant ; one, that loves not me, 
 Nor thee ; unless in speech : He hath a smooth 
 Tongue, but a rugged heart. My Hermegild 
 Perceives this truth, and can deliver it
 
 ALBOVINE. 65 
 
 With all the pride of knowledge. 
 
 Pap.ad. Sure time grows humorous with age : 
 For things do differ much from the sincereness 
 Of their first creation. I will go weep 
 Till I am blind 
 
 Ehod. Stay, Paradine. If thou dost mock my 
 hopes 
 With a slow motion in this just design, 
 Expect to find my anger fatal. I'll to 
 The king, and make a forfeiture of both 
 Our lives : but if with hardy sinews thou dost march 
 To's throat, and slit the swarthy pipe, I'll call 
 Thee then my soldier. Besides thy country's thanks, 
 Thou shalt enjoy me for thy queen, thy wife, 
 My Paradine. 
 
 Parad. New arts, t' involve imagination ! 
 How can this be, and my own wife strongly 
 Possess'd of health and nature 1 
 
 Ehod. Would'st thou embrace so eminent a bliss, 
 Without some danger to thy soid 1 
 
 Paead. My memory betrays my skill ! I know 
 There are a thousand ways to discard her 
 From this foul, dusty orb. 
 
 Khod. Alas, good easy soul ! She'll ne'er be miss'd 
 Among the living. Know, Yaldaura's false. 
 
 Parad. How ! false ! 
 
 Ehod. She is an open whore, and hath taught me 
 This art of lust. 
 
 Parad. More horrible than hell ! 
 Xow furnish but my hands with an hour-glass 
 And a long dart, then seat me on some rotten 
 Monument for the picture of lean Death. 
 Make me the common executioner 
 Of nature, for ere long I shall become 
 The sexton's pensioner to fill his graves. 
 Valdaura false ! 
 
 Ehod. Wilt thou thus leave me in a wild suspense, 
 
 E
 
 66 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Whether I shall find thy courage active 1 
 
 Parad. For credit of your own humanity, 
 Do not infringe the vulgar privilege 
 Due to all hearts. Give me but leave to think ; 
 And ne'er doubt your business. Though I'm a young 
 Sinner ; yet I shall soon enquire the way 
 To hell. 'Tis a continued thoroughfare 
 From this climate thither. Or let me but 
 Delay my journey, till the trivial rage 
 Of Christian princes meet in horrid battle ; 
 And then I shall have company enough : 
 Whole throngs to choke the throat of hell.* 
 Good night, Madame. 
 
 Rhod. Eie yet the morn's fair cheek hath lost 
 her tears, 
 Dost call it night 1 
 
 Parad. To me it seems the eye of heaven doth 
 wink. 
 All things are cloth'd in darkness, black as your 
 Design. 
 
 Rhop. Stay, for else my rage will not permit 
 That we survive another meeting. 
 If thou suspect'st we are too loud, I will 
 Distill my thoughts into thy eai\ 
 
 [She hangs about his neck whispering. 
 
 Enter Hermegild, Valdaura. 
 
 Herm. \Aside.'\ Though t'assist my great hopes 
 with opportune 
 Induction, I consented to this act ; 
 Yet now I chide my fond spirits. For who 
 
 * This figrure of speech, has, in all probability, been suggested 
 by the representations which took place in the ancient mysteries ; 
 — the "mouth of Hell" being one of the properties in usual 
 request in such exhibitions. An engraving of this property, 
 "choked with whole throngs,' as here expressed, will be found 
 in the illustrations to Sharpe's Coventry Mysteries. London, 
 4to, 1825.
 
 ALBOVINE. G7 
 
 Dares trust th' unruly appetite of youth 1 
 Wliat I clecre(Hl she should but taste, she may 
 Delight to surfeit on. It shews fulsome ! 
 Here's the precious medicine that must restore 
 Health to my hopes. [To Fald.] Follow, gentle lady. 
 You see 'ein now 1 
 
 Vald. Fall, fall, you thick and spungy clouds, 
 until 
 You choke my sight. Do not my eyes begin 
 To bleed at this object ] 
 
 Herm. Mark how close they meet : what variety 
 They use in lust : now, she hath melted quite his lips 
 With her hot breath, she hangs upon his ear. 
 Survey their gestures still. Now they depart. 
 
 [Exeunt Parad. Rhod. 
 
 Vald. I'll summon all the hierarchy of heaven 
 To censure 'em, 
 
 Herm. Who knows but they are gone to wallow in 
 Their active sweats again 1 Alas, pure soul ! 
 You perceive these figures no idea. 
 No object of the mind, or air incorporate 
 To cheat imaginary view. 
 
 Vald. Was this the cause, that made th' adul- 
 terous queen 
 So strictly urge my swift journey unto 
 Pavia ] 
 
 Herm. Ay, and the motive that provok'd my soft 
 Conscience to hasten your return, that you 
 Might tell sad tales to heaven. For I, 
 That still was nurs'd upon a Sybil's lap, 
 Who with prophetic milk did nourish me, 
 Can deeply guess at th' ominous portent 
 Of sin. I hate such loose-rein'd stallions ; 
 Such lascivious harmony in guilt. 
 
 Vald. So soon prove false, — ere the celebration 
 Of our marriage rites were fully ended 1 
 Ere the sun in's journey o'er this region
 
 68 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Had twice beheld us thus incorporate 
 
 By holy church, and smiled upon the hopes 
 
 Of our encrease 1 
 
 Herm. Ay, there's a contemplation that would 
 crack 
 Even heart-strings made of wire. Hymen's taper 
 But newly lighted, and he with rude breath 
 Blows from the quickening wick the gaudy flame ! 
 Then, in the dark, thus wilfully mistakes 
 Your bed, and riots 'tween unlawful sheets. 
 Horror ! horror ! 
 
 Vald. my sinister stars ! thus I shall weep 
 Till I have emptied all my veins. 
 
 Herm. What should such white and harmless 
 souls as we 
 Do crawling o'er this mountainous earth 1 Alas, 
 We cannot drink, till we intoxicate 
 A whale ; nor surfeit, till our greasy cheeks 
 Do swell like th' udders of a cow. Nor can 
 We kneel like warm idolaters unto 
 The rusty metal in a bag. We want 
 These helps to gain us honour and esteem. 
 
 Vald. I have a resolute intent to die, 
 And seek my mansion in a purer orb. 
 
 Herm. But ere you do begin your last walk, i'th' 
 path 
 Invisible, some meritorious act, 
 Join'd to the charter of your creed, should help 
 T'assure your future bliss. 
 
 Vald. name it, ere my sorrow shall decay 
 My strength : for I would mix ability 
 With will. 
 
 Herm. Your lord, foul and sinful as mortality 
 Can make him. Salamander-like, shall bathe 
 In blue fires, unless, by sufferance here 
 On earth, he penetrate the heart of heaven, 
 And soften their decree. It will be call'd
 
 ALBOVINE. 69 
 
 Your merit to revenge his crime, even with his 
 deatli, 
 
 Vald. Would you have me kill him 1 
 
 Herm. Since I am strict to virtue, I must needs 
 Be cruel unto vice. Let him not live 
 To increase his own guilt, and betray more ladies. 
 
 Vald. But shall I justice take from powerful 
 heaven. 
 And use it with such cruelty 1 
 
 Herm. Believe my skill in sacred Oracles, 
 My piety to warrant the design. 
 Nor will I fright the frailty of your sex. 
 With hoirid circumstance ; he shall not bleed. 
 This vial doth contain a draught ; Avhich if 
 In's usual beverage pour'd, Avill cozen him 
 Of's leprous soul in his most quiet sleep. 
 
 Vald, I do suspect my courage ! 
 
 Herm. Tak't, fair pupil ! think on't in your 
 prayers. 
 If you but enjoy but one single motion. 
 That informs you it is good : do't with pride 
 And boldness masculine. Distinguish thus 
 Its operation. Four days must fully take 
 Their room i'th' kalendar ere it eft'ect 
 Our hopes. Before that hour arrive, he must 
 Be "wi'ought to kill the king. [Aside. 
 
 Vald. The vial liquid lead contains, or else 
 Some far more ponderous metal : for whilst 
 I bear it thus, the weight seems to infuse 
 A palsy in my hand. I tremble like 
 A string touch'd on my lute. 
 
 Herm. It is the fiend that would dehort* you from 
 A pious act : trust not his whispering charms, 
 But with a hardy courage, more than is 
 Natural in thy modest sex, proceed 
 To merit heaven. And now requite my forward zeal 
 
 * Dissuade.
 
 70 ALBOVINE. 
 
 To virtue, with concealment of my name, 
 
 And interest in this act. Let not the queen 
 
 Nor your false lord, know me the i:»erspective, 
 
 Through which you saw their ravenous lusts; but say, 
 
 The king reveal'd it to your ear. 'Twill make 
 
 Them wild, and doubt their own confederate Bawds. 
 
 Think not I forbid it as a danger 
 
 To my person ; for I affect not life. 
 
 So soft and easy metal'd is my heart, 
 
 So well I love your sinful lord, that when 
 
 I hear the surly bell proclaim his death, 
 
 Like some new-weaned bal)e, I shall die crying. 
 
 Vald. Would you have him killed, yet love him 
 thus ? 
 
 Herm. Ay, but I love heaven better. Where, 
 when 
 I come, troth I shall prove too fond a saint. 
 Those votaries that pray to me shall find 
 Their business soon despatched. Here, let this key 
 Obscure ye in my closet until noon : 
 For then the queen expects you Avill return 
 From Pavia. Farewell, the most abus'd. 
 But noblest lady in the world. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Grimold {in an old nig gown, muffled itith 
 
 clouts), GONDIBERT, VOLLTERRI. 
 
 GoND. This is the privy gallery. Place the chair, 
 Vollterri, where it needs nuist interrupt 
 The king's passage. 
 
 VoLLT. If thy disguize should fail us, Gondibert 
 And I must be attach'd for impostors. 
 
 Grim. And then be crop-ear'd too, like Irish nags. 
 You'll both prove fleet in a race, provided 
 The foe charge ye in the rear. Seat me with 
 
 Tender motion This luxurious city 
 
 Hath made me so rotten, I dare not walk 
 th' wind, lest I should bo blown in pieces.
 
 ALBOVINE. 71 
 
 Eider Hermegild. 
 
 GoND. Quick, now counterfeit ! here comes Her- 
 megild. 
 Groan out like a boar. [Griimold groans. 
 
 Herm. Who owns that sick clamour 1 
 
 GoND. One, Sir, presented here to tempt com- 
 passion 
 From all charitable eyes. 
 
 VoLLT. Want hath betray'd him to hunger, 
 hunger 
 To this disease. 
 
 Grim. 0, 0, 0, the cramp ! the cramp ! 
 
 Herm. Where, Sir ? 
 
 Grim. In my stomach. 
 
 Herm. That's indeed a clear symptom of famine. 
 
 Grim. I've eaten nothing this month but raw air, 
 And that gives but weak nourishment to age. 
 
 Herm. It is my wonder, in a state so rich 
 As ours, a climate still befriended thus 
 By nature (flourishing with hopeful springs 
 And summers chok'd with wealth), a soldier should 
 Be forced to make his hunger a disease. 
 A prodigy unparalleled, that want 
 Should e'er occasion such a dangerous fast. 
 Was't not devotion made him thus abstain 
 From meat 1 
 
 Grim. Pure want, Sir. I know small devotion, I. 
 For though I fast much, I pi'ay as little 
 As most Christians of my calling. [Groans again. 
 
 Herm. He must be sent unto some hospital. 
 There eat warm broaths till he recover health : 
 And then I will procure him from the State 
 Some thrifty pension, to maintain the short 
 Remainder of his life in sober works. 
 He shall sing hymns, and pray to the kind saints 
 In a blue gown.* 
 
 * The costume of servitors.
 
 72 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Grim. Alas, sir, I am grown so hoarse, the saints 
 Can hardly hear my orisons. 
 
 GoND. He will prove, my lord, a chargeable cure ; 
 For the physicians do prescribe him nought 
 For medicine but Auruvi Palpahile* 
 
 Grim. The elixir of gold would surely much 
 Assuage the grief in my stomach \Ch-oans. 
 
 Herm. He must needs be hungry, that like th' 
 ostridge 
 Can digest metal, f 
 
 Volt, The king, for his last services, remains 
 His debtor six thousand ducats. My lord, 
 You shall express much charity, if you 
 Procure it in a sudden payment. The same will 
 Defray his sickness charge, and maintain him 
 Well in's health. 
 
 GoND. Your lordship shall engage us, then, to 
 drown 
 Your chief title in the best grape. We'll drink 
 Your health, until we raise the price of wine. 
 
 Herm. Let him continue there his seat. Perhaps 
 They, whom I shall straight conduct this way. 
 Will so commiserate his want, that he 
 Will soon relieve't, though he increase his own. 
 There is some art in this, which I must needs 
 Discover, or forfeit my pains. [Exit. 
 
 GoND, The fiend is gone ! [Grimold rises. 
 
 * Aurum potabile. ■- 
 
 "That gold inwardly taken, either in substance, infusion, 
 decoction, or extinction, is a cordial of great efficacy in sundry 
 medical uses, although a practice much used, is also much 
 questioned, and by no means determined beyond dispute." — 
 Brou-rts Vulf/ar Errors. The chloride of gold has been used in 
 Paris, in more immediate times, for the cure of diseases of a 
 secret nature See Wilkin's edition of Brown, vol. 2, 8vo, 1835. 
 t Ulysses Aldrovandus says of the ostrich : — " Ego ferri frustra 
 devorare, dum Tridenti essem, observari, sed qua3 incocta rursus 
 excerneret." See also Browns Vvlr/nr Errors upon this point, 
 in collected edition of his works, vol. 2, p. 494. 8vo.
 
 ALBOVINE. 73 
 
 Grim. Will all the vast accruements T project 
 From this disguise, convert into 
 The slender purchase of an hospital 1 
 
 Volt. Thou turn votary] 
 
 GoND. He'll pray in no language but the High 
 Dutch : 
 The angry tongue, which seems to threaten more 
 Than implore. 
 
 Grim. Six thousand ducats for a mansion in 
 An hospital, no bigger than a coffin ; 
 Where, like Carthusians, we must feed, not to 
 Prevent hunger, but to hinder lust. Princes 
 May easily pay their debts, when they enforce 
 Their creditors to buy titles and places 
 At their own rates. 
 
 Volt. Hark ! there's somebody approaching 
 hither. 
 'Tis no safe game to sport with kings. I'll be 
 gone. 
 
 GOND. Grimold, now trust to your own per- 
 formance. 
 I may have use for my ears ; I would not 
 Yet leave them in the pillory. [Exemit. GoncL, Volt. 
 
 Grim. Gondibert, Vollterri, forsake the storm 
 E're ye are wet? Weazels! Monkeys! Dogs! 
 
 YDrops down in his chair. 
 
 Enter Albovine, Hermegild, Thesina. 
 
 Herm. Madame, you are now fully satisfied 
 r th' intention of this visit. I wish 
 You'ld be as free and sportive with him as 
 Your modesty will give you leave. 
 
 Thes. Trust my obedience and my skill, sir. 
 
 Alb. He looks like a watchman in that rug. 
 
 Herm. Your majesty receives new cause to doubt 
 The truth of his disease, from my servant's
 
 74 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Information ; Avho swears, this very morn 
 
 He hath been seen in all the violence 
 
 Of drink, and i' th' bordelli too. For, sir, 
 
 Though he be old, he's given much to propagation. 
 
 Alb. Let us retire 'tween th' Ai-ras, and we 
 Shall share i' th' whole discovery. [ZTe groans. 
 
 Thes. Alas, who is't that so provokes the tongue 
 Of pity 1 
 
 Grim. An old soldier o' the king's 
 
 Thes. Hah! Captain Grimold! how come you 
 thus 
 Imprison'd in a chair? Have you the gouti 
 
 Grim. I am not rich enough t' enjoy the gout. 
 
 Thes. What name, then, do you give to your 
 disease 1 
 
 Grim. The physicians call it famine. 
 
 Thes. Howl Heaven secure the State ! I hope 
 we are 
 Not guilty of a sin so hoiTible, 
 To deny a soldier fit materials 
 For conservation of his life. 
 
 Grim. Tis fourteen days since I have had a just 
 Occasion but to pick my teeth, 
 
 Thes. Alas the day ! 
 
 Grim. Each of my thighs are dry'd, and har- 
 dened like 
 An old West-Falia Flitch. All m' interals 
 Are shrunk up; my bladder is no bigger than 
 A pig's; and were my lean jaws unmuffled, 
 You should see me mump, like a matron that 
 Had lost her teeth. 
 
 Thes. cruel stars ! 
 
 Grim. Hah! does she weep? 
 
 Thes. Could you, on this wide earth, find no 
 object 
 For your fury but brave Grimold? Or is't 
 Because you saw it was my chief virtue
 
 ALBOVINE. 7y 
 
 To affect a soldier'! 
 
 Grim. If she should be in earnest now ] 
 
 Thes. I hope you do not utterly despair of life ? 
 
 Grim. I may linger out a score of years, or so; 
 But I cannot live long. 
 
 Thes. Since you are mark'd for sudden death, 
 cold death 
 That silenceth all tongues ; and since this place 
 Is so secure from neighbouring ears, I will 
 Disclose, what until now my modesty 
 Inforc'd me to conceal. 
 
 Grim. I shall forget to counterfeit. [aside] 
 
 Thes. Know, sir, that I have lov'd you long — 
 lov'd you 
 With soft and tender passion. 
 
 Grim. rogue! what do I, like the picture 
 Of Winter, in this Avither'd habit 1 I must 
 Recover my health. But alas ! madame, 
 Do not deride his destiny, that now 
 Is taking flight to reach that place where your 
 Best star inhabits, and shall have power 
 To tell loud tales, if you prove thus cruel. 
 How could you e'er love mel I have been old 
 Even since your first original growth. 
 
 Thes. But if you will permit, I may express 
 A little vanity in love. I can 
 Inform you, sir, how much we ladies prize 
 Age before youth in lovers. Old men are 
 Discreet sinners, and offend with silence ; 
 But young men, when the game is done, do crow 
 Like pregnant cocks, boast to the world their 
 
 strength 
 In folly. Besides, sir, an authentic 
 Lady says in her Problems thus : — 
 The young and slender graft is eas'ly broke, 
 But who can shake or bruise the aged oak 1 
 
 Alb. a rare adage.
 
 76 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Herm. The lady author, sure, is o' th' Moderns. 
 
 Grim. My joy is turn'd to a disease; it makes 
 Me speechless ! I ever thought these Court-tits 
 Were much taken with my smooth looks ; but that 
 Their modesty still kept them from my reach. 
 Foolish modesty ! it has hindered my 
 Preferment much; for since I left the camp, 
 I have been in love with some three hundred 
 Of 'em, yet never durst lay claim to one. 
 Uli ! uh ! if heaven should so affect 
 Our mutual appetites, as to restore 
 My health, would you continue still to doat 
 Upon an old sinner] 
 
 Thes. 0, I should grow more fond; preserve 
 you long 
 Alive with zealous orisons! 
 
 Grim. 'Las, poor maulkin ! she's caught ! I shall 
 grow rich ; 
 For I have heard these Court ladies allow 
 Large pensions to their paramours. Help ! help ! 
 
 To move rae higher in my seat 
 
 [She takes him by the hand; he rises. 
 
 Thes. Bless us ! methinks, sir, you begin to use 
 Yoiir legs with active strength ! 
 
 Herm. A precious ape ! 
 
 Alb. He will show fine tricks anon ! 
 
 Grim. Some strange influence from your touch 
 hath given 
 A second youth unto my faculties ; 
 Before, I seem'd to crawl like to a crab ; 
 Now my joints grow supple, as if I were 
 Provided for a race. This hand inspires my 
 strength 
 
 Enter Cunymond, Frollo, Conrade. 
 
 CUNY. I have a key, will give us passage here to 
 th' park.
 
 ALBOVINE. 77 
 
 TllES. Unhand me, sir, for I shall forfeit all 
 
 My fame else. They'll think I am immodest 
 
 [He spies them, then drops doicn in his chair. 
 
 Con. Captain Grimold ! 
 
 Frol. He sits like a A\-itch, sailing in a sieve, 
 
 CuNY. Ha! sick! Gentlemen, avoid the windy 
 side, 
 Lest he infect you with his breath. I know 
 His disease, and whence it came; shortly 
 You'll see him wear a curtain 'fore his nose; 
 That's now the newest fashion that came from 
 Paris. 
 
 Frol. Ay, 'tis it ; he has them growing on his 
 Temples here — they'll shortly be as big 
 As turnips. 
 
 Con. He must to Rotterdam, to the fat doctor 
 there. 
 And be stew'd in a stove, until he spit 
 His venom out. 
 
 CuNY. And whilst you are in physic, captain. 
 You fare like Oberon. 'Tis a very 
 Slender diet. The lean thigh of a wasp 
 To dinner, and some two or three of your 
 Own penitent tears for your beverage. 
 
 Grim. I've but so much breath left as would 
 make up 
 A short prayer to secure my last jaunt: 
 Yet I will spend it in a hearty curse 
 For your dear sakes. 
 
 CuNY. March on! if he do find himself aggriev'd 
 Let him send me a challenge after his death, 
 And I will meet him i' th' Elysian fields. 
 
 [Exeunt Cunymond, Frollo, Conrade. 
 
 Grim. I will eat that Cun}Tnond ! 
 
 Alb. How prompt the slave is in's metamor- 
 phosis ! 
 
 Herm. To him again, madame !
 
 78 ALBOVINK. 
 
 Thes. Alas, dear captain, what bodily hope 
 Can a young lady have of your performance, 
 That fall so soon in a relapse] 
 
 Grim. When you depriv'd me of your hand, you 
 took 
 Away my strength and heat ; touch me again, 
 And I shall walk stiff as Cacus. [She lifts him up. 
 
 Thes. Take leisure in your motion, sir. 
 
 Grim. Look, madame, I creep as other mor- 
 tals do, 
 On the surface of the earth. 
 
 Thes. Methinks you stand upright, too. _ 
 
 Grim. Ay, a lady's warm hand will make it stand. 
 A little physic from your Hp, and then 
 My cure is quite finish'd — Hem ! sure this Avas 
 Nestor's receipt to recover his youth. Hem! 
 
 Thes. I shall be sainted for this miracle. 
 
 Grim. I am as wholesome as a nut, and have 
 As proud flesh about me as the youngest 
 Gamester of 'em all. 
 
 Thes. Fye, sir! 
 
 Grim. If this heat continue, I must e'en call 
 For a julip, or sow my wild oats 
 In the next soil I meet. 
 
 Thes. Your tongue is blister'd. 
 
 Grim. When shall we solace our bodies] 
 
 Thes. Your meaning, sir? 
 
 Grim. I mean i' the dark. Speak, pretty finch 
 with the 
 Green tail! Ha! must Ave kiss close, and often] 
 
 Wriggle up and down like young eels 
 
 [Hermegild comes behind him, and pulls him 
 by the arm. 
 
 Herm. Captain, I have brought the king here 
 to view. 
 And to commiserate your lean sickness, 
 And your feeble wants.
 
 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Alb. Thou old ravenous goat 
 
 Herm. He looks now like an alchymist, that is 
 Broiling o' red herrings. 
 
 Thes. Or like the brazen head, when 'twas 
 about 
 To speak [She takes the hing aside. 
 
 Grim. You mean to hang me now 1 
 
 Alb. Hast thou deserv'd an easier sentence 1 
 
 Grim. When I am dead, then all my debts are 
 paid : 
 For I leave small lands and chattels behind me. 
 But hark ye, my liege, you may pay your debts 
 In your life time, so deprive your executor 
 Of a trouble. 
 
 Alb. 0, what a trivial exit shall I make 
 From my own world ! for when I die, I die 
 For love. 
 
 Grim. And I for lechery. Sir, I would fain 
 Depart in quiet like other young Chrysomes : * 
 Fain make all even 'tween the world and me. 
 I beseech your highness discharge my arrears 
 For my last service in Hungary, 
 Then hang me when you please. 
 
 Herm. Captain, I will be a suitor for your 
 reprieve. 
 You shall only forfeit Avhat his grace owes you ; 
 And then your life's secur'd. [Crrimohl kneels. 
 
 Grim. I will rather die twice. Sir, pay me 
 Six thousand ducats, and then proclaim 
 Your sentence here aloud. I would fain die 
 
 * "Chrisoine," as Blount explains in his Glossographia, 12mo, 
 Lond. l<3tj], " signities properly the white cloth, which is set 
 by the minister of Baptism upon the head of a child newly 
 anointed with Chrism after his baptism, — vulgarly taken for 
 the white cloth put about or upon a child newly christened, in 
 token of his Baptism, wherewith the women used to shi'oud the 
 child, if dying within the month of birth." The term '"' Chri- 
 somes," in the bills of mortality, is used to signify such children 
 themselves.
 
 80 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Merrily. I have not been drunk at my own charge, 
 This four months. 
 
 Enter Ehodolinda. 
 
 Alb. Hermegild, iterate now thy sweet raptures. 
 Speak to her ; for by th' gentle carriage of 
 Her eyes, I do perceive she 'gins to penetrate. 
 
 Thes. Away, Captain ! be gone whilst you are yet 
 Mortal. I have much power with Hermegild, 
 And will upon your patient sufferance 
 Redeem my credit with your thoughts. Quick then. 
 Move with silence. [Exeunt Grim., Thes. 
 
 Herm. Madame, the feather' d arrow sings i'th' air. 
 Ere it arrive where it must wound ; so this 
 Sweet harmony, I'ld have you counterfeit, 
 But tempts him to security in sleep, 
 Before his death. 
 
 Alb. I'm much oblig'd to that good soul. 
 Herm. True my royal lady ! yet now peruse 
 The greatness of his being, his fate in battles, 
 And by your own remembrance be inform'd 
 Of our captivity. 
 
 Alb. Honest Hermegild ! 
 Rhod. He was too cruel to a nature so remiss 
 And timorous as mine 1 
 
 Herm. Alas, this crime he expiates with sighs 
 So hot, that they would singe his royal beard. 
 Did not his numerous tears opportunely drop, 
 To quench the flames. 
 
 Alb. That's compliment ! 
 
 Herm, These angry frowns upon your brows 
 make you 
 Appear aged. 
 
 Rhod. Could I assure my heart, he would no more 
 Triumph o'er my dear father's memory ; . 
 
 I then should meet his love with too much passion. 
 Alb. When I am more my chronicle, or speak
 
 ALBOVINE, 81 
 
 ]\1y deeds with pride, may my tongue blister, till't 
 Infect my breath with epidemic heat. 
 
 Heem. You hear his vows "? Seem fond. 
 
 If you can shed 
 A tear or two, the more to credit this 
 Atonement, 'twill much advantage our pretence. 
 Sir, now enjoy what your indulgent grief 
 Merits to keep, e'en from the hands of death. 
 Good heart, see how she weeps ! [King kisses hn. 
 
 Alb. I'm soon o'ercome in this soft war. 
 S'death all 
 Can thaw but I. I never wept, but when 
 Th'unruly wind blew in my eyes ; and 'tis 
 No argument for stern battle ; else I 
 Would fight. To testify the joy my soul 
 Conceives, I'll drink 
 
 Herm. Sir, you neglect to use her like a lover. 
 With amorous gestures. 
 
 Alb. Fill me a bowl with Negro's blood, congeal'd 
 Even into livers ! Tell her, Hermegild, 
 I'll swallow tar to celebrate her health. 
 
 Herm. Sir, this dull German phrase makes her 
 suspect 
 Your temperance. Mark how she trembles ! 
 
 Alb. I must go learn to compliment. Dost hearl 
 
 I'st fit I proffer her to mingle limbs '? Thou 
 
 know'st 
 
 HiRM. Sir, not to-night. That was a serious suit 
 She bade me make, when first she purpos'd this 
 Atonement. 
 
 Alb. I do obey. Though I have thoughts 
 Avould fain 
 Persuade me to rebellion. [Exeunt Alb. Ehod. 
 
 Herm. This was a subtle caution, else my hopes 
 Had twice been cuckolded. Let 'em revel 
 With their salt lips. Th' other sport is fulsome. 
 But Paradine disturbs my sleep ; he's young, 
 
 F
 
 82 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Enrich'd with all the fertile strength of nature ; 
 
 And needs must prove more riotous in sin 
 
 Than I. My dark practice, and use 
 
 Of silent contemplation, has made 
 
 My marrow thin and black ; like ink within 
 
 My bones. I want the prompt alacrity. The Queen 
 
 Hath tasted him, and may, perhaps, still to 
 
 Possess his lust, remove Valdaura from 
 
 This foggy soil ; then make him lord of all 
 
 My hopes. This to prevent, I have decreed, 
 
 Valdaura first shall minister his death. 
 
 I've taught her too, t' insinuate to his creed, 
 
 That the king told her of 's adulterous lust ; 
 
 Good ! for when he thinks the king doth know 
 
 that guilt. 
 His own safety then will soon provoke him 
 Hasten our prodigious murther. This may 
 Be done, before the poison operate 
 In dire effect ; for that delays its power ; 
 Till fourscore hours expire their course : which then 
 No antidote, nor human skill resists. 
 Mount, mount, my thoughts ! that I may tread 
 
 on kings. 
 Or if I chance to fall, thus soaring high ; 
 I melt like Icarus, in the sun's eye. [Exit 
 
 Enter Paradine and his Page. 
 Parad. The sun doth melt us with his scorching 
 beams. 
 Go fill my usual beverage ! I'll drink 
 TiU I am cold. [Exit page. 
 
 The constitution of my soul agrees 
 Not with this climate. I grow weary 
 Of mortality. Even in my first growth, 
 Since my corselet was my load, I have took 
 My breeding in the camp ; where had I still 
 Bemain'd a dull practick soldier, and ne'er seen
 
 ALBOVINE. 83 
 
 A woman, nor the Court, I might have had 
 Some hope to gain by faith, but now I reach 
 At wild despair. 
 
 Enter Page icith a howl. 
 Page. My lady, sir, commends her love, and this 
 To your acceptance. She made the mixture 
 With her own hands. 
 
 Parad. The queen prescrib'd this hour for her 
 return. 
 That she grows black with sin, perverts my sense, 
 I must seem not to know't. Say, I greet her 
 health. [Drinlcs. Exit page. 
 
 Enter Valdaura in close mourning. 
 Parad. Hah ! why, Valdaura, dost thou appear 
 like 
 A funeral night, in dark and swarthy weeds 1 
 Vald. I mourn for you, since you must hasten 
 your 
 Eternal absence now from me, and all 
 That else are mortal. 
 
 Parad. Speak things that are less dangerous 
 to my sense. 
 This wonder will distract me. 
 
 Vald. Ere winged time shall with swift motion 
 add 
 Another hour to th' life of this sick day, 
 Thou shalt begin thy last sleep. 
 
 Parad. A pale swan hath sung my dirge ! fatal 
 Music ! but how comes this intelligence 
 To ears of flesh and blood ? Have you of late, 
 Been gossiping with the grim Stygian dames, 
 And seen their scissors gall my vital thread : 
 For to my own sense I need no physic. 
 My faculties enjoy that pleasant strength 
 Which appertains to youth and temperance j 
 Why should I yet die ?
 
 84 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Vald. How, Paradiue ! Art thou so full of guilt 
 (Most ulcerous and deform'd), yet thinkst to keep 
 Thy life at nature's charge, t'exist till age 
 Makes thee a cripple : then in thy bed 
 Like some good old patriarch, thy soul dismiss 
 With a divine rapture? No, no, just heaven 
 Provides more rash and horrid deaths for such 
 As in adultery bathe their silken limbs. 
 
 Parad. Hah ! 
 
 Vald. I know thy guilt; the king hath told me all. 
 'Twas wondrous strange ! our vows but new arriv'd 
 In heaven, that did oblige our mutual faiths 
 In love : and thou with savage lust to break them ! 
 Though grief hath much consum'd my tears, yet I 
 Have some still left t'express my pity. 
 
 Parad. [aside] My adultery already known, 
 both to 
 The king and her 1 why these are prodigies 
 Indeed. How sin imboldens the aspect ! 
 She doth accu,se me for a guilt, which yet 
 Remains unpardon'd in herself. Mine was 
 A dire mistake : but hers— — that must be known 
 And then her veins shall weep. 
 
 Vald. You are poison'd, Paradine. 
 
 Parad. With that cold draught you sent me 
 now i'th' bowl 1 
 
 Vald. The viper's vomit, nor the blue steam 
 Which fat toads do breathe in tired motion 
 Bears not such a dangerous enmity 
 'Gainst human nature, as that you drunk. 
 
 Parad. Stay ! methinks I feel no insurrection 
 In my lilood, nor need an iron corselet 
 To contain my flesh ; sure it swells not yet. 
 
 Vald. It takes a subtle leisure to disperse 
 Through all your organs and your arteries, 
 That it may straight with abler violence 
 Consume your strength.
 
 ALBOVINE. 85 
 
 Par AD. And then I shall look goggle-ey'd, uiid 
 stretch 
 rth' cheeks, till my face shew like a pompiou, 
 Round and yellow 1 
 
 Vald. Far, far more deform'd, 
 
 Parad. Wiirt make my eyes start from my skull, 
 or droj) 
 Like bullets at my feet 1 Speak, shall I foam 
 At mouth like some young courser that is hot 
 And angry with his bit 1 
 
 Vald. Not the first chaos was so ugly and con- 
 fus'd, 
 As you'll appear, Avhen this distilment works. 
 
 Parad. Yet I forgive you all, e'en from my heart : 
 Whilst my cogitations now are sober. 
 And can distinguish things with pregnant sense, 
 I do applaud this cruel benefit. 
 These subtle vanities of Court have tir'd 
 My observation. I was nurs'd within 
 Some armoury, and took a proud delight 
 In active Avar ; but since our drums have ceas'd 
 Their noble clamour, I find no business 
 Upon earth for me ; 'tis fit I grow immortal. 
 
 Vald. I did not think his fancy at this news 
 Could prove so temperate. 
 
 Parad. To sleep in cold earth, whilst my 
 dead neighbour 
 Never at my coffin knocks, — to enquire my health, 
 By way of visit : for all are silent 
 In the grave. Harsh destiny ! such as I 
 Could ne'er expect from thee, Valdaura. 
 
 Vald. My nature you shall find much different 
 From what your knowledge heretofore discern'd. 
 I have contriv'd another way to punish 
 Thy adulterous heat. 
 
 Parad. You find my sufferance tame enough. 
 Publish all !
 
 86 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Vald. To meet your sin with apt revenge, 
 I'm groAvn 
 A foul loose whore. 
 
 Parad. Hah ! contain thy speech. Express but 
 so much 
 Modesty as may secure thy life ; for 
 My death doth not concern my rage so much, 
 As this foul murder of thy fame. 
 
 Vald. 'Tis truth : and I confirm't with pride. 
 
 Parad. Oh, oh ! these are the Mandrake's 
 groans, fatal ! 
 For whoso hears them straight encounters death. 
 Now smile, sweet heaven, since thus I but return 
 Her o^vn justice. For my adulterous act 
 She takes my life, and shall I let that bold 
 Adulteress live 1 [Stahs her loith's poniard. 
 
 Vald. Oh, oh ! Hold, hold ! leave me a little 
 breath 
 To use in praj^er. 
 
 Parad. I am not fraught with devil's spleen ; I 
 would 
 Not hurt thy soul. Here solitary sit. 
 Whilst I send up an humble sacrifice. 
 That shall bespeak a pardon for thy crime, 
 Ere thou arrive near heaven. [Puts her in a chair. 
 
 Vald. Dare you trust my last Avords 1 
 
 Parad. speak, ere thou dost catch an ever- 
 lasting cold. 
 And shalt be heard no more. 
 
 Vald. I am not false unto your bed : I ne'er 
 In act, nor guilty thought, did violate 
 My maiTiage vows. 
 
 Parad. Art thou not a whore 1 
 
 Vald. No vestal that preserved with quickning 
 oil 
 The sacred flame, was in her chastity 
 More cold, more timorous than I : nor are
 
 ALBOVINE, 87 
 
 You poisoii'd. 
 
 Parad. Hah ! was not that a mixture of distill'd 
 Venom, which I drank 1 
 
 Vald. 'Twas healthful, as the blood of grapes 
 to age, 
 And all your faculties do still preserve 
 Their wonted harmony. 
 
 Parad. Sweet spirit, do not riddle thus with 
 heaven, 
 Nor sport thy soul away. Why didst accuse 
 Thyself of stern murder, and pernicious lust ; 
 Yet art thus clear from both 1 
 
 Vald. 'Twas to enrage your violence, with hoj)e 
 To make you soon my executioner. 
 For, hearing you were false, I found no joy 
 In life : your hand hath seal'd my wishes. 
 
 Parad. New arts t'increase my wonder : I'm 
 o'erreach'd, 
 Where I thought my nature was most skilful ! 
 E'en in love ! stay ; had not distraction 
 Seiz'd my memory, I should at first have told you 
 The mistake, by which the sinful queen 
 And Hermegild betray 'd my chaste honour. 
 
 Vald. Nam'd you Hermegild, guilty of that sin 1 
 He's then a horrid hypocrite ; he did 
 Entice me by a poisonous practice to 
 Contrive your death, but found my nature loyal. 
 
 Parad. New wonders still ! 
 
 Vald. I feel the frozen hand of death. Oh ! 
 oh ! oh ! 
 
 Parad. Valdaura ! bride ! noble girl ! 
 
 Vald. Mercy, mercy ! [She dies. 
 
 Parad. Already turn'd a ghost ! There's a rare 
 music 
 Now in heaven, since thou art gone t'increase 
 The sacred choir. I may behold thee in 
 The purple sky, mixed there with other stars,
 
 88 ALBOVINE. 
 
 But never on this soil again. Be tliis 
 
 Thy tomb awhile. The curtains softly drawn 
 
 Hermegild treacherous 1 with poison too ] 
 That was her word. 'Tis fit I seem t'have drunk 
 The medicine up. Good ! the rough young soldier 
 May spy at last these spirits of the Court, 
 That walk in artificial clouds : or if 
 Their high conceptions soar above my reach, 
 Yet they have mortal hearts ; such as our own 
 Country steel may with feeble motion prick, 
 Prick till they groan : for I have now decreed, 
 Whom my dull sense cannot subdue, shall bleed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Act the Fifth. — Scene Fiest. 
 
 Enter Hermegild, Thesina, Paradine, 
 Rhodolinda. 
 
 Thes. Shall I belie my own silence 1 
 Herm. Be sudden in your speech, confirm my 
 words : 
 Then dispose e'en of my wealth and person. 
 I will consent to matrimony ; make 
 Any use of this new interest. 
 
 Thes. Sir, you'll forget my merit in this danger ] 
 Herm. Never. My lord, I have discover'd all. 
 See, how aguish her guilt hath made her. 
 How she trembles like a frosty Russian 
 On a hill. Nay, lady, ne'er scatter thus 
 Your wild looks. Confess the truth, and you'll 
 
 gain 
 Mercy. Valdaura (whose soul heaven keep 
 From purging fires) hath told her Lord ; the king 
 Knows of his wanton stealth with our good queen. 
 You were the instrument that betray'd him 
 To th' mistake, and whose secrecy to doubt
 
 ALBOVINE. 89 
 
 But yours, our reason cannot yet inform us. 
 
 Thes. Thus kneeling, I confess Avith penitence, 
 'Twas I reveal'd it to the king. 
 
 Ehod. Tear forth her eyes, and let her then 
 grope out 
 Her way to hell — 
 
 Herm. Stay, dear madam ! 
 
 Ehod. Paradine is poison'd, who knows, but 
 she 
 Doth amply share in that guilt too 1 
 
 Herm. At my humhle suit constrain your 
 fury ! 
 We shall discover all. My noble Lord, 
 It is a grief that will deprive mj^ life 
 Of many years, to think I'm held by your 
 Suspect, an agent in that practice. 
 
 Parad. I have revealed the evidence. 
 That doth persuade my creed. 
 
 Herm. What, lady, do you know of this ] Speak 
 with 
 Courage. I am your safety. 
 
 Thes. I saw the king reach to Valdaura's hand 
 A poisonous vial, and, with religious hints, 
 Taught her to mix it in her husband's draught. 
 
 Parad. Hah ! 
 
 Herm. Persist in my instructions 1 [Aside. 
 
 Thes. 'Twas that night when he enjoyed her 
 person — 
 
 Parad. Enjoyed her ! how 1 
 
 Thes. As you enjoyed the queen. 
 
 Parad. Heaven ! will these miracles ne'er cease 1 
 
 Rhod. I shall convert to stone ! 
 
 Herm. Now retire, Thesina, till I have begg'd 
 Your free restorement to the queen's mercy. 
 
 Thes. My lord, you'll not forget your kind 
 promise 
 Of matrimony.
 
 90 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Hekm. I've nought else to trouble my remem- 
 brance. 
 Away, away ! [Bxit Thesina 
 
 Ehod. What did remain suspense is here con- 
 firm'd : 
 My forehead feels as rugged now as his. 
 
 Herm. Now, Sir, y'have heard such real circum- 
 stance, 
 As needs must settle your belief, and free 
 My heart from your unkind dislike. 
 
 Parad. Valdaura's damn'd ! she howls so loud 
 that she 
 Disturbs all hell ! O perjur'd whore ! 
 
 Ehod. Now Paradine ! Instruct thyself with 
 thoughts. 
 Is't evident he ever could affect 
 Thy person with sincere dotage, yet thus 
 Betray thy strength in thy fort ; where thy 
 Honour still stood sentinel 1 
 
 Herm. I have other motives to teach you doubt 
 His loyalty in love. Which my fond heart 
 Cannot conceal, though 't would advantage much 
 
 My own profit. He hath of late hung thus 
 
 Upon my neck ; until his amorous weight 
 Became my burden : and then lay slabbering o'er 
 My lips, like some rheumatic babe. This sport 
 My serious brain abhor'd. 'Twas my wonder 
 (Since you are called his minion) he could ere 
 Affect my look. I that am like coughing 
 Winter, old and froward ; you the darling 
 Of the lusty spring.* 
 
 Ehod. Speak ! is that bag, that should contain 
 thy gall 
 Shrunk up 1 hast thou nothing bitter in thee 1 
 Thou art far, far more opportunely stor'd 
 
 * This evidently refers to the practice of James I., who w;is 
 accustomed to use his favourites after a similar fashion.
 
 ALBOVINE. 91 
 
 With time and place for thy revenge, than we. 
 I'th' middle age of day, Avhen the bright sun 
 Most powerfully doth warm the world ; in thy 
 Secret closet he takes his iisual sleep, 
 Go, drill his heart ! and make the couch whereon 
 He lyes his easy monument. 
 
 Herm. And then enjoy a queen, with all that 
 doth 
 Belong to her achievement, or her birth. 
 As for my services, they merit no 
 Reward. I know my own creation much 
 Unfit for Court affairs. If you but wrap 
 Me in a shirt of hair, then seat me in 
 A dark and gloomy cell, where I may tumble o'er 
 Some deep voluminous Rabbin, you make 
 Me safe and happy. 
 
 Rhod. Do't, Paradine ! and fame no trumpet 
 then 
 Shall need to speak thy praise. Thy country will 
 Afford thee power to sanctify the chief 
 O'th'days within our kalender. 
 
 Herm. And to thy memory high statues build, 
 'Bout which our noblest virgins once a year 
 Shall dance in circles, and sing, until they make 
 The marble move, like to those loose quarries,* 
 Which o'erheard Orpheus and his harp. Or if 
 These cannot inspire heroic fury. 
 Yet argue thus ; you knew his bed, but by 
 Mistake ; which was our guilt not yours ; and for 
 Our country's benefit contriv'd. But he 
 Defiled your sheets in the salt pride of lust. 
 Horror ! this would incense the temperate dove ; 
 Turn all his moisture into gall ; teach him 
 To wear spurs on his heels, and make him fierce 
 In duel as a British cock. 
 
 * " He, like Amphion, makes those quarries leap 
 
 Into fair figures from a confus'd heap." Wo.lkr.
 
 92 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Parad. Fire ! fire ! and warm blood ! [Exit. 
 
 Herm. Follow, follow him, my dear sovereign ! 
 Add new heat unto his rage. And d'ye hear ! 
 Since he is poison'd, 'twere most fit some learn'd 
 Physician did endeavour to secure 
 His health. 
 
 Ehod. I heard him say, he is already furnish'd 
 With a powerful med'cine. 
 
 Herm. Should you now forget your royal 
 promise, 
 I lose all my industrious merit, 
 And remain a sacrifice to love. 
 
 Khod. Dost thou groAv jealous 1 
 
 Herm. Valdaura now is sever'd from her soul : 
 And Paradine is abler in delights 
 Of youth, more moist and amorous than I. 
 
 Rhod. Away, fool ! I seal thy safety with my 
 lip. [^xit. 
 
 Herm. Thus nurses hush their froward babes 
 asleep. 
 Shortly she'll present me with a coral club, 
 A whistle strung with Ijells. These female arts 
 Can ne'er my dark authentic practice cheat. 
 Paradine must die ! So I still secure 
 My hopes. When that sad hour arrives, 
 Wherein the poisonous draught must work, 
 No charmed med'cine can resist its strength. 
 I hug my genius ! 'Twas a subtle reach 
 To tell him that the king hath horn'd his brow : 
 For that will more incense his wrath, and 
 
 aggravate 
 The queen's revenge. The weight I bear, doth 
 
 make 
 My motion slow ; slow as the snail I tread. 
 Who travels with his tenement on's head. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 ALBOVINE. 93 
 
 Enter Grimold in new clothes, Gondibert, 
 
 VOLLTERRI. 
 
 GOND. The king has paid him all's arrears. 
 
 VoLLT. 'Twas by Thesina's suit to Hermegild : 
 The snake has cast his skin too, now. 
 
 Grim. Sir, 'tis a poor snake that cannot 
 cast 
 His skin once in a summer. 
 
 Enter Cunymond, Conrade, Frollo. 
 
 CuN. 'Slight, here's Grimold ! didst not thou say- 
 he was dead 1 
 
 Conrad. But I have heard since, his ghost 
 walks. 
 
 Froll. Look ! 't has found the hidden treasure 
 then, which 
 Made it walk ; for the ghost hath bought itself 
 New clothes. 
 
 Grim. Nay, nay, stay, gentlemen ! let us forget 
 Old quarrels, then end our new acciuaintance. 
 We are for the country now. I'll but tell ye 
 A few of your faults, and leave th' amendment 
 To your own leisures; but you all think 
 Y'are wiser than I. 
 
 CuNY. We should abuse our judgments else. 
 
 Grim. Mark, this is a new Court-thrift : when 
 you are 
 Loth to maintain flatterers you publish 
 Yourselves with your own praise. Lay your fingers 
 Here — Not a word, lest I return ye a blow. 
 I know ye cannot speak without a compliment. 
 
 VoLLT. They use it in their prayers, they. 
 
 GoND. Cunpnond, in one single compliment 
 So much wasted his lungs, that I was fain
 
 94 ALBOVINE. 
 
 To call for aqua vitce to recover his breath. 
 
 Grim. I've heard you have transported from 
 Paris 
 The geometrical cringe, and the art 
 Of mxmbering the hairs upon your chins. 
 
 VOLLT. And of starching your beards. 
 
 GoND. Yes, and of perfuming your very shadows. 
 
 Grim. And they say it is your custom to sleep 
 In pomatum masks. 
 
 VoLLT. And that you paint your pretty vis'gno- 
 mies. 
 
 Grim. Yes, and colour them so red, that you 
 seem 
 To blush more than the sign of the King's-head 
 Before a country Inn. 
 
 GoND. Y'abuse Astrology too ; for you clip 
 Black taffeta into stars ; and for a foil 
 To your beauty, fix 'em in several regions 
 Of your face. 
 
 Grim. Which makes it look like the picture of 
 Doomsday, 
 \Vhen all the planets are darkened. 
 
 VoLLT. Nay, nay, stay awhile ! 
 
 Grim. Leave off your jigging motion when you 
 mix 
 Yourselves in a salute; your bodies seem 
 To dance upon your knees. You pinion up 
 Your elbows thus, — like pullets trust upon 
 A spit ; then wreath your hams in thus, and move 
 With a discreet leisure, as if you meant 
 To number all the pebbles in the street. 
 And then you fleer as if y' had wash'd your gums 
 In vinegar. This you admire for gesture 
 Of the newest fashion. I say, 'tis scurvy ! 
 For he that greets a lady so, does look 
 Like a soap-boiler upon a close-stool.
 
 ALBOVINE. 95 
 
 VoLLT. If you will take pliysic for your soul's 
 health, 
 Retu'e into that part of the kingdom 
 Which lies farthest from France. 
 
 GoND. He counsels well ; for the French air 
 hath made 
 Many of our gentry drunk. 
 
 Grim. And now move hence; but with your 
 lips sew'd up, 
 For fear of a compliment. You two .shall straight 
 Take horse with me, and be billeted in 
 My quarter. Stay, gentlemen ! one word more : 
 This is a hot climate; when you must needs 
 Marry to increase your tribe, your best way 
 Is to go a wooing in the city; 
 For certain rich widows there love Court fools, 
 And use to play with their baubles. Farewell! 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 A canopy is drawn, the king is discovered sleeping over 
 papers. 
 
 Enter Paradine with his sirord drawn. 
 
 Parad. To make him bleed, and leave his arteries 
 Where the delighted spirits walk, shrunk up * 
 Until they curl with heat. The wither'd frame 
 Straight to convert to dust; then th'umerous * wind 
 To fan it o'er the world. Speak, just heaven ! 
 Is this fit usage for a king 1 Cassius 
 Was rash ; perhaps to gain noise at's funeral, 
 Or in's Elysian fields; beneath a i)leasant hedge 
 To tell some prattling ghost what he had done. 
 Hah ! but Brutus, noble Brutus ! the pride 
 Of Arts and War ! so temperate, his soul 
 Was more harmonious than the spheres. Instruct, 
 Heroic lord, thy young pupil ! AVhy did 
 The mighty Caisar fall by thy cold wrath? 
 All silent as the night ! He sleeps : before 
 * Qy. "uberous," fruitful ?
 
 96 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Him, too, those papers that concern my house 
 
 Affairs, and my official rule in State. 
 
 Here he comments on my letters ! here with 
 
 Thrifty documents limits my expense. 
 
 Can this indulgent care be counterfeit? 
 
 And merely carry a pretence of love? He made 
 
 My wife a black adulteress. horror! 
 
 Yet who knows but 'twas rather his revenge 
 
 Than lust ; a furious riot, after that 
 
 He knew I whor'd his queen. 
 
 [Re blinds his own face with a scarf, sheaths 
 his sword, and then kneels. 
 Sir! My lord the king! Sir! 
 
 Alb. Ha ! Paradine ! What witty emblem's this 1 
 The more to certify thy love dost thou 
 Aj)pear blind % 
 
 Parab. 0, sir, do not mock my penitence, nor 
 seem 
 Thus to disguise the knowledge of that crime. 
 Which hath defil'd my modest blood, and makes 
 Me now asham'd t' encounter with your eyes. 
 
 Alb. He is drunk ! maudlin drunk ! 
 
 Parad. Sir, I could creep alive into my tomb, 
 And mix society with ghosts, Avhilst I 
 Have yet warm motion left, could I biit hide 
 My guilt from your persj^icuous sight. 
 
 Alb. By heaven ! drunk with cider or thin beer ; 
 That looks like the urine of a babe. I'm sure 
 The Corsick grape infuseth no such whining passion. 
 
 Parad. Those immaterial powers, that see the 
 thoughts of men 
 AVhen growing in their hearts, can witness I 
 Abus'd your royal bed, but by a dire 
 Mistake. 
 
 Alb. Hah! 
 
 Parad. Your black adulterous queen betray'd 
 Me to her lust by wicked aits.
 
 ALEOVINE. 97 
 
 Alb. This is a sober passion, but implies 
 Something that is liorrid. 
 
 Parad. Had not heroic war taught me t' affect 
 No rage, but noble ; she and Hermegild 
 Had entic'd me now to lengthen this your sleep 
 Until the day of general accounts. 
 
 Alb. Suspect must now be rash. Make your 
 fixce known! [Snatches off his scarf. 
 
 He blushes like a bride, whom, through her thin 
 Curtains, the peejiing sun beholds in soft 
 Skirmish Avith her lord. I must counterfeit 
 And seem to know all. Paradine, 'twas far 
 From my conjecture, that a heart so much 
 Oblig'd unto my love as thine, should wrong 
 My honour in a sense, which, but to mould 
 In words, would teach my tongue to stammer. 
 And deafen all that hear it. 
 
 Parad. Thunder and sulphurous fire snatch my 
 cold limbs 
 From this dull earth. Sir, Avhilst my soul affords 
 Me reason, and can direct me unto whom 
 My true allegiance is a debt, — kill me! 
 When I am mad I shall forget all duty. 
 And refuse t' obey your royal charter. 
 Thurst your good sword home till my heart shall kiss 
 Your hilts. Are you so slow in justice? Think 
 How, by a dark mistake, I whor'd your queen — 
 Whor'd your queen 1 prodigious phrase ! 
 
 Alb. Howl, meagre wolves and empty tigers ! 
 Let the hoarse 
 Thracian bull bellow till he rend his throat ; 
 And the hot mountain-lion roar until 
 Their clamour wake the dead ! The resurrection 
 Is too long delay 'd, since we want horror 
 To celebrate this news. Good! I have now 
 Decreed it. Draw thy bright weapon ! — 
 
 Parad. For wliat dire nsel
 
 98 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Alb. That we may meet in single battle here, 
 And struggle till we Avant our souls. 
 
 Parad. Though this high enticement charms 
 my blood, like 
 The music of the drum ; yet my remembrance 
 Calls you king — my royal master. 1 would 
 Not join rebellion and ingratitude 
 To the prolix number of my sins. 
 
 Alb. O fond, indulgent boy! I mourn at this 
 Decay of thy humanity and sense. 
 Does it become my great being and my 
 Glorious name in story, to offend 
 Without resistance 1 Draw ! and be nimble 
 In thy motion. 
 
 Parad. I dare not so disgrace my religion, 
 And my love. 
 
 Alb. 'Tis time that I were dead, for I shall 
 else 
 Outlive my chief prerogative. I have 
 Forgot how to command. Unsheath thy sword ! 
 Or this breach of duty shall teach me think 
 I ne'er enjoyed thy real love, and 'twas 
 Not a mistake, that usher'd thee to sin between 
 My sheets, but a considerate lust. 
 
 Parad, No provocation like to this could tempt 
 A danger from my arm. IHe draics. 
 
 Alb. Why dost thou dally thus with feeble 
 motion ? 
 Bear up, and use more violence ! 
 
 Parad. Some surgery from heaven! Are you 
 hurt, sirl 
 You willingly oppos'd your breast against 
 My steel, and never sought t' endanger me 
 With yours. 
 
 Alb. Th'ast perform'd what my wish did pro- 
 phecy ; 
 I'm prick'd here, about the heart, and my veins
 
 ALBOVINE. 99 
 
 Grow empty. 
 
 Parad. Then glorious war, and all proud cir- 
 cumstance 
 That gives a soldier noise, for evermore fare- 
 well! [Falling on his sicord. 
 
 Alb. Hold, Paradine I 'Tis my last suit, that 
 thou survive 
 To minister a just revenge on those 
 Whom I proscribe. Help my quivering limbs, 
 And seat me in the chair. 
 
 Parad. Shall posterity read it in story, 
 And believe ; a prince that doth deserve to be 
 The first i' tli' list of those that gather'd noise 
 In war, can be thus covetous t' expire 
 In silence dark 1 Fall on my fatal point, 
 And yet command that I survive the tragedy ] 
 
 Alb. 'Twere in me an affectation trivial 
 To cherish life, now Rhodolinda's false. 
 For should I still preserve my soul in flesh, 
 I know my mercy is so fond to her, 
 I should forgive her all ; and wert thou dead, 
 My hope were then depriv'd of future justice. 
 Live to revenge her falsehood, I know thy heart 
 So sincere and noble, that I suspect not thee 
 A sharer in her guilt. When thou 
 Didst first confess the adulterous crime, join'd 
 
 Avith 
 Thy own mistake, through Hermegild's deep art. 
 My faith conceiv'd the truth ; for thy nature 
 Is much too blunt and creduh)us for court. 
 
 Parad. Should I but speak each cunning cir- 
 cumstance 
 
 Alb. Contain thy breath ! To hear that told 
 Avould make 
 My soul wander in my last journey. 
 'Till thy relation brought it to my ear, 
 I never knew her false.
 
 100 ALBOVINE. 
 
 Parad. Still my amazement doth increase ! 
 Were you 
 Not told of this before ] 
 
 Alb. My knowledge only learnt it of thy tongne. 
 
 Parad. Stay ! Nor with Valdaura you did ne'er 
 project 
 My death by poison 1 
 
 Alb. Never. 
 
 Parad. Yet one reply, then make my joy ex- 
 ceed 
 My wonder. Did you never in my bed 
 Commit a lustful stealth 1 
 
 Alb. Angels in that are not more free from guilt. 
 
 Parad. What potter made this earthly skull? 
 Pardon, 
 Dear Valdaura, my dull suspect ! Sing out 
 Thy hymns in heaven ; and never listen more 
 To my fond speech ; for they have made me mad ! 
 
 Alb. I cannot gripe the air. Mark, how it 
 steals 
 Through all my knotty fingers ! 
 
 Parad. Extacy! 
 
 Alb. Now my last and short[est] minute is 
 arriv'd ; 
 I do resign my crown. 
 
 Parad. To whom, sir 1 
 
 Alb. To him I hate. But be thou sure he wear 
 It not 'till near his death ; for it's a happiness 
 To live enthron'd, but 'tis not safe to die 
 A king. 
 
 Parad. He doth pervert my sense. 
 
 Alb. Let the drum cease ! I'll have no more 
 battles. 
 He, that to waste his trivial rage, doth fight 
 A battle, rides a hawking with the devil. 
 
 Parad. Mad as the northern wind ! 
 
 Alb. He sends a thousand drinking animals
 
 ALBOVINE. 101 
 
 To take their flight i'th' air, whilst little black 
 Devils — d'ye not see 'em ? — they look like ravens. 
 Mark how they prey on those immortal fowl, 
 And plume 'em in their talons ! I do not like 
 This falconr}' : it is too sad a game 
 
 For sinners Oh ! oh ! oh ! [Bies^ 
 
 Parad. There died the noblest trophy of our war ! 
 The Lombards now have lost their victory. 
 So hardy of creation, his heart-strings 
 Were as cordage, tough ; crack'd like a cable 
 When the freighted l)ark starts from the anchor. 
 All that are nurs'd in war shall mourn for thee. 
 Our ensigns now we will of cypress make. [Knocking: 
 Hah ! It is the -wind that Avhispers ! He must 
 Be hid. I'm sure this noise can never wake him. 
 
 He puts him behind the arras, [then] opens the door. 
 
 Enter Khodolinda. 
 
 0, are ye come 1 
 
 Ehod. Thou hast a wild aspect ! Is it done ] 
 
 Parad. He has paid for his Avarfage already, 
 
 And is now entering Charon's boat. 
 
 Rhod. Th'art precious as my soul ! 
 
 [He opes the arras. 
 
 Parad. There's the old face ! 
 
 Rhod. He looks like a pale country virgin 
 
 That longed to eat mortar.* Our chief design 
 
 Is finish'd : but thou must add one knot more 
 
 T'oblige my gratitude, and then we shall 
 
 Triumph with safety. Hermegild must die ! 
 
 He knows too much. 
 
 Parad. It is as if the Parcse spoke. If there 
 
 Be any other whom your envy, or 
 
 Your hate would have dismiss'd the world, make 
 
 him 
 
 * " I pine and grow faint, and refuse all my meat, 
 
 And nothing but chalk, lime, or oatmeal can eat :" &c. 
 
 1^01)1/ in ,^lw.dti(U'f JZ/Vt.
 
 102 ALBOVINE. 
 
 But known, and he is numb'red with the dead. 
 
 Rhod. Dear Paradine, 1 sure shall ravish thee, 
 My appetite is grown so fierce. Let me 
 
 Begin with thy moist lip 
 
 Parad. Let's to't like monkeys, or the reeking 
 goat. [PnJIs her to kiss him in the chair. 
 
 Rhod. Oh! oh! oh! help! help! 
 
 [Both are bloody about their mouths. 
 Parad. Cease your loud clamour. Royal whore ! 
 Rhod. Thou didst eat my lips. 
 Parad. Thy flesh is sour, musty ; more tainted 
 than 
 A carrion in a phlegmatic ditch ; for else, 
 Like th' Anthropophagus, I had devour'd thee up. 
 This made Valdaura bleed, and must let forth 
 Thy swarthy* soul. [Stabs her with his jjoniard. 
 
 Rhod. Oh! oh! oh! 
 
 Parad. For Albovine my royal master, this ! 
 And this to pacify Valdaura's ghost ! 
 Rhod. Oh! oh! oh! _ 
 
 Parad. So hard and stoney is thy heart, that it 
 Reverts the point of my bright steel. 
 
 Rhod. Mercy, heaven ! [She dies. 
 
 Parad. Since thou hast receiv'd my justice, I 
 wish 
 Thee mercy too. [KmchiiKj. 
 
 Hermegild. {within). My Lord! 
 Parad. 'Tis Hermegild ! Now I shall end my 
 chief 
 Discovery. What a full sepulchre is this ! 
 
 [Carries her in. 
 Now I must practice my disguise. [Knocldng again.] 
 Revert the spring twice and you may enter. 
 
 [Counterfeits a sick voice, sitting. 
 
 * " Lep'rous." Folio.
 
 ALBOVINE. 103 
 
 Enter Hermegild, Tiiesina. 
 
 Tpies. My Lord, I have lost my honour in your 
 service. 
 You may chuse one that shall affect you worse. 
 
 Herm. Lady, this is no time to woo : but 
 D'ye tliink I'm so profane to violate 
 My vow? Nimbly depart. I do conjure 
 Your absence with this kiss. 
 
 Thes. If you should prove false 1 
 
 [Exit Thesina. 
 
 Herm. 'Slight, these wenches at 
 Fifteen are as riotous as elei)liauts. 
 Marry a court kitten ! Thei'c he sits ! Hah, sick ! 
 My sweet lord,. how thrives your health'? D'your 
 
 pulses 
 Still preserve their temp' rate music 1 Have you 
 Effected yet our great business 1 
 
 Parad. The king is dead ! That sanguine in- 
 strument 
 Did set his soul at liberty. 
 
 Herm. The laurel, myrtle, and the bay shall still 
 Cold and naked stand before the winter's 
 Frosty breath ; still strip their boughs, to make 
 Your head triumphant wreathes. Where is the 
 
 queen 1 
 Methinks, my lord, your body and your mind 
 Seem much disturb'd. 
 
 Parad. Oh, oh! The poison works. 
 
 Herm. Alas, my sweet dear lord! (precious 
 med'cine !) 
 He cannot possibly survive the next 
 Minute. Does it destroy your strength 1 
 
 Parad. Oh, oh ! It scorches all my entrails up ; 
 As if like Porcia I had swallowed coals. 
 I spit scum, such as o'er th' hot cauldron boils.
 
 101 ALBUVINE. 
 
 Herm. And are you fastened in the chair with 
 weakness 1 
 
 Parad. I cannot rise. A stiff convulsion in 
 My sinews fetters all my limbs. 
 
 Herm. Hah, hah, ha ! 
 
 Parad. heaven! Will you permit him laugh 1 
 ■ Herm. I know th' ingredients of thy poisonous 
 draught. 
 'Twas I that gave it to thy wife. 'Twas I 
 Did counsel her to mingle't in thy wine, 
 When thou wert hot, and all thy pores open 
 As thy mouth. 
 
 Parad. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Herm. Do, groan, till thou raise an echo in 
 this 
 Square roof, Ere long thy ribs wall start from thy 
 Loose chine, thy lank belly swell into a hill. 
 
 Parad. horror, horror! Is heaven asleep? 
 
 Herm. The king ne'er knew of thy adult'rous 
 crime. 
 'Twas I told it to Valdaura and made her think. 
 Thy guilt proceeded not from a mistake. 
 But from thy wilful lust. I've strung 
 Thy nostril with a spinner's thread, so led 
 Thee through subtle labyi-inths, t'involve 
 Thy senses ; and now I triumph o'er thy fate. 
 This is Italian spleen. 
 
 Parad. Had I but streiigth to actuate my 
 revenge ! 
 
 Herm. Good, dull soldier, why didst thou leave 
 the camp, 
 Thy rusty morion there, thy batter'd corselet, 
 And thy shiver'd lance, t' amble here at court 
 In slippery silks ; to walk in cloudy mists 
 Of perfum'd air 1 'Tis I have shak'd thy brains 
 That heretofore were thick as curds, into 
 A pale, thin whey.
 
 ALBOVINE. ] (t5 
 
 Pakad. Diiiw near, and let me then but kill 
 
 tliee. 
 Herm. Troth, thou art so feeble now, that were 
 I killVl 
 By thee, I scarce should think that I were dead. 
 
 [ParacUne rises, and snatches Hermegild's 
 siconl from Jus side. 
 Parad. No! That shall arrive unto the test. 
 Dog ! grim 
 As th' angry fiend, that must devour thy soul ! 
 I am not poison'd 
 
 Herm. Hah ! Does he counterfeit 1 
 Parad. See here! what abject ruins thou hast made 
 0' the noblest structures in the world. 
 
 [He draws the arras, and discovers Alhovine, 
 Rhodolinda, Valdaura, dead in chairs. 
 Herm. The queen there too ! O trivial arts, 
 with my 
 Own mine I've blown myself e'en into dust. 
 
 P^RAD. I will now see, if thou canst bleed like 
 
 things mortal. 
 Herm., Deprived of my defence! If th'ast a soul, 
 Great as thy fame, restore my sword. 
 
 Parad. Thou bark'st against the moon 1 I will 
 requite 
 Thy own tyrannous scorn. That destiny 
 Was just, that thus betray'd thee to my mii-th. 
 There, Stygian dog ! , . \1Vounds him. 
 
 Herm. Oh, oh ! Whilst I have warmth, I'll move 
 
 with violence. 
 Parad. Where now are all the sul>tle trophies of 
 Thy brain 1 Plots dark as hell! Projections grim!. 
 Such as threat'ned nature, and seem'd to fright 
 The genius of the world. Now, now prevent 
 These dire salutes — 
 
 Herm. Return mv sAvr»rd. then manage steeples 
 like '
 
 106 ALBOVINE. 
 
 To pikes : yet, I'll affront thy fury. 
 
 PaRjVD. Hardy as the Scythians' race, I greet 
 
 thy heart ! 
 Herm. I stagger, and am drunk with my own 
 
 blood ! 
 Parad, Take my last anger, and good night ! 
 Herm. Oh, oh ! Thou hast stuck needles in my 
 heart ! [Falh. 
 
 Parad. Now I do swell with horror and stern 
 rage : 
 I will distract the whole world. Fire ! fire ! fire ! 
 ]\Iurder, treason, and incestuous rapes ! Fire ! fire ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Herm. I spy a white soul hovering in the air! 
 One when corporeal was sure 
 Some humble hermit here on earth. 
 He's acquainted with the way to heaven : 
 Should mine take flight alone, I fear 
 'Twould stray! Hoa! you, you that ascend the 
 
 spheres ! 
 We sinners still seem hoarse to angels' ears. 
 What, hoa ! He turns not yet : who knows but he 
 Still liv'd in low valleys, built his mansion 
 In some ag'd wall 1 but my path ever lay 
 On hills, where the good patriarchs never trod. 
 Vain arts ! Ambition in all sacred schools 
 Is held the sin of heathens, and of fools, [He dies. 
 
 Filter Paradine, Go\t;rnor, Cunymond, 
 CoNRADE, Frollo, the Guard, &c. 
 
 GovER. dire and tragic sight ! The king, the 
 queen, 
 And fair Valdaura slain ! 
 
 Parad. Here's another object fit for wonder, 
 Though not for pity. [Spurns HeriaegUd. 
 
 GovER. Hah! He dead too? Whence should 
 these sorrows flow ?
 
 ALBOVINE. 107 
 
 Lay hold on Paradine. 
 
 Pakad. All, stay ! I'll bore his haggard soul 
 that strives 
 With saucy strength to captivate my limbs : 
 Hark ! The big drum recovers breath, and speaks : 
 March on ! The scatter'd foe retires, and all 
 The glorious horse are slain. I am magnanimous 
 And high ! 0, ye unkind false stars ! Ye mock 
 Poor Paradine ! A few clean tears to wash 
 My sins away, and I am seen no more. 
 
 GoVER. Seize on him, on forfeit of your lives. 
 
 Pakad. Their lives are forfeited to me. 
 
 [He fights with the Guard. They icound and 
 disarm him. 
 Here, here, it gall'd my very heart ! — 
 
 GoVER. Convey him gently in, and use all help 
 Of surgery to stop his wounds ; for from 
 His mouth we must receive the knowledge of 
 These fatal deeds. Some give th' alarum to 
 The ports. You Signors, lead to th' citadel ; 
 Where we'll proclaim Albovine's young issue, 
 By's former wife, to be his lawful heir. 
 Wild fancy may project things strange and new : 
 But time records no tale so sad and true.
 
 THE 
 
 CRUEL BROTHER.
 
 TheCruell Brother . A Tr'agech/. As it loas presented, 
 at the priuate House, in the lilacl'e-Fryers : By His 
 Majesties Servants. London, Imprinted by A. M. for 
 John Waterson., and are to he solde at the signe of the 
 Crowne in PauVs Clmrch-yard. 1630. Small 4to. 
 
 The Cruel Brother. A Tragedy. In the collected 
 edition of the works of Sir Win. D'avcnant. Folio. Land. 
 1673.
 
 Extreme liherties have again been tai.en hy tlie Editor 
 of tlie folio edition, with the original text of this a(hnir- 
 able tragedy. Several of the most poetic passages have 
 ruthlessly been expunged, and without any definite or 
 intelligible reason. The "Cruel Brother," as gdven to 
 the i)ublic in 1();U), and now reprinted, will, in point of 
 plot and composition, bear favourable comparison with 
 any work of Ford, or other of the contemporary dra- 
 matic poets. 
 
 During the Second Act, in a dialogue between the 
 Duke and Foreste, the allusions to the state of France 
 and of England at the date of the play are significant. 
 "The French," observes the Duke, "have fiery nimble 
 spirits." To which Foreste replies: — 
 
 "They have 
 Spirits ; but they all are useless made 
 By froward and afFectate violence. 
 * * * 'Tis a giddy nation ; 
 
 And never serious but in trifles." 
 Anon the Duke says : — 
 
 " They now are fully ripe ; they reach 
 The height and top of mortal faculties. 
 Nature in them doth stand upon the verge 
 Of her own youth. The English want 
 Three hundred years of that perfection. 
 And as the moon ne'er changes but i' th' fuU 
 Even so the mighty nations of the Earth, 
 Change in their greatest glory." 
 This nation is now within sixty years of the three cen- 
 turies so prophetically awarded to it; and from the aspect 
 affairs have progressively assumed, the Poet may pro- 
 bably be found to be not so very far out of his reckoning. 
 There can be little doubt that the character of Cas- 
 truccio is in tlie earlier portion of the play meant for 
 George Wither, whose satirical vein was the cause of 
 his incarceration in the Alarshalsea prison. lie was a 
 Puritan, and held a captain's commission in the Com- 
 monwealth during the time of the Great Kebellion. His 
 work entitled "Abuses stript and whipt," to which allu-
 
 112 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 sion is made in the scene between Castruccio, Cosimo, 
 and Dorido in the Second Act, originally appeared in the 
 year 1613, and ran through several editions, tlie last of 
 which is dated twenty years later, and is included in his 
 Juvenilia, being " a collection of those poems which were 
 heretofore imprinted and written by George Wither. 
 London, Printed for Eobert Allott, at the Beare in Paulea 
 Church Yard, 1633." His death occurred in 1666. 
 Davenant was not the only Poet of the day who brought 
 Wither before the public, for in the last masque per- 
 formed prior to the death of King James the First, written 
 by Ben Jonson, not only are the "abuses stript and 
 whipt" referred to, but the Laureate himself appeared 
 upon the stage, and gave a personal representation of him, 
 successfully imitating his style of writing, and his man- 
 ner of si^eakiug. " The Shepherd's Hunting," which is 
 considered to be Wither's best work, was written in 
 prison. 
 
 The present play is dedicated to Sir Richard Weston, of 
 whom we have this account : — 
 
 Sir Richard AYeston obtained, through the influence 
 of the Duke of Buckingham, the appointment of Lord 
 High Treasurer, an office which gave him precedency 
 after the Archbishop of Canterbury ; and the Lord High 
 Chancellor Clarendon says : "he was a gentleman of a 
 very ancient extraction by father and mother. His 
 education had been very good among books and men. 
 After some years' study of the law in the Middle Temple 
 lie travelled into foreign parts, and at an age fit to 
 make observations and reflections ; out of which, that 
 which is commonly called experience is constituted. 
 After this he betook himself to the Court, and lived 
 there some years ; at that distance, and with that awe as 
 was agreeable to the modesty of the age, when men 
 were seen some time before they were known ; and well 
 known before they were preferred, or durst pretend to it."* 
 
 His retention of ollice was at its commencement some- 
 what doubtful, as it was believed that he had given oifence 
 to his patron, who would not have scrupled to put him 
 aside if such had been his pleasure ; but the assassination 
 of the great favourite, by Felton in 1628, placed him 
 
 * ClarciKlnn, \(il. I., p. 85. Oxford, ]82(!, 8vn,
 
 THE CRUEL BKOTllEK. ] 13 
 
 firmly in his scat, for Weston, who had boon created a 
 baron tlie same year, so thoroughly ingratiated himself 
 with his royal master, that he not only remained trea- 
 surer until his death, but was elevated to the Earldom 
 of Portland in 1G;52. 
 
 The treasurer did not take the murder of the un- 
 popular duke much to heart, as is sulficiently proved by 
 an anecdote preserved in a letter, dated 1st November 
 1628, from the Rev. Joseph Mead to Sir Martin Stute- 
 ville: — "My lord of Arundel is grown into gi-eat grace 
 with the king, and hath resumed his lodging in White- 
 hall ; but my Lord Treasurer is Doiminis factotum, unto 
 whom, the residue they say, are but ciphers. He 
 diverted the king from that sumptuous funeral for the 
 Duke, by telling him it would be but the show of an 
 hour ; but if his Majesty would do him true honour, let 
 him erect a monument for him to remain to all ])osterity, 
 whicli would not cost half so much. But after the 
 Duke's burial, when the king put my Lord Trccosurer in 
 mind of his own project, and would needs have it pre- 
 sently go on, 'i would be loth,' quoth my Lord Trea- 
 surer, ' to tell your Majesty what the world would say, 
 not only here, but all Christendom over, if you should 
 erect a monument for the Duke before you set up one 
 for King James your father.' "* 
 
 The same writer, 19th Sept. 1C28, in another communi- 
 cation to the same friend, says : " Notwithstanding that 
 on yesterday was sennight, all the heralds were consult- 
 ing with my Lord Treasurer to project as great a funeral 
 for the Duke as ever any subject of England ; neverthe- 
 less, the last night at ten of the clock, his funeral was 
 solemnized in as poor and as confused a manner as hath 
 been seen : marching from Wallingford House, over 
 against Whitehall, to Westminster Abbey, there being 
 not much above a hundred mourners, who attended ui)on 
 an empty coffin, borne upon six men's shouldei-s ; the 
 Duke's corpse itself being there interred yesterday, as if 
 it had been doubted, the people in their madness might 
 have surprized it.t But, to prevent all disorders, the 
 
 * Couit iiiul Times of Charles I., vol. 1st., p. 419. Lon. 1848. 
 t lOiJ., !>. 399. 
 
 H
 
 114 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 train-bands kept a guard on both sides of the way, all 
 along from Wallingford House to Westminster Church, 
 beating up their driuns loud, and carrying their pikes 
 and miiskets upon their shoulders, as in a march, not 
 trailing them at their heels, as is usual in mourning. As 
 soon as the coffin was entered the chiu-ch, they came all 
 away without giving a volley of shot at all ; and this 
 was the obscure catastrophe of that great man." 
 
 Weston was evidently a man of ability, but profuse in 
 his expenditure, selfish, and imprincipled. Clarendon 
 has an amusing story of his rapacity and its conse- 
 quences. Sometime after the assassination of Bucking- 
 ham, who had previously received warnings that his life 
 was in danger, a vacancy occurred amongst the six 
 clerks in the ofiice of Sir JuUvis Csesar, who was master 
 of the rolls, and to whom the right of patronage belonged 
 absolutely. My I^ord Treasurer, always on the look-out 
 for plunder, got the king to solicit the appointment from 
 Sir Juhus, who had intended to give it to one of his 
 own sons. It is not easy to refuse a king, and the 
 nomination was transferred by his Majesty to his Dominus 
 Factotum, as Mead calls him, who instantly sold it to 
 one of his minions for six thousand pounds. It hap- 
 pened that the Earl of TuUibardine, who was allied 
 to the Csesars, having heard of tliis transaction, and the 
 promise that young Caesar was to have an equivalent, 
 took occasion to remind Weston on the subject, who 
 pleaded forgetfulness, adding, "if he would give him a 
 little note in writing, he would have it despatched to the 
 king that afternoon." The Earl wrote down on a slip 
 of paper these two words — " Eemember Cfesar," which 
 the treasirrer put into a little " pocket in which he kept 
 all bis memorials first to be transacted," 
 
 Day after day passed away ; the " little " paper re- 
 mained securely in the pocket of my lord. TuUibardine 
 did not visit the forgetful treasurer for some time. The 
 pajjer was lost sight of, when one day the servitor, who 
 took care of his lordship's clothes, having occasion to 
 furnish him with a change of raiment, found it in the 
 " little pocket," and instantly j)laced it before his master, 
 who was struck with horror as he beheld the mysterious 
 words, " Remember Csesar." The recent murder of liis
 
 THE CRUEL BIlOTll Ell. 115 
 
 patron, the givat and unpopular favourite, aud the pre- 
 vious warnings given to liini, at once Hashed on liis 
 memory. He sent for sucli friends as he believed he 
 could depend on. They came, and, remembering the 
 fate of the Roman Cfesar, advised liim to shut him- 
 self up in his own house, keep the gates closed, and not 
 aflmit, upon any pretence whatever, any persons but 
 those of " undoubted affections." 
 
 In this unenviable state of mind the affrighted jobber 
 remained a prisoner in his own house for some time, 
 dreading daily assassination. At last the Earl of Tulli- 
 bardine called aud was admitted to his presence, and his 
 first inquiry was, " had he remembered Csesar? " This at 
 once dispelled the delusion, and relieved him from his 
 very inconvenient but well-merited confinement. Claren- 
 don does not inform his readers whether Caesar ivas "re- 
 membered," but it is not unlikely that the ridicule wliich 
 must have attached to Weston, had there been any 
 public exposure, would do more for the young man in 
 the way of obtaining an appointment, than all the solici- 
 tations of the Scotish nobleman. 
 
 The Treasurer had his debts twice paid by Charles ; 
 but his extravagance continued until his death, which 
 took place in 1638. His honours expired upon the death 
 of the fourth Earl, which occurred in 1688. 
 
 Lord Portland had four sons: Hierome or Jerome, 
 Thomas, Nicholas, and Benjamin, Clarendon says that 
 the king's regard for him was extended to his family, 
 and more particularly to Jerome, to whom he gave in 
 marriage " a young beautiful lady nearly allied to his 
 Majesty and to the Crown of Scotland." But all the king's 
 bounties and his own large accessions could not "raise a 
 fortune to his heir," Jerome ; and after " six or eight years 
 spent in external opulency and inward murmur and 
 trouble that it was not greater; after vast sums of money 
 and great wealth gotten, and rather consumed than 
 enjoyed, without any sense or delight in so great pros- 
 perity, with the agony that it was no greater, he died 
 unlamented by any ; bitterly mentioned by most who 
 never pretended to love him, and severely censured and 
 complained of by those who expected most from him, and 
 deserved best of liim ; and left a numerous family, which
 
 116 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 was in a short time worn out, and yet outlived the 
 fortune he left behind him."* 
 
 The lady Avho became wife of Jerome was Frances 
 Stuart, daughter to Esme Stuart, Duke of Lennox, 
 who was descended from the younger brother of Mat- 
 thew Stuart, Earl of Lennox, the father of Lord Darnley ; 
 and in this way one of the blood-royal. Jerome, the 
 second Earl of Portland died in 1662, leaving a son, who 
 survived him only three years, Avhen ihe succession 
 opened to his uncle Thomas, with wliom the peerage 
 terminated. 
 
 * Clarendon, vol. i., p. P5 Oxford, 1826, 8vo.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE LORD WESTON, 
 
 LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Mr Lord, — I should do my inclination wrong, to call 
 this the first testimony of ray zeal to your Lordship : 
 For I did never think the wonder or the praise that I 
 have written, just, until I found your Lordship's char- 
 acter in both : and yet the age is grown unworthy to 
 receive such truths ; therefore, some were purposely 
 conceal'd ; and this fit esteem of yo\ir Lordship, is chiefly 
 left to delight Posterity. I could urge the dignity of 
 Dramatick Poems, but that were vainly to direct, rather 
 than woo, an acceptation. Those errors, your Lordship's 
 leisure shall vouchsafe to read in this Tragedy, are its 
 original Crimes, having received no examination since 
 the Birth, and being advised to correct it, by a survey, 
 I said, I had study'd your Lordship, and would not 
 lessen the noble office of your Mercy. This confidence, 
 I hope, shall nothing prejudice 
 
 Your Lordship's humble Servant, 
 
 William D^ivennnt.
 
 THE PERSONS OF THIS TRAGEDY. 
 
 The Duke 
 Lucio, 
 
 FORESTE, 
 
 Castruchio, 
 
 COSIMO, 
 DORIDO, 
 
 Lothario, 
 
 of Sienna. 
 
 A Count. 
 
 Creature to Lucio. 
 
 A satirical Courtier. 
 
 A Courtier, and Cousin to Castruchio. 
 
 A Gentleman, Comjmnion uith both. 
 
 A frantic young Gallant. 
 
 ^ [A Rustic, Tenant and Servant to 
 
 BoRACHio, I ^^^;^^^^..;_ 
 
 A Monk, A Suitor. 
 
 A Gentleman, A Suitor. 
 
 CoRSA, Sister to Foreste, Wife to Lucio. 
 
 LuiNNA, Wife to Foreste. 
 
 Duarte, Woman to Corsa. 
 
 A Boy, u-ho sings. 
 
 Servants, &c. 
 
 The Scene : 
 ITALY.
 
 THE_CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Actus Primus. — Scena Prima, 
 
 Enter Foreste and Lucio. 
 
 Fores. I must not be so rude as to believe 
 That you, my Lord, cau your affections set 
 Upon a maid, so humble in her birth 
 As she you name ; for regard of honour, 
 Do not mock the sister of your servant. 
 
 Lucio. This way to madness leads : teach not 
 my heart 
 Such modern Heraldry. Let it dispose 
 Of charitable thoughts with natural eyes, 
 Unlimited by customary form, 
 VVliich gain and nicety have made an art. 
 Virtue not blood enno1)les us, and earns 
 Her attribute, without hereditary help 
 From ancestors. O, my dear Foreste ! 
 Thy Sister with such noble wealth is fraught, 
 That to be covetous for her, appears 
 A holy sin. But thou art cruel grown : 
 Thy memory is sick. The old eftects. 
 That witness how I love thy learned soul, 
 Are quite forgot. 
 
 Fores. Young lord, disclaim that thought ! 
 Here I promulgate you my Patron are ; 
 Yqu found me in estate so poor, so low, 
 That you were fain to stoop to lift me up ; 
 You are the Duke's Creature ! Who dotes by art,
 
 1 20 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Who in his love and kindness, method keeps : 
 He holdeth thus his anns, in fearful care 
 Not to bruise you with his dear embracements. 
 And what is slie whose Virgin blood disdains 
 To quench your lawful fire 1 Or whom the Duke 
 Would not procure to climb your marriage bed 
 Upon her knees 1 And shall I then, 
 Like to the treacherous moon, strive to eclipse 
 The sun that gives me light 1 Shall I coi^sent 
 That she, that tumbled in a womb with me, 
 Shall give your issue birth ] The royal Duke 
 Would thank me for such charity. My Lord, 
 Though you are wise, you are but young. 
 
 Lucio. Heart of viper ! 
 Sure time hath lost his feathers from his heels. 
 Mark, how slow he goes ! Shall I ne'er be old, 
 That my designs may repute have 
 And credit in the world 1 I do not ask 
 Thy sister for my whore, but for my wife. 
 
 Forest. Sir, 'tis already join'd unto my creed. 
 For I would eat your heart, should it contrive 
 A way in thought how to cheat my sister 
 Of her pure chastity. I love you so 
 That I with care suppose ; she not deserves 
 To be your wife, and so esteem of her 
 That she is much too good to be your whore. 
 In this new argument I am too bold, 
 You know my duty well. The Duke's abroad 
 Though l3ut the birth of day. Go, Sir ! 
 
 Enter Duke, Castruchio, DoRroo, Cosmo, Page, 
 and Followers. 
 
 Duke. My glorious boy, you are too vigilant : 
 The Sun and you do visit me at once. 
 This courtship is not safe. You must not meet 
 Your lover with a rival, glorious 
 As yourself. Forests ! Welcome from Genoa,
 
 THE CRUEL r.RoTHER. 121 
 
 How fares our brother Cardinal ? 
 
 Fores. In health ami ease. He bade me tell 
 your Grace, 
 It was a deed of charity to think 
 Him worthy of this same great emplojTnent. 
 And this letter he huml^ly recommends 
 To your perusal. 
 
 [DiiJce reads the letter to himself. 
 
 Cast. How can it choose 
 But choke the very soul, and bruise the heart, 
 To think that such a giddy snipe : a fool, 
 That merely lives to disparage Nature, 
 Should creep to this ambitious Government. 
 Still he rules the Kuler. The Duke is ward 
 Unto a page ; whose eyebrows wear more beard 
 Than doth his chin. And there's his instrument, 
 A dark fellow ; that with disguised looks 
 Could cheat an hypocrite, older than time. 
 
 DoRlD. I've heard a better character of both, 
 Such, as to the young Count, wit, and valour gives : 
 Unto Foreste, — honest spirits. 
 
 Cast. Eeport is then become a bawd to luck ; 
 Whom Fortune doth enrich. Fame doth flatter. 
 
 Duke. Sure this tame Priest willmake us cowards. 
 We must a truce confirm Avitli Genoa. 
 Well, be it so. Where now, my noble boy, 
 Shall I occasion find, to testify 
 That you deserve my love, by virtue of your o'wn 1 
 In sickly times, when war and civil spleen 
 Besiege the heart with treacherous designs, 
 A friend shall find a cause to make him knoAvn, 
 But now in fair weather, I need not ask 
 What hovel's* near? 
 
 Lucio. In this, I dare discredit fote. 
 They are not so wealthy in affliction : 
 With sorrow so well stor'd ; as could suffice 
 * Hovel : a Canopy. — Hallmell.
 
 122 THE CRUEL BROTH Kl!. 
 
 To try my sufferance in the behalf 
 
 Of you my Prince, and still most royal Master. 
 
 Duke. Dar'st thou then die for me 1 
 Here ! Make thyself a sacrifice to fame. 
 Take it : and I will be thy chronicler. 
 
 [Proffers him a naked pony ard. 
 
 Ltjcio. It Avere, Sir, but ingratitude in me 
 To lessen thus the number sanctified 
 Of your true friends. Be you pleas'd to sheatli it 
 In that same j^art, which you do most abhor. 
 
 Duke, 0, Lucio ! Thou art my earwig now, 
 Creep'st in my ear to feast upon my brains. 
 When in my private grave I lye enclos'd, 
 More silent than my ruin'd Fame, no tongue 
 Shall pay his tribute to my memory 
 But thine : for thou art likely to survive. 
 Thy years are few, but full of gratitude. — 
 Come ! Hie we to the Park : the sprightful morn 
 Gives motion wings, and liberty to those 
 Whom lameness stakes unto the ground. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke and train. 
 
 Cast. Royal dotard ! Like tinder, thou dost waste 
 Thy forced fire, to give another light 
 Whose saucy flame will darken thine. Monstrous ! 
 
 DoRiD. Why dost thou spend thy gall in secret 
 thus ] 
 A pox upon't ! Turn thoughts to action : 
 Heaven knows I had rather enrich myself. 
 Than envy others wealth. Employ thy brain. 
 Get the Duke's fist to this, and thou shalt share 
 Five hundred croA^Tis. 
 
 Cast. What is't 1 
 
 DoRiD. The old business. 
 
 Cast. And not yet sign'd? This 'tis to be 
 modest. 
 Had I had reputation in thy creed. 
 It had been done long since. There's my agent.
 
 THE f'RUET- r.noTTTKi:. 123 
 
 Enter Foreste. 
 
 Hence and provide me thanks. Save j'on, Signioi' \ 
 
 Fores. You may Avith charity. 
 
 Cast. Am I in your remembrance, Sir ? 
 
 Fores. Signior Castruchio, as I take you. 
 
 Cast. The" same. Because I never did desire 
 To gain by being troublesome, I lost 
 The dear benefit of the practique part 
 Custom's a suitor's safe encourager. 
 I the Duke have serv'd, since I was able 
 To serve myself. Yet never had the luck 
 To get by it ; and, as the times promise 
 Never shall, unless I imitate the crab. 
 And find my way, as he doth his, backwards. 
 That is, to make petition to the foot 
 That he will please t'instruct, and teach the head 
 When to commiserate my affair. 
 
 Fores. Signior, I need a comment to your 
 words. 
 
 Cast. If you will move my Lord, the Count, 
 To get the Duke's fair hand subscribed here ; 
 Then shall I feel my self well understood. 
 
 Fores. Sir, my abilities are most pregnant 
 When I find I may be profitable 
 To any courtiers just and modest suit. 
 I pray what sense carries the inscription 1 
 
 Cast. Only this. Sir. There is an engine made 
 Which spends its strength by force of nimble wheels : 
 For they once screwed up, in their return 
 Will rive an oak ; but with such sul)tle force 
 That motion gives no leisure to impediment. 
 The large and ponderous log is soon consum'd 
 To shavings more transparent than a glass. 
 Of these the skilful, boxes make, scabbards, 
 Sheaths, chests, and molds for children's cibinets. 
 Fores. Trust me an engine of importance great !
 
 12-1 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 But now, what would the engineer himself? 
 
 Cast. Faith, Signior, nought but a monopoly 
 For all those wares his engine makes. 
 
 Fores. Keep it. Good Sir, keep it. A monopoly ! 
 Why, Sir, the common-wealth hath been so crush'd. 
 With th' insulting charter of such patents. 
 That now the very word defiles the cause. 
 I had thought you, Signior, would have engag'd 
 My industry. in such a suit as might 
 No way disparage though it did enrich, 
 However not abuse the pul^lic Aveal.* 
 
 Cast. Very good. Sir. My Lord the Count, 
 your self, 
 His servile instrument, and some others, 
 Of this new faction that now engross 
 All offices, and send your scouts abroad, 
 Intelligencers strict, that bring you home 
 The number and the rate of what yourselves 
 Or others in the dark can put to sale. 
 Nature hath not altered yet : the first 
 And antick method to preserve our breaths. 
 We must eat bread if we intend to live : 
 Which how to get — unless this humble way 
 That you deride — in troth I cannot tell. 
 It makes me mad to think you should expose 
 Us men of heart, + to those fastidious helps 
 That 'scape your own acceptance. Your wide 
 
 throats 
 That soon will swallow any thing which fills. 
 Although it nourish not. A pox upon you all ! 
 
 * It had been the custom for a very long time for royalty to 
 grant to favourites and others, "for a consideration," patents 
 for inventions, many of them of a most impracticable kind ; 
 V)ut which were thrust upon the public with such persistence, 
 as to cause a distaste for all patented inventions, however 
 meritorious. 
 
 See Thomas Heywood's verses upon "Monopolies" at end 
 of this Yoliune. 
 
 t Art. Folio.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHEll. 125 
 
 Fores. I did expect you would begin to rail. 
 Good troubled soul ! I knew you Avell before. 
 You are the only man, whose wealthy muse 
 Doth furnish all the fiddlers in the state 
 With desp'rate ballads, and invective songs. 
 Libels of such weak fancy and composure, 
 That we do all esteem it greater wrong 
 T' have our names extant in such paltry rhyme, 
 Than in the slanderous sense. 
 Cast. Very well. Sir. 
 
 Fores. You, you must be a satirist forsooth ! 
 Calumniate by instinct and inspiration ; 
 As if just heaven Avould borrow gall of you, 
 Wlierewith to Avrite our faults. strict account ! 
 Your gall, which in the pen so overflows. 
 That still it blots where it inscribes. 
 You imitate the property of dogs, 
 Who bark and snarl most at him they know not ; 
 For else among all those you scandalize 
 Why nam'd you me, almost a stranger to your 
 
 eye? 
 My ancestors that built no monument 
 For their fames to dwell in, you also bring 
 Into the knowledge of the critic world. 
 Why I could never see thee yet but drunk : 
 Which makes thy verses reel and stagger so. 
 Cast. Come, Sir ! We may exchange one thrust 
 
 unseen. [TJiey draw, fifjht, close, Fores. 
 
 flings down Cas. and disarms him. 
 
 Fores. A pretty Cur ! Dare it bite as well as 
 
 bark 1 
 How now. Sir, your mathematical thrusts 1 
 Then have at ye ! Yield me thy sword, or else 
 
 thou dy'st. 
 I have no joy to set at liberty 
 A soul so uni)repar'd. And as thou art 
 My enemy, 1 take a full revenge.
 
 126 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 By suffering thy corrupted blood to dwell 
 
 And taint Avithin thy veins. W are discover'd ! 
 
 Enter a Monk. 
 
 Take thy sword. Now, get thee home and rail 
 
 upon 't, 
 Because 'twould fight no better. 
 
 Cast. Yet we may meet i' the dark. You have 
 a throat, 
 And there are knives in Italy. [Exit Castnichio. 
 
 Fores. A good day attend my ghostly father ! 
 Doth this your tarriance here discover aught 
 You would with me 1 
 
 Monk. Your leisure shall produce my utterance. 
 Son, your fame is of complexion clear, 
 Such as ensnares the virtuous eye, to love 
 And adoration. Such as would procure 
 All the skillful angels suitors to her, 
 And such as serves for my encouragement, 
 For I no letters have from noble friends, 
 Which a requital from themselves invite. 
 By courtship bold and troublesome to others. 
 Nor am I with that wicked metal stor'd, 
 That rules the mighty, and betrays the mind 
 To toil in a design which angers heaven, 
 And makes the devil blush. But yet. 
 Dear Son, I have a suit to thee. 
 
 Fores. Which I desire to know. 
 
 Monk. In the ancient convent of St Augustine 
 There is a holy brother lately dead, 
 Whose place if you will but confirm on me 
 By the Duke's letter to the brother-hood,' 
 Then shall I better leisure have to pray 
 For you, my patron. 
 
 Fores. Alas, my father ! 
 The times are more observant to your tribe. 
 It is the method now, that your deserts
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 127 
 
 Need not to usher hut succeed reAvard, 
 The treatise, written lately, to confute 
 The desperate sect in Mantua,* calls it you 
 The author 1 
 
 Monk. It knows no other. 
 
 Fores. There your preferment safely taketh root. 
 Believe me, ghostly father, I will chuse 
 The fittest time to work in your behalf. 
 
 Monk. Heaven prosper your designs. 
 
 [Exit Monk. 
 
 Fores. "What throngs of great impediments 
 besiege 
 The virtuous mind ! So thick in multitude 
 They jostle one another as they come. 
 Hath vice a charter got, that none must rise 
 But such, who of the deAil's faction are 1 
 The way to honour is not evermore 
 The way to Hell ; — a virtuous man may climb. 
 Let the flatterer sell his lies, else-where 
 It is unthrifty merchandize to change 
 My gold for breath. Of all antagonists 
 Most charity I find in envious men. 
 For they do sooner hurt themselves, than hurt 
 
 * In the year 1627, Vincent de Gonzaga II., Duke of 
 Mantua, died without lawful issue. The succession was claimed 
 by Charles de Nevers in right of Marie, daughter of Francis 
 the X., who, ha\ang no sons, the Dukedom passed to his 
 brother Vincent. Charles, the rightful heir was opposed by the 
 Duke de Guastallo, a cadet of the family of Gonzaga. Nor 
 was this the only contention, for the Dukes of Savoy and 
 Lorraine, respectively, claimed Mounf errat, a valuable portion of 
 the Duchy. 
 
 The Emperor of Germany, coveting Mantua, took the ini- 
 tiative by asserting a right as overlord or Dominus directus. 
 In this attempt he followed the example of Edward I. of 
 England, whose conduct towards Scotland afforded his Im- 
 perial Majesty an admirable precedent. 
 
 In 1()30, when Daveuant published the Cruel Brother, the 
 Mantuan struggle had not terminated: indeed, it was not 
 until many ye;u-s aftei-wards that the Imperialists reaped the 
 full benefit of the seeds of strife originally sown by his 
 Imperial Majesty.
 
 128 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Or me, or him, that rais'd me up. 
 
 An envious man is made of thoughts. 
 
 To ruminate much doth melt the brain, 
 
 And make the heart grow lean. Such men as 
 
 these, 
 That, in opposing, waste their proper strengths, 
 That sacrifice themselves in silly hope, 
 To butcher us ; save revenge a labour, 
 And die to make experiment of Avrath. 
 Let Fame discourse aloud, until she want 
 An antidote. I am not scar'd with noise. 
 Here I dismiss my fears. If I can swell, 
 Unpoison'd by those helps, which heaven forbids^ 
 Fond love of ease shall ne'er my soul dehort :* 
 Maugre all flattery, envy or report. 
 
 [Exit Foreste. 
 Suitors [withhi]. 0, good your Grace, hear us ! 
 Hear the complaints of us poor men ! 
 hear us ! We are all undone ! Good, your honour, 
 
 hear us. 
 
 Enter Duke and Lucio. 
 
 Duke. Death encounter 'em ! Lucio shut the 
 door ! 
 'Tis the plague of greatness, the curse 
 Of pomp, that in our darkest privacy we must 
 Ever public be to every man's aff"airs. 
 How now ! All these saucy troops of brawling 
 Suitors, attend on you my glorious boy 1 
 
 Lucio. It is theii' humble skill not to arrive 
 Before your Grace, but by an advocate, 
 A Mediator blessed in your eye. 
 
 Duke. How apt am I to love ! Yet now observe 
 Unkindness in my care, and bitterness 
 In physic. I study how to make thee less 
 That I may make thee more and more my own. 
 Office and dignity are enemies 
 * Dissuade.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 129 
 
 To health and ease. Respect grows tedious, 
 Observance trouhlesome where 'tis most due. 
 He, that gives his soul no more employment 
 Than what's her own, may sleep within a drum;'^ 
 While busy hearts that love to undertake 
 Beyond their reach of years, are fain to use 
 Drowsier potions : yet watch the winter night 
 AVith more distinction than the parish clock. 
 Could'st thou resign thy titles and thy cares 
 To make me yet more capable of still 
 Enjoying thee 1 
 
 Lucio. My zeal unto myself forl)ids my speech : 
 Since if I make reply to this, I but 
 Disparage duty, and consume my breath. 
 Where sight is young and clear then spectacles 
 Are troublesome, and rather hide than shew 
 The object. The most devout obedience, 
 Which I shall ever owe unto your Grace, 
 Becomes my heart much better than my tongue. 
 
 Duke. But yet observe, my Lucio, 
 Th'unkind tricks of Nature : how we are fool'd 
 By a religious constancy in love. 
 A Prince's hate doth ruin where it falls : 
 But his affection warmeth where it shines. 
 Until it kindle fire to scorch himself. 
 If we are subject to the sin of Heaven, 
 Too much charity, extremity of love ; 
 Let there be mercy shewn in punishment. 
 Why is the corrupted use of Royal love 
 Imputed to our charge, and to our audit laid ? 
 We that with all those organs furnish'd are. 
 All those faculties natural in men : 
 Yet limited in use of each ; prescrib'd 
 Our conversation by a saucy form 
 Of State. How can we chuse, by this restraint, 
 
 * Mill, Folio. 
 I
 
 1 30 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 But Struggle more for liberty 1 Make choice 
 
 Of some one ear, wherein to empty out our souls, 
 
 When they are full of busy thoughts, of plots 
 
 Abortive, crude, and thin. 'Tis cheap and base 
 
 For Majesty not to l)e singular 
 
 In all effects. then if 1 must give my heart 
 
 To the command of one, send him, sweet Heaven ! 
 
 A modest appetite, teach him to know 
 
 The stomach sooner surfeits with too much, 
 
 Than starves for lack of that supi)ly 
 
 Which covetous ambition calleth want. 
 
 For when my Friend begs, my bounty then 
 
 Concludes to make me poor before that he 
 
 Shall so unthrifty be of breath to ask in vain. 
 
 Distraction ! tameness ! my Lucio ! 
 
 How canst thou conster this 1 After I have chid 
 
 I seem to flatter thee. 
 
 Lucio. My gracious Lord ! 
 
 Duke. Peace ! 
 I will no more employ my memory 
 Thus to discourage thine. Where's Foreste 1 
 'Tis fit he know you are not vigilant 
 In his behalf. Farelo de Sforza, 
 My old Secretary, is newly dead : 
 The place is his. I shall expect no thanks 
 From you, nor yet from him ; 
 My bounty is requited in her choice. 
 
 Lucio. Your Grace will bring us both within 
 the reach 
 Of public envy. 
 
 Duke. Thou now would'st certify, 
 His birth obscure and base discourageth 
 Such earnest help to his so great promotion. 
 Not a jot : Know my boy ! 'tis the vulgar, 
 Not the royal trade to patch up things : 
 Or seek to mend what was before of quality 
 Perfect enough it self. To make a man
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 131 
 
 Of nothing. "Why, this same creation 
 Inclines a little near divinity: 
 Near the old i^erformance, which from Chaos 
 Drew this multitude of subtle forms. 
 
 Lucio. Since you, the royal maker, do commend 
 The metal, and your workmanship ; it shews 
 There's little skill in those which envy him. 
 Foreste is your creature. Many times 
 I do acquaint him what the general voice 
 Doth urge in his disgrace. He laughs it out. 
 And swears he would not lose that privilege, 
 Which Nature gave him by her kind mistake 
 In his nativity, for the sea's worth. 
 As if from's issue he could ne'er deserve 
 A monument, unless himself do hew 
 The stones whereof 'tis built ; unless he raise 
 His monument on a wart ; his dignity 
 On poverty obscure and base. 
 
 Duke. We do affect his thoughts. Such in- 
 dustry 
 Proclaims him fit for high designs. Some men 
 Attend the talking drum,* and riddle out 
 Their lives on Earth, with madness, sophistry, 
 Calling their loss their gain, danger delight ; 
 Some men converse with books, and melt the brain 
 In sullen study how to vindicate 
 The liberal arts. Those loose formalities 
 Then grow methodical ; and die i' th' dark. 
 Some practice rules of State, and suffer much 
 For honour's sake ; nay, tread upon themselves 
 At first, to reach the higher. Some pursue 
 The plough, and in their wholesome sweat do swim ; 
 And some, that furnish'd are with nimbler souls, 
 Employ their times in wanton exercise, 
 
 * Qy. A convocation of metaphysicians? "He dreamn 
 drumhles, i c, He is half -asleep or stupid." " Drvmley, muddv 
 thick, confused."— JlaHiwell.
 
 132 THE CRUEL BROTHETt. 
 
 Masques and revells, the compliments of love ; 
 And love I find the easiest vanity. 
 
 LuciO. {aside.) gentle Corsa! make it so witli nw, 
 Fain would I, if I durst, reveal to him 
 The heat of my affection, and where 'tis fix'd. 
 
 \A noise uutliin. 
 Duke. Hark ! sure the gallery door is left un- 
 lockt 
 Are we debar'd all jdace of privacy 1 
 Nature in us hath lost her vulgar right. 
 A loud bawling suitor doth not waken 
 Charity, but deafen her. 
 A shame upon 'em all ! In, Lucio ! 
 
 [Exeunt Duke and Lucio. 
 
 Enter Suitors at the other door. 
 
 1 . Heaven bless his Grace ! 
 
 2. Amen : and my Lord the Count's good 
 
 Honour. 
 
 3. Friend ! went the Duke this way 1 
 
 2. Here. This way. 
 
 3. Pray shew me him they call Signior Lucio. 
 2. The Count ! Come, I'll shew you him. 
 
 1. Follow, follow, follow ! [Exevvf. 
 
 Enter Dorido and Cosimo. 
 Dor. Dost hear, Cosimo 1 
 Cos. What say'st thou 1 
 
 Dor. I prithee stay ! Why, slip but here aside 
 And thou shalt see the most resplendent fop. 
 That ever did discredit nature. Signior 
 Lothario; a country gentleman, 
 But now the court baboon ; who persuades himself, 
 Out of a new kind of madness, to be 
 The Duke's favourite. He comes ! 
 
 Enter LOTHARIO, BORACHIO. 
 
 Th' other is 
 A bundle of proverbs, whom he seduc'd
 
 THK CRUEL BROTHER. i:53 
 
 From the i)lougli, to serve him for prefermeut. 
 
 Loth. Borachio ! 
 
 BOR. My lord 1 
 
 Loth. Survey my garments round, and then 
 declare 
 If I have hit it. 
 
 BoR. You have, sir : but not the mark. 
 
 Loth. What mark, thou bold parishioner of hell ] 
 
 BoR. Why, sir, the mark I aim at : Preferment. 
 After a storm, comes a calm : the harder 
 You blow the sooner your cheeks will ache : and he 
 That cares for your anger may have more of 't 
 When he list. For my part, I know my mother. 
 
 Loth. The froward sisters have conspir'd. Slave ! 
 dog ! 
 Wilt thou never leave this immense folly ? 
 Can nothing serve those dull lips but proverbs 1 
 
 BoR. Sir, I know none of your proverbs. First 
 come. 
 First serv'd. These words that are nearest the 
 
 tongue 
 Have opportunity soonest to leave the mouth. 
 
 Loth. Is it then decreed I must grow mad 1 
 
 BoR. I'll be no more flouted, nor bruis'd, not I. 
 What need my lord be beholding to me 
 For's mirth; when he may laugh at's own folly 1 
 Besides, though motion and exercise 
 Be good for gross bodies ; therefore, must they 
 Of the guard pitch me up and down like a bar? 
 
 Loth. Sa, sa, sa ! A mutiny in heaven ! 
 
 BoR. If there be, you are not likely to come 
 Thither to appease it ; first end this quarrel 
 Upon earth. I have served you this six months 
 In hope of an office ; and am ho more 
 An officer than she that bore me. 
 
 Loth. Alas, poor fool ! 
 I pity thee. TIiou wilt Ix'licvc nothing
 
 134 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 But that which may be seen or understood. 
 I say thou art an officer ; or if thou art not 
 Thou shalt be, which is better : for that fame 
 Which we now enjoy is in some danger 
 To be lost; but that which we never had 
 Cannot be lost before we have it. 
 
 BoR. 0, rare conclusion ! 
 
 Loth. Besides. Look here and then rejoice. 
 Is the Count, whom they call my rival 
 I'th' Duke's favour? 
 Is he, I say, accoutred like to me 1 
 Why, his sleeves sit like stockings on his arms. 
 His breeches are like two cloak-bags, half sew'd 
 Together in the twist, and his other 
 Garments shew like plaisters on him. Follow ! 
 And make thy fortune fat. 
 
 BoR. Well, he that still expects but tires his hope ; 
 What one cannot, another can : 'tis so 
 With days and hours too. And, for my part, 
 Let the glass run out. 
 
 [Exeunt Loth. Bor. 
 
 Dor. His man's as full of proverbs 
 As a constable : he coins 'em himself. 
 
 Cos. And such another head-piece fill'd with 
 whey. 
 As is the master here, the sun ne'er saw. 
 
 Dor. He walks like a Zealand-stork. 
 
 Cast. But, sure, the Duke 
 Enables error in their fancy, by some 
 Behaviour equivalent to what 
 The master and the man expect : for else 
 Folly cannot be so sickly-ey'd, but time 
 Will give it strength to know it self. 
 
 Dor. Why, Sir, this dignifies the jest. They 
 scarce 
 E'er saw the Duke, and are less known 
 Unto the world. His Grace well apprehends
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 135 
 
 These voluntary mistakes of Nature, 
 In preservation of their intellects, 
 Are fitter subjects for accidental mirth. 
 Than a comical continuance. It is 
 A levity too humble in a Prince, 
 To heed such trifles, 
 
 Cos. Nay ! Prithee, lead the way ! 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. 
 Enter Foreste and Luinna. 
 
 Fores. I cannot tell, why thou, my girl, 
 should'st joy 
 In my advancement thus. Honour and place 
 Bring sullen thoughts with them ; business of such 
 A rugged quality as takes away 
 The amorous garb : those soft wanton touches 
 "WTierewith the youthful flatterer betrays 
 The weaker side to action ; whose effects 
 More weakness brings. I shall no leisure have 
 To comfort thee with smiles. When 'tis assign'd 
 That I must venture for a boy ; 'twill be 
 In haste. My business will not suffer me 
 To stay, and make a prologue to the act ; 
 To kiss, or simper invitation. 
 
 LuiN. It is not fit I apprehend you noAv, 
 But I wish that you would know, my duty 
 Is so well preserv'd from all corruption. 
 Which either youth, or foul example might 
 Produce, that it implores for sufferance, 
 To certify the world how strong it is. 
 
 Fores. I was assur'd before. This is tlie time, 
 In which I shall oblige posterity 
 Or fall, my wench, by flattering error.
 
 136 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Hast thou to my sister counsel giv'n ? 
 Instructions safe, whereby her actions 
 May warrant her promotion well deserv'd 1 
 
 LuiN. It was my tongue's last employment. 
 
 Fores. I would have her wear her growing 
 fortunes 
 In a handsome fashion. Do but observe 
 The unpolish'd garb of city Dames: of those 
 Whom fathers' purse-strings hoise up to honour. 
 How they do suck their chins into their necks, 
 Simper Avith unskilful levity, and trip 
 On their wanton toes, like kibe-heel'd fairies. 
 The devil's dam shews like a vestal Nun 
 To them. More powerful in humility. 
 Instruct my sister, gentle wife. 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 LuiN. I shall be earnest to my utmost skill. 
 Fores. My Lord is come ! Where is my sister 1 
 LuiN. With the Florentine ; who instructeth her 
 
 in music. [Exit. 
 
 Lrcio. Signior Foreste, you see my love is rude 
 
 and bold. 
 I am the usher to my own entrance. 
 
 Fores. My good Lord, the proverb will persuade 
 
 To be bold with what's your own. 
 Your title's strong both to the house and me. 
 Lucio. I am in debt for both. Wilt thou not 
 chide 
 To see my heart assume this liberty [Music* 
 
 Upon my tongue : before it rightly knows 
 Thy sister's heart ? 
 The Duke's consent, as yet unasked too. Hark ! 
 
 • This "music," as just referred to by Luinna, is performed 
 by Corsa, without. The subsequent song also proceeds from 
 her.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 137 
 
 Fores. Cease that noise ! 'tis troublesome. 
 
 [Cease music. 
 
 Lucio. How, Foreste ! Hast thou ears, and wilt 
 thou 
 Silence such hopeful harmony, or is 
 Thy thrift unnatural 1 Wilt thou forbid 
 Thy friend to share in what is good 1 Sweet tongue 
 And hand persist in what your kindness profFer'd. 
 
 Fores. Obey him ! If the music not deserves 
 Your strict attention, you must blame your self. 
 
 [Song. 
 
 Lucio. Shew me the way, Foreste ! 
 
 Fores. Whither, Sir 1 
 
 Lucio. My heart is stol'n out of my ear ; let me 
 But know the thief, and I'll forgive the robbing. 
 Speak ! W^ho is't that, with a voice so amorous 
 And shrill, confounds the other's hollow organ 1 
 Still so reserv'd, and unto me ? 
 
 Enter Corsa, 
 
 Fores. "Why then look there ! The voice was 
 hers. Go Sir, 
 And take what else you would enforce from my 
 possession. 
 
 Luc. Is this that child of Orpheus 1 How ! kneel 
 to me? 
 
 Fores. Stay, Sir. If she consent but to abuse 
 The property of motion, in such kind 
 As may exalt her person, but on such 
 Above this height, I am her enemy 
 For evermore. Consider what you do. 
 She brings no portion but humility. 
 If her first payment fail : who dares assure 
 The future debt 1 Pray look into her lap : 
 You'll find she comes not from the East enrich'd 
 With diamonds' bright wealth, whose wanton worth 
 Unskilful fancy prizes not from use.
 
 1 38 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 But from the idolatrous doting of the eye. 
 Her chaste obedience is all her dowry. 
 O bitter speech ! It cuts my very soul 
 To think that fortune should create us two 
 Mere patterns of your charity. 
 
 Lucio. Dare you authorize this idolatry 1 
 Then I'll kneel too. 
 
 Fores. And I 
 
 Will join to make tli' offence seem virtuous. 
 Now interchange your souls. Where passion is 
 So fond, it cannot well be counterfeit. 
 Each unbusied angel, hear me speak ! 
 
 send, send down unto this youthful pair 
 Celestial heat. Such serious love as makes 
 A business of delight. Instruct her soul 
 To practise duty in the humble strain, 
 
 And furnish him with an acceptance prompt. 
 Make her fruitful as the vine, which grows 
 Crooked with the weight of its own encrease : 
 So blessed in their issue, that when time 
 Shall think them fit to taste the privilege 
 Of death, they shall not need a monument, 
 Yet dwell as chief i' th' memory of fame. 
 
 CORSA. Amen, amen ! 
 
 Lucio. Such is my prayer too. Foreste ! 
 Excessive joy disturbs my utterance. 
 My words are parted on my tongue. speak ! 
 Thou know'st my heart ! Tell her, there may lie 
 hope 
 
 1 shall deserve those tears that shew like dew 
 Upon the morning cheek. Entreat her, that 
 My years may not disgrace my love. Though I 
 Am young, I cannot counterfeit. 
 
 I ever speak my thoughts. I am o'ercome. 
 
 CoRSA. Alas, sir ! so am I. There needs no art 
 To help belief where no suspicion is.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 1 39 
 
 Fores. Now, I will leave you to yourselves. 
 
 [Exit Foreste. 
 
 Corsa. I've much to promise, in my own behalf, 
 Of future love and humble duty 
 To you my dearest Lord. Time lays his hand 
 On pyramids of brass, and ruins quite 
 What all the fond artificers did think 
 Immortal workmanship. He sends his worms 
 To books, to old records : and they devour 
 Th' inscription. He loves ingratitude, 
 For he destroyed the memory of man. 
 But I shall ne'er forget on what strange terms 
 You take me to your bed. 
 
 Lucio. Excellent wretch! I am undone with joy. 
 I will not blame the coward to fear death. 
 Since the world contains such joy as this. 
 Why do you weep, Lady 1 Can you suppose 
 Foreste would consent to what is done, 
 Unless he knew there were no danger in't ] 
 Sure his mother was a Sybil. He sees. 
 With a prophetic aim, the end of his 
 Designs, before they come to action. 
 He is too wise to err. Why weep you then 1 
 
 Corsa. It is a folly in my eyes. 
 I know not why they weep : unless they weep 
 Because they now have lost their liberty ; 
 Heretofore each man, which chance presented, 
 Was to them a lawful object : but now 
 They are to look on none but you. 
 
 LuciO. Mark then the bondage I impose on 
 mine. 
 My poor eyes have no object but your face : 
 Of which I will deprive them thus — 
 
 [Covers her face uith her white veil. 
 Shroud thee in thy vestal ornaments. 
 Creep, creep, my glorious sun, behind a cloud, 
 For else my eyes will surfeit with deliglit.
 
 140 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 I never felt true joy till now. Metliinks 
 A brisk alacrity, a nimble fire 
 Conveys me strangely from my flesli. 
 Not the cannon's iron-entrail, when wrapp'd 
 Within a swarthy case of troubled air, 
 Could equal me in emphasis of motion. 
 
 CoRSA. Though modesty would suffer me to 
 boast, 
 Yet 'twere not in the power of breath to make 
 My joy so known, as it is felt. 
 
 Lucio. Come then, my dear Corsa, the prie.st 
 attends 
 Within. The world wants men, and Hymen is 
 A nimble God. When all is past prevention, 
 The Duke shall know my choice. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter DoRiDO and CosiMO. 
 
 Dor. This disgrace makes thy cousin boil his 
 heart 
 In his own blood. 
 
 Cos. He hath w^it a most pestilent libel, 
 Which must be sung all about the city, 
 By one he calls his Daw ; a tall, big fellow. 
 
 Dor. I know him. He sings like Phalaris' bull. 
 Cos. I suppos'd at first, he'd have a challenge 
 
 sent him. 
 Dor. But that's contingent noAV : Foreste being 
 made 
 Secretary of State. 
 
 Cos. I have heard o' th' new edict, which in- 
 stitutes 
 A mysterious toy, i' th' hatband, for those 
 Of the faction. 
 
 Dor. Why, about two days since one of tlir 
 sect 
 .Sent me a challenge : because my sister
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. Ul 
 
 Drunk his Lord's health, with her quoif on. Each 
 
 hour 
 Those gi'ltly participles do embark 
 Themselves for duels. The one is akin to 
 My hononrable lady. Th' other 
 To my very good Lord. 
 
 Enter Castruchio. 
 
 Cos. There comes my cousin, chawing his lean 
 heart. 
 
 Dor. Good morrow to the court satirist ! 
 
 Cast, The world is alter'd, Dorido. Foreste 
 Is step'd beyond my reach. We cannot meet 
 In duel : the heralds stand between. 
 But my fine thrush can sing you a new libel. 
 
 Dor. We shall have your thrush in a cage shortly. 
 Eemember whom you deal withal. 
 
 Cast. Hang him ! dull, open slave. His thoughts 
 may be 
 Discern'd through the shaving of a deal board. 
 I'll sift and winnow him in an old hat. 
 
 Dor. Prithee, sweet Castruchio ! Leave thy 
 barking. 
 'Twill be treason shortly f<jr any man 
 To carry ears Avithin three miles of thy tongue. 
 
 Cast. Why, signior, what faction are you of 1 
 
 Dor. Not of your faction, sir, if none return 
 Unto the prison for your libelling. 
 You remember your vices-strip'd and whip'd. 
 Your trim eclogues, the fulsome satire too. 
 Written to his Grace : wherein you flatter. 
 Whine, and damn your self to get a pardon, 
 For what seems there a resolute ofi"ence. 
 Satires are more useful now than ever. 
 Nor grieves it me to see the humour us'd. 
 But thus abus'd. To see a bard still reach 
 At holy Bayes. Passion o' me ! I'll tell thee !
 
 142 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Thy rhymes include not so much brains as would 
 Suffice to fill a cherry-stone. 
 
 Cast. You'ld fain make me angry. 
 
 Dor. Ay ! With thyself. 
 
 Cos. And then thou spend'st thy gall with more 
 justice, 
 Than when thou rail'st against Foreste. 
 
 Cast. Cry you mercy, precious coz ! Hath 
 Foreste so great a share in your tongue too 1 
 Sympathy is corrupted. Behold society amongst 
 The wicked ! whilst a virtuous man 
 Is left alone to resist his bad fate. 
 Let him chide the fulsome age, rail against 
 The times, aloud. Though in a vault, or 'tween 
 Two hills, he shall find no zealous echo 
 To second his bold language. When I die, 
 I die a martyr to the common-weal. 
 
 Enter Lothario and Borachio. 
 
 Loth. Dull caitiff"! Leave these abortive provects, 
 And talk in the newest fashion. I'll have 
 My very dog bark i' th' courtly garb. 
 
 Dor. Step aside ! They are as mad as thy cousin. 
 
 Loth. The excrements and mere defects of nature 
 Shall be reduc'd to ornaments in me. 
 I'll feed upon the tongues of nightingales, 
 For so each fait I let will be a song — 
 
 Cast. For the Peripatetics, being butchers 
 Here in Sienna, — [Aside, behind. 
 
 Loth. A Pallas hewn in an entire carbuncle, 
 Encircled with a mote that flows with Lhasis — * 
 
 Cast. Deriv'd their augury from the warm entrails 
 Of a calf. \ Aside. 
 
 * It would hardly have been necessary to notice this absurd 
 nonsense of Lothario, were it not for the mention of a word, 
 " Lhasis, " of which no explanation has been found in any contem-
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 143 
 
 BOR. Sir ! These are some of those that laugh' d 
 at ye 
 In the presence. 
 
 Loth. At me ? Thou liest. They laugh'd at thee. 
 
 BoR. Why then the devil will ne'er give a man 
 leisure 
 To believe a truth. 
 
 Cast. Signior Lothario! The great minion 
 To our Duke : I greet your health with all joy. 
 
 [Comes forward. 
 
 Cos. And I, with all humility. 
 
 Dor. And I, with all celerity. 
 
 Loth. Hark ! Thou dull sinner. Is this real 1 hah ! 
 
 BoR. Sir, let him, that hath a heart of his own, 
 Think what he list. 
 
 porary or more modern dictionary. As it subsequently occurs 
 in the drama, and is used by Foreste in such a way as plainly 
 to shew it was meant a provocative to animal passion, it may 
 not unreasonably be conjectured to be the mandrake, or rather 
 the juice of it called "mandragora," of which Albovine in the 
 preceding drama, when infatuated with love for his captive, Queen 
 Rhodolinda, made, as he himself asserted, considerable use. 
 
 The Goddess of wisdom is usually reputed to have had a cold 
 temperament. Hence Lothario has her hewn in an entire car- 
 buncle, a precious stone of which Macer says. Lib. v., cap. xxiii., 
 
 " Ardeufes Gemmas superat carbunculus omnes," 
 
 and immersed in a mote or ditch flowing with mandragora, 
 which, in some cases, (saj's Dr Brugis in his " Vade Mecum, 
 for chyrurgeons," Lon. 1652), sometimes so much troubles " the 
 brain that the patient performs many undecent gestures." 
 
 The next matter for inquiry is, how the word Lhasis was 
 used to describe this stimulant. 
 
 Now, Sir Thomas Browne, speaking of the mandrakes of Leah 
 mentioned in Genesis as solicited by Rachel, observes that from 
 thence "hath arisen a common conceit, that Rachel regarded 
 these plants as 'a medicine of Fecundation,' whereby she might 
 become fruitful, which, notwithstanding, is very questionable 
 and of uncertain truth." Works, vol. iii., p. 312. Lond. 1835 
 8vo. 
 
 Thus, as the earliest notice of mandrake is to be found in this 
 colloquy between Leah and Rachel, may not Lhasis be Leah 
 figuring in a Latin garb ? Lcasis and Lhasis are pretty like 
 each other. But see afterwards, (page 176), where the word 
 occurs in the mouth of Foreste.
 
 144 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Loth. Do they adore, or flout me now 1 
 
 BOR. All is witchcraft. I know when the moon 
 winks. 
 There's something in't besides an eclipse. 
 
 Loth. Miscreant ! what suspicious follies 
 Dost thou create within that wooden skull 1 
 And with what heathen-phrase utter'd ! Know, dog ! 
 If I employ my wrath — 
 
 BoR. Alas, Sir ! I've more faults than misbelief. 
 Therefore give me your blessing, and let me 
 Go home in peace. 'Tis true, when the sky falls 
 We shall have larks. But let weaker stomachs 
 Expect such curious meat. I can eat 
 Oats and garlick under my own roof. 
 
 Dor. How 1 will Borachio leave the court 1 
 
 Cast. What accident of dire portent is fallen 1 
 
 Loth. Gentlemen ! applaud my patience. Because 
 He cannot furnish me with wholesome suits 
 He doubts my power to get 'em granted. 
 
 Cast. Why we will furnish him with suits. 
 
 BoR. But won't ye flout, and play the knave with 
 one 1 
 
 Cast. How, knave ! AVas that the word 1 
 
 BoR. Interpret the word as yourself shall please ; 
 I scorn to be your dictionary. 
 Marry come up ! are your ears so tender 1 
 I hope I'm a man, although a sinner. 
 
 Cast. Use no choler, amorous child. But if 
 Thou wantest suits, thy Lord being near the Duke, 
 May furnish thee with 
 
 Cos. Or, methinks thou Avould'st become a 
 knighthood. 
 Get him to beg it for thee. 
 
 BoR. No, no ! Hot words make but warm air. A fig 
 For a knight-errant, that hath a stile and ne'er a 
 hedge. 
 
 Dor. Then get a patent to survey brine-pits.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. ] 45 
 
 Or else for casting ordricance in lome.* 
 
 Cast. Or else search Saint Peter's patrimony. 
 Lay-prebend'ries are good, and Symony 
 Is an old paradox. 
 
 BoR. Hold, hold ! 
 Enough sufficeth all women but whores. 
 He that expects the morning lengthens the night : 
 Therefore straightway let my Lord get the Duke 
 To sign these patents : which done, 
 I'll return to the wife of my bowels, 
 And die for joy. 
 
 Cast. AVhy, this is fit and requisite. 
 Cos. If Signior Lothario do consent. 
 Loth. It is decreed. 
 
 EoR. "Who Would hasten time when we may be old 
 Too soon. Let me take down a cushion and pray, 
 For I shall have more dignity than will suffice 
 To damn a ]\Ionk. 
 
 Cast. Who could perish in a better cause 1 
 BoR. Why ! Can I help it if a man be born 
 To offices 1 Or, as my master said. 
 Predestinate in the womb of greatness. 
 'Tis not our faults. Each man obeys his star. 
 In spight of his teeth. 
 Dor. All this is Alcaron. 
 
 BoR. One thing grieves me. I've a bad memory 
 Already, and now 'twill be made worse. 
 
 Cast. How ! can preferment hurt thy memory 1 
 BoR. Sir ! Preferment makes a nuxn forget 
 His dearest friends ; nay, his kindred too. 
 
 Cos. Look ! Thy Master's building more castles 
 
 in the air. 
 Cast. He has intelligence from Spain, and 
 Fortifies to no purpose 'gainst the next Spring. 
 
 * Leather or hide. — See Cotgrave. 
 
 A leathern cannon was pi-oved at Edinburgh, fired three 
 times, and found to answer, 23(1 October 17S8. 
 
 K
 
 146 THE CRTJEL BROTHER. 
 
 Loth. All offices shall be sold i' th' dark. 
 
 BoR. How ! Grow not old in another's garment, 
 Sell what's your own. Some of those offices 
 Are mine by promise. 
 
 Loth. Still cross to my designs. I'll stretch 
 your sinews. 
 
 Dor. Hold, Signior Lothario, hold ! Mercy 
 Becomes the powerful. 
 
 BoR. Let the devil take the knighthood, and make 
 His dam a lady.* I'll not be his ass, 
 That serv'd for blows and provender. 
 
 [Exit Bor. Loth, running after him. 
 
 Dor. Let's relieve Borachio, or all our comic 
 scenes 
 Are at an end. [Exe^mt omnes 
 
 [Chairs out. 
 Enter DuKE and Foreste. 
 
 Duke. Foreste. 
 
 Fores. My gracious Lord. 
 
 Duke. Are yet our letters to his holiness 
 Dispatch'd ? 
 
 Fores. They are so, please your grace. 
 
 Duke. Did the French Ambassador make some 
 shew 
 Of discontent at his departure hence 1 
 
 Fores. Both in his words and looks : for when 
 he heard 
 Th' English-Leiger had oppos'd his treaty 
 Concerning traffic with the Florentine, 
 His anger straight dismiss'd the argument, 
 And seiz'd upon the nation; nay rail'd 
 Against the Leiger too, whose opposition 
 Might be chidden as too nice a virtue, 
 
 * It has lately been suggested that Shakspere might possibly 
 have read Don Quixote ; but there is really nothing to prove that 
 he did. That D'avenant vcas acquainted with Cervantes may 
 be safely inferred, for Borachio is quite an Italian Sanchb Panza.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 147 
 
 But could not be accused as a vice, 
 
 'Tis known indeed the French do take a pride 
 
 In the emphasis of sudden anger, 
 
 As if alacrity in ill did make 
 
 The fault look handsomely, and dulness add 
 
 Deformity to sin. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis faithfully observ'd. 
 
 Fores. Swell'd with uncharitable pride : such as 
 Admits no stile of neighbour ; as if grown 
 Above the use of friendship ; they seem to call 
 Those mighty Islanders nearest their soil. 
 Poor borderers to their continent. Such, 
 Whose thin numbers have in bloody battle 
 Made their multitudes their impediments ; 
 Worn their ensigns, instead of scarfs. 
 
 Duke. The chance of war 
 Admitteth many times of miracles, 
 Even such, as do discredit history. 
 High Providence confers the conquests there, 
 Where probability conferr'd the loss. 
 And this is done, that Ave may attribute 
 The praise to him that gave the victory. 
 And not to them that got it. Observe, besides, 
 That when the weak do overcome, — the strong 
 Do leave that stain for their posterity 
 To wipe away : which is already done. 
 The French have fiery nimble spirits. 
 
 Fores. Your Grace deals justly in your praise. 
 They have spirits : but they all are useless made 
 By forward and aflfectate violence. 
 He that spends his fury and his strength 
 I' th' first charge, must not hope to make's retreat 
 So nobly, as the modest combatant. 
 Whose onset slowly moves : as careful not 
 T' outride his skill. Their valour is t' attempt. 
 Not to perform. 'Tis a giddy nation ; 
 And never serious but in trifles.
 
 148 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Duke. Thou dost mistake — in natural effects. 
 Where fancy is so rich, 'tis incident 
 To some mis-expence. These witty riots 
 Divulge the wealth o' th' brain. Fruit that is ripe 
 Is prone to fall, or to corrupt itself. 
 According to the age of Monarchies, 
 They now are fully ripe : they reach 
 The height and top of mortal faculties. 
 Nature in them doth stand upon the verge 
 Of her own youth. The English want 
 Three hundred years of that perfection. 
 And as the moon ne'er changes but i' th' full, 
 Even so the mighty nations of the earth 
 Change in their greatest glory. First, their strict 
 And rugged discipline to vain delights, 
 Tlieir solemn marches next to wanton jigs, 
 Their battels fierce to duels splenative, 
 Or witty quarrels of the pen. 
 
 Enter Lucio and kneels. 
 
 Lucio. Here may my knees take root : whilst I 
 do grow 
 A living statue of true obedience, 
 Or let my royal master grant his pardon. 
 
 Duke. Sure we may trust the j udgment of our eyes. 
 Thou dost not look as if thou could't commit 
 A sin so horrid, so ugly as can fright 
 Our mercy from us. Rise, we pardon thee. 
 Now let us know thy crime. 
 
 Lucio. It is no crime, 
 Unless against that great prerogative 
 Your ear hath overrun.* Perhaps my heart 
 Hath made escape through these fond eyes. And I, 
 I' th" rash discretion of my youthful blood, 
 Confin'd myself in matrimonial bonds. 
 
 Duke. Hah ! married 1 Speak suddenly ! To whom ? 
 * You have to bridle nature. — Folio.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 149 
 
 Fores. To my sister. Sir, pardon the permission 
 
 [Foreste kneels. 
 Or frown, and leave your creature more obscure 
 Tlian -wlieii you own'd him first. Now is the time 
 To shew your charity divine. Preserve 
 What you have made. 
 
 Duke. Foreste, this is ill. 
 What, confederate with ungovern'd youth 1 
 But rise, we pardon you. Where's the lady 1 
 
 Enter CoRSA. 
 
 Rare beauty ! 
 
 You liave our pardon and our fiivour too. 
 I thus invite more knowledge of your worth. 
 Believe me. Lady, you have a feature 
 That would betray a more experienc'd eye, 
 Than Lucio's is. Excellent Avretch ! with a 
 Timorous modesty she stifleth up 
 Her utterance. ! such a pregnant eye. 
 And yet so slow of speech, is a wonder 
 More delightful than any nature makes. 
 Hast thou, Lucio, so much unhappy wit. 
 As to be jealous yet 1 Wilt thou suppose 
 Thy self secure in our discourse 1 
 
 Lucio. Heaven forbid, your Grace should e'er 
 employ 
 Your time so ill as to discourse with her, 
 'Till I grew jealous. 
 
 Duke. Come hither. Lady ! Come confess, how 
 chance 
 You have bewitch'd my boy with subtle smiles, 
 With wanton 'haviour of those pretty eyes 1 
 Doth heaven bestow such noble ornaments. 
 To be abused in the use? and now, 
 He is your prisoner too, in cheerful bonds. 
 How can you have the heart to make such spoil 
 And havoc of his beauty 1 Hah ! speak lady !
 
 150 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 CoRSA. I hope your Grace hath thoughts more 
 merciful. 
 I knoAV this match was made in heaven ; and not 
 Provok'd by any sinful art in me. 
 How I have us'd him in this little time 
 That he hath been my Ijord, let him declare. 
 My duty is so strict, I need not blush 
 To hear the story told. 
 
 Duke. No ! look, look there. His eyes, for very 
 shame, 
 Their lustre lost, are crep't into his head, 
 Encircled with the weakly colour blue. 
 The roses in his clieeks are wither'd quite. 
 His clear and brisk aspect is muddy now 
 And dull : his voice that was so shrill. 
 And could even trumpet-like out-scold the echo, 
 Is hollow grown and hoarse. Have you then us'd 
 him well 1 
 
 CoRSA. Ahvs, most gracious sir, go not about 
 To make my lord suspect my loyalty. 
 If nature sicken in his faculties, — 
 Which heaven be thanked I perceived not yet, — 
 It cannot prove a guiltiness in me. 
 
 Duke, Believe't, young wife, I am no proselyte. 
 I still aver you are that greedy nymph. 
 That hath devour'd the rich complexion of my boy. 
 See how his features shrunk, his beauty stain'd. 
 The Scythian Dame, Avliose cruelty is such. 
 Whose lust so prodigal, that she doth strive 
 To kill the able lecher in the act. 
 Making her womb his sepulchre ; would yet 
 Have spared that wanton handsomeness to show 
 As pattern of her levity, 
 
 CoRSA. I hope your Grace Avill pardon ignorance, 
 That so ill manner'd is, as not to know your meaning. 
 
 Duke. No matter, lady. 
 My accusation shall withdraw itself.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 151 
 
 Pretty innocence ! Lncio, prepare. 
 'Tis our will to make thy wife a courtier; 
 She shall be high in favour, if she'll leave 
 Her modesty ; that's out of fashion now. 
 In neighbour courts the ladies so prevail 
 With masculine behaviour : they grow 
 In factions able to depose their husbands 
 From the charter of their sex. 
 
 Fores. [J side.] 'Tis strange that his dislike is 
 fled so soon. 
 
 DuKE. Your marriage we will solemnize with 
 Masques 
 And Eevels. If invention ever mean 
 To get reward for subtlety, 'tis now. 
 We take notice, Lucio, she is thy wife, 
 And thy sister, our Foreste. 
 
 Fores. & Lucio. We your grace's humblest 
 creatures. 
 
 Fores. Affection is become a parasite ; 
 Strives to please whom it cannot benefit. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. 
 Enter Dorido, Cosimo, Castruchio. 
 
 DoRiD. Known, by whom ! By city wits 1 
 
 Cos. Or my lady's workmen. 
 
 Dor. Who ne'er saw verse, but what their 
 suitors ^vrit, 
 Which they read like prose too. 
 
 Cast. I'll not discredit my patience ; talk on. 
 
 Dor. They say you are particular with a 
 Great lady. 
 
 Cos. Yes, and her pensioner. 
 
 Dor. Some loose thing, belike ; yet will be at 
 charge 
 To secure her fame from noise. For thou pray'st
 
 152 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Against all lechery but thine own. 
 
 Cos. And she hath wish'd, in witty penitence, 
 Thou hadst been single in the world. 
 
 Dor. Ay, for then she had liv'd chaste. 
 He grows angry, his eyes look red. 
 
 Cast. No, Sir. They blush to see a fool. 
 
 Dor 'Twere fit they would employ their modesty 
 At home. For thou art a fool in print. 
 
 Cos. Yet had he liv'd, when the old sybil 
 Presented her divine manuscripts to 
 The dull Eoman, he would have scolded with her, 
 Unless his pamphlets had attain'd the first 
 Acceptance. 
 
 Dor. True, for every poet thinks himself 
 The best poet in the world. 
 
 Cos. And that satire not the worst, wherein 
 He chides women for wearing their half-ruffs. 
 Which pinn'd behind trans-scituates the face. 
 Or makes 'em look, like Janus, with two faces. 
 
 DoRiD. A just exception : for going hastily 
 To kiss his whore, he could not find her mouth. 
 
 Cos. Why sure her breath was strong enough 
 To direct him to it. 
 
 Cast. Yet I have heard nothing, but what 
 deserves 
 More pity than anger. 
 
 Dor. Now when he hath provided some high toy 
 -For the press ; he thinks on dedication, 
 Straight chuseth one of the faction, who must 
 Not patronize, bat buy what he makes vendable. 
 With pi'aise in the epistle. 
 
 Cos. Can you deny this, cousin Satirist ? 
 
 DORID. And nothing makes learning so cheap, 
 But that every writer sells his Avorks. 
 
 \^E.rit Castnicliio. 
 
 Cos. Nay, let's follow, and worry him to pieces. 
 
 [They after him.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 153 
 
 Enter Lucio and Foreste. 
 
 Lucio. Foreste, our ruine is contriv'd aliove. 
 If our master prove unkind, the jilanets 
 Govern ill ; For our gratitude and care 
 Deserve more constancy. 
 
 Fores. Looks he so strangely on ye ? 
 
 Lucio. As if the object were but new to him, 
 And his own heart unsettled in his breast. 
 
 Lores. Is his violence so soon tir'd ] Survey 
 The register of your own deeds. Speak, sir ! 
 Have you so engross'd his ears, as if their 
 Organ were yours, not his 1 Confin'd 'em to 
 Your own tongue, and so depriv'd the sorrowful, 
 The griev'd in heart, of an easy audience 1 
 
 Lucio. Never ! 
 
 Fores. Since you have shar'd the Duke's pre- 
 rogative, 
 And by his love held opposition 
 At such great advantage : did you e'er slight 
 ^^'ith cheap regard, those of high and noble birth ? 
 
 Lucio. My soul abhors such tyranny. 
 
 Fores. Have those who wear th' Eternal's livery 
 Bought their wages of ye 1 Or have they found 
 Bold and skilful flattery more helps 
 Advancement, than deep and moclest learning 1 
 
 Lucio. Never! since my distinction was of power 
 To help its choice. 
 
 Fores. In nice trial, or evidence of law, 
 Hath custom which only gives us hope 
 Of certainty in justice, been traduc'd 
 By your obscure help 1 
 
 Lucio. Never ! 
 
 Fores. Hath the desolate -widow scar'd mercy 
 From your eyes, with her old ruin'd beauty 1 
 For grief was never amorous ; or hath 
 The torn beggar too soon dismissed your charity.
 
 154 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Because not giddy enough to delight wantonness 1 
 
 LuciO. Never ! 
 
 Fores. Then if our great master withdraw his 
 love, 
 The weight of sufferance cannot bruise ye ; 
 For the whole world will share i'th' burden. 
 
 Enter a young Gentleman with a letter. 
 
 Lucio. From whom is this, sir 1 
 
 Gent. From my Lord Marquiss de Loretta. 
 
 LuciO. I humbly kiss his hand. 
 
 Gent. Now luck flatter me but once, and I am 
 made. 
 'Tis short, pray heaven it be sweet, or I'll ne'er love 
 The proverb. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, have you ever been in service, 
 Under any eminent commander 1 
 
 Gent. Never yet. 
 
 Lucio. Read these, Foreste. 
 How reputation lessens in esteem, 
 Courtesie grows so cheap that denial 
 Seems less troublesome than consent, 
 And performance is only lazy. 
 The labour of subscription hinders more 
 Than thought of that to which it doth subscribe. 
 This letter would fain make you a captain 
 In the new troops sent to the Valtaline. 
 But sure your modesty will teach you baulk 
 The grant, though I should beg ye to receive't. 
 
 Fores. Sir, shall the grey head — the old souldier, 
 That tries misfortune by his constancy 
 In sufterance ; affronts the winter's rage, 
 Whilst his blood is frozen into coral. 
 His sinews into wire ; whose valour thinks 
 To wear chain'd shot as bracelets on his loins. 
 Shall his preferment be intercepted 1 
 Shall he now trail a pike under a boy,
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 155 
 
 Whose experience is younger than his face ? 
 
 LiTCiO. No: the friendship of the noble Marquiss 
 Shall never countenance such unjust deeds. 
 Find a suit more capable of my grant 
 And your acceptance — it is your own. 
 
 [Chair at the Arras. 
 
 Gent. Noble signior, I'll put ye to the test. 
 
 Fores. Princes' letters are cheaper far than those 
 Which scriveners put to sale. If such pigmies, 
 Apes in doublets, ])rocure command o'th' camp. 
 Let the cranes wage Avar again. No opposition 
 Is too weak to ruinate. Go, young lord ! 
 
 [Exit Gentlnnan. 
 The Duke is ill accompanied, if only 
 With his own thoughts. Discover more. Perhaps 
 His discontent concerns not you. 
 
 Lucio. I fear, yet my hopes would fain comfort me. 
 Farewell ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter LuiNNA and Duarte. 
 
 LuiN. I would not be unmannerly, but if 
 She be at leisure, tell her I am here. 
 
 DUART. Please your Ladyship to sit, I'll tell her so. 
 She's come already. 
 
 Enter CoRSA, 
 
 CoRSA. I saw your entrance. How do you, sister 1 
 
 LuiN. I humbly thank your honour, I am well. 
 Pray dismiss your woman : I would impart 
 A i)rivacy. 
 
 CoRSA. Watch my lord's coming from the Duke, 
 and bring 
 Me Avord, before he is uncoached. 
 
 DuART. I shall. [Exit Duarf. 
 
 LuiN. madam, time is now grown old and runs 
 But slowly ; I thought each hour a year 
 Until I saw your ladyship.
 
 156 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Cos. Why what's the matter 1 I hope my 
 brother's well, 
 
 LuiN. Yes, I thank heaven. But, pray, come hither! 
 Who do you suppose Avas Avith me last night 
 When my husband was at court 1 
 
 CoRSA. How should I tell, without you instruct 
 mel 
 
 LuiN. Why, give a guess. 
 
 CoRSA. The Lady Benvolia, or the Lady 
 Utruvia ! Who was it 1 
 
 LuiN. Nay, 'twas a Man too. 
 
 CoRSA. That's fine ifaith. Pray name him to me. 
 
 LuiN. What think you of the best man in Sienna 1 
 
 CoRSA. How ! Was the Duke with ye 1 
 
 LuiN. Yes, disguis'd too. He either came, or else 
 Pretended so, to meet your husband there. 
 After some talk, in which he did express 
 His love to all our family, he gave 
 An ample praise of you : and said he saw 
 Already so much worth in your fair breast, 
 As will add a knot to your Lord's heart. 
 And his own : nay, and make his constant love 
 A pattern for every Eoyal Master. 
 
 CoRSA. Indeed, I daily pray to have it so. 
 
 LuiN. Then he gave me this same jewel ; to you 
 He recommended the receipt of this. 
 
 CoRSA. Trust me, Avench, they are both full of 
 glory, 
 Rarely cut and set. 
 
 LuiN. Your's is the better of the tAvain. 
 
 CoRSA. It is ! 
 But truly I mislike the manner of the gift. 
 Dost thou think his thoughts are honourable 1 
 I prithee tell me. 
 
 LuiN. Th'are such as I suspected at the first ; 
 Such as made me to refuse these jeAvels. 
 He SAVore I Avas a traitor, if I thought
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 157 
 
 He meant amiss. Or, if I did deny 
 
 To bear this same to you, I did but ill 
 
 Requite his kind request unto my husband. 
 
 Then in the close he us'd such art, such sulitle 
 
 phrase. 
 To free his thoughts from the strict jealousy 
 Of mine ; as reconciled me to obey his will. 
 You know besides how harsh it is to chide 
 AVith Majesty, or slight Princes' favours. 
 
 CORSA. I'll shew it to my Lord. 
 
 LuiN. 1 had thought t'have shewn my husband 
 mine too ; 
 But, since 'tis capable of curious questioning, 
 1 mean to stay awhile. 
 
 CoRSA. Thou counsel'st well. We'll wear 'em 
 both at once. 
 Mine is the best I e'er was mistress of. 
 
 Enter Duarte. 
 LuiN. And mine is not eclipsed much by yours. 
 DuART. Madam, my Lord is near at hand. 
 CORSA. Come, sister, we shall hear the news at 
 
 court. 
 LuiN. I'll wait upon your Ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Castruchio, Lothario, Borachio. 
 
 Cast. Sir Knight, believe't ; Foreste is the man 
 That dulls your reputation with the Duke, 
 And suborns the Count against ye. 
 
 Loth. Dares he control my purposes 1 
 
 Cast. Ask honest Borachio else. 
 
 BoR. Nay, he'll not believe me : 
 Though I should swear you flout him 
 Behind his back. And when a man 
 Sees things plainly he need not buy spectacles 
 Till he grow old. 
 
 Loth. I'll mince the villain into sand, to fill
 
 158 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 My hour-glass. 
 
 Cast. In this garden he walks continually 
 After dinner. Here, stay ! and expect him. 
 And Signior, in this skin of parchment, mark ! 
 What pains I take to perfect your revenge. 
 I'th shape of a tree, which takes root in Hell, 
 You shall discover all his base descent. 
 On that l)ranch appears a Hangman. Then, 
 A Jakesman ; then, a Tinker. On's mother's side 
 A Bawd profess'd ; then, a Tybb : then, a Tripe-wife. 
 A Synagogue of Welsh Rabbles could not 
 Express more skill in genealogies. 
 Than this includes. Sir, shew it him, 
 And he insaniates straisrht. 
 
 Loth. I'll make him wear it on his forehead. 
 
 Cast. Excellent rage ! but not a word of me. 
 I humbly take my leave. 
 
 [Exit Castnichio. 
 
 Loth. Not the four winds, met in March, shall 
 cool my spleen. 
 
 BoR. Sir ! now we are private, 'tis a fit time 
 To be troublesome 
 
 Loth. I'll cram Cerberus with sops 
 Made of the slave's blood 
 
 BoR. Concerning those offices. I've thought on 
 em. 
 And will have 'em all in spite of Bolton's teeth.* 
 
 Enter Foreste. 
 Fores. Signior Lothario I Borachio too ! 
 
 * "There goes a story of Queen Elizabeth, that being- pre- 
 sented with a Collection of English Proverbs, and told by the 
 author that it contained all the English Proverbs. Nay, replied 
 she, Bate me an ace, qnof/i Bolton ; which proverb being instantly 
 looked for happened to he wanting in his Collection." — " Who 
 this Bolton was I know not, neither is it worth enquiring." 
 
 Ray's Proverbs, 8vo., 1768.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 159 
 
 Thou art an honest fellow. 
 
 BOR. Ay, your Worship is wise to speak no more 
 Than what you may well stand to. 
 
 Loth. Base stem, cleriv'd from Isope-root, 
 Our ancestors were not so familiar. 
 Behold ! and grow more mannerly. 
 
 [Sheivs him a Parchment. 
 
 Fores. What's here ] My pedigree 1 Some saucy 
 knave 
 Hath counsel'd him to this affront. What, ho ! 
 
 [Enter Servants. 
 I must know th' original projector. 
 Lay hold upon those fools ! 
 
 Loth. Lay hold on me ] 
 Take off your hands ; or I will toss ye all 
 Into the clouds, and kick the mountains after ye. 
 
 BoR. I pray bid the Gentleman take good heed ; 
 For my Master can do all this, and more too; 
 I have seen him. 
 
 Serv. Be you quiet. You that desire offices. 
 
 BoR. If I do, what then 1 There be those desire 
 Worse things. 
 
 Loth. Know ye not, rogues, that I can muzzle up 
 The testy Unicorn in a spinner's thread V' 
 
 Fores. Lay hold on him. 
 
 BoR. He that cannot run for his liberty 
 Hath no courage in his heels. Let the gout 
 Take him that hath legs and wont use 'em. 
 
 [He runs awaij. 
 
 Fores. No matter, let him go. Convey that fool 
 Unto the porter's lodge. 
 
 Loth. A chaos shall succeed this usaee. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants with Lothario. 
 Enter Lucio. 
 Whither so fast, sweet Lord ? 
 
 * See reference to this and explanati in the Biographical 
 Notice of D'avenant, Ante.
 
 1 GO THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Lucio. Foreste, I have ta'en my leave o'th' Duke. 
 
 Fores. Must ye away to night 1 
 
 Lucio. Now, presently. My followers attend 
 At door. I only came to kiss thy hands. 
 
 Fores. The sun will fail ye ere ye reach Lucca. 
 
 Lucio. I must through: His Grace will have 
 it so. 
 Why dost thou make thy head to shake and reel 
 L^pon thy shoulders thus 1 Is it o'ercome 
 With thoughts, and such as must be hid from me 1 
 
 Fores. Take heed ! suspicion is the favourite 
 Of Time and Nature. It takes a sudden growth : 
 And gathers in the breast like balls of snow 
 On snow ; until the weight make it deny 
 To be remov'd : then melts at leisure too. 
 
 Lucio. He's too moderate that will, at my years, 
 Be satisfied thus. 
 
 Fores. Why then consider thus. You go to Lucca, 
 There to congratulate the safe approach 
 Of the Pope's Legate ; he hath been there a week ; 
 And why he was not visited ere this, 
 Or why, upon such strict and short summons. 
 Yourself must now be sent, quite puzzles me. 
 Actions rare and sudden do commonly 
 Proceed from fierce necessity : or else 
 From some oblique design : which is asham'd 
 To shew itself i'th' public road. 
 
 Lucio. Foreste, is this ail 1 
 
 Fores. Why, my sweet patron, this is enough 
 Of danger, since none is merited. 
 
 Lucio. Young thoughts encourage me to suffer- 
 ance. 
 Each storm is usher to a gentle calm. 
 Who toils with speed gets soonest home to rest. 
 The plodding mule shall sleep eternally. 
 Why should the stricken deer bemoan his death 1 
 His obsequies were full of noble rites :
 
 THE CRUEL BROTH Ki;. IGl 
 
 Actjeon's quire a jolly requiem gave,* 
 
 And til' arrow from the bow did .sini:r his dircre. 
 
 Fores. Thus tliy years do riddle grief aAvay ; 
 Making the sorrow swift, because 'tis mortal. 
 Let me wait on your Lordship to your horse, 
 And at your better leisure read this same. 
 I'll tell ye as we go who brought it me. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. To wrong my boy, unkind, incestuous heat ! 
 Why is copulation legal 1 It gives 
 Authority to lust, for chastity 
 Would soon conclude the World. virtuous 
 Prejudice, when error prevents folly ! 
 Fiends, Devils, that do live in liquid fire, 
 Have constitutions not half so hot. 
 So riotous as mine. But why is this ? 
 The beauteous Corsa is not yet defil'd. 
 He that repents ere he commits a fault, 
 Doth, like a thirsty sinner, store his soul 
 With mercy, to absolve that sin himself. 
 Which he may afterwards more securely 
 Fall into. Enough, this soon initiates. 
 
 Enter Castruchio {behind). 
 The credulous Count, her husband, I have sent 
 To Lucca. And to-morrow he returns. 
 My plots are limited too short a time 
 To become actions. Nor was it skill 
 To send the jewel by her Sister. Mark ! 
 My soul and brain are perfect courtiers grown. 
 In my declension, and my greatest want 
 They leave me to instruct and help myself. 
 
 Cast. [Aside.] These fancies are not old; the 
 whole court 
 
 * Referable to tlie baying of Actaeon's dogs as they pursued 
 him to the death. 
 
 "And all the quire of birds did sweetly mig."— Spenser. 
 L
 
 162 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Observes him strangely altered. But why 
 Am I sent for 1 That I must knoAV, by safe 
 And cautelous insinuation. 
 
 Duke. How soon I've profited in discipline 
 Of Hell. I must through. What I did mean 
 Adultery at first, will now, I fear, 
 Become a rape. 
 
 Cast. Halv! still upon that string 1 I like it 
 well. 
 'Tis musical. 
 
 Duke. Castruchio ! art thou come 1 
 Thou hast been long a Courtier, but whether 
 'Twas want of skill in me to choose a man, 
 Or want of luck in thee to be my choice. 
 Suspense makes neutral. But, know ! my love 
 Was tardy, because still void of leisure 
 To warrant passion well bestow'd, by safe 
 Though tedious trials. Affection 
 That is slow, is sure : and now I wear my heart ' 
 Not in mine own breast, but thine. 
 
 Cast. I have but one life. It is some error 
 In your Grace, thus t'oblige me to the loss 
 Of more in your dear service. 
 
 Duke. I am not skill'd in words. But I affect 
 Thy fury. For thou art the bold Satyr, 
 That whips Foreste and the wanton Count 
 In thy tart verse. 
 
 Cast. My gracious Lord ! I shall conceive much 
 grief, _ 
 If my zeal mistake in accusation 
 Of those men, which th'uncertain tongue of Fame 
 Delivers to my charge. 
 
 Duke. Nay, make not thy confession an excuse 
 Eather than a story, for there needs none. 
 I hate Foreste and the Count, and would 
 Devise succinct * ways to my revenge. 
 
 • Some sudden. — Folio.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 163 
 
 Cast. Heaven forbid ! I'd rather far disgrace 
 Tlie skill of my subject ; call accusation 
 Slander, than that the busy multitude 
 Should note inconstancy in you. 
 
 Duke. (A.vde) This is a damn'd hypocrite. 
 Chameleon's changes are not so intricate to sense. 
 Castruchio ! ease me with nimble apprehension. 
 I have not leisure to be modest now. 
 Speak, — hast no acquaintance with any near 
 Corsa's person : the Count's fair wife 1 
 
 Cast. I humbly beg your Grace would not 
 mistake 
 The conditions of my duty. 
 
 Duke. I beg of thee not to mistake the sense 
 Of my designs. My words import my heart. 
 And both, no danger unto thee. 
 
 Cast. I hope my skill in servitude will not 
 Provoke my Prince to tempt my honour. 
 
 Duke. What prolix love is this thou dost in- 
 dent 
 With my acceptance 1 Make choice of services ? 
 
 Cast. Your grace will give me leave ; since 
 that I know 
 I not deserve to share in your high secrets, 
 To doubt my safety in knowing this. 
 
 Duke, Death ! and horror ! Thy suspicions 
 are too thin. 
 Consider why I sent the Count to Lucca 1 
 Upon my life, thou art secure : therefore 
 Eeply unto my former question. 
 
 Cast. My gracious Lord, I have some interest 
 In her woman. 
 
 Duke. Is Corsa's woman known to thee ? 
 
 Cast. She is. Perhaps 
 
 Duke. Discharge thy tongue. May my ears 
 blister 
 If they digest words to thy prejudice.
 
 164 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Cast, Perhaps I knew her — beyond the modest 
 
 strain. 
 Duke. There's gold ! Castruchio, .shew some pity, 
 On rebellious blood. Be thou my harl^inger ; 
 
 [Flings him a hag. 
 Billet me this night where she doth lye, 
 And thou art made for ever. 
 
 Cast. Must it be this night ? 
 
 Duke. Strict opportunity will have it so. 
 Her Lord returns with the next sun. 
 
 Cast. I cannot say herself shall porter be 
 Unto your entrance ; but her woman shall. 
 
 Duke. Enough ! There's more gold. Summon 
 up thy brain, 
 Thy heart, thy soul, to meet in consultation, 
 And so contrive my peace. Farewell! 
 
 Cast. I will instruct your Grace, ere long, both 
 when 
 And how to make this amorous assault. 
 
 Duke. Myself and my Exchequer are thine own. 
 There needs no art to work him into evil ; [Aside.'] 
 He's bad enough t'infect the very Devil. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. 
 
 Enter Dorido. 
 
 DORID. Good ! They have left the garden door 
 unlock'd 
 I'll venture in to help discovery. 
 Castruchio is grac'd with rare employment. 
 The Duke and he do here consume the night. 
 These are the hours for ghosts, adulterers, 
 And thieves. The slave" is haggard.* At supper, 
 
 * Wild or irreclaimable. 
 
 " As I have loved this proud, disdainful hagpfard." 
 
 Hhakoipearc.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 165 
 
 Being full of gold, his vain aj)petite 
 Fed at Nero's rate ; I was discarded 
 AYith a frown : shaken like a bur from's sleeve, 
 As if my closure heretofore had been 
 Imjiertinent. Ambition lessens all 
 Beneath itself to nothing. The higher we do stand 
 So much the less those men appear, whom we be- 
 hold below. 
 Hark ! kind fortune lend me thy ears. 
 
 Enter Castruchio and Duarte. 
 
 Cast. The night grows aged now. Twere 
 fit the Duke 
 Would hasten his departure. In troth, wench, 
 Tliy service to him exceeds requital. 
 But what ! She took it willingly 1 
 
 Duar. No, but she did not. 
 
 Cast. Pox o' these modest lies ! I say she did. 
 
 Duar. In troth, you do abuse her then ; I'm sure 
 Her shrieks did scare my heart up to my lips. 
 
 Cast. Then thou could'st have kiss'd heartily. 
 
 Duar. I wonder it wakened not the whole house. 
 
 Cast. Is't possible ! What means did the 
 Duke use 
 To stifle up this noise 1 
 
 Duar. Nay, I know not. But since she was no 
 more 
 Pliant, it doth repent me much I e'er 
 Was instrument to his other actions. 
 
 Cast. What, repent ! I prithee, sweet Duarte, 
 Wrong not divinity so much, waste not 
 A virtue that would more profit others : 
 And to suppose that the lady was ravish'd 
 Is an heresy, Avhich my soul must ne'er 
 Be guilty of Do not I know, women 
 Are a kind of soft wax, that will receive
 
 166 THE CRUEL BROTHER; 
 
 Any impression ? 
 
 DuAR, And do not I know, there is difference 
 In workmen as in wax 1 Hard wax, when cold, 
 Accepts of no impression. By coldness 
 I infer chastity ; for chastity is cold. 
 
 Cast. But those workmen are harder far 
 Than that hard wax. And 'tis hardest of all 
 To find those workmen ; unless by Russia 
 Where the people freeze till they spit snow. Come, 
 Kiss me chuck ! Again ! Once more ! 
 
 Dor. a precious satirist ! Tliis sm^ly dog 
 Inveighs 'gainst lechery in others, 'cause 
 He would engross all women to himself. 
 
 Cast. Your greatest thieves are commonly begot 
 "NMien parents do their lechery by stealth. 
 Men get cowards Avhen frighted in the act. 
 And by such vulgar consequence, 'tis now 
 A proper time to beget a pander : 
 One that may hereafter do to other men 
 The same office, which we do the Duke now. 
 Come ! Shall we in and try 1 
 
 DuAR. You presume much on an easy nature. 
 And how extravagant you are abroad 
 I am not so unkind to question. 
 
 Cast. Faith, wench ! I've some interest in 
 Every child tliat plays i'th' street. 
 The Duke's come down. Go, go ! 
 Give your lady a caudle ! and let me hear 
 How she likes her new bedfellow. [Exit Duar.] I'll 
 
 meet 
 His Grace two hours hence, when he hath dismissed 
 Those thoughts which still succeed unlawful lust. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Dor. damn'd villany ! Is this th' employment 
 That doth make ye proud 1 I will haunt ye still, 
 To strengthen my intelligence. [Exit Dor. after Ca^/.-
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 167 
 
 Duke. silly, weak evasion ! Being dark, 
 I creep within my cloak. 'Tis modesty 
 In sin to practise every disguise 
 To hide it from the world. But creatures free 
 
 from guilt 
 Affect the sun, and hate the dark, because 
 It hides their innocence. traitor lust ! 
 That leads us with encouragement to fight. 
 And, when we have discharg'd our veins for thee, 
 Ware besieg'd with thoughts that more perplex us 
 Than the former. For then we did complain 
 Of strength, but noAV of weakness more. 
 Away, away ! 'Tis time that I were gone. 
 The modest morn doth blush i'th' east, as if 
 Asham'd to see so foul a ravisher. [Exit Duke. 
 
 Enter Castruchio and Dorido. 
 
 DORIDO. So swift of foot ? I must overtake ye. 
 
 Cast. How now ! The world is wide enough : 
 wherefore 
 Dost thou jostle me ? 
 
 Dor. Cry mercy, Signior ! The day's blear-eyed 
 yet. 
 And my own haste made me unmannerly. 
 
 Cast. Signior Dorido, is it you ] 'Tis much 
 To see you appear before the sun. 
 
 Dor. Faith, Signior, the Count being out o' tov/n, 
 I thought Foreste would have more leisure 
 To peruse my new suit. He's early up. 
 Which caus'd my vigilance. 
 
 Cast. Why Signior, use a means more absolute. 
 It is true, Foreste does all : but how ] 
 As the instrument govern'd i'th' workman's hand." 
 Instruct me with conveniency of time. 
 And I Avill work the Duke in thy behalf. 
 
 Dor. Then, Signior, you will oblige my prayers. 
 
 Cast. At supper, when you departed from me,^
 
 168 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 You gave demonstrations of discontent. 
 
 Who knows, but whilst the soul's employ'd within, 
 
 The body might neglect some outward form, 
 
 Which curiosity prefers to custom ; 
 
 Custom to abuse 1 It was my business, 
 
 Not disrespect of you, that did deprive 
 
 My compliment of vanity. I shall 
 
 Rejoice when I can shew you kindness. 
 
 DoRiD. I will be bold to think so. 
 
 Cast. I'd have thee build thy mansion on a rock, 
 Favourites are served in with those dishes 
 The prince best loves. And meat Ave most affect 
 We soonest surfeit on. Instruct thy soul. 
 The Count is but a glorious trifle. 
 And to be factious without benefit 
 
 Well, think upon't. I know a way to get 
 The Duke's best ear without Foreste's help. 
 Farewell ! [Exit Castruchio. 
 
 Dor. The profit of the day be your's. These tricks 
 Shall make me wear him in my eyes. The slave 
 Doth usher out his breath in state ; as if 
 His honours had outgrown his own knowledge, 
 Yet [he's] but a tame pander. The beauteous Corsa 
 Is ravish'd by the Duke. black horror ! 
 Arise my soul, inspire my industry 
 With noble purpose. Something I'll do 
 That shall proclaim my spirit. [Exit, 
 
 Enter CoRSA and Duarte. 
 
 Corsa. Hence, hence, like time, who swiftly 
 flies away 
 But evermore returns. Go, cruel wench ! 
 Thou hast betray'd thy mistress, even to 
 Eternal loss. The angels, that live above, 
 Have seen it all : they know thee well enough. 
 In the general Session of the world.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 169 
 
 It will not my adultery be call'd, 
 
 But a prodigious rape deriv'd from thee. 
 
 DuAR. Good madam, your conscience is too bold : 
 It troubles you too much. Dismiss't ! Think, 
 That other ladies have offended more. 
 
 CORSA. Out, devil! Wilt thou betray my soul 
 tool 
 Duarte, hence ! I am inspir'd with strength 
 To make revenge prove masculine. 
 Fly quickly hence ! Why dost thou stay 1 There's 
 
 gold. 
 I prithee, wench, in all thy pilgrimage 
 Disperse my fault in charitable sense. 
 Use me nobly with thy tongue. So, farewell ! 
 
 DuAR. Or let my sin no mercy find in heaven. 
 No pity here on earth. [Exit Duarte. 
 
 CoRSA. Now all the motives of my Lord's delight 
 Exterminate for evermore with me. 
 My silent lute's interred in the case. 
 My voice now rather frights than captivates 
 The sense. 
 
 Enter Luinna. 
 
 O, sister ! dare you visit me 1 
 I am a strumpet grown. Hence ! and secure 
 Your fame. 
 
 LuiN. Alack ! what prodigy is this 1 
 
 Corsa. I will tell thee all. For I should disgrace 
 Iniquity to be modest now. The Duke 
 
 LuiN. Ay me ! 
 
 What in that name can privilege offence 1 
 
 Corsa. Hear, my Luinna, hear! In midst of 
 night, _ 
 By my pernicious woman's help, he opes 
 My chamber door : whose faithful hinges shriek'd 
 To warn me of his dire approach. His hand 
 Employ'd a torch"; a torch, whose fancy weak,
 
 170 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Aged, and black, had over grown the flame, 
 
 And shew'd methought like unto Tarquin's ghost, 
 
 Preaching* in fire : as if it counsel'd him, 
 
 To prevent such penance by forsaking 
 
 His attempt. This I told him too. But he. 
 
 That came not to consider but to act, 
 
 O'er-ruled my hands with his, and then made 
 
 shipwreck 
 Of my honour. 
 
 LuiN. royal villain ! 
 My joints and sinews dissipated are, 
 And scatter'd in a trembling fear. But mark ! 
 More sorrows yet. My husband looking in 
 My cabinet did spy that jewel there. 
 Which the Duke last gave me. It was to him 
 A new and unknown star : and comet-like 
 Emjiloy'd his thoughts with such astrology 
 As made an optick of his jealousy, 
 Through which he could discern the cause, th' effect 
 Of its being there. I told him all the truth : 
 And truth's oftener praised than rewarded 
 Here on earth ; for he dismiss'd me straight 
 With fatal looks. 
 
 CoRSA. My brother is a noble gentleman. 
 Go, go, and kneel to him. All jealousy 
 Must still be strangled in its birth, or time 
 Will soon conspire to make it strong enough 
 To overcome the truth. Shield us, sweet heaven ! 
 The sybils dance about my heart. They lay 
 Their verges here : infusing a prophetick fear ; 
 Which whispers we shall never meet again. 
 Let's take a solemn leave. Farewell for ever ! 
 
 [They Kiss. 
 
 LuiN. Farewell ! the noblest lady o' th' world. 
 
 [Exeunt several laiijs. 
 
 * Walking. — Folio.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 171 
 
 Enter Cosimo mid Borachio. 
 
 Cos. I am glad to see thee well, Borachio ! 
 But where's thy master % What, in durance still 1 
 
 BoR. Alas, Sir ! ay ! good gentleman, the room 
 Wherein they have put him is so little, 
 He fills it up to the roof : and is fain 
 To leave his legs sentinels without door, 
 To watch the rest of his body. 'Tis no 
 Chamber but a court-cupboard. 
 
 Cos. But they make him amends in his diet? 
 
 BoR. They cannot, sir ; for he's a faint eater. 
 If he would pray so often as he fasts. 
 He had been at liberty long ago. 
 He'll dine upon a single pea, and leave orts.* 
 
 Cos. Do they no more regard his potent hopes 1 
 
 BoR. Alas, sir ! Avhen fortune's tippet stands up 
 Few men will lend a pin to tack it down ; 
 I, and my lineage have sweet loss of him : 
 I'm sure o'that. 
 
 Cos. Nay, that's too evident. 
 
 BoR. 0, Sir ! I would not a' give this rush, 
 T'have been assur'd all th' offices in's gift. 
 But hang such dukes, I say, that suffer thus 
 Their favourites to be imprisoned. 
 
 Cos. How now, Borachio ! dost thou speak 
 treason ? 
 
 BoR. Sir, I have said no more than what I mean 
 To unsay again : which is but a kind 
 Of losing one's labour. And 'tis better 
 To be ill employ 'd than to be idle. 
 
 Enter Castruchio. 
 Cos. How the slave sows his proverbs together. 
 
 • Refuse. 
 
 "A barren spirited fellow, one that feeds 
 On abject orts and imitations. — t'ihahcspeare.
 
 172 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Are you come 'i I have stay'd until the clock 
 Gave your promise the lie. 
 
 Cast. My time was spent to more advantage. 
 I have declar'd my interest in your l)lood. 
 If you assist my plots, you needs must share 
 Success, that hath already warranted 
 A large requital. 
 
 Cos. I am resolv'd : and wish my self more able. 
 
 Cast. 'Tis well. But, now you undertake 
 business, 
 You must be as serious as a muscle. 
 That is ; wear your beard upon your tongue ; talk 
 Bravely, but of all avoid Dorido, 
 As you would to drink a violent poison. 
 
 Cos. Enough ! He is a stranger to my thoughts. 
 
 Cast. There's fresh encouragement ! 
 
 [Gives him Gold. 
 
 Cos. A little more of this metal would puzzle 
 My geography ; Is this Italy 
 Or the Indies 1 There, Borachio ! Weep no more 
 For thy master. 
 
 BoR. Alas ! I'm apt to weep, though I but see 
 An onion stripp'd naked. 
 
 Cast. I thought to meet thy ma.ster here. I'm 
 sure 
 I saAV the warrant sigu'd for his release. 
 
 BoR. The devil take your worship for me ! Wliy 
 D'ye bring such good news, on a Avork'y dayl 
 
 Cast. But thou pray'st ill, in praying the devil 
 To take me. 
 
 BoR. Why could he ever come to less purpose 
 Than when he finds you doing well % Though he 
 Lose his laljour once ; I dare warrant ye. 
 He'll come again on the same errand. 
 
 Cast. A bitter fool. 
 
 BoR. Sir ! Let we friends be true to one another. 
 There are but few true friends extant. Let them
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 173 
 
 Be kindly usM and kept, if only for the breed. 
 
 Cast. With all my heart ! Translate thy meaning. 
 
 BoR. Is my master at liberty 1 
 
 Cast. I'll defer an answer of this, until 
 Thy own eyes be a little older. 
 
 BoR. Well ! Is he still in favour with the Duke ] 
 
 Cast. Why he shall shortly govern all at court, 
 And be a very mote in the Duke's eye. 
 
 BoR. Enough 1 'Tis not wholesome to burst with 
 joy. 
 
 Cast. But, what then 1 
 
 BoR. I'vethought with much care on these Offices : 
 And find my self fitting to be in 'em. 
 I will have 'em all ; come cut and longtail. 
 For, my wife will be such a glad woman. 
 
 Enter Lothario. 
 
 Cos. Look ! who comes there ] 
 
 BoR. 0, Sir ! give me your blessing. [He kneels. 
 
 Loth, Weep not, Borachio ! I have prepar'd 
 Such bloody art in my revenge ; as makes 
 Men's wits more famous than their cruelty. 
 Let horror propagate. All's too little 
 For my use. But you, sir ! had the honour 
 To release me. 
 
 Cast. Or else I had been much dishonour'd. 
 
 Cos. Sir, now he supposeth you in durance ; 
 And is himself secure, haply drunk. 
 Or riding in the stews ; you may take some 
 Advantage on his soul to. Lose no time. 
 
 Loth. That's my intent. 
 For it were dull humanity to aim 
 No further than his life. I'll pursue him 
 Even to hell. 
 
 Cast. And let me alone so to facilitate 
 The project, by search of fit time and means :
 
 1 74 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 As sliall declare the act less troublesome 
 Than thus to threaten it with words. 
 
 BOR. You, Signior Castruchio ! Signior Cox- 
 comb ! 
 Are you tir'd with doing well 1 You have scarce 
 Brought my poor lord out of the prison doors, 
 But you long to have him in again. Nay, 
 Ne'er look ! For my sword dwells within a yard 
 Of my tongue, and shall defend what I say. 
 
 Cast. What a pernicious calf is this ! 
 
 BoR. What harm have my poor wife and chil- 
 dren done 
 To you or yours, that, seeing me within 
 A hairs' breadth of a hundred offices, 
 You confound all, by leading my poor lord 
 Into new broils 1 
 
 Loth. Bold miscreant ! if I but stir 
 
 Cos. Nay, Signior, let him alone. Borachio ! 
 Steep thy wrath in cold water : follow. 
 And be dumb. All shall be well. 
 
 BoR. Yes, persuade me to dry ice in an oven ! 
 But I'll follow your heels so close, as I'll 
 Go near to tread upon your kibes. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter DORIDO and Foreste. 
 
 DORID. Signior ! I knew ye a brave commander 
 Under the great Petruchio ; and, since 
 That time, your constant virtues have deserv'd 
 More recompence than ftite will minister 
 By me. My kindness is no miracle : 
 Since gratitude is only sick, not dead. 
 But, pray, believe what I have said is truth. 
 
 Fores. 0, sir, 'tis the error of unskilful love 
 To be too constant in her charity 
 To all. But I have grounds more relative 
 To make me jealous of the truth ; and I
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 175 
 
 Believe you with my heart. And yet 'tis strange. 
 Doth this Castruchio tliink his haggard fate 
 Can triumph over mine ] Because in lust 
 The devil did instruct his industry : 
 Dares he attempt my life ] 
 
 Dor. I give you real grounds for my suspense. 
 Reward, sir, may make a villain Moody, 
 Though it cannot make him valiant. The Duke 
 Will let him want no gold. 
 
 Fores. Nay, 'tis often seem 
 
 Amongst the several creatures of a Prince, 
 Such instruments as these most profit reap. 
 Employments noble do requite themselves, 
 And honour pays the great of heart : who lose 
 But time in service which is the body's wealth. 
 Your friend stays. If you please t' appear with 
 
 him. 
 From thence, at my summons : I shall discover 
 more. 
 
 Dor. Noble signior, I. am yours. [Exit Dorido. 
 
 Fores. What, hoa ! Luinna! wife! 
 
 Enter Luinna. 
 
 LuiN. My Lord ! 
 
 Fores. Come hither, love. Signify in secret 
 When was the royal lecher here disguis'd ] 
 AATiat did he send thee last 1, When must ye quench 
 The Cyprian fire 1 hah ! you may tell me all, 
 For I'll not blab. Alas ! I'm more silent 
 Than my grandsire in his tomb. A subtle pimp, I. 
 A pander learned in the art. Tell me, chuck ! 
 
 LuiN. Alas, my noble lord ! What do ye mean ] 
 
 Fores. Why nothing, I : yet 'tis enough I feel 
 The wrong. If ignorant, I suffer twice. 
 And therefore let me know my euem)^ 
 The little worm, when trod iipon, will turn
 
 170 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 His liead, to look upon his murderer. 
 
 And hath my spleen no eyes 1 Is the revenge 
 
 Of man less curious than a worm's ] She weeps ! 
 
 O, Luinna, the sacred knot's untied. 
 
 Thou hast defil'd and stain 'd the vestal sheets. 
 
 Thy breast shall be no more my pillow. 
 
 LuiN. ! say not so. Let thunder strike me 
 dead, 
 If I e'er knew the Duke with knowledge more 
 Dishonest, than what harbours in the eyes ; 
 Only by sight. 
 
 Fores. O new horror ! Such brazen impudence 
 Would make a negro blush. Come, glorious whore ! 
 Acquaint me with your tricks. Who, when, where, 
 
 how ] 
 For, besides the jewel which he gave thee, 
 I have proofs that will even damn my sister, 
 And convince thee too. 
 
 LuiN. My dear lord ! Be not cruel in your faith. 
 What I have said is truth. 
 
 Fores. Still constant in thy perjury] Mercy 
 Were tameness then. Thou shalt die 
 Like an heroic whore : a stout martyr 
 To thy concealed lover. Appear, ho ! 
 
 Enter Dorido and his friend in vizards. 
 
 Hear, my she goat ! These men are full and fresh ! 
 But, if they cannot tire ye out, I will procure ye 
 Some of larger thighs, that feed 
 On th' unctions Lhasis and the Persian Crab ;* 
 Or bring the riotous horse, and the town bull, 
 To drownd ye in the act. Take her aside, 
 And agree who shall begin. 
 
 LuiN. Stay, stay ! 0, my husband, my dearest 
 Lord ! 
 Will you permit such cruelty against 
 
 * Sec note at end of the volume.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 17" 
 
 Your own wife 1 She that hath so often sh^pt 
 Within your bosom. speak ! do you want 
 Tlie natural touch 1 Stay, stay, I will confess't. 
 
 Fores. Stay, I'm of too easy, too soft a soul. 
 My heart-strings, sure, are made of silk : and "tis 
 A subtle whore, she knows it well enough. 
 But com:^, be brief. Charm me not with st(;ries 
 Of my former love between us. 
 I see thee as thou art, and thou appear'st 
 Like an entire proportionable boil. 
 Why speak'st thou not 1 
 
 LuiN. Sorrow was ever slow of utterance. 
 And I do tremble still. I knew the time 
 My duty hath been held in more regard 
 Than now it is. All former interest 
 Is quite forgot 
 
 Fores. Mark ! Did not I suspect she would begin 
 Her charms again 1 Away Avith her ! 
 
 LuiN. O stay ! Now, now, I will reveal all. 
 
 Fores. Be nimble then, and tell me punctual 
 truth. 
 For my revenge is honest, and would not 
 Willingly mistake when it shall strike. 
 
 LuiN. 'Tis true, your sister's ravisli'd by the 
 Duke. 
 W^hich fatal truth, this morning, I receiv'd 
 From her own mouth. But if I e'er did break 
 My marriage vows, or think unlawfully, 
 Then may I lose my interest in heaven. 
 My duty and my love remain still yours, 
 And this constancy deserves some kindness ; 
 Therefore, if 'tis decreed tliat I must die. 
 Let me die a modest death. Expose not 
 Your poor wife unto the cruelty 
 Of ravishers. 
 
 Fores. AVhat think ye, Sir 1 
 
 Dor. My thoughts continue in the former sensi*. 
 
 M
 
 178 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 I have a chaste and virtuous wife, however 
 You desir'd assurance from a trial 
 So unkind as this. 
 
 Fores. Still, methinks, that jewel which he gave 
 her 
 Procur'd the same requital that my sister made. 
 But let it pass. I do conjure ye both, 
 As y'have been soldiers, to keep your tongues 
 A safe distance from your ears. Let not words 
 Disperse what you have heard. 'Tis external 
 Reputation that keeps some men from sin. 
 Our faults once known, we do neglect to mend 
 Since reputation suffers still ; for that 
 Admits of help, but it is never cur'd. 
 And so the fatal jars 'tween man and wife, 
 If secret kept, dissention falls asleep. 
 Eut if once known to fame, fame talks so loud 
 She waketh it again. Your silence, Signiors, 
 Shall challenge much from my requital. 
 
 Dor. Besides our obligations to your worth, 
 Even both our honours would impose it 
 As a virtue, not a trouble. We are 
 Your humble servants. [Exit Dorido ivith Ids friend. 
 
 Fores. I will deserve you for my friends. Rise ! 
 You must be clear'd by a stricter trial. 
 Till when I do neglect the large charter 
 Of husbands o'er their wives : and command ye 
 As a Judge th' offender. Hence ! and become 
 My prisoner in your closet. Take heed 
 No curiosity in fear make you 
 To pry in my designs. 
 
 LuiN. I do obey ye cheerfully. \E.rit Luinna. 
 
 Fores. my heart ! Shall my industry and 
 hopes 
 Find this period 1 my sufferance is tir'd. 
 It is an old inconstancy in Fate, 
 Soon to erect, and soon to ruinate. [Exit.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 179 
 
 Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. 
 
 A chair at the Arras. 
 
 Enter Foreste solus. 
 
 FoRESTE. No, 110, my stars ! It is too much to 
 bear. 
 Though I were stomach VI like an estridge, 
 Yet could I not digest such hard dealing. 
 My wife defil'd, Corsa ravish'd, the Count 
 Abus'd where satisfaction is exempt 
 By nature, myself i)roscrib'd to sutler 
 By the cheap valour of obscure viUains. 
 Would I had trode the humble path, and made 
 My industry less ambitious. The shrub 
 Securely grows. The tallest tree stands 
 Most in the wind. And thus we distinguish 
 The noble froin the base : the noble find 
 Their lives and deaths still troublesome. 
 But humility doth sleep : whilst the storm 
 Grows hoarse with scolding. My gall o'erflows my 
 
 heart, 
 And drowns propitious thoughts. I will be just 
 Yet cruel too. The darkness of the night 
 
 Is thick. I feel as I grope for way 
 
 Stay ! that sickly light from lier chamber l)reaks. 
 Minion! I'll begin with you. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Corsa and a hoy. 
 
 Corsa. Sing, gentle youth ! Who knows if I shall 
 live 
 T'employ thy voice again ? 
 
 Song. 
 
 Boy. Weep no more for what is past 
 
 For time in motion makes such haste.
 
 180 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 He hath no leisure to descry 
 Those errors which he passeth by. 
 If we consider accident, 
 
 And how repugnant unto sense, 
 It pays desert with bad event : 
 
 We shall disparage Providence. 
 
 Enter Foreste. 
 
 Fores. This is your dirge. 
 
 CoRSA. Hah ! Who is tliere 1 
 
 Fores. 'Tis I ! Dismiss that trifle hence, and shut 
 The door. 
 
 CoRSA. Farewell, youth ! Get thee to bed. 
 
 [Exit Boy. 
 
 Fores. But where's the rigled hag ; the incestu- 
 ous lump 
 Of heat 1 Where is she 1 Speak ! 
 
 CoRSA. Alas, Sir, who do you mean 1 
 
 Fores. Why she that gossips with the devil's 
 dam, 
 The subtle bawd, your woman. sister ! 
 I have heard all.— [CoRSA kneels. 
 
 Nay, do not work distinction thus. 
 Kneel not to me ; you are my patron's wife. 
 But yet where obligation is endear'd, 
 There injury condemns itself. Can you 
 Survive a wrong so eminent : a wrong 
 Committed 'gainst your husband, and my patron 1 
 
 CoRSA. 0, Sir ! I hope, if you have heard the 
 truth, 
 You will believe it was a rape i'th' Duke, 
 And no adultery in me. 
 
 Fores. How, a rape ! Weak and immodest shift : 
 Were Aretine alive : or had I brought 
 A crew of midwives here ; whose obscene art 
 Might warrant the distinction good ;
 
 THE GRUEL BROTHER. 181 
 
 Although the cause did bhish to own th'effect ; 
 
 Yet thy appeal might stand ; but here are none. 
 
 If compulsion doth insist until 
 
 Enforcement breed delight, we cannot say 
 
 The female suifers. Acceptance at the last 
 
 Disparageth the not consenting at the first : 
 
 Calls her denial, her unskilfulness ; 
 
 And not a virtuous frost i' th' blood. 
 
 Come, sit thee down. Or, if ye mean to pray, 
 
 Kneel, and be nimble in devotion. 
 
 Thou art to die. 
 
 CORSA. My noble brother ! 
 Do not fright my sufferance : use me kindly 
 With your tongue and looks ; T am already 
 Eeconcil'd to heav'n ; and would perhaps 
 Consent to your design. 
 
 Fores. Blessed speech ! Thou shalt prescribe my 
 gesture 
 And my phrase. 
 
 CoRS. 'Twere not unnatural in me, to wish 
 For life ! Yet, minding what constructions 
 The world may make of my sinister chance — 
 
 Fores. Ay, there's the point. The giddy multi- 
 tude 
 Have neither skill nor leisure to convince 
 Supposition, with arguments of strength 
 And charity. Their quick censure brings such 
 Effect as sjiectacles, when us'd in haste ; 
 Which then do rather aggravate the shape. 
 Than give distinction of the form. "\Mio, who 
 Would live to be an argument for them 1 
 
 CoRS. Do ye conclude, then, that I must now 
 die] 
 
 Fores. Why is't not apt, and pregnant to your 
 sense 
 It should be so 1 
 
 CoRSA. Ere I take ray last leave of my kind Lord?
 
 182 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Fores. Ceremonious form dotb oft so long 
 Delay our journey; 'till it prove too late 
 To reach our home. 'Tis a long way to heaven. 
 We must make haste. Nay, if your courage fail 
 Before it comes unto the test, I shall 
 Prepare to be unkind. Grim, black fancy ! 
 Could you endure to see your Lord, defil'd, 
 Polluted as you are 1 That kind patron 
 To all our family ; whose constant love 
 Is warranted by time, that best can judge 
 Of constancy. Who took you to his bed 
 Upon conditions cheap, and dangerous 
 To his own estate. 
 
 CoRSA. Sir, speak no more : but use me as you 
 please ; 
 I will obey in all. 
 
 Fores. Come, stretch down your arm, and per- 
 mit this scarf 
 To fasten it to th' chair. Then veil your eyes. 
 We must not trust a woman's valour. So ! 
 
 CoRSA. Oh, oh, oh! 
 
 Fores. The torture's past. Thy wrist- veins are 
 cut. Here 
 In this bason bleed ; till dryness make them curl 
 Like lutestrings in the fire. 
 
 CoRSA. Commend me to my dearest Lord, I am 
 His humble sacrifice. He'll not be more 
 Unwilling to grant atonement, than I 
 Have been to need it. The fates give others 
 Expiation : which now they want themselves. 
 I speak too loud. For who dares chide with them 
 That may employ thunder 1 
 
 Fores. Her beauty 'gins to wither. She distills 
 Like to a rose. ! could I separate 
 The blood defil'd from what is pure, I would 
 Shed that ; then restrain the current. Know ! 
 Unskilful nature, if operation
 
 THE CRUEL BKOTJffiR. 183 
 
 Should long subsist in such gross mixture, men 
 Would be devils ere they liv'd in hell. 
 
 CoRSA. I come, celestial quire ! [She riseili np. 
 
 Fores. Extasy ! tlirougli weakness in expense of 
 blood ! 
 Dear sister ! Disturb not your last minutes. 
 
 CoRS. I must ascend. 
 
 Fores, Hoay ! "Would you enter heaven with 
 fetters on 
 Your soul 1 clogg'd Avitli these mortal limbs. Sit 
 
 down, 
 Expire in peace. 
 
 CoRS. my brother ! whilst I am yet human, 
 Let me feel some interest in your blood. 
 What fault of mine deserves impediments 
 In my last journey 1 If my Lord were here 
 He would have seen me us'd with merc3^ 
 
 Fores. Sweet soul ! these are but mistakes of 
 weakness. 
 
 CoRS. Will not my Lord be merciful to me, 
 And to my memory 1 [Rheth up. 
 
 Fores. Sit still. I bring no negative rej^ly. 
 Thy worth shall shine in such a character. 
 That being dead, he needs must avoo thy ghost. 
 
 CoRS. And will posterity consent, that I 
 Abide in list, with those of modest fame 1 
 
 Fores. That astrologer who spies thee first 
 Within a star, must not find thee billeted 
 Near to Venus. Such error in his act 
 Would make me wreath his body into cords : 
 And with prolix strength draw the dull caitiff 
 Through his slender optic. 
 
 CoRSA. Oh, oh, oh ! [Recorders : sadly. 
 
 Fores. A convulsion in her arteries ! 
 
 CoRSA. Mercy, heaven ! 
 
 [She dies. Still music above. 
 
 Fores. Hark !
 
 184 TlfE CRUEL BROTHER, 
 
 As she ascends, the spheres do welcome her 
 With their own music. — Her soul is gone ! 
 Hah ! whither is it gone ] O vast suspense ! 
 Madness succeeds enquiry. Fools of nature ! 
 
 [Cease Bee. 
 What ancestor, that died long since, hath brought 
 Us news of his abode, or told us how 
 They use him in the other world 1 O this 
 Wild mystery so much concerneth man. 
 That we would willingly dismiss suspense 
 With ej^esight not with consequence. 
 For he that sees through faith, but flatters doubt. 
 Faith's a persj)ective ; through whose narrow lane, 
 Little things far off seem so much too great, 
 Too near : that what was first unknown is more 
 Estrang'd from knowledge than it was before. 
 Yet, by the rules of lawful notion, it 
 Goes well with her : for she was ever given 
 To pi'ayer : -superstitious in humility : 
 Ancl even unthrifty in her charity. 
 She held her virtues in such high extremes, 
 That her divinity was troublesome. 
 Grew from a saint a holy Cynic. Sleep here, 
 A sacrifice to thy wrong'd Lord : till I, 
 Thy priest, become an executioner 
 To him, who was thy cruel ravisher. [Exit Fm'este. 
 
 Enter Duke and Castruchio, 
 
 Duke, Doth she insist in censure of the act 
 With such a stern impatience, and dislike 1 
 
 Cast. Even so. Sir, my intelligence imports. 
 For, since her woman was dismissed, she sent 
 . A messenger unto Lucca, to urge 
 Her lord's return : whom, by a labour'd consequence, 
 I do expect within this hour. He'll choose 
 To travel in the night for privacy.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER, 185 
 
 Duke. And I have sent to stay him there, until 
 A new commission order his return. 
 
 Cast. Most royal sir, you then may guess what 
 frights 
 Such opposition in these messages 
 "Will nourish in liis heart. And, being young 
 He caun(jt feed on doubts. He'll rather think 
 His interest in you his privilege to err ; 
 So, slight your mandate and come home, 
 To settle his suspense. 
 
 Duke, liemorse doth cherish danger ! Let me be 
 safe. 
 Secure me in thy wholesome art. I would 
 Express my self without a tongue. 
 
 Cast. My gracious lord ! my apprehension lies 
 Not in my ears, but in my brain. I can 
 Conceive without tlie noise of words. It sheAvs 
 Apparent to my intellect. The Count, 
 Presuming on that free address he still 
 Hath had unto your person, will hither bring 
 Corsa and Foreste to shew the shape 
 And quality of his new suflFerance. 
 Be you within your bed, to free you from 
 The world's suspicion : Avhilst I do place. 
 Behind the gallery door, which leads unto 
 Your closet chapel, such trusty spirits, 
 As shall dare to thrust their weapons home. 
 
 Duke. quintessence of soul ! I will devote 
 My actions wholly to thy use. Good night ! [LVif. 
 
 Cast. May slumber seize upon your royal eyes 
 With gentle closure. Know ! poor Foreste, 
 The bag that holds my gall is so immense. 
 That Avhen I steep thee in it thou art drown'd. 
 
 E^iter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Castruchio ; I have better thought upon't. 
 Cast. My gracious lord !
 
 186 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Duke. I would not have tliee hurt my boy. Use 
 him 
 
 Kindly for my sake. 
 
 Cast. Shalllnot strikeliimherejbetweentherib.sl 
 Duke. Not for the world. Thou dost not know 
 his soul. 
 He's of so soft, so sweet a property, 
 That he enchants where he is known. Besides, 
 I find I am so jDowerful o'er his youth, 
 That I shall soon extirpate from his memory 
 The wrong I did his wife, and him. As for 
 Foreste : his experience is of growth 
 Too stubborn, of practice stiiF, and will not 
 Be remov'd from his revenge by strength of words. 
 Therefore, let him no mercy feel : but let 
 My boy be gently us'd for my sake. Farewell ! 
 
 [Exit Duke. 
 Cast. This is a silly kind of love ! 
 
 But let me think So to contrive this plot : 
 
 That Lothario may destroy Foreste, 
 
 And I him, to make his silence safe ! humh ! 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. No, it must not be. 
 
 Cast. My royal Lord ! 
 
 Duke. Lucio, my boy, is not proscrib'd. Take 
 heed 
 Castruchio ! If thou dost extend thy hand, 
 In motion, boisterous and rough, to him. 
 Thou dost infect all thy other kindness : 
 And I shall see thee as a cockatrice. 
 That will enforce my optic nerves to shrink. 
 And pull my eyes into my skull ! Look to't. 
 
 Cast. Most gracious sir ! Were his person bul- 
 wark'd 
 With the Alps : were he hidden in's own fear ; 
 He could not be more safe, than you have made him.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. IS" 
 
 Duke. Once more then, good night ! [tJxit. 
 
 Cast. A plague upon this tardy love. Such 
 thoughts, 
 AVheu first your blood did make your veins to 
 
 swell 
 Like bridges o'er your flesh, had prevented 
 My employment. Softly, softly. 
 Fear and susi)icion ever walk on eggs. [Exit 
 
 Enter Foreste and Servants ivith a Ihjhf. 
 
 Fores. Leave here the light ! and go to bed. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Within cry. Break ope the door ! Break ope the 
 
 door ! 
 Fores. Hah ' avIio counsels so nnlawftdly % 
 
 Enter Lucio and Servants. 
 
 Lucio. Foreste ! the fatal hour is come. 
 Ring out your bells until they wake the dead. 
 Let the drum murmur in a sable bag, 
 Reverse your muskets, and trail your stubborn 
 
 pikes 
 Li slimey channels. Let trumpets groan. 
 And the shrill phiph* be hoarse. The fatal hour 
 Is come. 
 
 Fores. Why, what's the matter, sir 1 
 
 Lucio. 0, my Avife ! By this she did entreat me 
 
 [He shetvs a Letter. 
 Suddenly, upon some urgent cause. 
 To haste from Lucca to her. Just now 
 I lighted from my horse, enter'd her chamber, 
 And found her newly murder'd in her chair. 
 My servants say that my arrival there 
 Did just succeed your departure from her. 
 
 Fores. Dismiss your servants, and you shall 
 
 know all. 
 
 * Fife.
 
 188 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Lucio. Hence ! and expect me straight at home. 
 
 [Exeunt Servant. 
 
 Fores. I pray, come liither, Sir. Do you dislike 
 That justice which depriv'd your wife of breath ] 
 
 Lucio. Dost thou call it justice ? 
 
 Fores. Yes, in the noblest strain : she was 
 defil'd. 
 The royal goat, the Duke, hath ravish'd her ! 
 And I, that never could admit excuse 
 In points of honour, where ever suspicion 
 Sufficeth to condemn, did summon up 
 My memory : Avherein the kind effects 
 Of your best love to us are registred. 
 And, finding you betray'd in your own fort, 
 I slit her Avrist veins, and gave perpetual 
 Liberty to her polluted blood. 
 
 Lucio. villain ! More bloody than the tiger ; 
 Whose empty entrails' noise doth, trumpet-like, 
 Encourage cruelty ; though thou didst slight her 
 As my poor wafe : yet she might well expect 
 Some mercy, as being thy own sister. 
 
 Fores. Had she included all propinquity 
 Of blood, which lawfull marriage keepeth known. 
 Or promiscuous copulation maketh 
 Intricate : this bare word, honour, had been 
 Enough t'have divorc'd her from my mercy. 
 Sweet Lord, do not mistake your servant, 
 AVhose kindness thinks his OAvn sister, when defil'd, 
 Was too base for your use. 
 
 Lucio. A bloody kindness to distinguish so. 
 She was no adulteress but enforc'd. Her thoughts 
 Were pure : and such a noble sympathy 
 Indear'd her soul to mine ; that her own tears 
 Might soon have Avash'd away her body's stain, 
 And she again seem clean. Corsa ! 
 O, my wife ! my bosom girl ! where art thou ] 
 Speak, no reply 1 Art thou so much busied
 
 THE CRUEL EROTHKR. 189 
 
 With thy new acquaintance now in Heaven : 
 That thy poor Lord may not boiTow one word 
 At i)arting ? Draw, draw ingrateful monster ! 
 That has prevented thus our diah)gue. 
 
 Fores. Sir, cool your spleen ! Take breath awliile : 
 And hear me speak. 
 
 Lucio. No, false Syren ! Thou holy hypocrite ! 
 I know thy tricks too well ! 'Cause I am young, 
 Too soft of heart, and apt to melt 
 In every flame of my own trivial love ; 
 Therefore tliou think'st to practise on me now 
 '\\'ith subtle phrase. Draw, or else thou dy'st. 
 
 Fores. Come ! Let me die, as she, a sacrifice 
 To tliee my patron. [Offers his naked breast. 
 
 LuLTO. A sacrifice to me ! Foreste ! 
 Why dost thou multiply thy skill 
 
 [Flings aivay his Swtyrd. 
 To thy friend's prejudice ? It is not well : 
 In troth it is not. Employ thy own heart : 
 Think upon't thyself. 'Tis not kindly done : 
 I should not have us'd you thus. 
 
 Fores. my dear Lord ! where did I lose your 
 heart 1 
 I am o'ercome at these expressions. 
 I cannot weep much : yet my eyes are moist, 
 my unskilful gratitude ! what dire 
 Mistake confounds our properties 1 I kill'd 
 A sister to secure a friend. 'Twas ill — 
 'Twas not tlie right way. A true Koman now 
 Would walk aside, and with his own sword 
 Dismiss his own soul : and not permit 
 Moisture in youthful eyes thus to disgrace 
 The strength of elder love. I cannot weep, 
 But our divinity supplies us witli 
 Discreeter ways to make affection known. 
 Enough. I will ))refix l)ut one short liour 
 To think upon't. Here, Sir, sheatii your g(jod sword,-
 
 190 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 'Till revenge prove ripe. And I conjure ye, 
 
 By all my sister's love, to follow me : 
 
 In whose behalf your justice may employ 
 
 It self Which done, you shall behold my heart' 
 
 Without a perspective. 
 
 Lucio. If it concerneth her, by whom thou dost 
 Conjure my service, I'm bound to follow thee. 
 
 Fores. What hoa ! 
 
 Enter Luinna. 
 
 LuiN. My Lord 1 
 
 Fores. Come Minion, come along with us. You 
 walk 
 Unto the bar. If trial find thee false, 
 Thou shalt be scatter'd into atoms. 
 
 LuiN. my divining soul ! Sure my sister 
 Is not safe. \Exeimt omnes. 
 
 Enter Castruchio, Lothario, Cosimo, 
 several ways. 
 
 Cast. Signior Lothario ! 
 
 Loth. Here, Signior Cosimo ! 
 
 Cos. I am here. Speak low. Cousin Castruchio. 
 
 Cast. I am here too. Why are we scattered 
 thus 1 
 
 Cos. 'Tis in search of Borachio ; who, fearing 
 Danger in this action, commits himself 
 Very tamely to his heels. 
 
 Cast. Let him be damn'd unthought of Have 
 you heaixl 
 Or seen a passenger 1 
 
 Cos. No, yet Lothario gives me notice 
 Of a noise far off : but you know the length 
 Of an ass's ear. 
 
 Loth. Passes there, say you ! Who is't 1 
 
 Cos. He echoes by mistake. Nobody ! But 
 My cousin says he'll lug the ass's ear.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 191 
 
 Si)caking of your man. 
 
 Loth. The butcher's dog shall save him a 
 labour. 
 Cast. Well, gentlemen, I have intelligence 
 By my boy, that Foreste and the Count 
 Are coining hither. Look to't. But let the Count 
 Be safe. You know his voice, Lothario 1 
 
 Loth. Very distinctly. 
 
 Cast. Well, any man, but he, that stirs his 
 tongue, 
 Invites his own ruin. Give me your hands, 
 I'll bring ye to a door : through which, if they 
 Do pass, it must be over us. 
 
 Loth. Leave Foreste to my charge, for I am 
 His impediment. 
 
 Cos. Softly, softly ! [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 The Duke (on his Bed) is draicn foiih. 
 Enter Foreste, Lucio, Luinna. 
 Fores. Now set we the reflex at liljerty. 
 
 [He opens a dark Lanfhorn. 
 Here let me beg your tariance, till I 
 Eesolve a doubt that most concerns my heart. 
 
 Lucio. You shall, But do not execute revenge 
 Upon the Duke, till my assent encourage thee. 
 
 Fores. My actions are confin'd : upon, not in 
 The bed ! Guilt confounds all order and makes 
 Our rest unnatural. Mistress, stand you there. 
 
 [He leads her to stand at the bed's feet. 
 Duke. Hah ' from whence that light ! who waits 
 within ! 
 Foreste, is it you ? what do you mean 
 By this uncivil visitation] 
 
 Fores. I am not so unthrifty of my time 
 To join replies unto demands. I must 
 Deprive you of your soul. 
 
 Duke. How ] Is this language lawful unto me
 
 192 THE CEUEL BROTHER. 
 
 Thy Sovereign Princs 1 Did not high providence 
 
 Treble the assurance of" my safety, 
 
 By guards invisible, Avhen I vras first 
 
 Predestinate to this supreme function 1 
 
 And dar'st thou tempt the strength of Heaven 1 
 
 Fores. I know 'twere a profane curiosity 
 In me, to question the prerogatives 
 Of a free Prince. For ignorance, and a dull 
 Easy faith, must flatter bondage still : 
 Or liberty, the eldest child of Nature, 
 Confounds predominance, by suing for 
 Equality amongst the sons of men : 
 And so revokes a chaos. 
 
 Duke. Which soon returns : unless distinction 
 Persuade thee fix my royalty above 
 Thy reach. That art my natural subject. 
 
 Fores. Enough, false Sir. Warm not the air 
 with words. 
 Be still, or I conclude you in a trice. 
 And now requite the leisure I permit 
 For prayer, by a true replj to what 
 I shall demand. 
 
 Duke. I will. 
 
 Fores. Look on your opposite ! 
 Did you ever make her an adulteress 1 
 Speak truth ! So come your soul to heaven. 
 
 Duke. Never ! So come my soul to heaven, as I 
 Speak truth. 
 
 Fores. 0, Sir, 
 Take heed ! the perjurer hath little hope. 
 On the last day, to hide himself i'th' crowd, 
 He is a sinner much too eminent. 
 But what meant that jewel which you gave her ; 
 And which she conceal'd till its own lustre 
 Did betray it ? 
 
 Duke. I gave it to disguise the cause, for which 
 I sent the other unto Corsa.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER, 103 
 
 Lucio. That name will prick my fury on, 
 Although I strive to be propitious. 
 
 Fores. I know, Luinna, tliou art merciful. 
 Forgive me, gentle girl. It was the first 
 Bargain we did make i' th' Church, — 
 To share in sufferance. 
 
 LuiN. And 'tis my duty, sir. 
 To be most prompt in the observance. 
 
 Fores. My Lord ! 
 
 Lucio. A rude summons, that calls me, as a 
 judge, 
 To censure on the errors of my Prince. 
 
 Duke. What ! Is he there too ] 0, killing object ! 
 
 Fores. Behold, young lord, the cruel ravisher ! 
 "Whom Time himself shall never parallel. 
 Though he survey his old records, and scratch 
 His reverend head to waken memory. 
 
 Lucio. horror ! Furnish us, sweet heaven ! 
 with some 
 Instinct. Inspire remorse, or we accuse 
 Thy skillfulness to predestine us a Prince, 
 Murdering, whom thou didst anoint our Sovereign. 
 
 Fores. My heart swells. I'm full of grief and 
 danger. 
 Some iron hoops to help my ribs, or I shall burst ! 
 
 Duke. The cause deserves great alteration : 
 More than mortality can see, and yet 
 Be safe. I wonder heaven takes so little 
 Notice of it. I am not sing VI to death 
 With lightning like the dorr,* nor murdered 
 
 through 
 The ear with thunder, like a bat. 0, Lucio ! 
 ]\Iind not my former love ; but strike ! uutil 
 I groan my last. 
 
 Lucio, Foreste, sheath thy sword ! It must not 
 be, 
 
 * See ante, p. 43. 
 
 N
 
 194 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 He was our royal master once, and might 
 In modesty compare himself with all 
 Best Princes, whom Fame reserves as patterns. 
 For my sake sheath your sword ! 
 
 Duke. 0, I shall survive my royal charter ! 
 My creature is more beautiful than I : 
 More wealthy in his love. 
 
 Fores. For my own part I will annihilate 
 Myself : for should I live, I should grow mad. 
 But I am bound to care for you. My Lord, 
 Take heed ! I know the tricks of Majesty. 
 They think they cannot be secure after 
 Doing ill, but by doing worse, that is. 
 By killing quite, whom erst they did but wound. 
 
 Lucio. And that's the surgery which I desire. 
 I will endure all. 0, my Lord, my Lord ! 
 I Avill not bid posterity tell tales, nor charge 
 Historians to insert in annals. 
 On such a night a great Italian-Duke 
 Eavish'd his creature Lucio's wife, — sister 
 To Foreste his active counsellor. 
 
 Fores. Lucio, compos'd of such an humble love ; 
 That, to secure his master's feet, would spread 
 And scatter all his limbs, for him to walk on. 
 
 LuCTO. And Foreste, whose industry and care 
 Outwatch'd lean vigilance till she grew mad. 
 But come ! Let's leave him to contrive our deaths. 
 My heart so fdls my mouth I cannot speak. 
 
 Duke. Lucio stay ! Foreste, stay awhile ! 
 Leave me not thus anatomiz'd with breath. 
 
 [He riseth from the bed. 
 Dissect me really with your good swords ! 
 Behold my breast, take out my heart ! and if 
 You find your figures there, then use my fame 
 With mercy. 
 
 Lucio. Foreste, come away ! 
 
 Fores. Make haste, Luinna.
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 195 
 
 LuiN. I am wak'd out of a strange amazement. 
 [Exewit Foreste, Liicio, Luinna, 
 
 Duke. Hide me ye swelling hills, ye rough and 
 scabbed rocks ! 
 Ye quarries cleave, and suck me in, then join 
 Again. Would it not make a Patriarch mad 1 
 0, who shall bribe the Sun, that in the day 
 Of general accounts he may avouch 
 He never saw me here. Hah ! false memory ! 
 I have forgot to tell them of Castruchio, 
 'Tis best to o'ertake 'em. I cannot guess 
 Which way they w^ent. [i^xlt the other way. 
 
 Enter Castruchio, Lothario, Cosimo. 
 
 Cast. Hell and the pillory take such dull ears ! 
 It cannot be, but they have pass'd the cloisters, 
 And ere this, with help of private keys, 
 Entered the Duke's bedchamber. 
 
 Loth. Those were the authors of that noise, 
 I spoke of? 
 
 Cast. The very same. A pox upon demurs ! 
 
 Cos. Will you lead the way, that we may 
 hearken 
 If they be there or no 1 
 
 Re-enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. If I should come too late ? 
 
 Loth. That's none of the Count's voice. 
 Have at you, sir ! [Stahs him. 
 
 Duke. 0, 0, 0. I'm surpriz'd in my own snare. 
 
 Cast. It is Foreste, sure. Let's make safe work. 
 Kill Lothario ! Lay him by him, and depart. 
 
 Cos. A match. [Fight. Lothario stahhed. 
 
 Loth. villains, 0, 0, ! [Lothario dies. 
 
 Enter Foreste, Lucio, Luinna. 
 
 Fores. What noise is that 1 
 
 Cast. Another Foreste ]
 
 19G THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 
 LiTCio. My Royal master bleeding on the ground ! 
 
 murderous villains ! 
 
 LuiN. Murder, murder, help ! oh help ! [Exit. 
 \Lucio fights ivith Cosimo, Foreste ivith Castnichio. 
 
 Fores. The Duke, my Sovereign, slain ! and 
 Lucio 
 Bleeding at his feet. Villain ! take this thrust, 
 At my own prejudice. 
 
 Lucio. I am foil'd by a base hand. 
 
 Cast. Fly, Cosimo, fly ! [Exeunt Cast, and Cos. 
 
 Forks. Some comfort yet remains, in that I am 
 Proscribed to share in thy fate, though it be bad. 
 
 1 lose much blood. 0, trivial fortitude ! 
 
 False sinews, do you begin to shrink ? [He falls down. 
 
 Duke. Lucio ! Let my soul carry your pardon 
 With her unto heaven; and yours, Foreste. 
 This stratagem was mine, but the success 
 Was much against my Avill. 
 
 Lucio. Sir ! I forgive you all. 
 
 Fores. Nay, let us join hands. We do forgive 
 Each other, and the world. The like mercy 
 May heaven bestow on us. 
 
 Duke. Amen, amen ! 
 
 Lucio. Amen, amen ! [They die. 
 
 Fores. There his heartstrings broke. Lucio, 
 my patron. 
 Already chap-fallen too ! That sight deserves a tear, 
 Though I should stab my eyes to warrant it. 
 
 Enter Dorido, Luinna, Courtiers toith lights. 
 Castruchio and Cosimo led in. 
 
 Dor. Bring the slaves in ! Their deeds will soon 
 
 convince 
 Their fiiint denial. Where did you leave them, 
 
 lady 1 
 LuiN. Here, here ! 0, my Lord, my Lord !
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 197 
 
 Fores. I have not breath enough to comfort thee 
 With words. Mercy, Heaven ! [Dies 
 
 LuiN. O my Lord ! My husband ! He's dead, 
 he's dead ! 
 
 Dor. Hold the lady there ! 0, dire spectacle ! 
 The Duke, Lucio, Foreste, and Lothario 
 Lie breathless here. I did suspect some black 
 Conspiracy, Avhich made me haunt these two 
 Unto the Palace, but I did lose them 
 By the Chapel stairs. 0, bloody dogs ! 
 What devil prompted thee to this [base] action 1 
 
 Cast. I hope I've not so much blood left, as will 
 Preserve me for an answer. 
 
 Cos. I feel my end too near. 
 
 Dor. Take them away ! And close their wounds, 
 though there 
 Be some mercy shewn by thus deferring 
 That reward which your black souls shall receive 
 In hell. Yet, know the law Avill, here on eartli, 
 Provide such tortures as shall make your deaths 
 Exemplary to all succeeding times. 
 
 [Exeunt some with Cast, and Cos. 
 Gentlemen ! your silence may be excus'd, 
 Where there's so much cause of admiration. 
 Some help the dead from hence, others 
 Call up the Councillors of State. 
 So intricate is Heaven's revenge 'gainst lust 
 The righteous suffer here with the unjust. 
 
 [Exeunt onmes.
 
 THE 
 
 JUST ITALIA N. 
 
 A TRAGI-COMEDr.
 
 The Just Italian. Lately presented in the pmiate house 
 at Blade Fricra, Bij his Alaiesties Seruanfs. 
 
 London, Printedhy Thomas Harper for John Waterson, 
 and are to he sold at the signe of the Crowne, in Paides 
 Churchyard, 1630. Small Ato. 
 
 The Just Italian. Printed in Sir William DavenanCs 
 Collected Works in Folio, 1073.
 
 Whether the plot of the Just Itahan has been derived 
 from any foreij^n source we cannot say, and are rather 
 inclined to think it original. It may be remarked, how- 
 ever, that there is a considerable resemblance between 
 the character of Alteza and that of Margaret in Hetcher's 
 " Kule a wife and have a wife," printed in 1640, but 
 first performed in 1624; and Altamont's reproof of his 
 arrogant helpmate may be placed in juxtaposition to 
 that of Leon under similar circumstances. It is not 
 saying too much when we affirm that D'Avenant has the 
 advantage. That Fletcher's Comedy as a whole is supe- 
 rior to tlie Just Italian may be conceded, without at all 
 detracting from the great merit of the future Laureate's 
 excellent Tragicomedy. 
 
 Like tlie two preceding Plays, the version of the Just 
 Italian, as given in the folio edition, has had many 
 unwarrantable liberties taken with the original text. 
 
 The Just Italian is dedicated to the Earl of Dorset, of 
 whom we have the following account : — 
 
 Thomas Sackville, first Lord Buckhnrst, is celebrated 
 as the author, in conjunction with T. Norton, of the 
 Drama of Ferrex and Porrex, the first regular English 
 tragedy, and which was acted by the gentlemen of the 
 Inner Tenqile at Whitehall, 18th January 1561. It wag 
 " applauded by the most ingenious men of the time," 
 and was eulogized by Sir Philip Sidney in his Apology 
 for Poetry. His Lordship, who became an accomplished 
 statesman, obtained the earldom of Dorset from James I. 
 He died suddenly when seated at the Council at White- 
 hall, 19th April 1608, and, on the 26th May following, 
 was buried in Westminster Abbey. — Collins^ fecund Edi- 
 tion^ vol. i., p. 526, Lordo)), 1741, 8vo. 
 
 Sir Edward Sackville, grandson of the Earl, upon the 
 death of his elder brother Earl Richard, succeeded 
 to his honours and estates in 1624. He had obtained 
 great notoriety in 1613, for his duel M-ith Lord Bruce of 
 Kinloss, au account of which, written by himself, is
 
 202 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 printed by Collins in his " Peerage" (p. 556). It is a 
 most interesting narrative. To this noble Lord the 
 " Just Italian" is dedicated. He died on the 17th July 
 1652. 
 
 In Howel's Familiar Letters, small 8vo, 1673, p. 504, 
 there is a long elegy upon the " most accomplished 
 and heroic Lord, Edward, Earl of Dorset," &c., in which 
 his Lordship's virtues are carefully enumerated. Amongst 
 them the reader is assured that he was 
 
 A Lord, whose Intellectuals alone 
 Would make a house of Peers, and prop a throne, 
 Had not so dire a fate hung o're the crown, 
 That pri\iledge, prerogative should drown. 
 
 The following character of the noble Lord by the Earl 
 of Clarendon, who had the best means of knowledge, may 
 be accepted as correct. 
 
 "His person was beautiful, and graceful, and vigorous; 
 his wit pleasant, sparkling, and sublime, and his other 
 parts of learning and language of that lustre, that he 
 could not miscarry to the world. The vices he had were 
 of the age, which he was not stubborn enough to con- 
 temn or resist. Yet his known great parts, and the very 
 good general rejjutation he had acquired, notwith- 
 standing his defects (for he was eminent in the House of 
 Conunons whilst he sat there, so he shined in the House 
 of Peers when he came to move in that sphere) inclined 
 King James to call him to his Privy Council before his 
 death. And, if he had not too much cherished liis 
 natural constitution and propensity, he would have 
 been an excellent man of business, for he had a very 
 sharp, discerning spirit, and was a man of an obliging 
 nature, much honour, and great generosity, and of most 
 entire fidelity to the Crown." 
 
 Collins mentions that the Earl took the execution of 
 Charles I. so much to heart, that he never afterwards 
 stirred out of his own house ; and he refers, as his 
 authority, to Sir Edward Walker's account of the 
 Knights of the Garter, a MS. then in possession of 
 John Austis. Esq., Garter King at Arms. 
 
 Of "Will. Hopkins," the writer of the introductory 
 verses, " to my friend M. D'Aveiiant, on his legitimate 
 pueme," we aie unable to give any account. At a later
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 203 
 
 date there was a Charles Hopkins, a friend of Dryden, 
 the writer of three tragedies, who, in 1694, published a 
 volume of poems, now rare, and which are admitted to 
 possess great merit. The following year he wrote another 
 poetical piece, called the History of Love, and subse- 
 quently translated into verse Ovid's Art of Love. He 
 died in 1700. He was a son of Dr Ezekiel Hopkins, 
 Bishop of Londonderry. Tt is not improbable that 
 D'Avenaut's friend wiis of the same family. 
 
 Thomas Carew, the writer of the verses which follow 
 those of Hopkins, is better known, although not so much 
 appreciated, as he appears to have been upwards of sixty 
 years since, when Tlionuis Park, the Editor of Lord 
 Orford's Koyal and Noble Authors, in prefacing some 
 specimens of his poetry in " The Lyre of Love," a choice 
 selection from various authors,* thus wrote of him : — 
 
 " Sufficient honour has scarcely been awarded to the 
 poetical merits of Carew. He displayed a character of 
 his own. In his writings are discovered the first speci- 
 mens of light and elegant composition, of that playful 
 tendei-ness and interesting gaiety to which our language 
 was yet a stranger. Notwithstanding the venerable 
 decision of Johnson, it is not to Waller that Enghsh 
 literature must originally ascribe the refinement to which 
 it has since attained." — vol. i., p. 61. 
 
 Thomas Carew was of gentle birth, descended from aa 
 ancient family in Gloucestershire. The general behef i^ 
 that he was born in 1677, but suflicient evidence of the 
 correctness of this assumption has not been preserved. 
 He was the younger brother of Sir Mathew, a staunch 
 Koyalist during the great rebeUion, and he held the olfice 
 of Sewer in Oixlinary to Cluirles the First. He was on the 
 most friendly terms with Jonson, Suckling, and Davenant, 
 as well as a familiar associate of Lord Clarendon, when a 
 student at the Bar, who, in his account of his own life, de- 
 scribes him as aperson of a pleasant and facetious wit, "and 
 author of many poems (especially in the amorous way) 
 which, for the sharpness of the fancy, and the elegance of 
 the language in which that fancy was spread, were at least 
 
 * Lyre of Love, 2 vols, snaall Svo. Loudon, 1806.
 
 204 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 equal if not superior to any of that time." * He died, says 
 Park, in 1634, the year succeeding the performance of 
 his Masque entitled ''Coelum Britannicum," (London, 
 small 4to, 1634), which was performed at AVhitehall on 
 the evening of Shrove Tuesday, 18th of February, 1633, 
 his Majesty and a number of the nobility being Mas- 
 quers. The author was assisted by Inigo Jones in pre- 
 paring the masque for representation, and it was set to 
 music by Henry Lawes. 
 
 A very beautiful edition of Carew's Poetical Works, 
 from the original edition of 1640, was printed at Edin- 
 burgh in 1824, small 8vo, edited by Thomas Maitland, 
 Esq., afterwards a Senator of the College of Justice by 
 the title of Lord Dundrennan, who has prefixed an inter- 
 esting prefatory notice. It is remarkable that I*ark and 
 Dundrennan assign different periods for Carew's birth 
 and death — the former stating his birtli to have been in 
 1577, and his death in 1634; the latter, his birth in 
 1589, and his death in 1639. 
 
 Mr John Payne Collier, in the reprint of Davenant's 
 "Wits," in his edition of Dodsley's Old Plays, vol, 
 viii., 8vo, 1825, states that the introductory verses ad- 
 dressed to the Reader of that comedy, signed " T. 
 Crew," are the production of Thomas Carew, and this we 
 find confirmed by their appearance in t!ie edition of 
 Carew's collected works, of 1640, the text of which was 
 used by Lord Dundrennan. 
 
 As "the Wits" is dated 1636, Park must be wrong 
 as to the year of Carew's death. The " Biograplua 
 Britannica" entirely differs from Park and others in the 
 dates of his birth and death. In dates, too, of the edi- 
 tions of his Poems. 
 
 * Life of Lord Clarendon, vol. i. p. 36.
 
 To mil friend^ M. D'avenant, on Ids legitimate Poem. 
 
 Even so the silly Midas judg'd of old 
 'Twixt Pan and great Apollo. As this bold 
 Herd, of his race, that th' untun'd pipe admire, 
 And hear thy strains, as the dull ass the lyre. 
 What wonder then, if thou the lawful son 
 Of Phoebus, taste what was to him begun ? 
 
 Hence, giddy fools ! Run to the noise they make 
 At Paris Garden ; or your selves betake 
 To the new motion, — the fine puppet plays, 
 And there adore. Commend the learned lays 
 That make a din about the streets, or els 
 Extol the Jew's trump, or the morris bells. 
 These, your great heads may manage. Only let 
 The wiser few, — whose blessed ears have met 
 Thfi harmony that all the Muses make. 
 And from those heavenly sounds assurance take 
 That thou sing'st the same tunes, — admitted be 
 To thy Seraphic Music, and set free 
 To entertain their souls in that high choir, 
 Which, not weak fools, but such as know, admire. 
 
 Will, Hopkins. 
 
 To my worthy Friend, M. D'avenant, xtpon his excellent 
 
 Play, The Just Italian. 
 I'le not misspend in praise the narrow room 
 I borrow in this leaf ; the garlands bloom 
 From thine own seeds, that crown each glorious page 
 Of thy triumjihant work ; the sullen Age 
 Requires a satire. What star guides the soul 
 Of these our froward times, that dare controul. 
 Yet dare not learn to judge? When didst thou fly 
 From hence, clear, candid Ingenuity ? 
 I have beheld, when percli'd on the smooth brow 
 Of a fair modest troop, thou didst allow
 
 206 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Applause to slighter works ; but then the weak 
 Spectator gave the knowing leave to speak. 
 Now noise prevails, and he is tax'd for drouth 
 Of wit, that, with the cry, spends not his mouth, 
 ^'et ask him, reason why he did not like ; 
 Him, why he did ; their ignorance will strike 
 Thy soul with scorn, and pity : mark the places 
 Provoke their smiles, frowns, or distorted faces ; 
 When they admire, nod, shake the head, — they'll be 
 A scene of mirth, a double Comedie. 
 But thy strong fancies, raptures of the brain 
 Drest in jjoetic flames, they entertain 
 As a bold impious reach ; for they'll still slight 
 All that exceeds Red-Bull, and Cock-pit fliglit. 
 These are the men in crowded heaps tliat throng 
 To that adulterate stage, where not a tongue 
 Of th' untun'd Kennel can a line rejieat 
 Of serious sense : but, like lips meet like meat ; 
 'Whilst the true brood of Actors, that alone 
 Keep natural unstrain'd action in her throne, 
 Behold their benches bare, though they rehearse 
 The terser Beaumont's or great Johnson's verse. 
 Rei^ine not thou then, since this churlish fate 
 Rules not the stage alone ; perhaps the State 
 Hath felt this rancour, where men great and good 
 Have by the rabble been misunderstood. 
 So was thy Play,* whose clear, yet lofty strain, 
 Wisemen, that govern Fate, shall entertain. 
 
 Tho. Carew. 
 
 * From these lines it may be inferred that the Just Italian 
 had not, on its first representation, been well received. The 
 reference to Beaumont and to glorious Ben proves that the 
 public taste was pretty much the same then as in Shakespeare's 
 time, and it has been equally so from the commencement of 
 the present century until now, when " dumb show and noise" 
 have taken precedence of poetrj^, wit, and common sense. Let 
 us hope that in the future the vaimted educational advantages 
 offered now-a-days, and these School Board ventures, will 
 educe a larger amount of comprehensive brain.
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 THE 
 
 EARL OF DORSET, &C. 
 
 My L(^Rn, — The uncivil ignorance of the People had 
 depriv'd this humble Work of life ; but that your Lord- 
 ship's approbation stept in to succour it. Those many 
 that came with resolution to dispraise, knownng your 
 Lordship's judgment to be powerful above their malice, 
 were either corrected to an understanding, or modesty : 
 And this large benefit hath betray 'd your Lordship to a 
 Dedication. I am bold to believe, fancies of this com- 
 posure have been nobly entertain'd by the most know- 
 ing Princes of the World. The ignorance, that begets the 
 change in this our age, it may become your Lordship's 
 example to correct, me to lament, if so tame a passion 
 can possess a Poet, and one. exalted with a hope to be 
 received. 
 
 Your Lordship's humble Servant, 
 
 William D'avenant.
 
 THE PERSONS PRESENTED. 
 
 Altamont, 
 Florello, 
 Mervolle, 
 
 SCIOLTO, 
 
 EOSSA, \ 
 MOLARD, j 
 NiENTE, 
 
 Dandolo, 
 
 Stoccata, ) 
 
 PUNTO, i 
 
 Alteza, 
 Charintha, 
 scoperta, 
 Besognia, 
 Mutes, &c 
 
 The Just Italian. 
 
 A cast Soldier, his Brother. 
 
 Friend to Altamont. 
 
 A young Flm-entine. 
 
 Companions to Florello. 
 
 Usher to Altamonfs Wife. 
 A Count of Milan. 
 
 His Champions. 
 
 Wife to Altamont. 
 Her Sister. 
 Sister unto Altamont. 
 Woman to Alteza. 
 
 The Scene: 
 
 FLORENCE.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Act the First. — Scene the First. 
 
 Enter Mervolle and Altamont. 
 
 Merv. This puzzles my belief : the sickly moon 
 Hath not yet twice expir'd her usual change, 
 Since you did mingle souls. And can it be 
 That she so soon recoils from grace, and the 
 Harmonious quiet of your bed 1 
 
 Alta. My dear 
 
 Mervolle, she is lost ! As well may I 
 Collect the scatter'd Avinds into a bag, 
 Or from the wat'ry surface scrape the gilt 
 Reflections of the sun, as bring her heart 
 Within the quiet list of wives, that will 
 Obey and love. 
 
 Merv. Can the Duke, her uncle, 
 
 Give an encouragement to her revolt ; 
 Maintain the female's charter 'gainst the male 1 
 
 Alta. Him and his supreme title she still names 
 To justify the glory of her birth ; 
 And then recites the villages and wealth 
 She brought to me for dowry, in j)arallel 
 With what I formerly possess'd. She doth 
 Aff"ront my memory with stories of 
 My lean and niggard late, and, urging then 
 Her vast supplies, doth challenge leave to call 
 Her pride and rigour just. 
 
 Merv. This grief is of sad quality 
 
 Alta. The heart hangs heavy on 
 
 o
 
 210 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 The strings, when it alone contains the cause 
 And knowledge of its weight : for troubled winds 
 In their dispersion lose their strength ; so griefs, 
 Whilst th' are reveal'd, diminish from themselves. 
 But the calamities, that do perplex 
 The nuptial bed, are of a property 
 Eecluse, and must be hidden even from friends. 
 For on such secrets fame doth feed with fierce 
 And meagre appetite ; and, as swift * fame 
 Doth travel with them, they increase. So much 
 Commerce I have with human arts, that I 
 Can steep my gall in my own tears ; and make 
 That salt which she intended bitter. Shew 
 Her crime to spring, not from poison'd malice 
 But, from the feminine mistakes of Avit : 
 For, modern courts now preach, wit doth reside 
 In ladies' subtle riots, and their pride. 
 
 Unter Florello, Eossa, Molard, in Soldiery 
 mean habits. 
 
 Merv. Behold your brother, Sir ! whose safe 
 return, 
 This morn I meution'd to your ear. 
 
 Alta. Thy growth 
 
 Hath so o'er-reach'd my sight, that I'm enstrang'd 
 To my best blood : and, but thy figure in 
 My heart I wear, by which my memory's 
 Inform'd, I should not know I had thee here. 
 
 Flo. I reckon this the chief delight I have 
 Receive! on earth. And, Sir, your love is of 
 Such sov'reign quality, a little soon 
 Will overcharge my sense. Give but a part 
 To me, the rest confer upon my friends^ — 
 Who, though in wither'd habits, do deserve 
 Society with kings : for never yet 
 Did bolder soldiers listen to the drum. 
 
 * Eager. — Folio.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 211 
 
 Alta. Gentlemen ! Ye shall enrich my know- 
 ledge. 
 Eos. Noble Signior ! uniirofitable love 
 Is all our wealth. 
 
 J^O- But we'll contrive ourselves 
 
 For your best use. 
 
 ^1^9" ^'^^ ^''^'i^^j consider them 
 
 Within ; their weeds are overgrown and cheap, 
 
 Alta. Brother, howe'er wise fiite may answer it, 
 Methinks, these your own robes are not o' th' 
 
 right 
 Tyrian dye ; nor hath the rich weight of your 
 Tall plume the estridge rob'd of both her wings. 
 
 Flo. Even thus, Sir, poor, and with small 
 victory 
 Am I return'd from our cast troops. Our pay 
 Eests in arrears, and — Pisa's lost : but you, 
 I hear, have found a jewel that contains 
 All price and lustre, and you do wear it 
 In your bosom : A noble wife, whose birth 
 And beauty are alike unvalu'd as 
 Her dower. This I encounter'd on 
 The lips of fame ; and I made haste to share 
 In your success, and put your bounty to 
 The test. 
 
 Alta. Florello ! I have lost my sleep. 
 
 Things differ much from the sincerity 
 Of their first growth. Alteza hath forgot 
 The allegiance of a wife : she doth piactise 
 How, with her riot, to impoverish States, 
 And, by her lofty pride, to justify 
 The immortality of flesh. This theme 
 Is sad ; but I will give you cause t' expect 
 The utmost strength and power of my relief. 
 
 Flo. You teach my feeble wants a confidence. 
 
 Alta. If you a Avhile obscure yourself, for fear 
 Your poverty increase her scorn, you shall
 
 212 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Perform a rational request. Our young 
 Fair sister is conceal'd for the same cause. 
 
 Flo. Your mention doth anticipate my love. 
 Is our fair sister Avell 1 
 
 Alta. She doth enjoy rare beauty, and much 
 
 health. 
 Merv. I hear your wife. 
 
 Alta. You and your friends move back ! and 
 be not seen. 
 
 Enter Alteza, Charintha, Niente. 
 
 Alteza. Try Signior Allidore, Antonio's son : 
 Utruvio, or the rich Pirracco, 
 Gritalin, or old Contarini of 
 Placentia. 
 
 Niente. Madam ! your husband hath 
 Protested 'gainst your credit, even to these. 
 
 Alte. Slave ! go force an answer more de- 
 lightful. 
 
 Niente. I obey you, madam. [Exit. 
 
 Alte. Is't come to this ? 
 
 I'll be a crooked spinster first, and with 
 My spittle and my flax procure my bread. 
 
 Alta. What is the cause my Princess thus 
 delights 
 In frowns 1 Anger sits on her brow like age. 
 
 Alte. Hence! I see thee, and my eyes sluink into 
 My skull : the raven's not so ominous 
 And black. 
 
 Alta. Yet urge the cause, my love, why your 
 Defiance is so violent and loud ] 
 
 Alte. A Millanoise shew'd me, to day for sale, 
 Bright and spacious jewels ; but, in tlie dark, 
 Your pusill malice hath betray'd my faith 
 With merchants. You have now my credit 
 wrouglit
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 213 
 
 So low and cheap, I cannot stand depos'd 
 For th' trivial loan of forty thousand crowns. 
 
 Alta. I would survey a list of all your wants, 
 That I may so liave power to hasten the redress. 
 Do you dislike your properties 
 Of house, your vestments, or service of your table, 
 Give but a name unto thy wish. 
 
 Alte. I would have my orchard pav'd with 
 
 agates. 
 Alta.^ 0, and your garden walls rais'd high, 
 t' hedge in 
 Paraquetos, and th' rhetorical daw ! 
 
 Alte. Thou hast a rude heart, and a blister'd 
 
 tongue. 
 Cha. Well ! The first day of your conjunc- 
 tion, Sir, 
 I little thought you would have us'd her thus. 
 Merv. Cliarintha's become her sister's pupil. 
 Flo. And I perceive a masculine itch beneath 
 Her left eye ; she longs to taste man. 
 
 -^LT. Come, love ! 
 
 Be gentle as thy bridal smiles, for, by 
 Thy self I swear, my speech did purpose nought 
 To tempt thy spleen. Lend me thy melting 
 hand. 
 Alte. There ! 'Tis to reach back the heart 
 
 I gave ye. 
 Alta. You spirits, that secure the property 
 Of human love, be still official here ! 
 Why should we not for ever thus remain 
 Incorporate and conjoin'd 1 'Tis s.ynipathy 
 And love that gives the world continuance 
 And life. Each species Love preserves. 'Tis love 
 That makes th' eternal wisdom thus forbear 
 The silly crimes of dull humanity : 
 And suffers us, like each delighted fly. 
 To play the trivial wantons in his eye.
 
 214 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Alte. You preach of love, but your obedience 
 Would more pleasure me. 
 
 Alta. This argues thy revolt ! 
 And is a stratagem against nature. 
 Thou wouldst usurp the charter of the male. 
 'Tis my confession that thy dower was vast 
 And opulent, and such as may supjiort 
 Thy titles and thy birth, with all the pride 
 And cunning of magnificence. Let my 
 Sincere phrase instruct thy heart. Reassume 
 The blushes of thy youth ; with timorous 
 Modesty behave thy gesture and thy tongue, 
 And then, thou shalt stand up exemplary 
 To all triumphant courts : the envy of 
 The eastern queens : tli' Astrologers mistake, 
 Who shall direct their opticks unto thee. 
 As to a new and unknown star. 
 
 Alte. Sister ! 
 
 Alta. The small musicians of the air, whom 
 Queens 
 With mimic falconry do perch upon 
 Their fists, shall be thy food. Thy maids shall eat 
 Young pelicans and squirrels' hearts. 
 
 Alte. Exc'lent ! 
 
 Alta. Thy beverage shall be prophetic and 
 Divine ; for thou shalt drink that sov'reign dew, 
 That hangs upon the frighted lillies' cheek. 
 And brew'd'"' with Syrens' tears, such as they shed 
 In real obsequies. 
 
 Alte. bounteous sir ! 
 
 Alta. The soft entrail o' th' Persian worm, 
 th' ermine's pale fur shall clothe thy limbs. 
 
 Alte. More precious still ! 
 
 Alta. Those gums and spices which the Arabian 
 bird 
 Collects to make her tragic piles, shall be 
 
 • Mingled.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 215 
 
 Thy winter fuel. 
 
 Alte. Pretty Sir, proceed ! 
 
 Alta. Thou shalt have marmasets, and dwarfs ; 
 the male 
 And female too, to procreate in thy house ; 
 That thy delights may ever be renew'd. 
 Thy jewels shall increase, as if the lov'd 
 Indies were thy quarry, Th' Almighty Sun 
 Shall rise and see a nobler day break from 
 Thy cabinet, than yet the illustrious east 
 E'er knew, 
 
 Alte, But how will you perform these hopes 1 
 
 Alta. The miracle and power do both consist 
 In my large wealth, 
 
 Alte, Death on my tribe ! Your wealth 1 
 
 Alta. Ay, my sweet love, 
 
 Alte. Your wealth 1 
 
 Alta, This iteration 
 
 Scarce will delight, if it be negative, 
 
 Alte. Canst thou persist in such accursed schism 1 
 
 Alta, Did you not then intend, when you 
 endow'd 
 Me Avith your wealth, that I should call it mine 1 
 
 Alte. By heaven ! Not I. I forfeited the love 
 0' th' great Duke, my uncle, to marry thee ; 
 That wert a thing shrunk from thy fate, and lost 
 Unto the lips and eyes of men ; but yet. 
 In most assured hope, that thou would'st prove 
 An humble and obedient husband. 
 
 Alta, Th'art more impudent than the Basilisk, 
 WTio stares i'th' blessed face of man, until 
 He kill him with his eyes, 
 
 Alte. Hear, Altamont ! 
 
 For I will give solemnity unto a vow, that shall 
 For evermore divide thee from my bed, 
 
 Merv. Dear Madam, hold ! Each sense 
 Of mine doth blush that can perceive your wild
 
 216 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Rebellious wrath. Hath not the church nam'd him 
 Your husband and your lord 1 
 
 Alte. M'opinions of 
 
 The church, I'll tell to th' conclave, not to you. 
 
 Alta. Is this the help divinity gave man 1 
 Snuff the moon ! She burns dim. The spheres are now- 
 Ill tun'd, and aged nature backward reels. 
 
 Alte. Thy anger's vain. Here I do banish thee 
 My bed, and we will never more embrace. 
 
 Alta. Rebellious fiend ! 
 
 Alte. I now divide my house : 
 This side is mine, with the dimensions that 
 Dependence have on this square frame ! For here 
 My family and I will rule. That side 
 You, and your meagre ragged train possess. 
 Thou may'st henceforth my neighbour, but no more 
 My husband, be. Charintha, come away 
 
 Alta. I must pursue, lest she her anger make 
 Too loud ; so we invite the public scorn. 
 
 [Exeunt Altcza, Charintha, Altamont. 
 
 Merv. Is not thy brother's wife a pure tame hen 1 
 How dost thou like her noise ? 
 
 Flor. Were she but mine, 
 
 I'd teach her keep a noise too after death. 
 
 Merv. How so 1 
 
 Flo. I'd strip her skin o'er her ears and 
 
 Make a drum on't. 
 
 Ros. She was born in a storm. 
 
 Mo. And begot sure with the boatswain's w^iistle. 
 
 Flo. Mervolle, you have nam'd Charintha 
 As a precious vii'gin, of nature most 
 Remiss, a quiet tongue, and such a heart 
 As might become an able sacrifice 
 T'expiate the whole world 1 
 
 Merv. This I esteem'd 
 
 My justice on her merits, but it seems 
 Her sister's documents o'er-rule her now.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 217 
 
 Her dowry is of ample rate, and may 
 Deserve the chief of our Italian youth. 
 
 Flo. What's Dandolo, that sues to her for love ? 
 
 Merv. Dandolo, the Count of Milaine ! A thing 
 Composed of spicery and starch ! Nature 
 Contriv'd him in her sleep. If's ignorance 
 Might answer for his sins, he Avould account 
 Amongst his wealth the land he has in heaven. 
 
 Flo. I heard you say, she never saw him yet. 
 
 Merv. Never, Sir : he woos her by his letters. 
 She desiring a personal survey 
 Ere prosecution of the suit, he sent 
 Her word, he'd make's address by stealth ; but we 
 Expect him not ere th' birth of the next moon, 
 
 Flo. Will his arrival be so long delay'd 1 
 
 Enter Altamont. 
 
 Brother ! — How thrives your patience o'er your wife ? 
 
 Alta. Some philosophic hope remains : the storm 
 Can't last, because 'tis still more violent. 
 Sh'ath ta'ne caroch for the Palace, and means 
 Straight to disgrace me to the Duke, 
 By her complaints. 
 
 Merv. Her veins o'erflow with gall ! 
 
 Alta. Forello, I desire thou'lt not appear 
 Before her eye until thy habit's chang'd. 
 My present power sums but a thousand crowns, 
 AVhich I have brought and prostrate to thy use. 
 
 [Gives him a Bag. 
 
 Flor. Sir, it is fit your blessings were increas'd, 
 And that your wife had read your worth. 
 
 Alta. My art betrays my hopes, or I have found 
 A remedy to cure her pride : your help, 
 Mervolle, I must crave, and with swift speed. 
 
 [Exeunt Altamont, Mervolle. 
 
 Flo. Eossa, Molard, friends to my soul and 
 brain,
 
 218 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Advance your subtle eyes ! The sovereign mine 
 Behold, that makes the solemn Patriarch dance, 
 And the anointed king to skip, as doth 
 His limber dwarf. 
 
 Eos. Yellow as foot of kite. 
 
 Mo. Shall we be tender natur'd, and divide 1 
 
 Flo. This is the portion will procure us all 
 High dignity and place. Rossa, you must 
 Find cause to number these. Go, ransom out 
 Our captive weeds, and the rich habit I 
 From Pisa brought : whilst you, Molard, with the 
 Assistance of these few, procure us fit 
 Materials to adorn and put in bright aspect 
 Our corps. Enquire for pearls ; stones of 
 The cunningst soil ; we'll like them, and disburse. 
 
 Eos. Is there some aged vessel now asleep 
 In the dock, that will pay for her caulking ? 
 
 Mo. Florello, must we stop the public leaks 1 
 
 Flo. Ere long Ave shall be great, be able to 
 Advance with smiles, and with our frowns destroy. 
 You, Rossa, I'll create a Magistrate. 
 Go practice the austere cough. Pale delinquents 
 Thou shalt learn to jeer, and to sleep o'er men 
 Condemn'd. 
 
 Eos. The calling. Sir, I do vouchsafe. 
 
 Flo. Thou, my Molard, shalt rule in villages. 
 Grow popular, and mistake the laws. Thou shalt 
 Delight i'th' kalendar : the rubrick days 
 Thou shalt observe, and then destroy thy beef. 
 Whilst thy dull earthy tenants feed until 
 They smell. 
 
 Mo. My launcepresado* then shall sop 
 His crust in cyder and in wine. 
 
 * Lancepesade. The ofiBcer under the corporaL 
 
 " Arm'd like a dapper lancepesade, 
 
 With Spanish pike, he broach'd a pore." — Chareland.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 219 
 
 Eos. And my dread corporal shall sin no more 
 for leeks. 
 His girdle and his socks he shall nnpawn. 
 
 Flo. The solitary hostess shall no more 
 Boil the carrion meat, that she must trust, 
 In her own tears. Nor with a requiem bring 
 The servnce u]>, as if it were the haunch 
 Of her dead husband. 
 
 Eos. I am entire flame. 
 
 Flo. The geographic Captain shall no more 
 Study the Town map, that's dark walks may be 
 Contriv'd througii slender alleys and tlirough lanes 
 To 'scajDe his hungry creditors abroad, 
 
 Eos. Thy province is Chaldea. Thy father 
 Was a Eabbi. 
 
 Mo. And thy aunt a Sybil. 
 
 Flo. These are the victories of wit : by Avit 
 "We must achieve our hopes ; which to refine 
 And purifj^, with paces doubled, let's 
 Descend a marble vault : there taste the rich 
 Legitimate blood of the mighty grape. 
 'Tis precious as the milk of Queens, such as 
 Would teach dull Saturn laugh. It magnifies 
 The heart, and makes the agile spirits dance. 
 It drowns all thouglits adulterate and sad ; 
 Inspires the Proi^het, makes the Poet glad. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Act the Second. — Scene the First. 
 
 Eiiter Altamont, Mervolle, Scoperto. 
 
 Alta. I have receiv'd a mandate from the 
 Duke, 
 That will, I fear, increase her insolence. 
 Like a old tyrant he bestows his threats,
 
 220 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 As if his anger did obey his will, 
 Not justice, nor the laws. 
 
 Merv. Does your wife know 
 This preparation you have made to cure 
 Her haughtiness ? 
 
 Alta. All is discover'd to her ear. 
 The news hath taught her boil her heart 
 In her own blood. She now weeps vinegar ; 
 Boasts of revenge, as if the thunder were 
 Her own. 
 
 Merv. 'Twere fit your pretty agent here 
 Receiv'd instructions how to shape her garb 
 And port, just as th' employment doth require. 
 
 Alta. Her knowledge is already satisfied. 
 Alteza's threats shall only move her scorn. 
 
 Sco. I will perform my best in your behalf; 
 But I do fear I am not valiant, Sir. 
 
 Enter Niente. 
 
 Alta. 0, you ! that call your sins your duty, that 
 Obey your lady's riots out o' zeal ! — 
 
 Niente. Signior ! 
 
 Alta. Her honour's spittle you preserve 
 As a restorative for your salt itch. 
 
 Niente. I beseech ye — 
 
 Alta. You thread in bracelets too 
 The pearls that drop from her authentic nose. 
 
 Niente. What mean you, sir ] 
 
 Alta. To cleave you from the scalp 
 
 Unto the twist ; to make nine skittles of 
 Your bones, and wind your heart-strings 'bout my 
 thumb. 
 
 Niente. Mercy, Sir ! So rotten are my limbs 
 That, whenyou stretch your cheeks and blow on me, 
 I straight am scatter'd into sand. 
 
 Alta. CoAvard ! 
 
 Creep straight into my hour-glass then, and there
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 221 
 
 Eternally distinguish fatal time. 
 
 Enter Alteza. 
 
 Alte. What slave disturbs the quiet of my ear 1 
 
 [NiENTE steps behind her. 
 
 NiENTE. Ne'er look, Sir ! I serve my lady, and I 
 Do scorn to yield. 
 
 Alta. D'ye bristle, Porcupine 1 
 
 NiENTE. Take heed ! I have the malady of 
 France. 
 
 Alte. Stay, Altamont! withdraw thy violence ! 
 If thou disorderst but a hair, that doth 
 Belong to th ' eyebrow of my meanest groom, 
 I will proclaim my superiority ; 
 And rule i'th' streets. 
 
 Alta. Hell cannot miss thee long ! 
 
 Alte. Insult beneath thy own low roof ! This 
 part 
 O'th' house doth call me sovereign. 
 
 [She spies Scoperta, and comes near her. 
 
 Alta. Eetire ! 
 
 Alte. Is that the piece you have so magnified. 
 She you boast of for your pastime Eoyal 1 
 
 Alta. She clips the grey and shiver'd wings of 
 Time 
 To make him slow, that our embraces, like 
 Succeeding minutes then, may add unto 
 Their length. Let me engender on thy lips. 
 
 Sco. So our progeny may still be kisses. 
 
 Alta. A meek and gentle heart, whilst thus we 
 bill 
 We imitate the sober lust of doves. 
 
 Sco. That kiss, sir, Avas so powerful and moist 
 That you have robb'd my lips of all their wealth ! 
 
 Alta. Take back thy wealth again ! 
 
 Alte. Are ye so hot 1 
 
 Alta. Thy lips are thin and lank, Alteza, as
 
 222 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 The lids that close thine eyes. Hers gently swell, 
 Like eastern fruit, and are more soft than is 
 The fleecy air that clothes the infant morn. 
 
 Alte. Pray, a word ! Is there in this pa- 
 geantry 
 Aught like to truth 1 Discover your intent ! 
 
 Alta. I'll make my anger equal unto thine, 
 And my revenge ahove them both. This bright 
 Auspicious maid shall govern in my bed. 
 She is my concubine : the ofF-spring of 
 Her womb shall triumph here, maugre thy sight ; 
 Whilst envy does consume thy flesh until 
 Thy body lighter grow than thy loose mind. 
 
 Alte. How well my stars behave their influence. 
 
 Alta. Mervolle, go ! My mistress guide unto 
 Those lodgings that o'erview the garden mount. 
 
 Sco. If you retard your presence whilst the sun, 
 In's race, fill up one hour, you'll find before 
 Your next review, that grief hath made me old, 
 And I shall look more like a matron than 
 A bride ; so much your absence mortifies. 
 
 Alta. Thou art, to every sense I have, a spell. 
 Conduct her straight, Mervolle, to some throne. 
 
 [Exeunt Mervolle, Scoperta. 
 
 Alte. Then are the vows, the ecclesiastic rites 
 With which the zealous priest oblig'd us to 
 Peculiar heat, to abstinence from change 
 And various love, quite cancell'd by your lust ? 
 
 Alta. Accuse thy pride ! 
 
 Alte. Thou art a perjur'd man. 
 
 Alta. Go ! Thou art light as feathers, or the air. 
 Were but an atom individual plac'd 
 With thee in balance even, 'twould hoise thee up 
 To th' clouds. 
 
 Alte. Thy breath is fulsome as that steam 
 Which toads, when they engender, vaporate.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 223 
 
 Alta. Alteza, bath in penitential tears 
 
 Thy leprous heart, or when the elements 
 
 Are niix'd and the sad day arrives, that dooms 
 
 The world unto eternity of joy, 
 
 Or pain, thou shalt, like to a glimmering lamp, 
 
 Be hung upon the sooty walls of hell. 
 
 Alte. 1 smile at thee and thy thin arts ; like to 
 
 Some homely village Levite, thou dost preach 
 
 Of terrors strange, to keep dull faith in awe. 
 
 I pray, stay ! I am not angry, Sir. 
 Alta. No 1 
 
 Alte. I practis'd all this while how t' endanger 
 
 Your spleen, Sir, not my own ; which, if my 
 powers 
 
 Prove just, I shall perform e'er long. 
 
 Niente, send the party in ! [Exit Niente. 
 
 Alta. More wrath 1 
 
 Alte. A slow device. Sir, hut o'my own brain. 
 
 Enter Sciolto. 
 
 Alta. AVho art thou 1 
 
 Sciolt. a keen guest invited here. 
 
 Alta. To what ? 
 
 Sciolt. To taste — your wive's gammons. 
 
 Alta. Bold slave ! Be in thy speech more 
 evident. 
 
 Sciolt. I am come to get your children for you. 
 
 Alte. D'ye want a clearer paraphrase 1 He is 
 My servant. Sir ; my stallion, if 1 please. 
 A courtly implement, and much in use 
 Among ladies of my growth and title. 
 
 Alta. 0, my cold blood ! My patience will be 
 wrought 
 So low, I shall learn t' mike a heifer. 
 
 Alte. Since I'm so aptly furnish'd with delight, 
 Your concubine may fearless walk about
 
 224 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 The house, and share the wholesome sun in peace. 
 
 Alta. Thy tongue I do neglect : but you, Sir, 
 shall 
 Ere long complain of your mortality : 
 The minutes you must waste on earth are few. 
 
 SciOLT. This I consider, Sir, and therefore make 
 Such haste to mingle with your wife ; that the 
 Kind world may have some issue from my loins. 
 
 Alta. If this prove true, let babes j^iss out my 
 eyes. 
 
 [He draws Jus Sword, Sciolto his, AUezaher Stiletto. 
 
 Alte. Hold, Altamont! or else I wound thy heart. 
 
 SciOLT. If you advance an inch beyond that rush, 
 I'll amble through the streets, and blow your dirge 
 With the great horn that grows upon your brow. 
 
 Alta. If there be gall in heaven the gen'ral bag 
 Is opened, and it falls in showers. 
 
 SciOLT. 'Slight, Sir; 
 
 I come t'ease the labour of your body. 
 And you want courtship to return me thanks. 
 
 Alte. Hang him, ingrate ! 
 
 SciOLT, But what hereafter I 
 
 Perform, shall be for your good lady's sake. 
 And not for yours. 
 
 Alta. Pray, Sir, let's interchange 
 
 A little breath ; withal, if you consent, 
 "We'll put our swords to a more quiet use. 
 
 SciOLT. Now, Sir, you pour sweet cassia in my 
 broth. 
 My blood affects to skirmish more 
 With ladies than with men. What would you 
 speak 1 
 
 Alt. My true opinion, Sir, concerning you. 
 I know you do but counterfeit this lust, 
 This lawless heat. You purpose not t'abuse 
 The charter of my bed. 
 
 SciOLT. Who told ye so 1
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 225 
 
 Alta. I read it in your noble feature and 
 Your looks. You have religion in your shape, 
 And can it be you should so soon commit a 
 
 crime, 
 So much unwholesome to the ans^els' sight 1 
 Let me now make a forfeiture of eyes. 
 If ever I belield a man that's more oblig'd 
 To nature for his limljs. A carnal frame 
 So full of equal strength I never saw. 
 
 SciOLT. The better shap'd I am. Sir, the more 
 cause 
 You'll find, to love the issue I shall get 
 Upon your wife. 
 
 Alta. Do not belie thy own 
 
 True merits and comport ! Th' adulterate fire 
 Did ne'er inflame thy sober heart. I know 
 Thou scorn'st to do't. 
 
 _ Sciolt. Not I, believe it, sir ! 
 
 Sir, I will do't. Is your lady fruitful 1 
 I would be loath to lose my labour on her. 
 
 Alta. Pestilence ! and blood ! 
 
 [He drmcs, and they as he/ore. 
 
 Alte. Fling a danger from thy arm,* 
 
 I'll summon strait, with trumpet and 
 With drum, tlie world to hear thy infamy ! 
 
 Sciolt. fie ! You an Italian, Sir, and thus 
 Behave the knowledge of disgrace with loud 
 And popular complaint. 
 
 Alte. Nay, it becomts you finely, 
 
 Does it not ? 
 
 Sciolt. You think, because you're cursed. 
 We'll allow you short horns. I'll graft 
 Upon your head a pair so tall, they shall 
 Go near to prick the very planet, sir. 
 That rul'd at your nativity. 
 
 Alte. He sleeps I 
 
 * i.e., If you do an act that endangers life. — See ante, p. 98. 
 
 P
 
 226 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 SciOLT. Signior ! Go, take down a cushion, and 
 pray ! 
 You cannot choose but know the frailty of 
 The times ; the surfeits of the womb, and how 
 Great hidies do relieve their appetites. 
 Your own confession of my parts commends 
 Your wife in her sage choice. There be that sin 
 With feeble ushers and the wither' d dwarf. 
 
 Alte. He wants a judgment to consider this. 
 
 SciOLT. I merit better looks, Sir, that must 
 thrash 
 All niglit for ye, and Avithout wages, sir. • 
 
 Alte. Dead as a monument ! Let us leave him. 
 
 SciOLT. Had he the devil for's physician chose. 
 He could ne'er have come by the like cordial. 
 
 \Exeunt Sciolto, Alteza. 
 
 Alta. You swelling mountains, that o'erview 
 the earth. 
 Fall now, make me eternally unseen ! 
 Philosophy contract thy meek sage brow ! 
 Let patience be no more thy saint. As soon 
 Give nied'cines to the dead, teach statues how 
 To walk, and angry winds to sleep i' th' north. 
 As soon bid empty lions play with kids. 
 And to the shaggy Scythian say, go weep 
 As virgins do, when they their loves inter. 
 The blind and shuffled elements, that first 
 In chaos strove, were not so opposite 
 As this religious frost unto my heat. 
 Patience, thou art more fond than teeming wives, 
 Tamer than sleep ; divinity, which calls 
 Our anger sin, and courage pride, hath sent 
 This silly cherubin on earth, patience — 
 The coward's sword — which only doth disarm 
 Dull sleep, that neither can nor would do harm
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 227 
 
 Enter SciOLTO, Alteza, Niente. 
 
 SciOLT. Florence knows me well : I'm called 
 Sciolto. 
 
 Alte. I needs must sing my usher's praise : 
 He made a most discreet election of a man. 
 
 Sciolt. Your mercy and your kindness, lady, 
 thus 
 Advance my shape ; your pleasure was I should 
 Despise your husl^and's frowns ; and 1 l)eliav'd 
 Myself with terror masculine : but now 
 We are peculiar and reserv'd, I know 
 Humility, a soft and quiet garb ; 
 A distance that shall well ])ecome the state 
 80 eminent and rich a beauty claims. 
 
 Alte. Sir, that we do expect, and then you 
 shall 
 O'ertake our noble sense with newer love. 
 Our husband is a trifle, such as can 
 No way disturb your peace or safety here. 
 
 SciOLT. Madam, store me with arms 
 And weapons to resist his personal assault, 
 And I shall need no more protection than my self. 
 
 Alte. Active and bold : Niente thou hast 
 made 
 A choice out-parallels the world. 
 
 Niente. Madam, 
 
 See his horse veins, th'are large as conduit pipes ; 
 His sinews are like cables. 
 
 Sciolt. 'Las ! not mine ! 
 
 'Tis true, that if I like my opposite, 
 I have a trick to give an easy fall, 
 And stand to't stiffly too wh(!n I ha' done. 
 
 Niente. I will assure your ladyship, the bawds 
 Give him a good report. 
 
 Alte. Do they, Niente ? 
 
 Niente. He's great with ladies of all ages,
 
 228 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 All degrees. 
 
 SciOLT. Excuse me, Sir, tli'are great by me. 
 
 Alte. As how, Sir ] 
 
 SciOLT. Madam ! They are all with child. 
 
 Alte. How, Siguior, is your appetite so strong 1 
 
 SciOLT, Blame the humorous planets that o'er- 
 rule 
 The blood. Ere yet this present month expires ; 
 Let's see — Ay ! some three and forty ladies 
 Or thereabout will quicken with male twins. 
 
 Alte. All of your begetting 1 
 
 SciOLT. So wise fame sings. 
 
 I will make bold to gather my first fruits. 
 
 [Goes to kiss her. 
 
 Alte. Stay, my pregnant Signior ! Our love is 
 not 
 Yet ripe : there is a larger distance too 
 Belongs unto our hps. 
 
 SciOLT. How, dear Lady 1 
 
 Alte. I am too proud to have my favours soon 
 And easily conferral. Such smiles are cheap. 
 I mean to procreate by prescription, Sir. 
 Make my lust as physical as my meals. 
 
 SciOLT. Death ! I'm suitor unto Galen's widow. 
 Madam, I know it not becomes the high 
 Demeanour of your birth to dance, just like 
 A kid, to th' music of each wind that blows. 
 Ere you admit of dalliance, I should use 
 Some industry of tongue, and flexure of 
 The pliant joints, to court and woo consent. 
 
 Alte. And can your rudeness covet then where 
 your 
 Safe wit and knowledge warns your abstinence 1 
 
 SciOLTO. Only a little t' recreate the chine. 
 
 Alte. Keep back, if you'll continue life. 
 When I 
 Am pleas'd to be delighted. Sir, I can
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 229 
 
 Command the function of your limbs. 
 
 Charintha [within.] Madam ! 
 
 Alte. Sister, I come ! Show him to his 
 chamber. 
 
 Sciolt. Hast no good book, whose comfortable use 
 May fill th' expence of time t 
 
 Alte. AYhat would you read 1 
 
 Sciolt. Any o' th' moderns. Kabehiis i' th' praise 
 Of Midwives. Aretine on Copulation : 
 Or th' Odes of Theophile unto his whore. 
 
 Alte. My usher in my closet can appoint 
 Your choice of these. 
 
 Sciolt. Think on the frailty of the Hesh ; 
 And be not long unmerciful. 
 
 Charintha [within]. Sister ! Madam ! 
 
 Alte. Away ! I come, I come ! 
 
 [Exeunt Mente, Sciolto. 
 
 Enter Charintha, Besognia. 
 
 Cha. The Millaine Count, my suitor, is arriv'd. 
 
 Alte. Signior Dandolo ! Why, 'tis yet a month 
 Ere he should meet your expectation here. 
 
 Beso. 'Tis he, Madam ! and such a he as must 
 Be only likened to himself 
 
 Cha. More rich 
 
 And gaudy than the east. So liberal too, 
 That you would think he nature's steward were. 
 He gives amongst my slaves, as if unto 
 Ambassadors he did cast donatives. 
 
 Alte. Milk him, my Charintha. Oft I have 
 preach'd 
 Unto thine ear a sov'reignty o'er man. 
 Take all he gives, it's princely fashion now. 
 Could but thy acceptation beggar him. 
 Thy little wit Avere ever magnified. 
 
 Cha. You know I am o' th' wits. I have been 
 sworn
 
 230 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 To beggar suitors, and to jeer my husband. 
 
 Enter Florello in rich habit. RossA, Molard, 
 shifted lile his servants. 
 
 Flo. Which is the lady that I come to woo ? 
 
 Cha. My name's Charintha ! 
 
 Flo. Present me thy lips ! 
 
 I say, advance ! 
 
 Alte. You are not understood. 
 
 [lie kisses Charintha, then gives lur ajeicel. 
 
 Cha. My Lord, I scarcely own desert enough 
 T'entice this jewel from your cabinet. 
 
 Flo. a stone, a stone ! The thing grows. I've 
 enow. 
 
 Alte. So free ? I am Charintha's sister, Sir, 
 
 Flo. It may be so. A fine house, fine town too ! 
 Were Florence mine, I would not give it for 
 The best winter seat my father left me. 
 
 Alte. 'Tis, Sir, th' ambition of my love, that you 
 Would know me for Charintha's sister 
 
 Flo. I shall. Rossa, remember it. 
 
 Ros. My Lord ? 
 
 Flo. I must know her for Chaiintha's sister. 
 
 Cha. Is there no trick in ceremony. Sir, 
 To give your memory a better hint 1 
 
 Flo. I kiss none but thee, a device i' th' blood ! 
 But princes have one toy or other still, to make 
 Their descent known. — There, a diamond that, 
 And that a ruby [Gives to Alteza. 
 
 Alte. What means your Lordship ] 
 
 Flo. Th'are none of mine. I have enow. Wear 
 'em ! 
 
 Alte. Your Lordship binds my great acknow- 
 ledgment. 
 I'th leisure of a wink he'll give away an empire. 
 
 Besog. I am Charintha's woman, Sir. 
 
 Flo. Who can help it 1 Mistress, wilt thou not bid
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 231 
 
 My servants welcome 1 Tli'are rich choughs, th'a\-e 
 
 store 
 Of \allages and i)]ough'd earth. 
 
 Cha. Their judgment is 
 
 So kind, Sir, as to know they may command 
 The house. 
 
 Eos, Mo. We thank your h^dyship. 
 
 Flo. This is my parasite, and this my pimp. 
 I've a fool, a dwarf too at home. I made 
 My jaunt too early by a month, or else 
 My train had been enlarg'd. 
 
 Alte. Th'are rarely fix'd, 
 
 If they import as much as you denominate. 
 
 Flo. I keep my parasite to cure the dull 
 Melancholy of state. He does admire 
 My wit and beard. He says I cannot sin. 
 Princes would still be sad but for such worms. 
 
 Alte. But how, Sir, does your pimp adhere to 
 use 1 
 
 Flo. He is as pertinent to Lords as lust. 
 My fool I keep to laugh at me. My dwarf. 
 Is for my wife. I do not intend she shall 
 Affect the court, and then she'll quickly learn 
 To make the toy useful. 
 
 Cha. My Lord, be pleas'd 
 
 To walk, and use th'advantage of the air. 
 
 Flo. I've instruments distinct, that take a 
 charge 
 O'th' several quarters of my frame. My dwarf 
 Doth dress me up unto the knees, and, when 
 His stature leaves his reach, young Virgins then, 
 Th'issue of decay'd barons, do begin 
 And govern to the navel. Whilst upwards, 
 Barbers, painters, and parasites are us'd. 
 
 Cha. But will your Lordship walk and see the 
 spring 1 
 We have a garden where it ever dwells.
 
 232 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Flo. And shall we be delighted and entranc'd ] 
 
 Cha. We'll sacrifice the ntmost of our wealth 
 And love t'express your welcome, Sir. 
 
 Flo. Wilt i' faith ? 
 
 There's a saphire chain : tie thy monkey in't 
 
 Take it ! for by this hand I am in haste, 
 And cannot offer twice. 
 
 Beso. If you should chance, 
 
 My honour'd Lord, to drop those trifles here, 
 I would be mannerly, and reach 'em up. 
 
 Flo. I will give thee a bushel of seed-pearl 
 To embroider thy petticoat. 
 
 Cha. This way 
 
 Eos. Your Lordship hath forgot to leave 
 notice for 
 Those princes in disguise that shall by chance 
 Demand ye at the gate. 
 
 Alte. Who does he mean 1 
 
 Flo. a leash of German Dukes that walk in 
 rug.* 
 I should consiilt with 'em about the subversion 
 Of a state or two ; but I'm not yet at 
 Leisure. 
 
 Alte. My Lord, they shall be an severed so. 
 
 ROSSA. Your hypocrisy wants a little art. 
 
 Mo. Your bounty will impoverish us too soon. 
 
 Flo. Ye both do lie. I weave my cunning close. 
 Fortune, redeem the credit of thy eyes. 
 Thou wilt, if thou art partial now and kind. 
 But wink on me, though to the world th'art blind. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 • " Clad in Irish rug, or coarse freeze." — Peacham. 
 "A rug was o'er his shoulders thi'own ; 
 A rug ; for night-gown he had none." — Sudft.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 233 
 
 Act the Third — Scene the First, 
 
 Enter Altamont, Mervolle. Sciolto, at the other 
 
 door. 
 
 Alta. This is the truth. Therefore consider now 
 My fate. Hah ! Sciolto ! 
 
 Merv. What makes he there ] 
 
 Alta. 'Tis Sciolto, the brute adulterer, 
 He whom I lately mention'd' in my speech, 
 A slave more salt than is the Baltic wave, 
 More hot than hell, a Satyr, or a goat. 
 
 Sciolt. And shall be still so, Sir, unless your wife 
 Dismiss her pride, and vouchsafe to cool me. 
 
 Alta. Devils and death, I'm murder'd through 
 the ear ! 
 [He draws. Sciolto puJh forth a case of pistols. 
 
 Sciolt. Take discipline awhile. Know, if there be 
 A boisterous motion us'd, I have for each 
 Of you a round cinnamon plum, and they 
 Shall enter your nice stomachs the wrong way. 
 
 Alta. Though thou wert hardy as the lion's 
 race, 
 And arm'd Avith all th' artilleiy on earth, 
 I durst assault thee as I am ; but so 
 I cannot satisfy revenge. 
 
 Merv. Sciolto, now my memory begins 
 To know you better — for your riots bold 
 And lewd demeanour in this city hath 
 Been long observ'd — I wonder much y' employ 
 Your precious minutes in a course so vile. 
 
 Sciolt. What, as to copulate and increase [our] 
 kind ] 
 It has been a vocation ever since 
 The sun spied man thus crawling on the earth. 
 
 Merv. But Avhat excuse canst thou in honour 
 urge,
 
 234 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 For wearing such advantageous defence 
 Against liis just and single violence 1 
 
 SciOLT. I have an odd humour not to be kill'd. 
 
 Alta. Alteza, had but my name been hid 
 Beneath some fold in the voluminous 
 Dark book of fate, I might have miss'd 
 Of my creation then, so I should ne'er have seen 
 Thy face. 
 
 Sciolt. My curses, Sir, have cause t' assault 
 Her, more than yours : for she has starv'd me here 
 With want of natural delight. My free large 
 Growth, and tincture of my hair, denote 
 My constitution cannot suffer me 
 To wear a surplice, or proceed as eunuch. 
 Though I should bath and swim in julips, Sir, 
 I've still unruly heat about my chine. 
 
 Alta. A Salamander, that doth feed and clothe 
 It self with flame, was thy progenitor. 
 
 Sciolt. Have I not equal reason to complain 1 
 In three hours not so much as a dry kiss. 
 Th' old amorous deacon that embrac'd his cow 
 Was not so destitute.* 
 
 Merv. Fine calumny ! 
 
 Sciolt. A Negro might be useful now, although 
 Sh'ad but one eye, and that fixed on her heel. 
 
 Alta. I'll strew upon thy food the teeth of snakes. 
 
 Sciolt. Signior, presume no more upon a fond 
 Easy nature. I have been abstinent 
 Too long. Haste ! And with pliant steps present 
 Your wife ; Or else I'll assure ye you shall seek 
 Some other man to cuckold ye for me. 
 
 Merv. Sciolto, this is barbarous ! 
 
 Alta. I'll shoot 
 
 Thy heart with needles, small as splinters of a hair, 
 That thou may'st die, and yet not know 
 
 "'Every ane to his taste,' as the auld man said when he 
 kissed his coo." — Scotck Proverb.
 
 TIIK JUST ITALIAN. 235 
 
 That thou art kill'd. 
 
 SciOLT. I thank ye, Signior, but 
 
 We Florentines do sleep like levorites, 
 With our eyes open.* Howe'er, I could vouch- 
 safe 
 To shoot you now, and so prevent your kindness. 
 
 Merv. Sciolto, hold ! If either charge do miss, 
 He that survives shall grind thy marble heart 
 Between his teeth. 
 
 kSciOLT. I meant not to give fire. 
 
 There is a trick of gravity i' th' state 
 Call'd Law. Besides, you dead, the children which 
 I chance to get upon your bucksome wife, 
 I should go near to keep at my own charge. 
 
 Alta. Africa breeds no monster like to thee. 
 
 SciOLT. I'll to my chamber now, and fortify. 
 There I remain, during tlie pleasure of 
 Your wife, your tenant, Signior, in fee tail. [Exit. 
 
 Alta. It is a cunning, and promiscuous slave. 
 This story of Alteza's abstinence 
 He doth but counterfeit, to gull my sight. 
 
 Merv. Had the devil himself crept into flesh, 
 And undertook this service to your wife. 
 She had possess'd the weaker instrument. 
 He hath in 's veins a most intemperate blood ; 
 His valour's so renown'd, that all the smooth, 
 The curl'd, and silken nobles of the town, 
 Do homage to his sword : and by such acts 
 As these he glorifies his truant youth. 
 
 Alta. Thy faith was jealous I seduc'd thy ear 
 To share untruths : but now, thou know'st too 
 much. 
 
 * "Isidore sayth that euery swift beast is fearefull and 
 fighteth not, aiid hath no manner kinde of armour nor of 
 wepon, but onely lightnesse of members and of lims, and is 
 feeble of sight as other beasts be, that close not the eyelids 
 in sleeping." — Batman on Bartholome. JJe Lepore.
 
 236 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Merv. 'Twas my suspect of Fame, and the dis- 
 persement 
 Of your deep wrong, that manacled till now 
 Your hands. My temp'rate lectures cease. Obey 
 Revenge, and I will follow it, until 
 My wealth and life are forfeited to law. 
 
 Alta. Hah ! wilt thou 1 my quickened heart, 
 entomb'd 
 Before within my breast, Avilt thou 1 This, this 
 Then is the direful night, wherein I'll give 
 A strict and cruel justice to revenge. 
 
 Merv. This then is the night, wherein my bold 
 love 
 Shall merit me th'eternal name of friend. 
 
 Alta. Come swear! swear now, on this victor- 
 ious sword, 
 Thou wilt obey th' injunctions of my wrath. 
 And yet in personal act not move, but when 
 My will appoints a mixture of thy strength. 
 
 Merv. My choice religion, and the honours of 
 my blood, 
 I here do pawn to ratify the vow. 
 
 [MervoUe kisses the Hilts. 
 Alta. Now work, my injur'd spirits, till you make 
 Dull sorrow rise in nimble flame. Anger 
 Is blood pour'd,* and perplex'd into a froth. 
 But malice is the wisdom of our wrath. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Florelo, Charintha, Alteza, Rossa, 
 
 MOLARD. 
 
 Cha. Your Lordship's letters were of a prompt 
 
 style ! 
 Flo. This orient rope is yours, and you must 
 wear't ; 
 I sick'n else, and grow a villager 
 In Elyzium. 
 
 * Made to rush tumultuously.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 237 
 
 Cha. Your bounty chokes my thanks. 
 Alte. Take it ! Afflict me, Fame, if e'er I knew 
 His parallel. He woos at Nero's rate. 
 
 Enter Besognia. 
 
 Beso. Madam ! There's a new Dandolo, a new 
 Count, lighted at the gate, and craves enti-ance. 
 
 Flo. Tliat's rare, i'faith ! Have I a shadow walks 
 Without leave o'the sun 1 
 
 Alte. A conspiracy ! 
 
 Flor. Did not Mervolle say, 'twould be a month 
 Ere he arriv'd % 
 
 Eos. Be bold ! and meet your chance. 
 
 Flo. Stand firm ! And stiffly on your sinews. 
 Then 
 Avouch me still for the true Dandolo. 
 
 Alte. Charintha, 'tis some stratagem ! But if 
 He jewels bring, and in a hand as large 
 And open as yon easy snipe's, thou hast 
 111 luck if thou constrain him not to loss. 
 
 Cha. I'll smile no longer than these rich 
 sparkles 
 Shine in my eyes. 
 
 Enter Dandolo. 
 
 Dand. The lady that is nam'd 
 
 Charintha here, must be reveal'd ; for I'ld 
 Exalt her lips, and make 'em known to mine. 
 
 Flo. 'Sliglit ! This is the great Cham. Hark 
 ye, Signior 
 
 Cha. My liord, I pray afford him leave to 
 speak. 
 
 Dand. What is that saucy groom ? Does he 
 sell ego;s ? 
 
 Flo. I'll shew ye my trade. A poor sword- 
 man, I.
 
 238 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Alte. Sir, you destroy the quiet of my house : 
 He shall have safety here, and leave to speak. 
 
 Cha. I'm called Charintha, sir. Proceed to 
 speech. 
 
 Dand. I'll first do special grace unto your lip. 
 My pen hath woo'd you oft ; but now by stealth 
 Thus single I'm arriv'd, a moon before 
 The time I did prefix. 
 
 Cha. Ay, Sir ! The cause ? 
 
 Dand. 'Twas winter when I specified the date 
 Of my approach, and then my blood was cold ; 
 But now the spring is come things would couple. 
 These, Lady, are very sercular pearl. — 
 
 Alte. Ay,Sir! And in such toys she much delights: 
 Although her modesty be loath to make 
 Her fancies known. Would you had brought some 
 
 few 
 To match 'em. 
 
 Dand. Do you affect 'em, lady 1 
 
 Cha. I rejoice in all the works of nature. 
 
 Dand. I am instructed then. 
 
 Alte. As how, dear Sir 1 
 
 Dand. That I did ill to leave my pearls behind. 
 
 Alte. Sister, this hulk is neither rigg'd nor 
 fraught. 
 
 Cha. I'll have no more of him. He is too 
 costive. 
 
 Flo. Sir, a word. Methinks you look like raw 
 pork. 
 
 Dand. Has not this house the privilege of peace? 
 
 Flor. Ladies ! This impostor steals my titles, 
 And my name. I ask leave to punish him. 
 
 Alte. We'll not protect his crimes. Use your 
 justice. [Florello drairs his stiletto. 
 
 Flor. Unless you are an estridge,* Sir, and can 
 Digest steel, cool your lungs, and calmly wait 
 
 * Ostricli. See ante, p. 72.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN, 239 
 
 Th' inquiry I shall urge, 
 
 Dand. Hence, and be dead ! 
 
 Flo. Molard ! Reveal how long thou hast been 
 pimp 
 To the family of the Dandolos ? 
 
 Mo. About some thirty years, Sir, I've pro- 
 cur'd 
 Both time and place for your good father's game, 
 Ere since he was capable of woman. 
 
 Eos. He us'd the trade, sir, in his infancy. 
 
 Mo. 1 scarce could walk, when I began 't, — 
 The first I brought him was my nurse. 
 
 Flo, Can'st point at aught he did 
 Some two and twenty years ago 1 
 
 Mo. Distinctly, sir. I know that gentleman. 
 He was got on a tripe-wife of Lucca. 
 
 Flo. 0, th' action of my father's loins ! 
 
 Alte. My Lord 1 
 
 Flo. I'm an old Jew at genealogies. 
 
 This fellow's descent I know now, and where 
 He took's creation too. By chance, thus have 
 I met forty of my father's bastards. 
 Th' are poor, and put me oft to charge. Brother, 
 Welcome ! Rossa, give him a quardecus.* 
 
 Dandolo. Bid kings wind silk, and Princes 
 Measure oats. 
 
 Cha. Your train of paiasite, pimp, fool, and 
 dwarf. 
 Speak you, at first, to be the true young Lord. 
 
 Alte. Yet th' other has some mai-ks that do 
 belong 
 Unto a Count, o' th' last edition too. 
 
 Dand. D' you think y' are the Count ? 
 
 Flo. I tlo think it, sir. 
 
 DAx\d. Thought's free, 
 
 Alte. He should be a Venetian, 
 
 * The fourth part of a crown.
 
 240 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 By the wit and policy of his courage. 
 
 Dand. Beauties ! were your hands clean they 
 
 should be kiss'd. 
 Flo. Bold illegitimate ! 
 
 Dand. Sir ! Yon shall know 
 
 No man e'er got me, but my owai father. [Exit. 
 
 Flo. Besognia, speak in my behalf. I'll give 
 Thee a pearl then, big as a pompion.* 
 
 Beso. Which, when your Lordship does, 
 I'll return ye a pointed diamond, big as a steeple. 
 Alte. You thrifty counterfeit has much per- 
 plex'd 
 Your servant's wit. 
 
 Cha. My Lord ! Let's in, and jeer. 
 Flo. Slow method fools obey. To th' stars 
 advance 
 His head, who thus resists the power of chance. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Scoperta, Sciolto. 
 
 Sco. Like to my genius he doth move about 
 The house. Our souls are surely near allied. 
 Sciolt. Calls he her his concubine ? By this 
 hand ! 
 There's not a prince in all the east, has such 
 Another. This Altamont still gripes 'em 
 In the flank. He knows to choose his cattle. 
 Be thou pleas'd, young and wholesome lady \ 
 Sco. The garden, signior, doth contain more 
 walks, 
 As pensative in shade as this. I do 
 Beseech you change your path, and leave me here. 
 Sciolt. The fumes of spicery ! you must not 
 move. 
 
 [Holds her in his arms. 
 
 * Pumpkin — now called Vegetable Marrow.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 241 
 
 Altamont, Mervolle, from above. 
 
 Merv. i\Iy vows have promis'd you the ample 
 truth 
 Of my intelligence. Behold ! whom there 
 Sciolto keeps in amorous whisper. 
 
 Alta. Hah, Scoperta ! Libid'nous girl ! what 
 makes 
 She with that horse 1 
 
 Merv. Shall I disturb their speech ? 
 
 Alta. No, let 'em knit and generate. My words 
 Shall never penetrate her ear, until 
 I am reveng'd for Avhat my ej'es have seen. 
 
 Merv. There is a general tainture in the sex. 
 
 Alta. She is proscribed. I've filed her in the 
 list 
 AVith those that taste to-night a bitter fate. 
 Away, away ! This object ruins all 
 My faculties. [Exeunt from above. 
 
 Sciolt. I sigh my first salute 
 Was so intemp'rately perform'd. But ! 
 The justice of my stars ! My love is now 
 Reveng'd upon my lust. With pure chaste flame 
 I court the mistress unto Altamont ; 
 One here reserv'd for sinful use. Stay, stay ! 
 
 Sco. If I am seen, my life is forfeited. 
 
 SciOL. Hast thou not heard my vows, whose 
 violence 
 And number Avell might satisfy suspect 
 In wayward kings? 
 
 Sco. How dare I traffic thus for love 
 With thee : when thy accounts with heaven 
 Are yet not clear'd, that lust betray'd thee to 1 
 
 SciOL. With Avhat advice of modesty canst thou 
 Accuse my blood ; when in this mansion thou 'rt 
 Contain'd for the like sin 1 
 
 Q
 
 242 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Sco. AVere I well known 
 
 Unto the quality of thy new love, 
 I would reveal myself, and take from thy belief 
 The false opinion of my guilt. 
 
 SciOL. If e'er I practise impious heat again, 
 Some long-arm'd fiend, that in the centre dwells, 
 Reach at my foot, and pull me into flames. 
 
 Sco. Bear witness, immortality and truth, 
 That I'm official here but by pretence. 
 My veins are cold and chaste as northern snow. 
 
 SciOL. Thy name 1 and then my doubts I avjU 
 forsake. 
 
 Sco. Scoperta is my name. I sister am 
 To Altamont ; not mistress of his lust. 
 
 SciOL. dire affinity ! my love is now 
 Allied unto my hate. Yet Altamont 
 Ne'er merited my wrath. It is the wit, 
 The policy of sin, to hate those men 
 We have abus'd. When first I spy'd the grace 
 And lustre of thy shape, methouglit I lov'd. 
 And my sick heart inform'd me love was good. 
 
 Sco. And you when I beheld, I said to heaven, 
 make but his immortal part like to 
 The garment nature clothes it in, and he'll 
 Remain a type, from whom shall be deriv'd 
 The prophets, and the kings that rule the earth. 
 
 SciOL. Her beauties so increase, that they do 
 make 
 My comprehension poor. 
 
 Sco. I should have us'd 
 
 More leisure and nice art, when I did give 
 My love away. 
 
 SciOL. stay, until my vows 
 Afford a larger warrant of my faith. 
 
 Sco. Our new society must not be seen. 
 But if thy love be free from carnal arts, 
 Such as the curled youth of Italy
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 243 
 
 Do use, make me thy sudden stealth. Early, 
 Ere the succeeding sun arrive in th' east, 
 Appear beneath my casement's view, and I 
 Will follow thee along the spacious world. [Exit. 
 SciOL. Go, noble maid. Wert thou divided 
 from 
 My reach, by sheets of elemental fire. 
 By streams of reeking blood, by purple mists, 
 Which cannons in their acclamation breathe, 
 Or winds Avhen met to blow each other from 
 The earth, yet I would pull thee to my heart. 
 False lust, I take of thee eternal leave. 
 
 Enter Niente, Alteza. 
 
 Alte. Convey those odours thither, and disperse 
 The costly smoke about the room. 
 
 Niente. I shall. 
 
 Alte. Place soft and easy finger'd lutes behind 
 The arras ; voices feminine and young, 
 And spread the couch with the green Persian 
 quilt. 
 
 Niente. All is prepar'd. [Exit. 
 
 SciOL. For what are these design'd 1 
 
 Alte. I feel a slothful grudging in my veins, 
 And therefore mean to solace Avith a male. 
 Brush thy beard, and follow me. 
 
 SciOL. Now am I 
 
 As rascally a sinner as ever. 
 
 Alte. Why com'st thou not 1 
 
 SciOL. love ! A little grace. 
 
 Alte. Is not thy blood well 1 Kiss me, 
 Sciolto. 
 
 SciOL. Shall we be wrapt in curlings intricate ] 
 
 Alte. We'll have our artificial heats, 
 And, with our own panting, cool us 
 To new and younger strength.
 
 244 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 SciOL. And shall we 'tween two shady poplars 
 hang 
 I' the Indian net, whose slippery closures may 
 Entangle us so fast, we ne'er shall be 
 Untied again ? 
 
 Alte. We'll grow as in one skin. 
 
 SciOL. Yes, much ! — not an inch — 
 
 Alte. I want thy meaning. 
 
 SciOL. And shall my action more. It mighti- 
 ness 
 And state tanght me to fast from flesh ; and now, 
 I am well pleas'd to make 't perpetual Lent. 
 
 Alte. I like this Avell. My male is witty grown. 
 
 SciOL. Go, kneel to your husband ! And beg 
 from him 
 Lawful recreation. Myself intend 
 To purchase a few beads, and turn vot'ry. 
 She'll ne'er move hence, till I've enrag'd her spleen. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Alte. What motive, sir, persuades ye use me thus ] 
 
 SciOL. Why — ye are not handsome. 
 
 Alte. Trim prodigy ! 
 
 SciOL. Question your glass. Your face 
 Was carv'd out of a blue cabbage, and 'tis 
 Contracted now to one oblique wrinkle, 
 
 Alte. Villain, thou ly'st ! 
 
 Sgiol. Thy aged skull, instead of hair, 
 O'ergrown with moss, and looks as if 't had been 
 A thousand years entomb'd. 
 
 Alte. Adders and snakes ! 
 
 SciOL. Thy solitary teeth in distance stand, 
 Like the decayed arches of a bridge. 
 
 Alte. Better th' adst been unborn. 
 
 Sctol. Wilt not yet go 1 
 
 Thy fingers are all crook'd, like the talons 
 Of a griffon.* Thou walk'st on cloven feet. 
 
 * See Appendix, "Griffin."
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 245 
 
 Alte. Hoa ! Niente. 
 
 SciOL. Thy bones are pilVl across, 
 
 Much like the sticks upon a conjuror's fire. 
 
 Alte. Are my grooms dead 1 What hoa ! I'll 
 impound ye. [Sciolto pulls out a case of pistols. 
 
 SciOL. It must not be. For with these two, of 
 which 
 I mean to rob your armoury, there shall 
 Be ixassage forc'd, broad enough for a team 
 Of southern elephants. Farewell, oyster ! [Exit. 
 
 Alte. Where are my grooms, my slaves 1 In- 
 jurious wolf ! 
 Bark at my precious feature, and thus strew 
 My beauty o'er with infamy and dust 1 
 Strike my green youtli with epithets of age 1 
 My Altamont ne'er us'd me thus. He oft 
 Compar'd me to the stars, my eyes t'eastern light 
 When day smiles at her birth. ! I could curse 
 The giddy judgment of my blood ; that thus 
 Seduc'd me to forsake that saint, and mix 
 My knowledge with this devil. He's fled too, 
 Untouch'd by my revenge. Niente, hoa ! 
 
 Enter Altajviont. 
 
 Alta. 'Tis Alteza ! I know her sinful voice. 
 
 [She kneels. 
 
 Alte. 0, sir, if anguish, or distress, can make 
 An humble heart, Ix'hold your lady noAV, 
 That shortens thus her stature, at your feet. 
 
 Alta. What may this forc'd humility portend 1 
 
 Alte. Sciolto, cruel as the Avinds in March, 
 Hath strook my woman-hood with tyranny 
 And scorn. Can fate present so large a test 
 Of your true love, both to your self and me, 
 As that you minister revenge upon 
 His life ] Go ! and salute his recreant heart
 
 246 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 With your bright steel, and then obedience claim 
 Replete with fond idolatry and love. 
 
 Alta. The fiends are surely married too ; for 
 there's 
 No torment like a wife ! False Alteza. 
 
 Alte. So ill I merit charity, that all 
 My passions argue cunning and pretence, 
 Alta. This is a wise hypocrisy, to hide 
 Thy lust, or snare me in some guilt, whereby 
 The Duke may claim my life, and thou receive 
 More quiet space t'enjoy Sciolto's limbs. 
 
 Alte. Those angry spirits that reside below, 
 In flaming ovens, are not more cruel in 
 Their envy, than am I in hate to him. 
 
 Alta. So soon dost steep him in thy gall, whom 
 thou 
 Hast washt i'th warm distilments of thy heart 1 
 Alte. If e'er I knew him with more guilt than 
 what 
 My wishes and my thoughts contain'd ; let wrath 
 Then make me her experiment, to try 
 How much of pain mortality can bear. 
 
 Alta. Thy perjur'd attestations cease ; for 
 though 
 The hours are few since first you did confer, 
 Yet you had both the pregnant thrift to make 
 The time advantageous to sin. 
 
 Alte. Express 
 
 Some mercy in your faith, and hear me speak. 
 
 Alta. Keep thy denial 'tween thy blister'd lips. 
 If utter'd, thou art dead. 
 
 Alte. Love is no more. 
 
 Alta. Dost weep 1 I sooner thought t' have 
 seen the flint 
 Supple as spunge ; th' obdurate diamond melt 
 At the glow-worm's pale eye. 
 
 Alte. How hath the pride
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 247 
 
 Of courts misled my youtli, that you should think 
 I've lost all tender compliments of grace ] 
 
 Alta. Thou wert a virgin sweet, so precious in 
 Thy frame, that with the cordage of thy hair 
 Thou might'st have fetter'd kings. Thy voice has 
 
 marr'd 
 The beauties of the night. When thou didst sing 
 The quiet stars Avoiild full asleep and wink. 
 Thou art all discord now : thy glory's dark, 
 Thy thin and rosial blood is turn'd to ink. 
 
 Alte. I have out-liv'd the help of penitence, 
 And benefit of hope. 
 
 Alta. Oft have I said 
 
 Let's leave the false, the busy world, and sleep 
 Beneath our vines ; nature, not cunning, then 
 Augments our wealth; the dew of heaven is cheap. 
 Nor need we pay for th' sun's warm light. 
 If kind divinity allow t'each human soul 
 A star; our issue we'll increase, until 
 The bright and numerous throng be all employ 'd.* 
 
 Alte. But I am sterile as a wilderness. 
 My name is sickness to your memory. 
 
 Alta. Witness, you silent powers ! the crime is 
 not 
 Derived from me. T'explain m)^ innocence, 
 Know, she that here I hous'd t'aftront thy pride, 
 Was my chaste sister, not my concubine. 
 
 Alte. Then you are loyal still to th' marriage 
 vow ! 
 
 Alta. But — she treads the slimy path. Scoperta 
 Is now thy rival in Sciolto's lust, 
 
 * We'd sit beneath the arching vine, and wonder 
 WTiy earth could be unhappy while the heavens 
 Still left us youth and love. . , . 
 And when night came, amidst the breathless heavens 
 We'd guess what star should be our home, 
 When love becomes immortal. — Lord L(jttoHS Lady of Lyons.
 
 248 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Alte. All springs from the ambition of my 
 guilt. 
 
 Alta. Although thy penitence be rash, it doth 
 Become thee well, and thou hast quite dissolv'd 
 The stony corners of my heart. This night 
 I purpos'd thee a cruel death, but now 
 Eise, and continue mortal still ! I'll lay 
 My mercy on thy lip, and for it take 
 My last farewell. I'll never see thee more. 
 
 Alte. This is a mercy that confounds the will 
 And strength of all my gratitude. sad 
 Decree. You have divorc'd me from your eyes. 
 
 Alta. Two neighbouring lillies, whom rude 
 winds disperse 
 'Mongst restless dust, may sooner meet upon 
 Their stalks again, and kiss each other in 
 A second groAvth, than we our loves renew. 
 
 Alte. Take heed, sir, how you prophecy. For my 
 Humility, with moist contrition join'd, 
 May hope to wash my leprous stains away. 
 
 Altamont. Ono! My jealousy is grown so sick, 
 that my 
 Suspect informs me it will ne'er be cured. 
 
 Alte. I creep thus to my tomb, indebted for 
 Your love, 'till all the drowsy world shall rise 
 To general accounts : and then my want 
 Of earlier gratitude will make my debt 
 A sin. [Exit. 
 
 Alta. trivial property of life ! 
 Some do attend the mighty war, and make 
 Divinity their yoke, 'till for the sport 
 Of kings th' augment the number of the dead. 
 Some walk in slipp'ry paths of Court, and feed 
 On silent smiles, the gravity of mirth. 
 Some travel in the search of human arts. 
 But knowledge is reserv'd ; she sits so high 
 In clouds, we cannot reach her with our eye;
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 249 
 
 Or, if with patient steps we to her climb, 
 Death says we cannot reach her with our time. 
 For wither'd age arrives, when numbering on 
 Our griefs not years, the tedious space of life 
 "We straight accuse. For life is like the span 
 Forc'd from a gouty hand, which, as it gains 
 Extent and active length, the more it pains. [Exit. 
 
 Act THE Fourth. — Scene the First. 
 Enter Dandolo, Besognia, Stoccata, Punto. 
 
 Dand. My journey was by stealth, else I had 
 brought 
 With these, legions of Dukes to sj)eak my birth. 
 
 Beso. My lady 'gins t' enquire, sir, after sleep, 
 For it grows late. 
 
 Dand. My corporal method 
 I will disorder, ere I'll miss her view. 
 This British groat is thine. Traffic for pins ! 
 
 Beso. Make the devil your factor; there's a 
 stock 
 To set up with. [Flings it again. Exit. 
 
 Dand. No bribes 1 I am belov'd. 
 
 Eiiter Florello, Eossa, Molard. 
 
 Flo. Brother, I wish you would avoid my haunts. 
 'Tis not for my credit, nor yet for our 
 Dead father's, thus to make your person known. 
 Being y'are illegitimate, begot 
 By the motion of the evil spirit. 
 
 Dand. Go ! let that fellow die. 
 
 Stoc. Why, let him, sir. 
 
 PuNTO. Were we his heirs we had cause. 
 To hasten his decease. 
 
 Flo. D'ye walk like Neptune in a masque.
 
 250 THE JUST ITALIAN, 
 
 Attended on by two o'th' calm winds 1 
 
 Dand. Th'are nobles of a supreme race. This is 
 Stoccata call'd, and that Punto. They both 
 Are come to warrant my creation good, 
 Upon the gauntlet of a giant or a Avhale. 
 
 Flo. Maintain your birth!— Were you my 
 father's bawds 1 
 
 Stoc. Alas, you are young, sir. You know 
 not us ! 
 We cannot swell and rant like things that would 
 Be rather heard than felt : but we can thrust 
 Our whinyards home, with joy and quiet too. 
 
 PuNTO. Sweet heart, you are not read i'th' rudi- 
 ments 
 Of wrath. You shall perceive some that are loud 
 And active Avith their lungs ; courage in them 
 You may suspect : but when you see a cool 
 And silent anger like to ours, then keep 
 Your wandering hands at home. Soft sir, beware ! 
 
 Stoc. Stay, woo't thou kill him, Punto, or shall 1 1 
 
 PuNTO. I've business now of a more serious garb. 
 Dispatch him thy self. Early to-morrow 
 I'll do as much for thee on the two Zwits. 
 
 Flo. D'ye make no more o'th' infants of the 
 earth 1 
 
 Stoc. Fie, sir. Draw you weapon in a Lady's 
 Chamber 1 You still display a courage ill 
 Brought up, most vainly nurtur'd, sir, believe't. 
 
 Punto. Forbid it, heaven ! But you should have 
 free space 
 T'employ your best strength in your [own] defence. 
 But, Sir, 'tis sober patience makes us safe. 
 If now on cither's haunch you did confer 
 A kick ; our secret wisdom would direct 
 Us how to bear it for the time, and in 
 Our own advantage too. 
 
 Flo. Is't possible 1
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 251 
 
 Stoc. Hear, Sir, th' advice of an old shot. I've liit 
 The mark more than once in my time, and tam'd 
 Many a mad^boy too. If either of 's 
 Vouchsafe to greet ye with a hand or foot, 
 Take it, and be thankful : lest, by return 
 Of wrath, worse do ensue. 
 
 Flo. Not I, believe't. 
 
 PuNTO. He's young, Stoccata. Carve him gently 
 up! — 
 
 Flo. They take me for a capon. What weapons 
 Fight ye with, demiculverin * or drake 1 1 
 
 Stoc. Steel of Toledo is all we manage. 
 
 Flo. "What then remains, but Rossa and Molard 
 Assault you two ; I, my bastard brother. 
 
 Kos. Come, Sir ! 
 
 Mo. Well jerk you Avith our iron rods. 
 
 Stoc. Keep your sword warm ! It 'longs to the 
 scabbard. 
 
 PuNTO. 0, Sir, your valour still imports some want 
 Of a discreet and temperate breeding. 
 
 Dand. Tumultuous fights the vestments mar. 
 
 Enter Charintha, Besognia. 
 Cha. His bounty ne'er will give me cause t'advance 
 My wit : he grows much troublesome. 
 
 Dand. Lady ! Behold two worthies here ! Dra- 
 gons in fight. 
 They come to preach my birth. Th'are known to 
 Fame. 
 Flo. Fame bleAv 'em from her breech. 
 Dand. I say th' are potentates ; and they do 
 
 awe 
 
 Flo. The chrysome babe. J 
 
 * A cannon of four inches bore. 
 
 t A small piece of artillery. 
 
 J See page 79 ante.— The chrism with which the eh-ld was 
 anointed, was a hallowed ointment, composed of oil and balm, 
 used by the Roman CathoUcs in the Sacrament of Baptism, and 
 for certain other unctions.
 
 252 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 PuNTO. Signior, you still forget 
 
 The quiet and the courteous ways of spleen. 
 
 Flo, I will try your politic patience, Sir. 
 
 [Kicks 'em. 
 
 PuNTO. You see we still are calm — 
 
 Stoc. He has but thin 
 
 Philosophy that cannot suffer this. 
 
 Cha. Yon marmalet Count deserves as much 
 too. 
 
 Dand. I do oppugn the motion with my scorn. 
 
 Flo. D'ye scorn, sir, to be kick'd 1 
 
 Dand. Pardon me, sir ! 
 
 I say't aloud ; the proudest wight on earth 
 Shall not kick me, excepting your dear self. 
 
 Enter Niente. 
 
 NiENTE. I have privacies, madam, for your 
 
 ear. 
 Flo. You, and your fierce champions straight 
 remove ; 
 Crawl hence, and be not visible again ! 
 
 PuNTO. Enhance our pay we'll kill him in the 
 
 dark. 
 Dand. Agreed ! Six ducats you shall number 
 more. \_E.reunt Dandolo, Stoccata, Puido. 
 
 NiENTE. The neighbours say, forty Serjeants 
 wait his 
 Departure hence, who give him a new name. 
 Cha. Hah ! What do they call him 1 
 Niente. Florello ! And rej^ort him brother 
 Unto Altamont. 
 
 Cha. My eyes are informed. Two faces more 
 allied 
 In all devotes of view I have not seen. 
 The younger brother unto Altamont ; 
 Fantastic too as winds, and sillier than
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 253 
 
 A silenc'd priest. Fate had much preferr'd me. 
 
 Beso. Madam, it must be he. I've tane a 
 strict 
 Survey of s nose ; 'tis so like Altamont's. 
 
 Cha, He is already so exhaust, that his 
 Wise bounty can no more be argument 
 For wit : and now to have this plea for his 
 Dismission is above my joy. Signior ! 
 
 Flo. Sweet love, I have been bold to give 
 away 
 One or tAvo of thy farms to these my foll'wers. 
 They are kind wretches both, and love thee well. 
 
 Cha. Indeed 1 
 
 Flo. Yes, faith. They bid me, rather than 
 Thou should'st thus pine for love, to marry thee. 
 
 Cha. Stand off ! More distant yet. 
 
 Flo. Would'st view my limbs 1 
 
 Cha. When you do make your Christianity 
 More known, you must be call'd Florello. 
 
 Flo. Hah ! 
 
 Cha. Forty blue fiends Avait to arrest you in 
 Your passage home. 
 
 Flo, Madam, I am traduc'd ! 
 
 Cha. Could your abusive arts make choice .of 
 none 
 But me 1 Be sure this visit is your last. 
 
 Flo. I must not, dare not, leave ye, till I've 
 clear'd 
 The errors in this calumny, 
 
 Cha. Return ! 
 
 Or you affront my power, and I shall think 
 Your love, is, as your person, counterfeit. 
 The strength of all my charity affords 
 You but this key, which in my orchard gate 
 You may employ, and free you from th' arrest. 
 Besognia, 111 to bed, 
 
 [Exeimt Niente, Charintha, Besognia.
 
 254 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Florello, Rossa, Molard, look ghostly awhile at 
 one anotJier. 
 
 Flo. a sober truth ! 
 
 Sums I ow'd when I embark'd for Pisa. 
 
 Eos. Now shall I, like a melancholy worm, 
 Feed on raw roots 
 
 Mo. Sing canticles of woe ! 
 I must e'en go tag points in a garret. 
 
 Flo. This key, with rescue o' th' young 
 Eapiers of the law will bring us home. 
 
 E.0S. No moneys, sir 1 
 
 Flo. Faith ! We must all disrobe ! Our vestments 
 Old stitch on again, and mortgage these to raise 
 A sum that may assist my liberty. 
 
 Mo. Creep in our rags of tinder ! In our 
 thin 
 And dusty webs again ! 
 
 Eos. I feel a herd 
 
 Of small cattle graze on my left shoulder. 
 
 Flo. my forward bounty ! There's but sick 
 hope 
 My jewels Avill return ; since custom shows, 
 What ladies thus from their dull suitors get 
 They do preserve as tribute to their wit. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Scoperta, and her Woman under a Canopy. 
 
 WoiviAN. The longer moiety of the night's un- 
 spent. 
 Sco. Since time grew old, he slowly finds his 
 stejis 
 I' th' dark : by day he swifter moves. Get thee 
 To bed. The casements of thine eyes are shut ; 
 Imprisoning their dear light. 
 
 WoiviAN. Madam, good night ! [Exit. 
 
 Sco. Come, my Sciolto! And confirm the virtue of
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 255 
 
 Thy faith ; or I disperse my soul in sighs, 
 
 And make this chair my easy monument. [Reads. 
 
 Enter Altajmont, Mervolle. 
 
 Merv. All arc departed that to Charintha 
 Made visit : your servants have begun 
 Their sleep, and guards are plac'd upon the gates. 
 
 Alta. Are my bold instruments in ambush 
 laid, 
 And scatter'd for the best advantage of 
 Their conceal'd action, and their view 1 
 
 Merv. They are. 
 
 Alta. Expect me then beneath the garden 
 mount. [Exit Mervolle. 
 
 Altamont steeds to Scoperta, and shews her his 
 Arms hesnfiear'd with blood. 
 
 Sco. You swelling clouds choke my afflicted 
 
 sight ! 
 Alta. The stars like scatter'd embers fall. 
 The tears 
 Of men do meet in seas, and seas o'erwhelm 
 The earth. Th' amazed herds howl to the sun 
 For help ; Avhose beams suck moisture up, till he 
 Hath made the flood his draught ; but vomits all 
 In show'rs again ; such as Deucalion saw ! 
 
 Sco. Nature, it seems, is frighted from her 
 
 health. 
 Alta. Behold my coral hands! They seem to 
 blush 
 With guilt of human sacrifice. Methinks 
 I look like to a Memphian priest, that had 
 Dissection made of Hecatombs t'appease 
 Their false divinity. Alteza's dead ! 
 
 Sco. I want pretence to soothe my faith ; else I
 
 256 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Would hope your hands deprived her not of breath 1 
 
 Alta. Fathers that feed on sons, and sons that 
 drink 
 Their mother's blood, reach not that cruelty 
 Which her stern guilt did throw into my breast. 
 
 Sco. May some kind saint weep o'er your soul 
 until. 
 With holy dew, he wash this sin away. 
 
 Alta. Thou dost mis-spend thy vestal charity. 
 In the solitary age of night I come. 
 To find those angels that have business now 
 On earth, in synod here with thee : hoping 
 I shall receive reward for my just act. 
 
 Sco. The hours that gave her opportunity 
 To err, were known so few, that my belief 
 Concludes her guiltless of the actual sin. 
 
 Alta. Before the hindmost part of her vex'd 
 soul 
 Forsook her thrilling lips, she did confess 
 Sciolto had perform'd all circumstance 
 That doth engender man. Sciolto too, 
 Confirm'd her attestation as a truth. 
 
 Sco. Be deaf, sweet heaven, to this ! Did Sciolto 
 Iterate her foul speech 1 
 
 Alta. He did, which I 
 
 O'erheard, and forc'd a passage to his heart. 
 From its warm throne I snatch'd the aching lump, 
 And threw it straight unto a hungry fiend. 
 
 Sco. Is he dead too 1 The Genius of the world 
 Is sick, all forms must cease. 
 
 Alta. Dost weep for him ? 
 
 Sco. O sir, should I restrain the flux, my 
 eyes 
 Would drop from their loose strings instead of tears. 
 
 Alta. This obsequy doth make compassion, sin. 
 
 Sco. Sciolto ! art thou so early fled 
 To taste eternity, and unknown fate 1
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 257 
 
 Alta. Stint thy hoarse dirge, pernicious wliore ! 
 I had 
 Some hope the intervieAv that you enjoy'd 
 Might be enforc'd by his unruly strength : 
 But now, I find it was with thy consent 
 Procur'd. Y' have struggled in each other's lust. 
 All now is evident as light. 
 
 Sco. I bring 
 
 My innocence to the clear survey of heaven. 
 
 Alta. Though dull, to men of harsh strict dis- 
 cipline. 
 Yet know, I have some cunning in my rage. 
 I came to fright this secret from thy heart. 
 My hands I did not bathe in human blood : 
 Alteza and Sciolto are alive. 
 
 Sco. This joy will make my heart dance in my 
 
 breast. 
 Alta. Sink into th' earth, where sorroAv dwells. 
 Ei'e yon 
 Dim morn shall add one hour unto her age, 
 Sciolto's soul shall take a doubtful flight : 
 It only stay'd to mingle company 
 With thine. My anger was so just, I would 
 Not prosecute thy life until my doubts 
 Were clear'd. Go, go, and number o'er thy beads ! 
 Sco. Is there, in all your veins, no drop un- 
 mix'd 
 With gall, that from our mother- is deriv'd. 
 And so may tempt compassion from your breast ? 
 
 Alta. Alteza mourns, as if to expiate 
 A nation with her grief Had'st thou reveal'd 
 Such penitence, it might have softened my decree. 
 But thou art sour and stern of soul. 
 
 Scop. No mercy, for our noble Mother's sake ? 
 Alta. My mother when she lay, a pattern cold 
 For th' figure on her tomb, spent her last bi-eath 
 In praise of thee. Quoth she, for my sake, use 
 
 R
 
 258 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Thy sister well ; th' acquaintance tliat she hath 
 In heaven is great. In the blossom of her growth 
 She shall o'ercome the eyes of men, and, in 
 Her age, she shall have skill in prophecy. 
 But 0, false lore ! Our mother kind, whom I 
 A Sybil held, thou now hast prov'd a witch. 
 
 Sco. I am too weak to force from your belief 
 Mistakes so strong. 
 
 Alta. Go pray ! The hours are swift : 
 I've purpos'd thee a pris'ner here till my 
 Return. This is a sickly rheum, and not 
 Compunction in my eyes. 
 
 Sco. The last of all 
 
 My merits shall be call'd obedience to 
 Your will. If you do owe a kindness to your self ; 
 Think on religion and the laws. [Exit. 
 
 Alta. Nature, do thou direct my spleen. The 
 laws 
 Are sinfully contriv'd. Justice should weigh 
 The i^resent crime, not future inference 
 On deeds. But now they cheapen blood : 'tis spilt 
 To punish the example, not the guilt. 
 Religion too, on our Italian earth. 
 Grows like the cedar big and high, but yields 
 No fruit. The abject race of men she doth 
 Confound with hope, and bids them not obey, 
 T'augment humility, but her own sway ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Mervolle, Sciolto, cmd three Mutes. 
 
 Merv. Your strength does but entangle ye the 
 
 more. 
 Sciol. I'll not be truss'd, sir, like a pullet thus. 
 Merv. Leave nothing that can minister defence. 
 Disarm him of his pins ! 
 
 Sciol. Pare my nails too ! 
 
 Mejiv. You shall be anger'd straight, till you 
 bestow
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 259 
 
 The time to bite 'em off. Soon as we spy'd 
 You scaling o'er the orchard wall, we guess'd 
 The hopes of your visit. There have been snares 
 Laid for your feet e'er since you left the house. 
 [Exeunt Mervolle, Mutes, they hariiiff rifled him of 
 his jjistoh and his sicord. 
 SciOL. There is some danger in this chance. 
 My dull 
 Heart beats with slow and ominous leisure. 
 
 SCOPERTA from her windoiv. 
 
 Sco. Pale planet, shine ! It must be he. My 
 ears 
 Persuade me they o'ertook his voice. Sir, sir ! — - 
 
 SciOL. Hah ! Scoperta 1 A cruel destiny 
 Hath murder'd all our joy. Endeavouring an 
 Address for stealth of thee, I was surpris'd, 
 Disarm'd, even here i'th' presence of my stars. 
 
 Sco. There's not a star in all the firmament 
 Belongs to us. 
 
 SciOL. none ! or, if there be. 
 Their influence is so weak that at this distance 
 Babes may blow 'em out. Sure, our creation 
 We have took unknown to fate. 
 
 Sco. Our love was of too nimble growth. Unless 
 Philosophy give hope that after death 
 We may converse, this is the last of all 
 Our interviews. 
 
 SciOL. That fatal prophecy 
 
 Will shake my soul from out my flesh ; and I 
 Like some tame hermit shall un wounded die. 
 
 Sco. The word that's heard abbreviates our 
 discourse. 
 And life. The sand that limits both is fall'n 
 Into the reach of nund^er, now : and I 
 Have spent with thee the hasty time prefix'd
 
 2 GO THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 For a devout employment of my beads. 
 The murderers are within. 
 
 SciOL. Grim wild horror ! 
 
 Hast thou no weapons there that I may use 
 T' annihilate their vigour and their shape 1 
 
 Sco. Unto thy lips I'ld throw a kiss ; but with 
 The strings of my poor solitary lute 
 They've bound my hands. 
 
 SciOL. my hot rage ! I could 
 
 Spit fire till T enkindle yonder grove, 
 Eaising a flame that might perplex the Earth, 
 And make 'em think that heaven had dropp'd a 
 planet. 
 
 Sco. And I could weep until I quenched that 
 flame, 
 And drew suspicion that a second flood 
 "Was come to drown mortality again ! 
 
 SciOL. This sudden elevation of the soul 
 Presageth death : as if it practis'd how 
 To rise and climb, ere she begins her flight. 
 
 Sco. Whence is that noise 1 
 
 SciOL. I'll be as calm as are Arabian winds. 
 Scoperta, stay ! Unheard we will converse. 
 
 Sco. They come, they come I Dear love ! for 
 evermore, farewell ! 
 
 [The Mutes snatch her from the window. 
 
 SciOL. 0, for the giant race ! to help me heave 
 Those mountains up, that I might bury this 
 Proud structure and my self ! Yon burly oak, 
 Whose roots reach hell, I'll manage till I pound 
 And batter all the marble into flour. 
 
 Enter Altamont, Mervolle. 
 
 ]\Ierv. You have o'erheard what will your 
 
 knowledge grieve. 
 Alta. Her soul is ill prepar'd. 
 Merv. I gave command
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 261 
 
 They should a while delay her death, lest want 
 Of leisure might destroy her penitence. 
 
 Alta. Remain within the summons of my call : 
 And leave me here. 1 charge thee, by thy vow, 
 And by our friendship's dear use, that thou depart. 
 
 [J^.di Mercolle. 
 
 SciOL. Speak what thou art ! 
 
 Alta. Some call me Altamont. 
 I've seen thee walk arm'd like a magazine, 
 With small artillery entrench'd : but thou 
 Art fitly now prepar'd for sufferance. 
 
 SciOL. Not thy tame sacrifice, but victory 
 I'll be. For naked as I am, I will 
 Resist my death, and since unfurnish'd to 
 Revenge, I yet shall trouble thy best strength. — 
 
 Alta. Sciolto ! Though, thou merit treachery. 
 And opposition that, by darkest stealth. 
 May cozen thee of thy luxurious soul. 
 Yet I will give thee fair and equal game. 
 
 SciOL, False tyranny ! 
 
 Alta. Stay ! This I will perform. 
 
 And 'tis to know the rigour of thy might. 
 What wondrous flame and spirits do possess 
 Thy spacious breast. 
 
 SciuL. There's relish of intent ! 
 
 Alta. I'ld learn the providence and justice of 
 My fate ; try if they'll let me fall before 
 Th' encounter of thy bestial strength ; thou that 
 Augment' st thy sins t' o'ercome the memory 
 Of heaven, in silly hope th' accounts may be 
 Unwillingly survcy'd because th' are long. 
 Receive thy sword ! 
 
 SciOL. Miracle of bounty ! 
 
 Alta. If, whilst we struggle in the pride of hope, 
 Thou canst so weaken my defence, that I 
 Become disarm'd, thy liberty is gain'd. 
 
 SciOL. With solemn penitence I could accuse
 
 262 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 My crimes 'gainst tliee : but griefs akin to fear. 
 This great demeanour of thy spleen divides 
 Th' intent of gratitude. I know not which 
 T'afford thee most, — my envy, or my love. 
 
 Alta. The moon hath now put on her brightest 
 robe ; 
 My anger too doth carry fire enough 
 To light us to the charge. Guard well thy heart ! 
 
 SciOL. A little respite give. Must we needs 
 fight 1 
 
 Alta. You then would cozen me of my revenge 1 
 
 SciOL. Yet stay ! — Know, I do love thy sister 
 well. 
 
 Alta. Mark, sweet heaven ! With Avhat exalted 
 triumph 
 He boasts the foul remembance of his sin. 
 
 [Thrusts at him. 
 
 Sciol. Stiff as a column ! 
 
 Alta. Th' Arcadian wrestler told 
 
 Young Theseus so ; but he did yield as if 
 His sinews had been made of silk. So fierce 1 — 
 
 Sciol. I'll work thy strength so low, that 
 virgins shall 
 Have power to shackle thee with spinners' threads. 
 
 Alta. Tlius I will bore thy flesh, till thou become 
 Transparent as a sieve. 
 
 Sciol. This closure hath 
 
 Entangled us. Let's make another charge ! 
 
 Alta. Even thus divided billows part, that they 
 May meet in greater foam, 
 
 Sciol. Wilt thou not bleed 1 
 
 Not yet 1 I skirmish with unbodied air. 
 
 Alta. Thy guilt betrays thy hand unto mistakes, 
 And thus my injur'd spirits greet thy life. 
 
 Sciol. That wound gapes like to a yawning 
 giant. 
 
 .Alta. So hot is thy lascivious blood, that, as
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 2G3 
 
 I sprinkle it, it scalds my hands. 
 
 HciOL, I reel 
 
 Befoi'c thy breast, and stumble at a Avart. [Falls. 
 Alta. Thy sword's my captive now. Mervolle, 
 
 hoa ! 
 SciOL. I have some courage yet left in my 
 teeth ; 
 If thou art kind, come nearer with thy throat ! 
 
 Enter Mervolle, and Mutes. 
 
 Alta. the celestial powers are just. See, there ! 
 He bleeds like to a spring, that borders on 
 The Rnbick sea, whilst I remain untouch'd. 
 
 Merv. Has he not lost the benefit of breath ? 
 
 Alta. Stop all his wounds, and give him time 
 to sjiend 
 The rest of's moisture in repentant tears. 
 
 [They hind him tvith scarfs. 
 
 SciOL. My Avounds clos'd up ! What means this 
 courtesy ? 
 
 Alta. That thou might' st leisure have to pray. 
 Be sure, 
 Mervolle, wlien's devotions have arriv'd 
 Unto a powerful length, you strangle him. 
 
 SciOL. Can thy young honoiu- stoop to such 
 low flight 1 
 
 Alta. Unto resistance equal I expos'd 
 My strength, to try thy courage and my fate. 
 This was my justice to myself : justice 
 111 give to thee. Thy crimes do merit death. 
 
 SciOL. 0, soothe my last ambition then ! 
 Be thou my executioner. 
 
 Alta. Thou art disarm'd. 
 
 Thy blooming honours now are wither'd on 
 Thy crest. 1 should deprive my anger of 
 Her fame, to be thy active opposite.
 
 264 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 SciOL. Scoperta, stay ! My soul shall hover 
 straight 
 With thine. Stay for me in the milky-path. 
 
 Alt A. Let Italy avouch the just demean 
 Of my revenge. Dull Britons knov^^ no wrath. 
 Th' unskilful youth, that equal duel give 
 To him that first incens'd the blood ; but tempt 
 The courtesy of fate, — such take delight 
 To stroke abuse, pay injuries, with right. 
 
 Merv. This way, Sir, leads unto your grave. 
 You shall 
 Have space to gain some friendshii) with the 
 Saints. [Exeunt Mervolle, ScioUo, Mutes. 
 
 Alta. a sudden frost congeals my heart ; I 
 shrink 
 Like crooked age ; I am unweildy on my joints 
 As if my veins were empty grown. 
 
 [Opens his doublet. 
 Wounded ! His point has stol'n into my breast. 
 Oh, help ! I've yet some use for life. Th' nice 
 
 search 
 I made to know heaven's secret justice is 
 Aveng'd. Bold earth ! I weep into the sea 
 And sigh t' augment the winds. Repentance is 
 An immaterial salve, it cures th' unsound 
 Diseased soul, but not the body's wound. 
 
 [Reels off, Exit. 
 
 Act THE Fifth. — Scene the First. 
 Enter Niente, Alteza, in her night-gown. 
 
 Alte. a guard upon my gates ! And have they 
 there 
 Been plac'd ere since the first arrival of 
 The night ? 
 
 Niente. Mervolle keeps the keys. He'll let
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 2G5 
 
 No servant be aAvake about the house. 
 
 Alte. The sun begins to bathe i' th' mornings 
 tears ! 
 Hast tliou Lucio call'd, and bid Pytho mix 
 With him in a sad song 1 
 
 NiENTE. T have, madam. 
 
 Alte. No more, Niente, shalt thou service do 
 For me. Last night I told thee I had lost 
 My vanity : that courtly lady serve 
 Who finds it first. But, lest thy wants augment 
 Thy sins, my charity afi'ords thee this. 
 
 [Flings him a purse. 
 Niente. [A purse !] 
 
 Well ! I'm resolv'd to mend, or — become worse. 
 
 [Exit. 
 A song between two boys. 
 
 1, This lady, ripe, and calm, and fresh. 
 
 As Eastern Summers are ; 
 Must now forsake both Time and Flesh, 
 T' add light to some small Star. 
 
 2. Whilst yet alive, each Star decay'd 
 
 She may relieve with light : 
 But death leads beauty to a shade 
 More cold, more dark than Night. 
 
 1. The saucy faith of man doth blind 
 
 His pride, 'till it conduce 
 To destine all his abject kind 
 For some eternal use. 
 
 2. But ask not bodies, doom'd to die, 
 
 To what abode they go ; 
 Since Knowledge is but sorrow's Spy, 
 It is not safe to know. 
 
 Enter Mervolle. 
 
 ;Merv. Howl, howl ! Until you wake the in- 
 habitants
 
 2G6 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Of gi'aves ! 'till you disquiet all the spheres, 
 And put harmonious nature out of tune. 
 
 Alte. What means this fatal summon, that 
 doth make 
 Amazement cold as is Iberian ice 1 
 
 Merv. Great Altamont, your Lord, who still 
 was prompt 
 To curb th' incitements of your Avrath, threw wise 
 Advantage from his reach, and struggled with 
 The bold Sciolto, in an equal war. 
 
 Alte. Do^vn, holy flame ! When hope doth 
 sicken so, 
 I would not have the power to prophecy. 
 
 Merv. The surly lion and the testy boar. 
 Did ne'er maintain resistance with like fierce 
 And ruinous return of strength, for from 
 Their eyes such lightning flew, that villagers. 
 Whose early labours till'd the earth, did think 
 Rash Phaeton did scourge the fiery team 
 Again. Sciolto, chipp'd, ragged with wounds, 
 Did bleed away his strength. This his false sword 
 Your husband bade me prostrate at your feet — 
 And 'tis the last memorial of his love. 
 
 Alte. Ambiguous history ! He conqueror. 
 Yet this the last memorial of his love ! 
 
 Merv. Wise heaven did mock your Altamont, 
 for whilst 
 O'erjoy'd with victory, he spies in's breast 
 A large deep wound, and thence his soul took flight. 
 
 Alte. 0, my poor Lord ! How soon hast thou 
 begun 
 Thy immortality. The hasty spark 
 So upward mounts, and then no more is seen. 
 
 Merv. 1' th' last remainder of his dying 
 speech. 
 He briefly told his testament, which doth 
 Contain employments sad, and such as you
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 267 
 
 Must actuate straight. To please his ghost, sliew 
 
 now 
 A little loyalty and love ; — Rise ! and 
 Be conducted by my slow steps. I will 
 Inform your knowledge all that he enjoin'd. 
 
 Alte. Th' obedience which I scanted to his life, 
 Unto his memory I'll strictly pay. 
 
 Merv. You have a loss that doth out-speak 
 complaint ! 
 If sweet and pliant discipline of Courts, 
 If feats of miglity war, or sober arts 
 Advance th' esteem of human quality, 
 'Tis fit your Altamont we strive to i-aise 
 Above the charity or skill of praise. [Exeunt 
 
 Enter Florello, Rossa, Molard, in their old 
 habits. Dandolo, Stoccata, Punto, bound. 
 
 Flo. Who did assist your passage to this walk ? 
 Ros. Mervolle, sir, with whom we used your 
 name. 
 Do you observe the Count, and his two lean 
 Janizaries 1 
 Flo. What, in captivity 1 
 
 Ros. Certain stratagems, sir, have been level'd 
 'Gainst the prei'ogative of your life royal. 
 
 MoL. Ere since the hope of day, they waited 
 your 
 Descent from the Cloister bridge ; but doubting 
 Their own courage, and meeting us disguis'd 
 Thus in our original weeds, they would have brib'd 
 Us for two pistolets t'assist the prosecution 
 Of your death. Our grace and strength 
 Bound them to their good behaviour. 
 
 Flo. They walk like caterpillars on a leaf. 
 
 [TaJies Dandolo aside. 
 Yield me the cause why you contriv'd my death.
 
 268 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Dand. Good faith, sir, for no harm. 
 
 Flo. Give me a knife ! 
 
 \They search Dandolo. 
 
 Ros. Here is one belonged to Hans van 
 Geulicke ! 
 [Florello cuts Dandold's bonds, and gives him the knife. 
 
 Flo. Take yourself solemnly aside and cut 
 Your throat ! Do't straight, and neatly too, — 
 Y' had best. 
 
 Dand. The motion I dislike ; 'tis dangerous. 
 
 Flo. Have you three throats'? Can you revive 
 as oft 
 As you are kill'd, to take new punishment, 
 That thus you mutiny against kind reason ] 
 
 Dand. These thousand j^ears 't has been ob- 
 serv'd 
 Th' eldest brothers of our house, sir, never could 
 Endure to cut their throats. 
 
 Flo. 'Tis fit, dear Count, that you 
 
 Must die. I'm else unjust unto my self. 
 
 Dand. With sapient arts we will project to save 
 The reputation of your justice. 
 
 Flo. How ? 
 
 Dand. I will promulgate I am dead, and both 
 My champions here shall swear't. 
 
 Stoc. We'll venture one 
 
 Commandment to save another, sir. 
 
 Flo. This cannot satisfy. Howe'er, sir Count, 
 If you will patiently accept your death, 
 I'll furnish ye with guides for your last jaunt. 
 You Punto and Stoccata too ! No more 
 Of your philosophy. Fix brow to brow. 
 Knock out each other's brains, and shew your lord 
 The way unto th' Elizian field. Do it 
 At first encounter too ; for I'm in haste. 
 
 Stoc. 'Slight, sir! I ne'er was in Elizium, I, 
 Nor should 1 find the way thither, though Siguior
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 2G9 
 
 Argus lent me ninety-nine of his eyes. 
 
 Flo. Then Punto shall be conduct to ye both. 
 
 PuNTO. Good signior, any courtesy but this 
 You may command. You still do most presume 
 Upon the calmest and th' easy nature. 
 
 Kos. They all are forfeitures to th' law. 
 If you'll bestow them but as pris'ners to us, 
 They shall suffer, or give us a large ransom. 
 
 Flo. How! A ransom] These two are poorer 
 than 
 Carthusian monks : lean as a Romish Lent. 
 Slaves who pretend sickness, that they may lie 
 In hospitals to steal the sheets. Acorns 
 They eat, such as Westphalia hogs do scorn. 
 
 Ros. The Count, sir, will untie his strings 
 for 'em. 
 
 Dand. Ransom I'll give : for I do hate to die. 
 
 Flo. The ransom must be small. 
 Shuffle 'em together : and jiack them hence. 
 I will not hear a syllable of thanks. 
 Rossa, see 'em hors'd for Millain. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Florello. 
 
 Enter Charintha to him. 
 
 CnA. 0, dismal change ! Does your victorious 
 sword 
 Hang now on aged belt of bandeleir 1 * 
 Is your high plume moulted to a sprig, small, 
 As if 'twere made o' the wing of a beetle. 
 
 Flo. Who can resist the frowns of destiny 1 
 My suff"'rance gives my merits their reward. 
 
 Cha. Your speech was wont to be in a more 
 high 
 Exalted key : loud as a gulph ! Your heart 
 Was full of jigs, and your feet did wander 
 
 * See note in Appendix, " bandelier.'
 
 270 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Even like autumn's dust. 
 
 Flo. Affect so much 
 
 Humility as may employ your thoughts 
 With more compassion on my ruinous fall. 
 
 Cha. I threw on you perpetual banisliment. 
 
 Flo. I'm come to manifest the sin of my 
 Disguise : though it proceeded more from hope 
 T'enjoy your person than your wealth. Witness 
 Each nimble register of human thoughts ! 
 
 Cha. 'Has got a sweet and powerful way in 
 speech. [Aside. 
 
 Flo. This is my real shape, in which I do 
 Appear a thin and wither d soldier, born 
 I' th' later age of war ; when glory's sick, 
 And honour trivial as the spleen of babes. 
 
 Cha. He was not wont to use this dialect. 
 
 Flo. Grant now, thou beauteous wealth of Italy, 
 An expiation for my crimes. For know ! 
 I would be clean when I shall dedicate 
 My future vows to th' absent altar of thy heart : 
 Lest I do lose the use of my idolatry, 
 And make repentance sin. 
 
 Cha. Do all harmonious gifts reside within 
 Such coarse and humble Aveeds? 
 
 Flo. Destroy me not with scorn. 
 
 I know you ladies most delight i' th' frail sub- 
 stance 
 Of the body, in name, and gilded pomp ; 
 Which was the fatal cause I practis'd them on 
 you. 
 
 Cha. Y' endear the worst of fashion unto us, 
 By making it a custom in your selves. 
 If men did not 
 
 Provide such follies for our sight, we knew 
 Not where to find their use ; for they digest 
 Them first, then they become our nourishment. 
 
 Flo, Vain men ! We alter our creation so
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 271 
 
 With female shapes, that heaven scarce knows its 
 
 stamp : 
 And nature — that distinction still commands 
 T'each sex — forgets the work of her own hands, 
 
 Cha. I ne'er beheld a feature masculine 
 Till now. Had you but thus appear'd unto 
 My first survej^, I might have lov'd in haste, 
 And yet excus'd the rashness of my eyes. 
 I 'gin to feel some danger in my stay. 
 
 Flo. Ere you depart, a small memorial from 
 Your hands, I crave, to wear upon my crest, 
 That it may tempt kind fate to look on me. 
 When I in glorious battle strive : and 
 I will absent my self for evermore. 
 
 Cha. I nothing keep for such sad use, 
 As to deprive me of so sweet a miracle. 
 
 Flo. Grant my request, or I'll pursue your steps. 
 
 Cha. If you continue still to beg, I fear 
 My bounty will j)rove rash : and I shall give 
 So much of love, as you can ne'er repay. 
 
 Flo. 0, my auspicious stars ! .Should I not now 
 Make use of your good influence, I were 
 Unworthy of your care. 
 
 Enter Mervollo. 
 
 Merv. The choice you make 
 
 Can ne'er deserve your chaste and lawful fire, 
 She is, Florello, of a heart and strain 
 Too insolent for nuptial happiness. 
 
 Flo. Thou hast been called my friend. 
 But if tliy spleen continue a dislike of her, 
 I'll blow thee from my memory, and with 
 My chiefest strength I'll punish thy mistake. 
 
 Merv. A desolate grief 
 Will more become thy breast than this proud rage. 
 Thy brother's dead, and his decease caus'd by
 
 272 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Her sister's pride. 
 
 Cha. My sister's husband dead 1 
 
 Flo. Into my ears thou hast a horror pour'd 
 That hath ab-eady stiffened every hair 
 On my amazed skull into a reed. 
 
 Cha. Wilt thou neglect to cherish the swift 
 growth 
 Of our new loves 1 
 
 Merv. Like to her sister, she 
 
 But counterfeits a passionate esteem, 
 That thy fond nature she might tempt beneath 
 Her rule. If Altamont be dear unto thy thought, 
 Leave her, and straight attend his hears3 
 That in the chapel waits thy obsequy. [Exit. 
 
 Cha. Th' inspired needle's not more true 
 Unto the north, the sun to his diurnal race. 
 Nor rivers to the main, than I to thee. 
 
 Flo. Sorrow and love my senses do divide. 
 If I remain with thee, then only love 
 I serve, if, with sad steps, I tread the way 
 Unto my brother's hearse, I both obey. [Exit. 
 
 Cha. Thou dost requite the scorns which I did 
 throw 
 On thy first love. My destiny must needs 
 Be tragic now : since the contracted scope 
 Of all my joy rests in diseased hope. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Mervolle, Alteza. 
 
 Merv. Behold the throne, your Lord com- 
 manded me 
 Prepare ! And here you must be pleas'd to sit. 
 
 Alte. Can this advancement aught refer to your 
 Delight, or to my Lord's last testament 1 
 
 Merv. Justice hath laid her sword within your 
 reach :
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 273 
 
 And you have power to sheath it so ; that wliere 
 You execute, you may a murder do, 
 Or sacrifice. Bring the dehnquents in 
 
 I 
 
 Enter Sciolto, Scoperta, at several doors, each led 
 in, hound and hoodioink'd, hy two Mutes. 
 Alte. Sciolto and Scoperta still alive 1 
 SciOL. Thy spirit, Altamont, ascended with 
 The love of all my chiefest orizons. 
 
 Merv. These two Avere, by your husband's 
 jealousy 
 And hate, ordain'd for death : but, ere that we 
 Could actuate his will, his noble breast 
 Receiv'd a wound, that l)ade him straight provide 
 For's own eternity. The last of all 
 His speech referr'd them both unto your power. 
 You may appoint them live or die, and I'm 
 Oblig'd by vow to see perform'd what you 
 Comn^and. 
 
 Alte. dire, sinister accident ! 
 
 Merv. Your jewels and your wealth I have 
 pack'd up, 
 To ease our Hight when we have finish'd 
 This usurpation of the laws. Let them 
 Enjoy their eyes ; that they may know their judge. 
 
 \TJte Mutes ^mmuffle them. 
 Sco. Hah, Sciolto ! 
 
 SciOL. Scoperta ! my girl ! 
 
 Merv. Keep them divided from each other's 
 
 reach. 
 SciOL. I thought thy beauties had been dark 
 and cold, 
 And th'adst, ere this, begun an easy sleep 
 Within thy silent grave. 
 
 Sco. And I supi^os'd thee fled 
 
 A harbinger to heaven, with pur})ose to 
 Bespeak my billet near to thine.
 
 274 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 SciOL. Since this sad night did blind the 
 drowsy world, 
 They thus have manacled my strength. They've 
 
 watch 'd 
 My hardy violence so tame, that now 
 Each feather'd forester roosts in my beard. 
 
 Sco. We cannot, sir, be mortal long ; therefore 
 Keceive a hope our sufferance will cease. 
 
 Merv. Sciolto, now requite the leisure I 
 Have given thy penitence, by rend'ring straight 
 Unto the world, how far thou didst corrupt 
 These ladies with thy guilt. For know, I still 
 Persuaded Altamont thy lust enjoy 'd 
 No more than what concern'd the wish or hope. 
 And I was usher'd to th' belief of this. 
 By knowledge of those secret spies which he 
 Employ'd to watch your personal removes 
 About the house ; whose labours ever miss'd 
 Of finding that success he prophecied, 
 
 SciOL. I do confess m' imagination once 
 Did sin against them both : but, if it e'er 
 Extended unto act, let me lose heaven. 
 
 Merv. If Altamont were now alive, he would 
 Permit this utterance clear his faith. Madam ! 
 You hear that he Scoperta vindicates 
 By oath ; though his own crime doth carry an 
 Import more evident and black ; but yet. 
 When you behold his feature and his youth, 
 Your mercy may conceive 'twere pity that 
 He should so soon depart from time and flesh. 
 
 Alte. Sir, you have skill to know my woman- 
 hood 
 Is weak as ignorance or sleep. Why should 
 You seat me here, thus to dispose of law : 
 That ne'er knew any justice but revenge 1 
 
 Merv. Your sentence I am bound to execute. 
 
 Alte. Have I not heard you say, my husband did
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 275 
 
 Onlain them both for death 1 'Twould ill become 
 The duty of my knowledge t' alter his decree. 
 
 Merv. Keep your intent. I will usurp 
 The office of your tongue. Mutes, strangle them ! 
 
 SciOL. If, in thy functions, gentle nature claim 
 An interest, let us embrace, and use solemnity, 
 Before we do forsake each other's view. 
 
 Merv. I grant what you request. 
 
 Make your performance short ; whilst I 
 Reveal m' opinions, lady, to your ear. 
 
 [SciOLTO and Scoperta kneel to each other. 
 
 SciOL. Scoperta ! This is the last of all 
 Our busy dreams. What we possess is but 
 Imaginary now : thy shadow I 
 Embrace, not thee : for, like to it, thou'lt fly 
 From my enjoyment, and no more be seen. 
 
 Sco. So much of various fate, so soon express'd, 
 Two lovers yet ne'er knew, since sympathy 
 First dwelt on earth. 
 
 SciOL. Ere long we must be cold, 
 
 Cold, cold my love, and wrapp'd in stubborn sheets 
 Of lead : hous'd in a deep, a gloomy vault ; 
 Where no society will mix with us, 
 But what shall quicken from our tainted limbs. 
 
 Sco. Whilst still there's noise, and business in 
 the world ; 
 Whilst still the wars grow loud, and battles join ; 
 Whilst kings their queens salute in ivory beds. 
 
 SciOL. But ! How many ages may succeed 
 In heaven's dark kalendar, ere Ave again 
 Material be, and meet in our warm flesh 1 
 
 Sco. And whether that our souls, when they're 
 preferr'd 
 To taste eternity, will ever think 
 Upon the bargains of our human love ; 
 Is unto me a desolate suspense. 
 
 SciOL. Philosophy doth seem to laugh upon
 
 276 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Our hopes, and wise divinity belies 
 
 Our knowledge with our faith ; jealous nature 
 
 Hath lock'd her secrets in a cabinet, 
 
 Which time ne'er saw : and he, that in it pries, 
 
 Unto religion forfeits his bold eyes. 
 
 Sco. Our reason frights our senses to distrust. 
 My lips do beg from thine a legacy. 
 
 SciOL. sad account. How is my bounty now 
 Exhaust ! This is the last I e'er shall give. 
 
 Merv. Blind them again, and stay their deaths 
 awhile ! 
 Madam, your knowledge is already taught 
 Scoperta's innocence. Sciolto's deed 
 Stands near your punishment ; but distant far 
 From remedy. Mark his goodly feature ! 
 With what magnificence he's built ! Besides, 
 This morn his uncle too, the wealthiest of 
 Our senators, is dead, and has been pleas'd 
 T'entitle him his heir. 
 
 Alte. Should I not chide 1 
 
 Merv. Think how you lov'd him once. He 
 will, to save 
 His life, discard Scoperta's interest, 
 And marry you : a happiness complete for both. 
 
 Alte. Hah 1 
 
 SciOL. Slaves ! Stretch now your cordage out. 
 Pull till my eyes do start like bullets from my 
 
 skull. 
 Murdering where they fly. 
 
 Alte. Hold, hold ! Did my 
 
 Dead Lord bid you perform what I decree 1 
 
 Merv. He did : and I assured it with my vows. 
 
 Alte. Hear then, without resistance of my 
 breath, 
 Sciolto is condemn'd by law, as known 
 The fatal instrument that did deprive 
 My Lord of precious life. So he must <lie.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 2 I I 
 
 'Twere tit my care affV.cted mercy in 
 
 Scoperta's doom ; she's sister to my Lord : 
 
 But lier sweet innocence doth make her safe. 
 
 She must remain among the living still, 
 
 And, in her room, I do condemn myself. 
 
 For my stern pride was the original cause 
 
 Of this l)lack tragedy. Kind, sir ! As you 
 
 Esteem your vows, see my edict perform'd, 
 
 And give me privilege first to endure 
 
 Its wrath. [She descends. 
 
 Merv. This carries wonder in 't. 
 
 Sco. I'll not resign these bonds of death, unless 
 Sciolto share in the compassion too. 
 
 Alte. Give me your pardon, gentle maid ! I 
 have 
 Depriv'd you of a brother that deserv'd 
 More pyramids than all th' Egyj^tian kings. 
 Instead of him, receive my prayers, my wealth. 
 When o'er his hearse you raise a monument, 
 And fix my marble figure near to his, 
 Create me weeping. I shall go with so 
 Much sorrow to my grave, that, being dead, 
 My ashes will have power to penetrate 
 The stones. Release this pious lady and 
 Perform your execution upon me. 
 
 [One of the Mides pulls off Ids vizard and discovers 
 himself to he Altamont. 
 
 Alta. Away ! You dreadful ministers of death. 
 The laurel sprig, the myrtle nicely wreath'd 
 In coronets, my love deserves ; for she 
 Is grown too good for earth. 
 
 Alte. My Altamont ! [She sinks. 
 
 [Mervolle nnrmiffles, and unbinds Sciolto cuid 
 
 Scoperta, who straight embrace each other. 
 
 SciOL. This deceit brings wonder, great as 
 our joy. 
 They that divide us now must use the strength
 
 287 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 Of swelling floods, and help of thunder too. 
 
 Alta. Put all thy beauties on again, and smile 
 At the return of our long absent love : 
 My wound is clos'd, and will have instant cure. 
 
 Alte. The earth groan'd at my fall, so heavy are 
 My sins so much they did encrease my weight. 
 
 Alta. Rise gently like a flame from incense 
 sprung. 
 Mervolle, to appease my jealousy, 
 Ordain'd me this disguise, that I might hear 
 How in your sentence you behav'd your love 
 To me. Hadst thou continu'd false, I had 
 Encreas'd the anger of thy fate : but now 
 Thou art endear'd unto my heart again. 
 
 Alte. Sir, I have hope my future loyalty 
 Will manifest your mercy well bestow'd. 
 
 Alta. Scoperta, thou'lt excuse the carriage of 
 My doubts. I look'd on thee Avith th' eyes of love, 
 And love is still too strict in her survey. 
 
 Sco. My memory would sin, should it record 
 Aught that might nourish my dislike of you : 
 You made me taste of sorrow, not of wrath. 
 
 SciOL. 'Tis I, that have most needful use 
 Of your kind charity : forget my errors past, 
 And, to oblige my future gratitude, 
 Give Hymen leave to know your sister for 
 My wife. My uncle's death hath lent me power 
 Still to maintain her in such quality 
 As shall become my dear respects to you. 
 The greatness of her virtue, aud her blood. 
 
 Alta. Take her! and be as tender of her health, 
 As heaven hath o'er thy wounds ; which in their 
 
 cure 
 Express much miracle. My joys so swell 
 My breast, that I do find there's danger in 
 Delight. How bless'd, Mervolle, are thy arts ! 
 
 Merv, Some angel's care assisted the success.
 
 THE JUST ITALIAN. 279 
 
 Enter Charintha, Besognia. 
 
 Cha. Not Altamont's return to life, nor yet 
 Sciolto's and Scoperta's glad reprieve, 
 Nor all the joys in reconcilement of your loves 
 Expressed, can my cold senses please. 
 Florello is unkind 1 
 
 Beso. The little god 
 
 Hath lately pricked her with his bawdy shaft. 
 
 Alta. Tell me, Charintha, is thy love sincere : 
 Such as i' th' simple youth of nature is 
 Exchang'd by lovers with a harmless plight ? 
 
 Cha. It is sincere, as holy hermits' vows ; 
 And true, as their confession at their deaths. 
 
 Merv. Appear, Florello, and receive thy doom. 
 
 Enter Florello. 
 
 Alta. It Avas Mervolle's care thus to assure 
 Thy mistress' real love and constancy, 
 E're thou should'st give too much of thine away. 
 But now receive her from Alteza's hand. 
 
 Alte. Charintha, thy election is so safe 
 Thou never Avilt repent the judgment of 
 Thy sight. He cannot be so near allied 
 Unto the blood of Altamont, but he 
 Must needs participate in virtue too. 
 
 Cha. We will embrace each other, until age 
 Deprive our courteous sinews of extent. 
 
 Flo. The gentle turtle shall direct us how 
 T' augment our loves ; the eagle to renew 
 Our youth, and we will strive to imitate 
 The crooked vine in our increase. 
 
 Alta. Joy, joy ! 
 
 The firmament is now unmask'd, and each 
 Of us hath found his star. 
 
 Flo. My lov'd sister ! 
 
 I have o'erheard the story of your griefs.
 
 280 THE JUST ITALIAN. 
 
 And, from this noble Signior, I must beg 
 A faith indear'd, — the name of brother too. 
 
 SciOL. You shall be precious to my eyes as day. 
 
 Enter KossA, Molard, fantastkkly doth'd in 
 Dandolo's habit. 
 
 Mo. The great Dandolo and his giant whelps 
 Are mounted on a mule. 
 
 Ros. Naked they ride 
 
 As scouts of Tartary. They're victual'd with 
 A single egg. 
 
 Alta. What are these walking drums 1 
 
 Flo. Th' are such your knowledge shall affect : 
 they must 
 Enjoy what I achieve. Dull men o' war, 
 The trophy of my victory behold ! 
 She's mine ! Bow, and do homage to her lip. 
 
 Alta. Still thou dost mourn, Alteza, like a 
 dove. [Soft music. 
 
 Hark, hark ! how the Roman organ seems 
 T'invoke the Thracian lyre. The cymbals of 
 India call Castilian cornets forth, 
 And German viols wake the Tuscan lute ! 
 The sacred noise attend, that whilst, we hear 
 Our souls may dance into each others' ear. 
 
 \_Exeunt omnes.
 
 THE 
 
 TEMPLE OF LOVE.
 
 The Temple of Love, a Masque^ Presented by the Queen's 
 Majesttj and her Ladies^ at Whitehall, on Shrove-Tnes- 
 day, 1634. By [nigo Jones, Surveyor of his Ma*^'^- Workes, 
 and William Davenant, her Ma''"^- Servant. London: 
 Printed for Thomas Walk-ley, and are to he sold at his 
 shop neare Whitehall. 1634. 4^o. 
 
 The Temple of Love. A Masque. In the collected 
 edition of Sir William DavenanVs Works. Folio. 1673.
 
 Masques continued to be as popular in the reign of 
 King Cluirles I., as they had been during the times of 
 Ehzabeth and James, and perhaps even more so, as 
 they were particularly favoured by Queen Henrietta, 
 •who not only occiisionally took part in them herself, but 
 induced her husband also to do so. 
 
 In a letter addressed by Mr Pory to Sir Thomas Puck - 
 ering, Bart., dated London 3d January 1 632-3, there 
 occurs the following passage: "On Wednesday next, the 
 Queen's ])astoral is to be acted in the lower court of 
 Denmark House, and my Lord Chamberlain saith, that, 
 no chambermaid shall enter, unless she will sit cross- 
 legged on the top of a bulk. Ko great lady shall be 
 kept out, though she have but mean apparel, and a 
 worse face, and no inferior lady or woman shall be let 
 in, but such as iiave extreme brave aj^parel, and better 
 faces." — Court and Times of Cluniea tlie First, Vol. ii. 
 p. 214. London, 1848, 8vo. 
 
 It may be presumed that this Masque is the one 
 alluded to in a previous letter between the same persons, 
 dated 20th September 1632 : " That which the queen's 
 majesty, some of her ladies, and all her maids of honour, 
 are now practising upon, is a pastoral, penned by Mr 
 Walter Montague, wherein her 5lajesty is pleased to act 
 a part, as well for her recreation as for the exercise of 
 her English. Ben Jonsoa, who I thought had been 
 dead, has written a play against next term called ' The 
 Magnetic Lady.' " — lb., p. 17'j. 
 
 The cause of the severe punishment inflicted on 
 JWilliara Prynne, for the publication of his voluminous 
 book against stage-plays, interludes, music, dancing, 
 hunting, Christmas-keeping, ^lay-poles, festivals, and 
 bonfires, is significantly pointed at in the concluding 
 sentence of the following excerpt of a letter from Jus- 
 tinian Paget, Esq., to James Harrington,_Esq. at Walton- 
 upon-Trent, dated 28th January 1632-3, which will be 
 found in the book just referred to, p. 222 : — 
 
 "Mr Prynne of Lincoln's Inn hath lately set forth a 
 book entitled, ' Histriomastix ; or the Player's Scourge, 
 the sale of which is prohibited, and he to appear at the 
 
 Y^' 
 
 L^
 
 284 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 high Commission on Thursday next, where, when I have 
 heard what is charged against him, I will, if you desire 
 it, send you a mcire particular relation. His laook is 
 extraordinarily stuffed with quotations of old authoi's, 
 which, they say, are his only arguments. He cites St 
 Austin, who saith, ' Si tantnm modo boni et honesti viri 
 in civitate esseiit, nee in rebus humanis Ludi Scenici esse 
 debuissent.' But I do not conceive this to be the only 
 cause why he is called in question, but rather some 
 exorbitant passage concerning ecclesiastical government ; 
 for I hear he compares the playing on the organs between 
 the first and second lesson, to interludes and stage plays. 
 It is observable that his book was published the day 
 after the Queen's pastoral at Somerset House." 
 
 And this is further confirmed by the following passage 
 in a letter from Sir George Gresley to Sir Thomas 
 Puckering, Bart., dated from Essex House, 31st January 
 1632-3 :— 
 
 "Mr Prynne, an iitter-barrister of Lincoln's Inn, 
 is brought into the High Commission Court and Star 
 Chamber, for publishing a book, a little before the 
 Queen's acting of her play, of the unlawfulness of plays ; 
 wherein in the table of his book, and his brief additions 
 thereunto, he hath these words, ' Women actors notorious 
 Avhores,' and that St Paul prohibits women to speak 
 publicly in the church, ' and dares then,' saith he, 'any 
 Christian woman be so more than whorishly impudent, 
 as to act, to speak publicly on a stage (perchance in 
 man's apparel and cut hair) in the presence of sundry 
 men and women?' Which words, it is thought by some, 
 will cost him his eai's, or heavily punished and deeply 
 fined."— p. 224. 
 
 Sir Simon D'Ewes, a Puritan, in his autobiography says, 
 when arriving in London from his country residence he 
 "heard a particular news, wdiich much ensadded my heart 
 touching William Prynne, Esq., that had been an utter- 
 Barrister, and a graduate in the University of Oxford, 
 who had lost one ear already in the pillory, or a part of 
 it, and was to lose a part of the other to-morrow. He 
 was a most learned, religious gentleman, had written 
 \many acute, solid, and elaborate treatises, not only 
 \against the blasphemous Anabaptists, in the defence of
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 285 
 
 God's grace and providence, but against the vices of the 
 clergy, and the abuses of the times. He had been cen- 
 sured in the Star Chamber a few months before, for 
 some passages in a book he wrote against stage-plays, 
 called IILstrio-Mciftdx as if he had in them let slip some 
 words tending to the Queen's dishonour, because he 
 spoke of the unlawfulness of men's wearing women's 
 apparel, and women men's." 
 
 Prynneand his objections were silenced for a lime by 
 one of the most savage sentences ever pronounced against 
 a man in, what are termed, the civilized ages, inasmuch 
 as he was condemned to be disbarred, to be pilloried in 
 Westminster and Cheapside, to have an ear cut off at 
 jeach place, to pay a fine of £5000 to the King, and to 
 be imprisoned for life. 
 
 The King figured in Carew's j\Iasque of Cffilum Bri- 
 tannicum at Whitehall on the 18th February imme- 
 diately following, when the Queen was present as the 
 chief spectator, and, that day twelvemonth, at the 
 same place, her Majesty again took part in the per- 
 formance of this Masque, "The Temple of Loye+l'- which 
 Avas presented at the expense of herself and the ladies of 
 her Cbiirt. 
 
 The text of the first edition of the ilasque has, with a 
 few omissions, and trifling verbal alterations, been pretty 
 accurately reproduced in the folio. 
 
 The Pastoral referred to in Mr Pory's letter is thus 
 described in Henry Marsh's Catalogue of Books, ap- 
 pended to Sport upon Sport, London, 1662, published 
 by him, in which there is a list of "incomparable 
 Comedies and Tragedies written by sevei-al ingenious 
 authors." " The Shepherd's Paradise, privately acted 
 before the late King Charles, by the Queen's Majestie 
 and ladies of honour: written by W. Montague, Esq." 
 8vo. In the Biographia Dramatica. it is said to have 
 been first printed in 1629, 8vo. Probably Marsh's copy 
 was the old one with a new title page. ^Montague was the 
 second son of the Earl of Manchester. He turned Koman 
 Catholic, and died at the end of the year 166'.), surviving 
 his patroness, Queen Henrietta, only a short time. Sir 
 John Suckling characterizes this pastoral Jis perfectly 
 unintelligible. 
 
 !(I
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Divine Poesy, the Secretary of Nature, is sent by Fate 
 to Tndamora. Queen of Natsinga, to signify the time 
 prefixed was come, when, by the influence of her beauty^ 
 — attended with those lesser lights, her contributary 
 ladies — the Temple of Chaste Love should be re-estab- 
 lished in this Island ; which Temple, being long sought 
 for by certain magicians, enemies to Chaste Love, in- 
 tending to use it to their intemperate ends, was by 
 Divine Poesy hidden in mists and clouds ; so as the 
 magicians, being frustrate of their hopes, sought by 
 enchantments to hinder all others from finding it ; and^ 
 by this imposture many noble knights and ladies liave -^ 
 been tempted and misled. Tiie fame of this Temple of 
 Love being quickly spread over all the Eastern world, 
 enflamed a company of noble Persian youths, borderers 
 on India, to travel in quest of it ; who arriving, were 
 by the illusions of the Magicians, and their spirits of 
 several regions, almost seduced, as others had been : but 
 Divine Poesy appearing, discovered unto them some 
 part of the Temple unshadowed, and prophecied of the 
 time when Indamora and her train should arrive to effect 
 this miracle ; which, though it seems somewhat hard 
 doctrine to most young men, yet these being spirits 
 of the higliest rank, foi-saking the false magicians and 
 their allurements, were resolved to entertain themselves, 
 to contemplate on this apparition, until the coming of 
 the glorious Indian Queen. At whose sight they being 
 inspired with chaste flames, might be permitted by their 
 faithful observance and legitimate affections, to enter 
 and enjoy the privileges of that sacred temple. Then 
 Divine Poesy sends Orpheus her chief Priest in a barque 
 (assisted by tlie Brachmani and Priests of the Temple, 
 who meet him on the shores) to calm the seas with his 
 harp, that a maritime chariot, prepared by the Indian 
 Sea Gods, might safer, and more swiftly convey them to 
 achieve this noble adventure ; after whose landing, 
 having paid tlieir ceremonies by moving in harmouical
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 287 
 
 and numerous figures, Suuesis and Thelema (which inti- 
 mate the Understanding and the Will) joining together, 
 the true Temple appears, and Chaste Love descends to 
 invoke the last and living Hero (Indamora's Koyal 
 Lover) that he may help and witness the Consecration 
 of it. 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 At the lower end of the Banqueting House, opposite 
 to the State,* was a stage of six feet high, and on 
 that was raised an ornament of a new invention 
 agreeable to the subject, consisting of Indian 
 trophies : on the one side, upon a basement, sate a 
 naked Lidian on a whitish elephant, his legs 
 shortening towards the neck of the beast, his tire 
 and bases of several coloured feathers, representing 
 the Indian monarchy : On the other side an 
 Asiatique in the habit of an Indian borderer, 
 riding on a camel ; his turban and coat differing 
 from that of the Turks, figured for the Asian 
 monarchy : over these hung shield-like compart- 
 ments. In tliat over the Indian was painted a sun 
 rising, and in the other a half moon ; these had, 
 for finishing, the capital of a great pillaiiter, which 
 served as a ground to stick them of, and bore up a 
 large freeze or border with a cornice. In this over 
 the Indian lay the figure of an old man, with a long 
 white hair and beard, representing the flood Tigris; 
 on his head a wreath of canes and sedge, and leaning 
 
 * A raised platform at the end of the Hall, with a canopy 
 overhead, where the Koyal party sat.
 
 288 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 upon a great urn, out of which run water ; by him, 
 in an extravagant posture, stood a Tiger. 
 
 At the other end of this freeze lay another naked 
 man, representing Meander, the famous river of 
 Asia, who likewise had a great silver urn, and by 
 him lay an unicorn. 
 
 In the midst of this border was fixed a rich 
 compartment, behind which was a crimson drap- 
 ery, part of it borne up by naked children, tack'd 
 up in several pleats, and the rest was at each end 
 of the freeze tied with a great knot, and from 
 thence hung down in folds to the bottom of the 
 pedestals ; in the midst of this compartment in an 
 oval was written templum amoris : all these 
 figures were in their natural colours bigger than 
 the life, and the compartments of gold. 
 
 A curtain flying up, the first scene was dis- 
 cover'd, in which appeared a spacious grove of 
 shady trees ; and afar off" on a mount, with a wind- 
 ing way to the top, was seated a pleasant bower, 
 environed with young trees, and in the lower part 
 walks planted with cypress, representing the place 
 where the souls of the ancient jioets are fained to 
 reside. The delight of this prospect was quickly 
 diverted to the sight of a more strange apparition ; 
 for, out of the heaven by little and little broke 
 forth a great cloud of a rosy colour, which, being 
 come down some little way, began to open, and in 
 it was seen sitting a beautiful woman, her garment 
 was sky-colour set all with Stai's of Gold, her head 
 was crowned with laurel, with a spangled veil 
 hanging down behind, and her hair in artificial 
 curls graciously dress'd, representing Divine Poesy, 
 and by her a milk white swan. As she descends 
 singing, out of those venerable shades came forth a 
 company of ancient Greek poets, as Demodicus, 
 Fcemius, Homer, Hesiod, Terpander, and Saj^j^ho a
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LU\'E. L',S<J 
 
 poetess, in liabits varied and of several cdlonrs, 
 witli laurel wreaths on their heads. Diriiie I'ocsij 
 sung this : 
 
 DiVlxNE PuESY. 
 
 1 
 
 As cheerful as the morning's light, 
 
 Comes Indamora from above, 
 To guide those lovers that want siglit, 
 
 To see and know what they should love. 
 
 2 
 
 Her beams into each breast will steal, 
 And search what ev'ry heart doth mean, 
 
 The sadly wounded she will heal, 
 And make the foully tainted clean. 
 
 3 
 Ris e you, from your dark shades below, 
 
 That first gave words an harmony, 
 And made false love in numbers flow, 
 
 Till vice l)ecame a mystery. 
 
 4 
 And when I've purifi'd that air 
 
 To which death turn'd you long ago. 
 Help with your voices to declare 
 
 What Indamora comes to show. 
 
 The Poets. 
 
 Soul of our science ! how inspir'd we come 1 
 By tliee restor'd to voices that lay dumb. 
 And lost in many a forgotten tomb. 
 
 Divine Poesy. 
 
 Y'are spirits all ; and have so long 
 From flesh and frailty a1)sent bin, 
 T
 
 290 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 That sure tliongli love sliould fill your song, 
 It could not relish now of sin. 
 
 The Poets. 
 
 Vex not our sad remembrance with our shame ! 
 We have hin punish'd for ill-gotten fame, 
 For each loose verse, tormented with a flame. 
 
 Divine Poesy. 
 
 Descend then, and become with me, 
 The happy organs to make known 
 
 In an harmonious embassy, 
 
 Our great aff"air to yonder throne. 
 
 She being descended to the ground, in a majestic 
 pace goes up the State, attended by the fore- 
 named poets ; and the cloud that brought her 
 down, closeth as it ascends. 
 
 Divine Poesy. 
 
 Tliou monarch of men's hearts rejoice ! 
 
 So much thou art belov'd in heaven, 
 That fate hath made thy reign her choice, 
 
 In which love's blessings shall be given. 
 
 The Poets. 
 
 Truth shall appear, and rule 'till she resists 
 Those sul)tle charms, and melts those darker mists. 
 In Avhich Love's Temple's hid from exorcists. 
 
 Divine Poesy. 
 
 Those Magi that with pleasant arts 
 To their false Temple led of yore 
 
 The noblest youth, Avith'ring their hearts 
 With lustful til" nights, shall be no more.
 
 TIIK TKMPI.K OF LOVK. 'J'.) 1 
 
 TifE Poets. 
 
 For IiidiUiiora with her beauties light, 
 The truer Tem})le sluill restore to sight, 
 The false shall be obscur'd in endless night. 
 
 The song after they have retir'd (playing on their 
 instruments) by the chorus of Poets. 
 
 1. 
 
 Take leave now of thy heart, 
 
 The beauty thou shalt straiglit survey 
 
 Will tempt it to depart 
 
 Thy royal breast, and melt away. 
 
 Yet when she finds thy breast is empty grown, 
 
 In just remorse she'll fill it with her own. 
 So neither heart can mourn, or stray. 
 
 Back to our shades we go, 
 
 But see how heavily we move I 
 Alas ! their feet are slow, 
 
 That leave the object which they love. 
 Our dwelling is beneath, but those whose bayes 
 Is chastely earn'd in thy corrected days, 
 
 Shall after death reside above. 
 
 After this. Divine Poesy, and the Poets retire, 
 and go forth ; then the whole scene changeth into 
 mist and clouds, through which some glimpse of 
 a Temple is here and there scarcely discern'd. 
 
 Tlie Entry of the Magicians, 
 
 Out of hollow caves from under ground come 
 forth three Magicians, one more eminent than the 
 rest, their halnts of strange fashions, denoting 
 their qualities ; and their persons deformed.
 
 292 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 (1.) Tell iiie, thou wise protector of our art, 
 Why dost thou Avalk with such a hideous brow \ 
 Darkness, and clouds do hover o'er thine eyes ; 
 Thou look'st as thou hadst suck'd the vapor of 
 A pois'nous fen, till it has made thee drunk. 
 There's venom'd fcjam about thy lips. 
 
 (2.) Is thy belov'd 
 
 Old Avitch, dead and entomb'd'? Or hast thou heard 
 111 news from hell 1 Does the grand fiend 
 Chain up thy spirits from thy use 1 Speak, art 
 Thou not within thy circle still a Sovereign Prince 1 
 Wlien thou dost lift with magic power thy white 
 Enchanted sceptre thus, do not the thin 
 Unbodied people bow and obey 1 
 
 (3.) the Temple of Love, the mists that hid, 
 And so reserv'd it from our sinful use, — 
 Whilst we seduc'd the more voluptuous race 
 Of men, to give false worship in our own 
 Must be dispell'd ! this is the sad ill news ; 
 And it is come from heaven ! A fiddling Deity — 
 Whom forsooth Divine Poesy they style — 
 This morn proclaim'd it from a falling cloud. 
 
 (2.) Who 1 Divine Poesy ] 
 
 (3.) I know her well. 
 
 She's one that makes the holy jigs. 
 And sacred catches for the gocls, when they 
 Are merry with mistakes of men, and laugh 
 To see us careless of their punishment.* 
 
 (1.) But who shall bring this mischief to our art? 
 
 (3.) Indamora, the delight of destiny ! 
 She, and the beauties of her train ; who sure 
 Though they discover summer in their looks, 
 Still carry frozen Winter in their blood. 
 They raise strange doctrines, and new sects of 
 
 Love: 
 Which must not woo or court the person, but 
 
 * 'I'lio last four lines arc omitted in the folio edition.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 293 
 
 The mind ; .and practice generation not 
 Of bodies but of souls. 
 
 (2.) Bi'lieve mo, my magical friends, 
 They must lj)ring bodies with 'em that worshi)) 
 In our pleasant Temple : I have an odd 
 Fantastic faith persuades me there Avill be \^ 
 Tjittle ])astime ujjon earth without bodies. 
 Your spirit's a cold companion at midnight. 
 
 (1.) Have we so long mis-led and entertained 
 The youthful of the world, — I mean their bodies — 
 And now do tliey betake tliemselves unto 
 The dull imaginary pleasures of 
 Their souls 1 This humour cannot last. 
 
 (2.) If it should, we may rid our temple 
 Of all our Persian quilts, embroider'd couches, 
 And our standing beds ; these, I take it, are 
 Bodily implements ; our souls need 'em not. 
 But where shall this new sect be planted first ] 
 
 (3.) In a dull northern isle, they call Britaine, 
 
 (2.) Indeed 'tis a cold northerly opinion ; 
 And I'll lay my life begot since their late 
 Great frosts. It will be long enough ere it 
 Shall spread and prosper in the south ! Or, if 
 The Spaniard or Italian ever be 
 Persuaded out of the use of their bodies, 
 I'll give mine to a raven for his supper. 
 
 (3.) Th(! miracle is more increas'd, in that 
 It first takes birth and nourishment in Court. 
 
 (2.) But my good damu'd friend, tell me : Is 
 there not 
 One courtier will resent the cause, and give 
 Some countenance to the afijiirs of the body ? 
 
 (3.) Certain young Lords at first disliked the 
 philosophy 
 As most uncomfortable, sad, and new ; 
 But soon inolin'd to a superior vote, 
 And are grown as good Platonical lovers
 
 294 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 As are to be found in an hermitage, where he 
 Tliat Avas born last reckons above fourscore. 
 
 To these come forth in haste another Mat-ician, in 
 shape and habit differing from the other, and spake 
 as followeth ; 
 
 (1.) Here comes a brother of our mystic tribe! 
 
 (3.) He knows th' occasion of our grief, and by 
 His haste imports discoveries more strange ! 
 
 (4.) News ! news ! my sad companions of the 
 shade ! 
 There's lately landed on our fatal shore 
 Nine Persian youths, their habit and their looks 
 So smooth, that from the pleasures i'th' Elyzian 
 
 fields 
 Each female ghost will come, and enter in 
 Their flesh again, to make embraces warm. 
 
 (2.) I hope these are no Platonical lovers. 
 No such Carthusian poets as do Avrite 
 Madrigals to the mind 1 More of thy news ! 
 
 (4.) The rest infers small joy, and little hojje : 
 For though at first their youth and eager thoughts 
 Directed them where our gay altar stood, 
 
 And they Avere ready too for sacrifice, 
 
 I cannot tell what luckless light inform'd 
 
 Their eyes, but Love's true Temj)le straight they 
 
 spy'd 
 Through the ascending mists, and would have 
 
 enter'd it 
 To read grave frosty homilies. 
 And antick saws of chastity, but that, 
 As my swift spirit brought me word, a voice 
 Sent from within bade them with reverence 
 Desist till Indamora did appear, for then 
 The gates would open, and the mists dry up : 
 Tliat thus conceal'd it from the general view, 
 Whicli now tlit'ir expectation doth attend.
 
 THE TEMPLE OK LOVE. 295 
 
 (3.) 'Tis time to wake our drowsy art, and try, 
 If we have power to hinder destiny. 
 Mount ! mount ! our charms ! fetch me, whilst 
 
 you aspire, 
 A Spirit of the element of fire ! 
 
 (2.) Me one of air! (1.) The water me sup- 
 plies ! 
 
 (4.) Mine from the centre of the earth shall rise ! 
 
 (3.) These shall infuse their sev'ral qualities 
 In men ; if not t' uphold the faction of 
 The flesh, yet to infect the queazy age 
 With blacker sins. If we, now we have join'd 
 The force of all the elements t'assist 
 The horror of our will, shall not prevail 
 Against this huni'rous virtue of the time. 
 Nature, our weakness must be thought thy crime. 
 
 2. To these I'll add a sect of modern devils ; 
 Fine precise fiends, that hear the devout close 
 At ev'ry virtue but their own, that claim 
 Chambers and tenements in heaven, as they 
 Had purchas'd there, and all the angels were 
 Their harbingers. With these I'll vex the world. 
 
 (3.) 'Tis well design'd ! Thanks to thy courteous 
 art! 
 Let's murmur softly in each others' ear. 
 And those we first invok'd will straight appear ! 
 Enough ! they come ! To' th' woods let's take our 
 
 flight, 
 We have more dismal business yet ere night. 
 
 The AiifimasJc of the Sjnrits. 
 
 First Entry. 
 
 The fiery Spirits all in flames, and theii" vizards 
 of a choleric com})lexion. 
 
 The airy Spirits with sanguine vizards, their 
 garments and caps all of feathers.
 
 296 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 The watery Spirits were all over wrought with 
 scales, and had fishes' heads and fins. 
 
 The earthy Spirits had their garments wrouglit 
 all over with leaveless trees and bushes, with ser- 
 pents and other little animals here and there about 
 them, and on their heads barren rocks. 
 
 Second Entry. 
 
 Brought in by the fiery Spirits, were debosht and 
 quarrelling men with a loose wench amongst them. 
 
 Third ami Fourth Entry, 
 
 Brought in by the Spirits of air, were of 
 amorous men and women in ridiculous habits ; and 
 alchymists. 
 
 Fifth Entry. 
 
 Brought in by the Spirits of water, were drunken 
 Dutch skippers. 
 
 Sixth Entry. 
 
 Brought in by the Spirits of earth, were witches, 
 usurers, and fools. 
 
 Seventh Entry. 
 
 Was of a modern de\'il, a sworn enemy of poesy, 
 music, and all ingenious arts, but a great friend 
 to murmuring, libelling, and all seeds of discord, 
 attended by his factious followers ; all wliicli Avas 
 exprest by their habits and dance. 
 
 After these was an entry of three Indians of 
 quality, of Indamora's train in several strange 
 habits, and their dance as strange. 
 
 yl Persian Page comes leajyntj in. 
 
 Hey I hey ! how light I am ! all soul witliiii, 
 As my dull flesh were nieltcd through my skin.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF ^.()^'K. I'V) < 
 
 And thougli a page when landed on this shore, 
 I now am grown a brisk Anibassador" ! 
 From Persian Princes too, and each as fierce 
 A lover, as did ever sigh in verse ! 
 Give audience then, you ladies of this isle ! 
 Lord how you lift your fans up now, and smile ! 
 To think, forsooth, they are so fond to take 
 So long a journey for your beauty's sake ! 
 For know, th'are come ! but sure, ere they return, 
 Will give your femaleships some cause to mourn ! 
 For I must tell you, that about them all 
 There's not one grain, but what's Platonical ! 
 So bashful that I think they might be drawn, 
 Like you, to wear close hoods, or veils of lawn. 
 My Master is the chief that doth protect, 
 Or, as some say, miss-lead this precise sect : 
 One heretofore that wisely could confute 
 A lady at her window with his lute, 
 Devoutly there in a cold morning stand 
 Two hours, praising the snow of her white hand ; 
 So long, till's words were frozen 'tween his lips, 
 And lute-stings learnt their quav' ring from his hips.* 
 And when he could not rule her to's intent. 
 Like Tarquin he would proffer ravishment. 
 But now, no fear of rapes, until he find 
 ^ maidenhead belonging to tlie mind. 
 The rest are all so modest too, and pure, 
 So virginly, so coy, and so demiu'e, 
 That they retreat at kissing, and but name 
 Hymen, or love, they blush for very shame ! 
 Ladies ! I must needs laugh ! you'll give me leave 
 1 hope ; and 'tis to think how you deceive 
 Your selves with all this precious art, and care 
 Ta'en iu your glass to dress your looks, and hair ! 
 When, in good taitli, tlu'y hoed no outward merit. 
 But fervently resolve to wixi the S[)irit ? 
 
 * These last two lines have been omilted in the folio.
 
 298 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 Hah ! do you all look melancholy now ; 
 And cast a cloud of anger o'er the brow 1 
 Tis tuTtie to fly, and my best swiftness use, 
 Lest kill'd \dth pins and bodkins for my news. 
 
 The Page retires, and the noble Persian youths 
 make their entry, apparelled in Asian coats of sea- 
 green embroidered, that reached down alxjve their 
 knees, Avith buttons and loops before, and cut up 
 square to their hips, and returned down with two 
 short skirts ; the sleeves of this coat were large 
 without seam, and cut short to the bending of the 
 arm, and hanging down long l^ehind, trimm'd with 
 buttons as those of the breast ; out of this came a 
 sleeve of white satin embroidered, and the basis 
 answerable to the sleeve, hung down in gathering 
 underneath the shortest part of their coat ; on their 
 heads they wore Persian turbans silver'd under- 
 neath, and wound about with white cypress, and 
 one fall of a white feather before. 
 
 Their dance ended, the mist and clouds at an 
 instant disappear, and the scene is all changed into 
 a sea somewhat calm, where the billoAvs moving 
 sometimes whole, and sometimes breaking, beat 
 gently on the land, which represented a new and 
 strange prospect ; the nearest part was broken 
 grounds and rocks, with a mountainous country, 
 but of a pleasant aspect, in which were trees of 
 strange form and colour, and here and there were 
 placed in the bottom several arbours like cottages, 
 and strange beasts and birds, far unlike the country 
 of these parts, expressing an Indian landscape. In 
 the sea Avere several Islands, and afar oft" a Con- 
 tinent terminating with the horizon. 
 
 Out of a creek came -waving forth a barque of a 
 gracious antique design, adorn'd with sculpture 
 finishing in scrolls, that on the poop had for
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 299 
 
 oriiaincnt a great masque head of a sea-god ; and 
 all the rest eurich'd with embost work touch'd witli 
 silver and gold. In the midst of this haniue sat 
 Orpheus with his harp. lie wore a white rohe giit, 
 on his shoulders, was tied with a knot, a mantle 
 of carnation, and his head crown'd with a laurel 
 garland : witli him, other persons in habits of 
 seamen, as pilots and guiders of the barcpie, he, 
 playing one strain, was answered with the voices 
 and instruments of the Brachmjini joined with the 
 priests of the Temple of Love, in extravagant habits 
 sorting to their titles : whilst this barcpie moved 
 gently on the sea, heaving and setting, and some- 
 times rolling, arrived near to the farther shore, it 
 turn'd and return'd to the port from whence it 
 came. 
 
 The Song of the Brachmani, in anstver to Orplieus 
 his Harp. 
 
 (1.) 
 
 Hark ! Orpheus is a seaman grown, 
 No winds of late have rudely ]:)lown, 
 
 Nor waves their trouljled heads advance ! 
 His harp hath made the winds so mild, 
 They whisper now as reconcil'd. 
 
 The waves are sooth'd into a dance. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 See how the list'ning dolphins play ! 
 And willingly mistake tlu'ir way. 
 
 As when they heard Arion's strains ; 
 Whom once their scaly ancestor 
 Convey'd upon his back to shore. 
 
 And took his music for his pains.
 
 300 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 (3.) 
 We priests that burn love's sacrifice, 
 Our Orpheus greet with ravish'd eyes ; 
 
 For by this calmness we are sure 
 His harp doth now prepare the way, 
 That Indamora's voyage may 
 
 Be more dehghtful, and secure. 
 
 And now tli' enchanted mists shall clear. 
 And Love's true Temple straight appear, 
 
 (Long hid from men ])y sacred power,) 
 Where noble virgins still shall meet. 
 And breath their orizons, more sweet 
 
 Than is the spring's ungather'd flower. 
 
 The barque having taken port, the Masquers 
 appear in a maritime chariot, made of a spungy 
 rockstuff mixt with shells, sea-weeds, coral, and 
 pearl, borne upon an axletree with golden wheels 
 without a rim, with flat spokes like the blade of 
 an oar coming out of the waves. This chariot was 
 drawn by sea-monsters, and floated with a sweet 
 motion in the sea : Indamora Queen of Narsinga, 
 sate enthron'd in the highest part of this chariot, 
 in a rich seat, the back of which was a great skallop 
 shell. The habit of the Masquers was of Isabella 
 colour, and watchet, with bases in large panes cut 
 through, all over richly embroidered with silver, 
 and the dressing of their heads was of silver, with 
 with small falls of white feathers tipp'd with watchet. 
 Tliis sight thus moving on the water, was accom- 
 panied with the music and voices of the Chorus. 
 
 ■ . (!•) _ 
 She comes ! each princess in her train hath all 
 That wise enamor'd poets, beauty call ! 
 80 lit and ready to subdue :
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 301 
 
 That had they not kind hearts which take a care 
 To free, and counsel, whom their eyes ensnare, 
 Poor lovers would have cause to rue. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 More welcome than the wand'ring sea-man's star, 
 When in the night the winds make causeless wai', 
 
 Until his harqiie so long is tost, 
 That's sails to rags are blown ; the main-yard bears 
 Not sheet enough to wipe, and dry those tears 
 
 He shed to see his rudder lost. 
 
 The song ended, all the forepart of the sea was 
 in an instant turn'd to dry land, and Indamora 
 with her contributary ladies descended into the 
 room, and made their entry. Then, for inter- 
 medium the music began again, and sung this 
 song. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 The planets though they move so fast, 
 Have power to make their swiftness last, 
 
 But see, your strength is quickly gone ! 
 Yet move by sense and rules of art. 
 And each hath an innnortal part. 
 
 Which cannnot tire, but they have none. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 Let then your soft, and nimble feet 
 Lead and in various figures meet 
 
 Those stranger knights, who though they came 
 Seduc'd at first liy false desire, 
 You'll kindle in their breasts a fire 
 
 Shall keep love warm, yet not inilame.
 
 u 
 
 302 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 {3.) 
 
 At first tliey wear your beauties' prize, 
 Now offer willing sacrifice 
 
 Unto the virtues of the mind, 
 And each shall wear, when they depart, 
 A lawful though a loving heart, 
 
 And wish you still both strict and kind. 
 
 The Masquers having a while reposed, danced 
 their second dance, which, ended, and the Queen, 
 being seated under the State by the King, the 
 scene was changed into the true Temple of Chaste 
 Love. This Temple, iusTead of columns, had terms 
 of young Satyrs bearing up the returns of Archi- 
 trave freeze and cornice, all enrich'd of gold- 
 smith's work ; the farther part of the Temple run- 
 ning far from the eye was designed of another kind 
 of Architecture, with pillasters, niches, and 
 statues, and in the midst a stately gate adorn'd 
 with columns and their ornaments, and a frontis- 
 piece on the top, all which seem'd to be of burnish'd 
 gold. Into this Temple enters Sunesis and Thelema. 
 Sunesis a man of a noble aspect, and richly attir'd ; 
 his garment of cloth of gold reaching down below 
 his knees, and girt with a tuck at the waist, with 
 wide sleeves turn'd up ; his mantle of watchet 
 fastened on both shoulders, and hanging long down 
 behind, a garland of sinope on his head, with a 
 flame of fire issuing out of it ; his buskins were 
 yellow, wrought with gold. Thelema a young 
 woman in a robe of changeable silk, girt with 
 several tucks under her breast and beneath her 
 waist, and great leaves of silver about her shoulders 
 hanging down to the midst of her arm ; upon her 
 head a garland of great marigolJs, and puffs of 
 silver'd lawn between, ami at her shoulders were
 
 THE TEMPLK (»F LOVE. 303 
 
 angels' wings. Tliese sung this diahtgiic, assisted 
 l»y the Cliori. 
 
 THE SONG. 
 SuNESis and Thelema. 
 
 SUNESIS. 
 
 Come melt thy soul in mine, that when unite, 
 We may l)ecome one virtuous appetite. 
 
 Thelema. 
 
 First l)reatlie thine into me, thine is the part 
 More heavenly, and dotli more adorn the heart. 
 
 Both. 
 
 Thus mix'd, our love will ever be discreet. 
 
 And all our thoughts and actions pure, ^ 
 
 When perfect Will, and strengthened Reason meet, \ 
 Then Love's created to endure. 
 
 CJiorus. 
 
 Were heaven more distant from us, we would strive 
 To reach't with prayers to make this union tlirive. 
 
 Whilst this song continued, there came softly 
 down from the highest part of the heaven a Ijright 
 and transparent cloud, which being come to the 
 middle part of the air opened, and out of it 
 came Aviiantcros, or Chaste Love Hying down, 
 clad all in carnation and white, and two garlands 
 of laurel in one hand, and crown'd with another of 
 the same ; whilst he descended the cloud closetli 
 again and returns upwards, and is hidchin in tlie 
 heavens. Chaste Love l)eing come down to the 
 earth, was accompanied by tiuiiesis and Tlwlcitm, 
 Divine Poesy, Orjjhem, and the rest of the Poefs up
 
 304 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 to the State, tlie great Chonis following at a dis- 
 tance, where they sung this song. 
 
 The Song. 
 Amianteros, or Chaste Love. 
 
 Whilst by a mixture thus made one, 
 
 Y' ar th' eml)lem of my Deity, 
 And now you may, in yonder throne, 
 
 The pattern of your union see. 
 
 (2.) 
 Softly as fruitful show'rs I fall, 
 
 And th' undiscern'd increase I bring, 
 Is of more precious worth than all 
 
 A plenteous summer jmys a spring. 
 
 (3.) 
 The benefit it doth impart, 
 
 Will not the barren earth improA^e, 
 But fructify each barren heart. 
 
 And give eternal growth to love. 
 
 SUNESIS. 
 
 To Charles, the mightiest and the best, 
 And to the darling of his breast, 
 
 (Who rule b' example as by power) 
 May youthful blessings still increase. 
 And in their off-spring never cease. 
 
 Till time's too old to last an hour. 
 
 Chorua. 
 
 These wishes are so well deserv'd by thee, 
 
 And thought so modest too by destiny, 
 
 That hea\'eu hath seal'd the grant as a Decree.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 305 
 
 After which they all retire to the Scene, and 
 Indamora and her ladies begin the Ecvels with the 
 King and the Lords, which continue the most part 
 of the night. Thus ended this Masque, which for 
 the newness of tlu^ invention, variety of scenes, 
 apparitions, and richness of hal)its was generally 
 approved to be one of the most magnificent that 
 liath been done in Emjland. 
 
 y 
 
 THE MASQUERS' NAMES. 
 
 The Quekn's Majesty. 
 
 Lady Marquess Hamilton. 
 Lady Mary Herbert. 
 Countess of Oxford. 
 Countess of Berkshire. 
 Countess of Carnarvon. 
 Countess of Newport. 
 Lady Herbert. 
 
 Lady Katherine Howard. 
 Lady Anne Carre. 
 Lady Elizabeth Feilding. 
 Lady Thimbleby. 
 Mistress Dorothy Savage. 
 Mistress Victory Cary. 
 Mistress Nevil. 
 
 The Lords and others that presented the Noble 
 Persian Youths. 
 
 The Duke of Lenox. 
 Earl of Newport. 
 Earl of Desmond. 
 Viscount Grandeson. 
 Lord RussEL. 
 
 Lord Doncaster. 
 Master Thomas Weston. 
 Master Ceorge Goring. 
 Master Henry Murrey. 
 
 U
 
 306 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 The following notices of the different Masquers in this 
 entertainment may not be quite out of place : — 
 
 The Marchioness of Hamilton was a niece of George 
 Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, whose sister married 
 Wilham Fielding, Earl of Denbigh. The Marquis, when 
 only fourteen years of age, was sent for to Court, and 
 was married to Lady Mary Fielding, the Earl's daughter, 
 who probably was younger than her lover. But this 
 , could not matter much, as Buckingham never lost an 
 opportunity of making high alliances for his relatives, 
 whether male or female, whatever their age might be. 
 
 Lady Mary Herbert, a daughter of Philip Herbert, 
 fourth Earl of Pembroke, and first Earl of Montgomery, 
 died unmarried. The Countess of Carnarvon was her 
 sister. 
 
 About the date of the Masque there were two Coun- 
 tesses of Oxford : Diana, the widow of Henry de Vere, 
 Earl of Oxford, who died in the summer of 1 625. She 
 was the second daughter of AVilliam, second Earl of 
 Exeter, and was esteemed a great beauty. Subsequently 
 she became the wife of Tiiomas Bruce, Earl of Elgin. 
 The other Countess was the Lady Beatrix Van Hem- 
 mena, of Friezland, by whom Robert, the next Earl, 
 slain at the siege of Msestricht in 1635, had three 
 daughters and one son : Aubrey de Vere, the twentieth 
 Earl, and the last male heir of that ancient peerage, 
 which had been created by Henry XL, in the person of 
 Alberic de Vere, the son of Alberic, Lord High Chamber- 
 lain of England diu-ing the reign of Henry L Aubrey 
 was more distinguished for his vices than his virtues, 
 and departed this life on the 12th of March, 170f. 
 
 Anna Maria Herbert, Countess of Carnarvon, was a 
 daughter of the Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery. She 
 married Robert Dormer, created Earl of Carnarvon and 
 Viscount Ascot in 1628, who was killed at the first 
 battle of Newburgh, September 20, 1643. The Earldom 
 became extinct in 1709 by the deatli of Charles, their 
 only son, without issue. The Barony of Dormer of
 
 THE TEMPLE OF L0\^. 307 
 
 "Weng, in Buckinghamshire, created in the person of the 
 Earl's grandfatlier, in 1G15, still subsists. 
 
 The Countess of Behksiiiue. — The husband of this 
 lady was second son of Lord Thomas Howard, summoned 
 to Parliament in the 39th year of Queen Elizabeth as 
 Eord Howard of Walden, and who, u^^ou the accession 
 of James I. to the English throne, was in May 1(J03 
 created Earl of Suffolk. She was his second wife, and 
 brought him seven sons and three daughters. Their 
 second son was, on succeeding iiis mother, made, 1st, 
 Lord Howard of Charleton ; 2ndly, Viscount Audover, 
 1621 ; and lastly. Earl of Berkshire, by Charles I., on 
 the 26th of February, 1625-6. He married Lady Eliza- 
 beth Cecil, second daughter of the Earl of Exeter. Tlie 
 date of her demise has not been ascertained, but Lord 
 Berkshire, according to Sir Egerton Brydges, survived 
 until the 16th July, 1669, having attained nearly the 
 age of ninety. He was the oldest Knight of the Garter, 
 yet was so hardy that he might have lived several years 
 longer had he not met with an accidental fall, which oc- 
 casioned his death, after having lingered some months. 
 Of this marriage there were nine sons and four daughters. 
 Of the latter, the eldest became the wife of the im- 
 mortal Dryden, one of the friends of D'avenant. She was 
 christened Elizabeth after her mother. She survived her 
 husband, and died in 1714. 
 
 The Countess of Suffolk, the mother of Lord Berk- 
 shire, was a remarkable woman, by no means scrupu- 
 lous as regarded her moral duties. Sir Anthony Weldon 
 does not hesitate to affirm that she was mistress of Sir 
 Robert Cecil — a man " little in body and stature, but 
 great in wit and policy, the sole manager of state 
 affairs, in consequence of which she and her Lord Avcre 
 large sharers in the Spanish bounty," lavishingly circulated 
 amongst the courtiers to procure a peace advantageous to 
 that nation. According to " truth," as AVeldou has it — 
 ''Audley End, that famous and great structure, had its 
 foundation in Spanish gold." 
 
 Countess of Newport. — This lady was the honouraT)le 
 Anne Butler, daughter of John, Lord Butler of Bram- 
 field, by Elizabeth, sister of the Duke of Buckingham, 
 "to which connection," Banks observes, "he probably
 
 308 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 owed his advancement to the rank of peerage."* She 
 had one brother and five sisters, one of whom, called 
 Olivera, was the wife of Endymion Porter, to whom 
 D'avenant dedicated his Comedy of the Wits. 
 
 It is presumed that the Lady Herbert mentioned 
 was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir William Dormer, and 
 sister to Robert, first Earl of Carnarvon. Her husband, 
 Lord Herbert, the eldest son and heir of the fifth Earl 
 and first Marquis of Worcester, was the faithful follower 
 of Charles L, and the author of " A century of the 
 names and scantlings of such inventions as at present I 
 can call to mind, I have tried and perfected," &c., 
 originally printed in 16G3, and subsequently reprinted. 
 It was from this curious work that the first hint of the 
 steam engine is alleged to have been given to the pubHc. 
 The Marquis died on the 3d April, 1667. His son was 
 created, December 2d, 1682, Duke of Beaufort, and from 
 Lim the present inheritor of the honour is descended. 
 
 Lady Katherine Howard, eldest daughter of Theo- 
 philus, second Earl of Suffolk, married, first, George 
 Stuart, Lord Aubiguy, who was killed at the battle of 
 Edgehill, and secondly James Livingston, Earl of New- 
 burgh. She was niece of the infamous Lady Frances, 
 better known as wife of Robert Carre, Earl of Somerset. 
 
 Ladt A-NNE Carre was the only child of this inaus- 
 picious union and was born whilst her mother was im- 
 prisoned in the tower of London, 9th December, 1615. 
 Her future husband was one of the Masquers, and 
 we may perhaps be allowed to surmise, that it was 
 during the rehearsal of the pageant, the graces of 
 the lady gave rise to that love which brought about 
 her marriage with William, Lord Russell. She was 
 a virtuous and excellent lady, eminent in all the 
 " duties of civil and domestic life."t The Earl of Bedford 
 opposed the union, and only yielded upon the persuasion 
 of the King, and the large dowry given by the Earl of 
 Somerset, who reduced himself to comparative poverty 
 to raise it. Lord Russell had every reason to bless 
 this union, which took place during Easter 1637, 
 
 * Banks' Doniiaiit Baronage, vol. iii. p. 119 
 1833^^ slo"'^ Memoirs of the Russell Family, vol. ii. p. 131. London
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 309 
 
 Francis, fourth Earl of Bedford, died 9tli May, 1611, 
 wlieu he was succeeded by his son, WilUam, created 
 after the Revolution Duke of Bedford, and who died on 
 the 7th of September, 1700, in the 87th year of his age. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Fielding was third daughter of the 
 first Earl of Denbigh, and wife of Lewis Boyle, Viscount 
 of Kenelnieky, in Ireland, seconil son of Richard, Earl of 
 Cork. Upon the restoration, Charles IL created her a 
 Countess for life by the title of Guilford. 
 
 The Lady Thimbleby was the Hon. EHzabeth Savage, 
 sister of the second Viscount Savage, who in 1639 suc- 
 ceeded his maternal grandfather as Earl Rivers. She 
 married John Thimbleby, a gentleman of Lincolnshire, 
 who was made a knight by King James L on the 7th of 
 August, 1624. 
 
 M ISTHESS Do ROTH Y Savage was a daughter of Sir Thomas 
 Savage of Frodsham, in Clieshire, by Elizabeth Darcy, 
 daughter and heire^ of Thomas Darcy, Earl of Rivers. 
 The father was created Baron and Viscount Savage of 
 Clifton, and in 1639 his son became Earl of Rivei-s 
 as heir of his grandfather, in virtue of a remainder in the 
 patent of creation. Dorothy married Viscount An- 
 dover, K.B., eldest son of the Earl of Berkshire. 
 
 Mistress Victory Cary has not been traced. She may 
 have come of the Falkland Carys. 
 
 Mistress Nevil was undoubtedly a daughter either of 
 Edward the Sixth or Henry the Seventh, Lords Aber- 
 gavenny. 
 
 James, Duke of Lenox, was a son of Esme, brother 
 of Ludovick, Duke of Lenox, the descendant of John 
 Stewart, the younger brother of Mathew, Earl of 
 Lenox, the father of the murdered Darnley and grand- 
 father of Jnnies L Ijudovick was thrice man-ied, the 
 first wife was sister of the last Earl of Gowrie, and 
 Lis last, the daughter of Howard, Viscovmt Bindon, 
 whose first husband was a wealthy ^^intner of the name 
 of Prannel, who leaving her a rich widow, the Earl of 
 Hertford, married her ; and on his demise the Duke 
 of Lenox and Richmond made her his Duchess. His 
 Grace died on the 11th February, 1623-1, and her Grace, 
 becoming a widow, was desirous of taking tlie place 
 of Aune of Deumai'k ; but His Majesty looked coldly
 
 310 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 upon her. By none of his wives had the Duke any 
 family. 
 
 His brother James was successor to the Duchy of 
 Lenox only, the Eichmond Dukedom becoming thereby 
 extinct on the death of Ludovick. It was revived in 1641 
 in the person of his son James, who was made Duke of 
 Richmond. Hence, at the date of the Masque, his Grace 
 was only Duke of Lenox. He married Mary, daughter 
 of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, by whom he had 
 a daughter called after her mother, and a son Esme who 
 died in minority in 1660, unmarried. Duke James the 
 second died upon 30th March, 1655, and was buried 
 in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 The Earl of Newport was the illegitimate son of 
 Charles Blount, Earl of Devonshire, by Penelope De- 
 vereux, sister of the Earl of Essex, who left her hus- 
 band, Lord Rich, after having two sons by him, the 
 Earls of A^'arvvick and Holland. By Lord Devonshire 
 she had several children, of whom Mountjoy Blount 
 was one. It is said she was divorced by her husband, 
 and that she was subsequently married to her paramour 
 by Laud, his Lordship's chaplain, at "Wamstead, in Essex, 
 on the 26th December, 1605 — an act of which he sub- 
 sequently so deeply regretted, that "it is believed 
 to have shortened his days :" * A strange assertion, 
 seeing that his Grace was decapitated. The fact that 
 none of the sons succeeded to the Earldom of Devon- 
 shire sufficiently proves their illegitimacy. 
 
 MouNTJOY Blount, the second of these sons, notwith- 
 standing this blot, was, by the favour of James I., 
 created an Irish Baron, and, by his son, an English 
 one. In the 4th of Charles I. he obtained the Earl- 
 dom of Newport in the Isle of Wight. This accumu- 
 lation of honours may have arisen from his connection 
 with Buckingham, whose niece, as previously noticed, 
 he had espoused. 'He died in 1665. The title became 
 extinct in 1681. 
 
 The Earl of Desmond, by a concurrence of remark- 
 able events, which have the appearance of romance, 
 obtained an Earldom not inherited by his descendants, 
 
 * Banks' Donnant Peerage, vol ii. p. 539. London, 1809, 4to.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 3 1 1 
 
 but still subsisting in a family not in the most remote 
 degree related to the Patentee. The circumstances were 
 these : Richard Preston came to London with James I. 
 upon that monarch succeeding to the Crown of Eng- 
 land. He was young, handsome, accomplished, and 
 versed in those pastimes in which his master took 
 pleasure. Standing high in the Royal favour, the King 
 resolved to provide him with {i wife, and casting his 
 eyes about, remembered the Viscountess Tullyophclim 
 was a widow, and tliat being the only daughter 
 of Thomas, Earl of Ormond, the connection was a 
 desirable one, at least for the gentleman. Kings are 
 difficult to resist, and the widow became the wife of 
 Preston, whom His Majesty mr.de a Scotch Baron by 
 the title of Dingwall, with a remainder to heirs of the 
 body whatsoever. Lord Dingwall, in right of his 
 lady, set up a claim to a consitlerable part of the Des- 
 mond estates, and one way or other contrived to 
 enrich himself ; so that having an only daughter, Eliza- 
 beth, she was considered as an heiress worth looking after. 
 The Duke of Buckingham, always on the scent for 
 whatever might aggrandize himself or his relations, 
 thought the heiress, then a mere child, might suit his 
 nephew, George Fielding, second son of his brother- 
 in-law, the Earl of Denbigh, also at the time an infant, 
 and he made overtures to the Scotish Baron, which 
 were listened to with satisfaction by him. The mar- 
 riage was settled in this way, Lord Dingwall was 
 created Earl of Desmond, with a remainder to George 
 Fielding. As the boy and girl could not, from their in- 
 fancy, marry then, and several years must elapse before 
 the contract between Dingwall and Buckingham could 
 be implemented, matters remained in stdtn quo, until a 
 scries of events occurred which overthrew all these fine 
 aiTangements. The Duke, the prime mover, was assiis- 
 sinated by Felton. The Countess of Desmond died in 
 Wales, and the Earl of Desmond was, in 1627, "cast 
 away at sea about Holyhead, on his jiassage to England." 
 This last event made George, Earl of Desmond, but 
 lost him the Lady Elizabeth, who, it would seem, when 
 she was in a position to judge for herself, was disin- 
 clined to take any other husband than one of her own
 
 312 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 choice, which fell upon her cousin James, Lord Thurles, 
 son and apparent heir of Walter, Earl of Ormond. 
 King Charles, by letters patent, dated 8th Sept. 1629, 
 declares that for the final end of all controversies between 
 Walter, Earl of Ormond, and Elizabeth, daughter of 
 Richard, Earl of Desmond, he had given his consent that 
 there shall be a marriage between James Viscount Thurles 
 and the said Elizabeth, and grants her marriage and the 
 wardship of her lands to the said Walter, Earl of Ormond, 
 ordering the Chief Governors of the Kingdom to pass a 
 patent or form to that effect under the great seal of Ire- 
 land. In consequence of this mandate the marriage was 
 solemnized, Christmas 1629, at London. Thus, after 
 all the care of the High and Mighty Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, and the astute and ambitious Earl of Desmond, 
 their projects were rendered nugatory. The lady got 
 the man she had chosen, and George Fielding got his 
 intended father-in-law's Earldom. 
 
 William Viscount Grandisox was the eldest son of 
 Sir William Villiers, Bart., and his wife Barbara, 
 daughter to Sir John St John, knight, and niece of Oliver 
 St John, Lord Deputy of Ireland in 1616, and Lord 
 High Treasurer of Ireland 13th Aug. 1625, who was 
 created Viscount Grandison on the 3d of January in the 
 eighteenth year of the reign of James I., with a remainder 
 to the Villiers family, which upon his death carried the 
 title to his grandnephew Wilham, who figures amongst 
 the Masquers. 
 
 By his wife Mary, third daughter to Paul Viscount 
 Bayning, he had an only child, Barbara, who was created 
 by Charles II. Duchess of Cleveland, and had by him 
 three natural sons, created successively by their father 
 Dukes of Cleveland, Grafton, and Northumberland. The 
 first and last peerages are extinct in this hne, but the 
 honours of Grafton still subsist. 
 
 Lord Grandison was a devoted servant of Charles I., 
 and died of the wounds he received at the siege of Bris- 
 tol. Whereupon, the Viscounty devolved on his next 
 brother, John. 
 
 Clarendon's character of William is beautifully deline- 
 ated, and we have no doubt is perfectly correct : — " His 
 loss can never be enough lamented. He was a young man
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 31 3 
 
 of so virtuous a habit of mind that no temptation or pro- 
 vocation could corrupt him ; so great a lover of justice 
 and integrity, that no example, necessity, or even the 
 barbarity of war could make him swerve from the precise 
 rules of it. And of that rare piety and devotion, that 
 the Court nor camp could not shew a more faultless per- 
 son, or to whose e.xaraple young men might more reason- 
 ably conform themselves ; his personal valour and courage 
 of all kinds, — for he had sometimes indulged so much to 
 the corrupt opinion of honour, as to venture himself in 
 duels — Avas very eminent, insomuch as he was accused of 
 being too prodigal of his person ; his zeal, affection, and 
 obedience to the king was such as became a branch of 
 that family ; and he has often been heard to say that if 
 he had not imderstanding enough to know the upright- 
 ness of the cause, nor loyalty enoiigh to inform him of 
 the duty of a subject ; yet the very obligation of grati- 
 tude to the king, on behalf of his house was such, as his 
 life was but a sacrifice ; and therefore he no sooner saw 
 the war unavoidable than he engaged all his bretliren as 
 well as himself in the service, when he was so unfortun- 
 ately cut off."* 
 
 AVhat a remarkable contrast the character of the daugh- 
 ter presents to that of the father. The parent a Bayard 
 — sans peirr et sans reprodte ; and his daughter, the 
 Duchess of Cleveland, whose services to Royalty are duly 
 recorded in the pages of Grammont, and the Atalantis 
 of Mrs Mauley. 
 
 Lord Russell, subsequently the husband of Lady Anne 
 Carre, succeeded his father as Earl of Bedford. William 
 Lord Russell, the offspring of the marriage, who suffered 
 in the reign of Charles II., Avas thus the heir of line of 
 Carre, the once omnipotent favoui'ite of James. 
 
 Lord Doncaster was the only son of the magnificent 
 Earl of Carlisle, a Scotchman named Hay, who had 
 come to England with James, and marrying Honora, the 
 daughter and heiress of Lord Denny, was created by his 
 Royal master. Lord Hay, without having a vote or place 
 in Parliament, but with precedence after the Barons. 
 On the 29th June, 1615, he was advanced to the dignity 
 of a Lord of Parliament " without any solemn investi- 
 • Clarendon, tqI. iv., p. 151. Oxford, 1826.
 
 314 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 tiire, being the first that was ever so created ; the 
 lawyers then declaring that the delivery of the letters 
 patent was sufficient without any ceremony."* 
 
 On the death of his first wife, he sought a lady of a 
 higher position, and was successful, in November, 1617, 
 in obtaining the hand of the beautiful and high born 
 Lady Lucy Percy, daughter of Henry, Earl of Northum- 
 berland. He was then advanced to the Viscounty of 
 Doncaster, and in 1622 was created Earl of Carlisle. He 
 was employed on several Embassies to France and Ger- 
 many, and was lastly honoured with the Garter. He 
 had only one son, James, Lord Doncaster, who suc- 
 ceeded to his honours in 1636, and married a daughter 
 of Francis, Earl of Bedford, by whom he had no issue, 
 and dying in 1660 the title became extinct in his person. 
 The Carlisle Earldom was then given to a Howard, and 
 Doncaster formed one of the subordinate titles of the 
 Duke of Monmouth, — an honour by virtue of which his 
 descendant, his Grace of Buccleuch and Queensberry, 
 takes his seat in the British House of Peers as an Earl. 
 
 Hay, Earl of Carlisle, the elder, when Ambassador in 
 France, was remarkable for his sumptuous way of living. 
 At one of his suppers an attendant is stated to have 
 eaten to his share a pie that cost twenty pounds. 
 
 Thomas Weston, a younger son of the Earl of Port- 
 land, ultimately succeeded to the title. He married 
 Anne, daughter of John, Lord Butler of Bramfield, 
 niece of the Duke of Buckingham, and widow of Mont- 
 joy Blount, one of the perfor^jiiers in the Masque. 
 
 GeouCxE Goring, a sou of Sir George Goring of Hurst- 
 picrpoint, in the county of Sussex, created Lord Goring 
 in the 4th of Charles L, and advanced to the Earldom of 
 Norwich upon the death of his maternal uncle, Edward, 
 Lord Denny and Earl of Norwich, in the twentieth year 
 of the same monarch. He predeceased his father, who 
 survived to witness the restoi'ation of the son of the 
 sovereign whose cause he had espoused, to the throne 
 of his predecessor, and died in 1662. The eldest 
 son George was an eminent commander during the great 
 civil war, during which he was distinguished by the 
 
 * Banks' Dormant Peerage, vol. iii. p. 149. London, 1809, 4to.
 
 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 315 
 
 name of General Goring. He had great military talents, 
 and after the fall of the monarchy served the King of 
 Spain as Lieutenant-General of the forces. He married 
 Lady Lettice Boyle, daughter of llichard, Earl of Cork, 
 but had no family. Upon the death of his wife he is 
 said to have assumed the habit of a Dominican Friar in 
 Spain, and died there in the odour of sanctity. 
 
 His brother Charles consequently succeeded his father. 
 He married a lady of the name of Leman, the widow of 
 Sir Richard Baker, and having no family, the titles of 
 Goring and Norwich expired with him, March 3d, 1672. 
 It is conjectured that this is the Sir Richard Baker, 
 known for his racy chronicle. 
 
 The 1st Earl of Norwich had also four daughters : 1st, 
 Elizabeth, who became the wife of Lord Brereton of the 
 Kingdom of Ireland; 2d, Mary, the wife of Sir Drue 
 Dene of Maplested in the county of Essex ; 3d, Diana, 
 who became the first wife of Thomas Covert, of 
 Slaugham in Sussex, Esquire, and upon his demise, 
 espoused George Porter, Esq., son of Endymion Porter, 
 the patron and friend of D'avenant, and who was one of 
 the Grooms of the Bedchamber to Charles I. ; and 4th, 
 Catherine, who married William Scott of Scott's Hall in 
 Kent, Esquire. 
 
 In the year 1784 the British Earldom of Norwich was 
 conferred upon Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon, but 
 the title failed in the person of his son the late Duke, 
 who dyinc without issue, the Ducal honour also became 
 extinct. 
 
 Master Henrv Murray was probably related to the 
 Earl of TuUibardine, the ancestor of the Dukes of 
 Athol, or to Murray of Cockpool, the favoured adviser 
 of James I. in Scotish affairs, subsequently created 
 Viscount Annand and Earl of Annandale in Scotland. 
 However this may be, Henry Murray was one of the 
 Grooms of the Bedchamber of Charles I. 
 
 He married Anne second daughter to Paul, first Vis- 
 count Bayning, by whom he had four daughters who 
 became his co-heirs. The eldest of whom, Elizabeth, was 
 wife, 1st of Riindolph Egerton of Bctley, Major General 
 in the service of Charles I. The second daughter, Anne, 
 married Robert Pierrepoint, nephew of the Marquis of
 
 316 THE TEMPLE OF LOVE. 
 
 Dorchester. Jane, the third daughter, espoused Sir John 
 Bowyer, Baronet ; and the 4th, Mary, took as her hus- 
 band Sir Roger Bradshaigh of Haigh, Bart., now repre- 
 sented by the Earl of Crawford and Balcarras. 
 
 Upon the death of Henry Murray, his widow became 
 the spouse of a Sir John Barber, Knight. She was 
 created Viscountess Bayning of Foxly, by Charles 
 II., for the term of her natural life. As she was aunt 
 of the too "well known Duchess of Cleveland, — the 
 daughter of her sister, Mary, Viscountess Grandison, — 
 the elevation to the peerage is easily understood. 
 . EUzabeth, the eldest daughter of Murray, upon the 
 demise of her husband, Major-General Egerton of Betley 
 became the wife of the Hon. Charles Egerton, fourth son 
 of the second Earl of Bridgewater, bom 12th March 
 1654, by whom she had a son, who appears to have died 
 sine prole. Anne, the only surviving child of her first 
 marriage, married Lord William Paulet, second son of 
 the first Duke of Bolton, and was the mother of Henri- 
 etta, an only child, who, marrying William, third son of 
 Charles, Viscount Townsend, had Charles, who was created 
 Lord Bayning of Foxly, 20th October 1797. He was 
 the only surviving son of the marriage. His mother 
 died in 1755. Foxly was an estate in the County of 
 Berks, which had belonged to the Viscountess Bayning.
 
 THE 
 
 PRINCE D'AMOUR.
 
 The Triumphs of the Prince D' Amour, A Masque 
 
 presented by his Highness at his palace in the ]\liddle 
 
 Temple, the 2ith Febriiarii, 1635. London, Printed for 
 
 Richard Meighen, next to the Middle-Temple Gate in Fleet 
 
 Street. 1635, Ato. 
 
 The Triumphs of the Prince D' Amour, in the Collected 
 Edition of Sir W, Davenanfs Works., "[Ql^, folio.
 
 THE PRINCE D' AMOUR. 319 
 
 The Prince D' Amour, to whom this Triumph or Masque 
 owes its name, was the title of the Principal elected by 
 his brother Barristers to conduct their Christmas Revels. 
 Pichard Martin, who addressed King James the 1st at 
 Theobald's, in behalf of the city, on his Majesty's first 
 entrance into London in IGOo, and by whose facetious- 
 ness the King was at all times delighted, had filled the 
 office of Prince D'Amour of the Middle Temple, and, in 
 a Latin character of him, he is in consequence denomi- 
 nated as "Amor Princi]nim, Principum Amor." The 
 following authority, which is prefixed to the first edition 
 of the present Masque, seems to have been sufficient, 
 without any license otherwise, to admit of its pubUca- 
 tion : — 
 
 This Masque may he prhited. By privilege of a most 
 ancient Record in the Roles belonging to Prince D'Amour. 
 
 T. Mavnsell, 
 Master of Revels to his Highness. 
 February, 1635. 
 
 Mr Maunsell, the Master of the Revels to the Prince 
 D'Amour, it will be observed, was one of the principal 
 Masquers.* 
 
 It had been no uncommon custom for the members of 
 the Inns of Court to entertain the King, Queen, and 
 foreign potentates with Masques. So in honour of the 
 nuptials of Prince Frederick, Palatine of the Rhine, with 
 the Princess Elizabeth, " daughter to tlie Imperial Ma- 
 jesties of King James and Queen Anne," afterwards King 
 and Queen of Bohemia, which were celebrated with great 
 magnificence at his Majesty's chapel at AVhitehall,t upon 
 
 * See Appendix No. VI. 
 
 t See Somers' Tracts, Leland's Collectanea, and Nichols' 
 Progresses of King James VI. " The Lady Welden had a gown 
 that cost £50 a-yard the embroidering, the Lord Montacute, 
 that had paid reasonably well for recusancy, bestowed £15,000 
 in apparel for his two daughters. The Viscount Rochester, 
 the Lord Hay, and the Lord Dingwall were rich and costly; 
 but above all they speak of the Earl of Dorset." See Appendix.
 
 320 THE PRINCE D'AMOUR. 
 
 Shrove Sunday 1612-13, the gentlemen of the Inns of 
 Court were not behindhand in contributing to the festiv- 
 ities. " Showes, and fireworks upon the water," and 
 other rejoicings having for some days previously been 
 publicly presented, in the evening of the celebration of 
 the marriage, after the Banquet all the Lords and Ladies 
 and others present " fell to ilancing, masking and revel- 
 ling, according to the custome of such assemblies, which 
 continued all the day and part of the night in great 
 pleasure." On this occasion "The Lord's Maske" was 
 performed, written by Dr Campion, — Ben Jonson the 
 ordinary Poet of the Masques being at the rime abroad. 
 
 Next day the Royal party assembled " in the tylt-yard, 
 adjoyning to Whitehall," where "the King, mounted 
 upon a steed of much swiftness, was the first who began 
 the honourable pastimes, and a most noble martialist, 
 tooke the ring upon his speare three severall times to- 
 gether, whereat the trumpets still sounded to the great 
 joy of the beholders." 
 
 Meanwhile "the gentlemen of the Innes of Court, 
 in the best and rarest manner they could devise, 
 prepared Maskes and Revells in the Court, that night 
 to be presented ; and about the houres of eight or 
 nine they passed from the Roles in Chancery Lane 
 to Whitehall, in as Royall a manner as ever gallants 
 did to the Court of England. First, there rode 
 some three score brave-spirited gentlemen, upon great 
 barbed horses, most richly trapped with imbrothered 
 furnitures, themselves attired in cloth of golde and 
 tissue, most gloriously shining, lighted by a number of 
 torches to beautifie the showe with more eye-pleasing 
 delights. After them, some sixe-and-thirty Maskers, 
 divided by twelves, in most strange anticke sutes. Like- 
 wise, upon costly-trapped steedes, each of them having 
 a blackamore page attending on horse-back, with torch- 
 lights burning in their hands. After them followed three 
 chariots of Masquers and Revellers, in garments of a 
 mervellous fashion, so artificially disguised, that they 
 moved much wonder. Upon them attended a number of 
 footemen, bearing burning torches, many trumpets sound- 
 ing melodiously, which was a sight both to eye and eare, 
 of an exceeding glorie. These performed many delight-
 
 THE PRINCE D'AMOUR. ;{2] 
 
 full dances in his lli>ilines' presence and other pastimes of 
 pleasure, to the great comfort of all the beholdei-s, and 
 to the high honours of this magnificent marriage." — See 
 Nicliol's Progresses of King James I., vol. 2, p. 551. In 
 ■■the s;iiii(' Nolnine at page 506, the Masque itself will be 
 found. It is styled " The Memorable Maske of the two 
 honorable houses or Inns of Court, — the Middle-Temple 
 and Lyncoln's Inne ; as it was performed before the 
 King at AVhitehall on Shrove Munday at night, being the 
 15th of February 1612-13; at the princely celebration 
 of the most Royal Nuptiales of the Palsgrave and his 
 thrice gratious Princesse Elizabeth, &c." " Invented and 
 fashioned, with the ground and speciall structure of the 
 whole worke, by our Kingdome's most artfull and ingeni- 
 ous Architect, Innigo Jones; supplied, aplied, digested, 
 and written by George Chapman." Nichols remarks : 
 " The expenses of the present Masque were, according 
 to Sir William Dugdale, no less than £1536, 8s. lid." 
 " The King made the Maskers kiss his hand at parting, 
 and gave them many thanks, saying ' he never saw so 
 many proper men together;' and himself accompanied 
 them to the Banquet, and took care it should be well 
 ordered, and spake much of them behind their back, and 
 stroked the Master of the Rolls [Sir Edward Phillips] 
 and Dick Martin, who were the chief doers and under- 
 takers." 
 
 " The next day being Shrove Tuesday, a day of jollitie 
 by custome, The bountie of Ids ^Iajistie ex- 
 ceeded ; for his Highnes' Court w^as free for all people of 
 fashion, as well citizens as others, and few came thither 
 that departed without kind entertainement." " The night 
 l)roceeding, much expectation was made of a stage play 
 to be acted in the Great Hall by the King's Players, 
 where many hundred of people stood attending the same; 
 but it hapned contraire: — as upon tl)e night before, a 
 most famous Miuske came to Court, by the gentlemen 
 and Studients of the Law, from the Rolls Othce by laud; 
 so some three hundred Gentlemen more, of the same 
 estate and calling, to e(iual them in stateliness, came 
 likewise up the Thames by water, with a Maske, to 
 AVhitehall, at whose setting forth from AYincliester 
 House in their barges, a pealc of ordinance, placed on 
 
 X
 
 322 THE PFtlNCE D'AMOUR. 
 
 the Banckeside, seemofl as it were thunder ; the barges 
 were beautified with many flaggesand streamers, lighted 
 with a immber of burning cressets and torches, attended 
 on by drums and trumpets, which sounded all the May 
 most melodiously. The Gentlemen and Masquers had 
 most glorious and rich suits of cloth of gold and silver, 
 with other robes of much delight and pleasure." 
 
 They were received at the Privy stairs, but, in conse- 
 quence of gi-eat expectations having been entertained 
 that the Masquers of the preceding evening would be 
 out-done, especially in dancing, the hall was so over 
 crowded, as to leave scant room for the Masquers, 
 that it was deemed advisable to postpone the perform- 
 ance until the Saturday following, the more so on account 
 of the King being " so wearied and sleepy with setting up 
 almost two whole nights before, that he had no edge to 
 it." 
 
 On Saturday the 20th February, therefore, proper 
 arrangements Avere made, and the Masque, which was 
 entitled " The Masque of the Inner Temple and Gray's 
 Inn, Gray's Inn and the Inner Temple" was exhibited 
 with great success. The poetical portion was written by 
 Mr Francis Beaumont, who dedicated the Masque on its 
 publication to Sir Francis Bacon, his Majesty's Solicitor- 
 General, " the chief Contriver" of it, and one of the 
 principal Masquers, he having been used to such ex- 
 hibitions in former years. It is estimated that the cost 
 exceeded £2000. The passage by water alone, designed 
 as the marriage of the Thames with the Rhine, was up- 
 wards of £300. 
 
 To liquidate the charge in apparel for the Actors, the 
 Readers at Gray's Inn were assessed each man at £4 ; 
 the Ancients, and such as at that time were to be called 
 Ancients, at £2, 10s. a piece, the Barristers at £2 a man; 
 and the Students at 20s., out of which so much was to 
 be taken " as the Inner Temple did them allow." Which 
 being performed, there was an order made 18 Mail the 
 next following ' That the Gentlemen who were Actors 
 in that Masque, should bring in all their Masquing ap- 
 parell, as provided at the charge of the House.' " The 
 expenses of a very splendid Masque the four Inns to- 
 gether presented to Charles the I'irst at Christmas 1G34-5,
 
 THE PRINCE D'AMOUR. 323 
 
 estimated at £2100, were thus divided : Every Bencher 
 contributed £;"), every Utter liarrister of seven years' 
 standing, £2, 10s., every gentleman under the Bar, 20s. ; 
 besides several Officers larger sums. — See Origines Judi- 
 ciales, p. 150.* 
 
 " The King's Majestic, in the Royaltie of his mind, 
 and in regard of these rare devises of the Gentlemen 
 of the Innes of Court, being most of them sonnes to 
 great States of I^and, invited them all within few daies 
 after, to a Royall banquet, when not onely by his High- 
 nes, but by the Palsgrave and his Bride, they had most 
 kind and friendly thankes." There were upwards of 
 eighty present at this " solemn supper," whereof one 
 half were the Masquers, who had performed. "The 
 King husbanded the matter so well, that this supper was 
 not at his own cost, but he and his Company won it 
 upon a wager of running at the ring, of the Prince and 
 his nine followers, who paid £oO a man." 
 
 The Gentlemen of Gray's Inn, under the patronage of 
 Sir Francis Bacon, presented " The Masque of Flowers," 
 at the Court of Whitehall, in the Banquetting House, 
 ujion Twelfth night 1613-14 "being the last of the 
 solemnities and magnificence wdiich were ijerformed at 
 the marriage of the Right Honourable the Earle of 
 Somerset and the Lady Frances, Daughter of the Earle 
 of Suffolk, Lord Chambcriaine." 
 
 The birth of James, Duke of York, in October J 633, 
 caused them again to signify their intention of pre- 
 senting their Majesties with a Masque at AVhitehall, in 
 testimony of their loyalty, " and some held it the more 
 seasonable because this action would manifest the differ- 
 ence of their opinion from Mr Prynne's new learning, and 
 serve to confute his Histrio-Mastix against Interludes,"t 
 and this perhaps the more so, as he was one of their 
 own order. 
 
 Accordingly, on the 3d February 1033-4, the Masque 
 called "The Triumph of Peace," written by James Shirley 
 was performed. The Ma.s(piers having assembled at 
 Ely-House, and proceeded by torch-liglit to Whitehall in 
 
 * See " Barristers " in Appendix for explanation of tho 
 several titles. 
 
 t See Whitclook's Memorials, p. li).
 
 324 THE PRINCE D'AMOUK. 
 
 magnificent array. 'Jliis procession is celebrated in Lyric 
 verse preserved in Mr John Payne Collier's ''Broadside 
 Black- Letter Ballads of the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries : Printed for private circulation by Thomas 
 Richards, 18G8," 4to. The Ballad is called "The Honor 
 of the Inns of Court gentlemen, or a briefe recitall of 
 the magnificent and matchlesse show, that passed from 
 Hatton and Ely-House in Holborne to Whitehall, on 
 Monday night, viz., the third of February, and the next 
 after Candlemas. To the tune of our Nol)le King in his 
 Progresse." This Ballad was one of Martin Parker's 
 temporary eflfusions. 
 
 My noble Muse, assist me, 
 
 that I may with credit 
 
 undergoe the taske. 
 A himior hath jjossest me 
 
 to write a new ditty 
 
 of the triumphant ma.ske, 
 Which lately was performed 
 
 in high magnifique sort. 
 To the honor of those gentry 
 
 that line at the Innes of Court. 
 
 These noble minded gallants, 
 
 to shew their true loue 
 
 to our Royall King and Queene, 
 Did largely spend their talents 
 To make a faire shew, 
 
 that the like was never scene. 
 To set down all exactly 
 
 my skil comes far too short. 
 To the honor of those gentry 
 
 that line at the Innes of Court. 
 
 A hundred sweet yong gentlemen, 
 
 that all vpon great horses 
 
 were mounted gallantly. 
 Clad in white cloath of tissue then, 
 And red and white feathers, 
 
 most glorious to the eye ; 
 In equipage most sumptuous 
 
 they past in solemne sort :
 
 THE PRINCE D' AMOUR 325 
 
 These were the braue young gentry 
 that Hue at the Innes of Court. 
 
 liut that which admiration 
 
 exacts from all men 
 
 which saw or heard of it 
 Was the charets 
 Which in fashion 
 
 for mighty princes and conquerors most fit. 
 The glory of this action 
 
 exceedeth all report, 
 To the honour of those gentry 
 
 that liue at the Innes of Court. 
 
 And sixe there were in number : 
 
 in those the maskers 
 
 themselves did sit in state, 
 Which made the people wonder, 
 And rauishcd the senses 
 
 of all that there did waite. 
 The oldest man aliue 
 
 cannot the like report. 
 To the honour of those gentry 
 
 that liue at the Innes of Court. 
 
 Our gracious King, with his dear Queenc, 
 
 did sit to behold 
 
 this so beautiful show : 
 It ioy'd their hearts when they had scene 
 The true and loyal loue 
 
 that their subiects to them owe. 
 Vnto their long liu'd credit 
 
 they shewd their princely sport, 
 To the honour of those gentry 
 
 that liue at the Innes of Court. 
 
 Many thousand punds of gold, 'tis thought, 
 
 hath not the charge 
 
 of this matchlesse maske defrayed ; 
 Yet let no critick deeme that naught 
 Which hath on a sudden 
 
 employ'd so many a trade.
 
 320 THK J'lllNCK iVxVMOUR. 
 
 Young people may hereafter 
 
 vnto their young report 
 The honour of those gentry 
 
 that Hue at the Innes of Court. 
 
 For an account of this splendid Masque, which was 
 repeated some days afterwards, by royal command, in 
 the Merchant Taylors' Hall, and which is said to have been 
 the finest, as it was certainly the most costly, of the 
 kind ever presented in this country, exceeding the in- 
 credible sum of £21,000, see " Life of Shirley," in 
 Dyce and Gifford's edition of his works, 8vo, 1823. 
 
 The ]\rasque of D'avenant, now reprinted, is called 
 " The Triumphs of the Prince D'Amour," and was pre-_ 
 sented by the gentry of the Temjile for the entertainment 
 of the sons of the Elector Palatine. The names of the 
 
 / / Masquers, who all were members of the Inns, are given 
 
 ^'''^ at the end. 
 
 Charles Prince Palatine of the Rhine, second son of 
 the marriage of Frederick with the Priucess Elizabeth, 
 King and Queen of Bohemia, had come to England in 
 the preceding November to solicit his restoration to the 
 Palatinate. His brother. Prince Rupert, shortly after- 
 wards followed him. Charles was born at Heidelberg 
 in 1617, so that when he came to England he was only 
 eighteen years of age, while his brother Rupert was two 
 years his junior. Both received the honour of the Order 
 of the Garter. Rupert attained the dignity of Earl of 
 Holderness and of Duke of Cumberland upon the extinc- 
 tion of the male line of the Shepherd Earl, 1643. Prince 
 Rupert's exploits in the Civil War are too well known to 
 be repeated here. 
 
 The text of the folio edition of " The Triumphs of the 
 Prince D'Amoiir," differs very slightly from that of the 
 first edition.
 
 TO EVERY READER. 
 
 The Intention of tin's Entertainment to tlie Prince 
 Elector being hastily prepar'd, as from eager hearts that 
 could delay no Ceremony that might render an expres- 
 sion of their Loves : it coidd not be but I must share 
 the inconvenience of that haste ; since length and apti- 
 tude of time is still allowed to these Composures : and 
 this (d evis'd aa d-mntten in three days) might happily 
 haVg'Toiind an excuse, if the presentation had been as 
 suddenly perform'd as it was prepared. But there was a 
 sad necessity for the delay, and I may justly style it 
 a misfortune, that the general work could not receivg^i 
 the benefit of alteration by that unprofitable leisure7 
 which since we have rather lost than enjoy'd. Though 
 some Truths are not conveniently urged, this I was 
 forc'd to say in a malignant time, when most men strive 
 to raise themselves a reputation of Wit, by cavil and 
 dislike. 
 
 W. D.
 
 THE 
 TRIUMPHS OF THE PRINCE D' AMOUR. 
 
 A Masque 'presented by His Highness, at his Palace in 
 the Middle-Temple, the 2ith of February 1635. 
 
 Before the scene was discovered, the Princes 
 being prepared under the State at the upper end 
 of the hall ; the Master of Ceremonies to the Prince 
 d'Amoux receives an employment by a whisper 
 from his Master, then moves to the Prince Elector, 
 to whom this entertainment was only directed, 
 and speaks this : — 
 
 Sir, this short journey from my Princes' throne, 
 
 Is meant in Embassy to you alone ; 
 
 To you, whom he receives not as his guest, 
 
 For you are both his ornament and feast. 
 
 Although his greatness is not taught to bow, 
 
 His subjects fear he will do homage now. 
 
 Which he esteems no less'ning to his State, 
 
 Since 'tis his Love decrees it, not his fate. 
 
 Nay more, his message moves so low, I fear, 
 
 AVhat sounds like tender coiirtship in your ear, 
 
 His jealous Barons will dislike, and cry 
 
 I am perverted to disloyalty ; 
 
 Urge my commission false, then tax me for 
 
 An easy traitor, no ambassador. 
 
 As if my words would pvdl his empire down. 
 
 Shorten his sceptre, and contract his crown ; 
 
 Thus, Avhisper'd l)y my fears, I must impart 
 
 For ceremonv now, what is his heart
 
 Till'. I'ltlNCK 1) AMon;. ."^lii) 
 
 Tliougli, willi content of Tnitli, 1 may r('i)Oit 
 Vou have a imni'rous faction in lii.s Conrt. 
 This palace where, by sword, tlien law niaintainM, 
 His few, but mighty ancestors have reign'd, 
 Is consecrated yours ; which he doth give, 
 Not in regard he hath short time to live ; 
 For so, since his successor is unknown. 
 You take wdiat is his subjects', not his own, 
 And what is a surrender now, would be 
 Receiv'd to-morrow as a legac}^ : 
 If more of his free love I should relate. 
 They'd style it homage in our jealous state. 
 
 At the upper end, opposite to the State, was 
 a stage of six feet high : and there was presented 
 to sight a front of architecture with two pillasters 
 at each side, and in the middle of the cornice a 
 compartment, with this inscription in an oval : 
 
 Les Triumphes du PiMNCE d'Amour. 
 
 The curtain flying up, on the sudden the scene 
 was discovered with a village consisting of ale- 
 houses and tobacco shops, each fronted with a red 
 lattice, on which black Indian boys sate bestrid- 
 ing roles of tobacco, and, in the place of signs, 
 globes hung up, stuck up full of broken pipes. 
 Before each door were seen old logs, and trunks 
 of hollow trees : on them sate_ the })er'Sons of the 
 first antimasque drinking, and making to each 
 J5ther such riiliculous salutes, as did intimate a joy 
 of meeting, and acquaintance. This continued a 
 while, and then they })repared for their first entry. 
 
 The First Anti-Masque. 
 
 Two, whose hal)its presented them for swagger- 
 ing sohlieis, and of the cheajn'r quality, such as
 
 330 THE I'KINCE D'AMOLfj;. 
 
 are said to roar, not fight; tlieir beards misliaiwn, 
 with long whiskers of the stilletto cut. 
 
 Two Dutch sea officers : a gunner and a Boat- 
 swain. 
 
 An old over-grown debauch'd Cavalier, that 
 seeni'd unwieldy with his Aveight, his riots had so 
 enlarg'd him. 
 
 A begging soldier, with a knapsack hanging at 
 his back. 
 
 A Sutler's wife, denoted by her dress of the 
 camp, her head being bound with a saddle girth,* 
 instead of phylliting. 
 
 These after their entry was perform'd, retire. 
 
 On the sudden, the scene wholly changing, 
 appears a camp of tents, distinguish'd by their 
 several colours ; and in the midst was discover'd 
 the Temple of Mars, the form being square, and 
 of the Doric Order, with trophies of arms on the 
 front. Within the middle of the Temple stood 
 the statue of Mars, of copj)er, upon a pedestal. 
 
 This having continu'd a while in prospect, the 
 Priests of Mars came out of the Temple, cloathed 
 in crimson robes, of the antick shape, girt in the 
 waist, and, being tucked up, fall in a fold; on their 
 heads, mitres of a helmet form, with a poniard 
 advanc'd on the top, and they sing this by way of 
 preparation. 
 
 Come shut our Temple and away, 
 Our bold seditions God shall stay ; 
 We'll serve no sacrifice to day, 
 Our humour is to feast, not pray. 
 
 * See Ante, page 29.
 
 THE PRINCE d'AMO I i:. ."J-U 
 
 (2.) 
 
 The battle which our knights have won, 
 Did hist until th' amazed sun, 
 For fear, did mend his usual pace, 
 And set betimes to hide his face. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 And now the story of their fight 
 Is universal, as his light. 
 Which Fame upon her swifter Aving 
 Hath early brought for us to sing. 
 
 This song ended, with a slow pace they descend, 
 playing on their instruments and, being advanc'd 
 near the State, sing this to signify some battle 
 lately fought. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the troul)le of the day draws near, 
 And now the drum doth teach the heart to beat. 
 
 Whilst trumpets cherish not, but wound the ear 
 Of such, who are ordain'd for a defeat. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! some groan, and curse uncertain 
 
 Fate, 
 AMiich us for blood and ruin doth create. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 Charge! charge! cries ev'ry bold ambitious knight. 
 
 Whilst artificial darkness hid their way. 
 The lightning of their swords was all their light. 
 
 For dust, and sulph'rous clouds had chok'd the 
 dav-
 
 332 THE PRINCE D'AMorit. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Hark ! liark ! some groan, and curse uncertain 
 
 Fate, 
 Which us for blood and ruin doth create. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 Burn ! burn ! was straight the noise in ev'ry tent, 
 Whilst some, mis-led by their disorder'd fear, 
 
 Did help to kindle what they should prevent. 
 And scap'd the van to perish in the rear. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! some groan, and curse uncertain 
 
 Fate, 
 Which us for blood and ruin doth create. 
 
 Fly ! fly ! cries then the tame dejected foe. 
 Each wond'ring at the terror which he feels, 
 
 And, in the hurry of their overthrow. 
 
 Forsook their arms, and trusted to their heels. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! some groan, and curse uncertain 
 
 Fate, 
 Which us for blood and ruin doth create. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 Stand ! stand ! was now the word our knights 
 did give, 
 
 For, weary of pursuit, they had no will 
 To grace with death, Avho basely sought to live, 
 
 As if umvortby of tlu^ir jtains to kill.
 
 THK PRINCE D'AMOni. .V.\?> 
 
 Chon!.<. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! some groan, and curse uncei'tain 
 
 Fate, 
 Which us for blood and ruin doth create. 
 
 The priests of Mars retii-e, and strait the 
 masquers appear as coming out of several tents, 
 their habits being martial and richly embroider'd, 
 inclining near the old Roman shape; their helmets 
 triumphantly plum'd, Avhiles the V»evir falling o'er 
 the face serv'd for a disguise, and supply'd to each 
 the office of a vizard. These by their appearance 
 and demeanour were devised to intimate those 
 heroique Knights Templars, to which the Palace 
 of the Prince d' Amour was anciently dedicated. 
 They descend Avith a majestic pace, and dance 
 their first entry, then retire towards the scene : 
 whilst with amazement they discover Cupid de- 
 scending in a bright cloud, who at their interview 
 sings this : — 
 
 '&'- 
 
 Whither so gladly, and so fast, 
 As if you knew all danger past 
 
 Of combat, and of war 1 
 As j^ou believ'd my arms were bound. 
 Or when I shoot, still ev'ry wound 
 
 1 make is but a fear. 
 
 (2.) 
 Arm now your breasts with shields of steel, 
 And plates cf brass, yet you shall feel 
 
 My arrows are so keen ; 
 Like lightning that not hurts the skin, 
 Yet melts the solid parts within, 
 
 They'll wound although unsct'u.
 
 334 THE PRINCE d'aMOUR. 
 
 (3) 
 
 My mother taught me long ago, 
 
 To aim my shafts, and draw my bow 
 
 When Mars she did subdue. 
 And now you must resign to love 
 Your warlike hearts, that she may prove 
 
 Those antick stories true. 
 
 This being sung, Cupid having dispersed his darts 
 amongst them, which charms them from designs 
 of war to inclinations of love, they all I'etire. 
 
 The scene wholly changing, there appears a 
 square Piazza, resembling that of Venice, and 'tis 
 compos'd of palaces, and lesser fabrics, with 
 courtezans looking out of windows and balconies, 
 fantastically adorn'd, some in Italian, others in 
 a Turkish dress ; and this prospect prepares the 
 second Anti-masque, who strait are discovered 
 Avalking in the Piazza. 
 
 The Second Anti-masque. 
 
 The First. 
 
 A grave formal Spanish lover, who addressing 
 himself to some courtezan in a balcony, salutes 
 her often with congees tedious and low. 
 
 The Secoiid. 
 
 A jealous Italian lover, who fixing his eyes on 
 another mistress at her window, denotes the vexa- 
 tion of his humour by desperate sighs, beating on 
 his breast, and sometimes a melancholy posture, 
 standing with his arms wreath'd. 
 
 The Third 
 
 A giddy fantastic French lover, who being like- 
 wise addressed to some beauty, gazing at her
 
 THE PRINCE D' AMOUR. 335 
 
 window, his humour is disceru'd by strango ridicu- 
 lous cringes, and frisks in his salutes, with which he 
 seems to invite her acquaintance : having divers 
 notes of levity in his liabit, and wearing his 
 mistress' fan tied with a ribband in his ear. 
 
 TJie FourtJi. 
 A dull Dutch lover, personating some yonker* of 
 Utrecht, -who gazing upwards too, doth often apply 
 his handkerchief to his eyes, as if the grief of his 
 despair did make him weej). 
 
 The Fifth. 
 
 A furious debauch'd English lover, who in his 
 habit striving to imitate his neighl)our, the 
 monsieur, still outdoes his vanity, which his 
 accoutrement doth severally express, and he hangs 
 in the right ear his mistress's muff, in the left her 
 shoe with a chapeen.f He is not fix'd to one 
 balcony, but directs himself to all, offers to draw 
 his sword, and seems to threaten with his fist, as 
 he would rather break their windows, than desire 
 them opened, that he might gain a look from his 
 Lady. 
 
 These several humours being a while artificially 
 expressed, they descend, and dance their second 
 entry, and retire. 
 
 The Scene wholly changing again : There was 
 observ'd in a grove of cypress intermingled Avith 
 
 * Voncixr. (Belg.) A lusty lad, a gay fellow. 
 
 t I've wora, sir, a lady's slippor in my hat."— See Ante, p. 53. 
 
 " Chapia (Spanish)— yhoes with high cork or wooden soles." 
 Blount. 
 
 " By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer heaven, than when I saw 
 you last, by the altitude of a chopine." — Hamlet. 
 
 Mr Charles Knight, in his edition of Shakespeare, has a note 
 on chopines, which Evelyn calls "wooden scaffolds." In illus- 
 tration, he gives woo<lcut specimens and a very interesting 
 account of their use in Venice, quoterl from ( 'orvat's Crudities 
 Kill.
 
 33G THE PRINCE DAMOUR. 
 
 myrtle trees, tlie Tenii)le of Venus, being an eight 
 square of the Corinthian order : within the Teni})k^ 
 her statue of silver, standing in a niche, with 
 Cupid by her, to whom she seems to deliver an 
 arrow ; the pillasters and ornaments were heightned 
 with silver. 
 
 From this Temple the Priests of Venus are dis- 
 cern'd to come in loose white robes, their heads 
 adorn'd with Coronets of flowers, and playing on 
 their instruments, they descend and sing this : 
 
 Unarm ! unarm ! no more your figlits 
 Must cause the virgins' tears. 
 
 But such as in the silent nights, 
 Spring rather from their fears. 
 
 (2.) 
 Such difF'rence as when doves do bill, 
 
 Must now be all your strife : 
 For all the blood that you shall spill. 
 
 Will usher in a life. 
 
 (3.) 
 And Avhen your ladies falsely coy 
 
 Shall timorous appear, 
 Believe, they then would fain enjoy 
 
 What they pretend to fear. 
 
 Breathe then each others' breath, and kiss 
 
 Your souls to union : 
 And whilst they shall enjoy this bliss, 
 
 Your bodies too, are one. 
 
 (0.) 
 
 To morroAv will the hasty sun 
 
 Be fcar'd nioic of each lover.
 
 THE PRINCE d'AMOUU. 3.'57 
 
 For hiiurriiig to repeat wliat's done, 
 Thau what is may discover. 
 
 Tlie Priests of Venus retire, and the Masquers 
 appear in the Scene, tlieir vests altered to a more 
 soft and Courtly change; with several adornments, 
 that might present them to every understanding 
 for a troop of nol)le lovers. Their second entry 
 being danc'd, they retire into the Temple. 
 
 The Scene wholly changing, straight was perceiv'd 
 ina grove of laurel trees, the Temple of Apollo, 
 being round and transparent, of the order of com- 
 posita, the columns and ornaments being height- 
 ened with gold, his statue of gold, standing in the 
 middle of the Temple, upon a round pedestal: 
 behind and between the columns did appear a 
 prospect of landscape. 
 
 The Priests of Apollo approach from several 
 parts of the Temple, cloath'd in carnation robes, 
 with wreathes of laurel on their heads. They sing 
 this when they descend : — 
 
 Make room for our God too, make room ! 
 
 For now surpris'd, and ravish 'd Avith delight 
 Apollo is from Delphos come, 
 
 T' i:ispire, and breathe himself in every knight. 
 
 (2.) 
 His God-head is inclin'd to prove 
 
 How justly proud, and happy you will be, 
 When Avith the powers of War and Love, 
 
 He shal l unite his wiser Deity. 
 
 (3.) 
 Then still, as if not made of earth. 
 
 Express your thankfulness in active i)lea.suro. 
 
 Y
 
 338 THK I'RIXCE D'AMdUIl. 
 
 Whilst you design your hearts to mirth, 
 
 Your ears to numbers, and your feet to measure. 
 
 This ended, the Priests of Apollo retire to make 
 way for a new discovery of certain persons in the 
 Scene, which seem half hidden behind the trees : 
 Then invite them to descend by singing this : 
 
 (1.) 
 
 Behold, how this conjunction thrives ! 
 His radiant beams Apollo strives 
 So much to strengthen and increase. 
 As growth and verdure ne'er should cease. 
 
 (2.) 
 Come you industrious slaves of plenty, bring 
 All that is hop'd for in an eastern spring : 
 Or all that autumn yields, when she doth pay 
 Those promis'd hopes where 'tis perpetual day. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 Come strew this ground, delay us not Avith sloth, 
 Strew till we walk on sweet Cecillian flowers. 
 To prove how seeds have hastened in their growth, 
 Drop Indian fruits, as thick as April showers. 
 
 Now descending from the Scene, appear twelve 
 men, wildly habited, waistcoats of flesh colour 
 made them shew naked to the middle, their 
 heads cover'd with green leaves, their waists girt 
 with the like, and a green basis fring'd, reached to 
 their knees, which did declare them labourers on a 
 fruitful soil ! and what they carried did demon- 
 strate a fruitful season. 
 
 For moving down in order towards the State, 
 each supported in his arms a small square frame, 
 the wood hidden with green boughs, and on that 
 bore a charger full of precious fruits, and covered
 
 THE PRINCE D'AMOUR. HiU) 
 
 with blossomed twigs and flowers : which, being 
 fixed near to the State, were so joined together, 
 that there was straight discovered a table richly 
 furnished with a banquet, that looked as it were 
 hidden in a grove : and whilst the Princes accepted 
 f.f this entertainment, the Priests belonging to the 
 three several Deities sung this : 
 
 The Song of Valediction, after the Banquet. 
 Priest of Mars. 
 The furious steed, the fife and drum 
 
 Invite you still to triumphs of the war, 
 Till you as glorious shall become 
 
 On earth as Mars, in heaven as bright a star. 
 
 Priests of Venus. 
 The balm's rich sweat, the MjTrh's sweet tears 
 Perfume your breath when you would passion 
 move : 
 And may her heart, that you endears. 
 
 The centre be, her eye the sphere of love ! 
 
 Priests of Apollo. 
 And may your language be of force 
 
 To body winds, and animate the trees. 
 So full of wonder your discourse, 
 
 Till all your guesses shall l)e prophecies. 
 
 Chorl'S of all. 
 May our three Gods so long conjoin, 
 
 To raise your soul, and rarify your sen.se, 
 Till you are rendered so divine, 
 
 "Twill be no sin timplore your influence. 
 
 Thus, as all pleasures and triumphs are full of 
 haste, and aptest to decay, this had an end ; yet 
 may live mentioned a while, if the envy of such 
 as were absent do not rebuke the'courteous memory 
 o f thpse'wh o vouchsafed to enjoy it.
 
 340 
 
 THE PRINCE D'AMOUR. 
 
 THE MASQUERS' NAMES, 
 
 ACCORDING AS THEY WERE RANKED BY THEIR ANTIQUITY, 
 IN THAT NOBLE SOCIETY. 
 
 Tho. Maunsell. 
 Will. Morgan. 
 Will. Wheeler. 
 Mich. Hutchen.son. 
 Laur. Hyde. 
 Tho. Bourke. 
 
 Edw. Smyth. 
 Edw. Turnor. 
 Tho. W^ay. 
 Tho. Trenchard. 
 Geo. Probert. 
 
 Those in the Fir.st Anti-Masque. 
 
 Phillip Morgan. 
 John Freman. 
 John Bramston. 
 Ed. Smyth. 
 
 Clement Spillman. 
 John Norden. 
 Will. Lysle. 
 
 Those in the Second Anti-Masque. 
 
 John Stepkin. 
 Charles Adderly. 
 John Ratcliffe. 
 
 Rich. May. 
 
 Giles Hungerford. 
 
 L^ 
 
 The Music of the Songs and Symphonies were excellently- 
 composed by Mr Henry, and Mr William Laws, His 
 Majesty's sen-ants.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Gepid^. Page 38. 
 
 " De Gopedum ao Burgundionum vestitu ac moribus, 
 seorsim Sidonius Apollinaris ita canit : — 
 
 Vis dicam tibi, quid poema frangat : 
 Ex hoc barbaricis abacta plectris, 
 Spernit semipedem stylum Thalia, 
 Ex quo septipedes videt patroiios, 
 FcElices oculos tuos et aures, 
 Foelicemque libet vocare nasum, 
 Cui non alia sordidasque ciEp;e 
 Ructant, mane novo decern apparatus. 
 Quem non ut vetulum patris parentem, 
 Nutricisque virum die nee orto, 
 Tot tantique petunt simul Gigantes, 
 Quot vix Alcinoi culina ferret. 
 Quid mo, etsi valeam parare carmen, 
 
 Fesconninicolse jubes Diones, 
 
 Inter crinigeras situm catervas, 
 
 Et Germanica verba sustinentem 
 
 Laudantem tetrico subinde vultu. 
 
 Quod Burgundio cantat esculentua 
 
 Infundens acido comam butyro ! " 
 
 See the 11th Book of Lapsius "do Gentium aliquot Migra- 
 tionibus." Basle loo5, folio : — heading which are two char- 
 acteristic woodcuts, one representing a "Vandalus," the 
 other a "Gepoda," and at the end of that Book there are a 
 " Longobardus," and a " Herulus." 
 
 There is also an account of the Pannonians, forming the 4th 
 Book, illustrated by a woodcut representing one of that nation. 
 
 Monopolies— Page 124, 
 
 Wlien D'avenant penned these lines against the Monopolists 
 of Sienna, ho had in view one of the abuses which, no doubt, 
 helped to increase the feeling against Monarchic Government, 
 which was beginning to develope itself.
 
 3-1:2 Al'l'ENDIX. 
 
 In November 1640, it was resolved by the C'oiiiiiioiis that all 
 Projectors and Monopolists should be disabled to sit in the 
 Hovise, whereupon several members withdrew, and others were 
 elected m their place. 
 
 Thomas Heywood, a dramatist of much eminence, in the 
 followdng year issued a poem of six pages, with this title — 
 " Reader, Here you'll plainly see Judgment perverted by these 
 three, a Priest, a Judge, a Patentee." Then conies a woodcut 
 of the three perverts, the judge in the centre, the priest on the 
 one side, and the patentee on the other ; the latter with a 
 .small cask under his arm, probably intended for Abel, who was 
 a London Alderman. The priest is intended for Archbishop 
 Laud, and the judge for Finch, the Lord Keeper, who, being 
 voted a traitor by the Commons, 21st December 1640, prudently 
 retired to Holland before impeachment, thereby saving his 
 head, which Laud, by not following his example, unfortunately 
 lost. 
 
 Granger * mentions a head, by Hollar, of a " Monopolizer of 
 sweet wines. " Beside him stand three barrels, over which the 
 word "Medium " is inscribed. On the sign there is this motto, 
 "Good wine needs no bush, nor A bell. ' Below are these 
 lines : 
 
 Thou purchas'd (Medium) to enrich thyself, 
 Thy plot was naught ; thou must return thy pelf 
 LTnjustly got ; besides thou shalt endure 
 Far sourer savice to thy sweet wines be sure. 
 
 One Richard Kilvert was a partner of Alderman Abel 
 in this unpopular monopoly of sweet wines. In the library 
 of the late James Bindley, Esq., were three singular tracts 
 refeiring to these worthies. One of them was entitled, " A 
 dialogue or accidental discourse betwixt Mr Alderman Abell 
 and Richard Kilvert, the two main projectors for wine, and 
 also Alderman AbeU's wife, &c., containing theii- first man- 
 ner of their acquaintance, how they began to contrive the 
 patent itself, how they obtayned it, and who drew the patent. 
 Also in what state they now stand in, and how they accuse and 
 raile at each other with invective speeches, &c., with the manner 
 and fashion how projecting patentees have rod a tilting in a 
 Parliament time." " Printed also in the same year of Grace, 
 1641." 
 
 There were two in verse ; one of them has this title, " The 
 copie of a letter sent from the roaring boys in Elizium to the 
 two arrant knights of the grape in limbo. Alderman Abel and 
 Mr Kilvert, the two great projectors for wine, and to the rest 
 of the worshipful brotherhood of that patent. Brought over 
 lately hy (^vart Pot, an ancient servant to Bacchus, whom for a 
 long time they had most cruelly rackt, but hoped shortly to be 
 restored to his ancient liberties. Whereunto is added the ora- 
 
 * (iiancei's Biographical History of EnRlnnd, vol. iii., p. '.MO.
 
 APPENDIX. 34.'> 
 
 tiou which Bacchus made to hia subjects on the lower world ; 
 published for the satisfaction and benefit of his subjects here." 
 4to, 1641. 
 
 Amongst Ricliardson's scarce portraits there is re-engraved 
 from a woodcut, "Abel and Kilvert, two wine projectors." 
 
 OF MONOPOLISTS. 
 
 How comes this swarme of Locusts to appeare 
 
 More this than any other Temperate yeare, 
 
 This crew of moathes and cankers that bereaves 
 
 Our flourishing Orchard both of fruit and leaves ? 
 
 Wlio do not onely vex us here about. 
 
 But pester all the Trees the Realme throughout l 
 
 I mean those drones that fly about in mists, 
 
 Divelish Projertor.i, damn'd Monopolists, 
 
 Who now are hid in holes, and keep a loofe. 
 
 Being indeed not Parliamentall proofe ; 
 
 Yet may we find them in our bread, our meat, 
 
 In every di-aught or bit wee di'inke or eat 
 
 Our Bevers and the bootes we pluc^ke on, whether 
 
 We have them made of Calve-skin or Neats' Leather. 
 
 Our Salt, and Oatmeal Porridge are not free. 
 
 But they from their ingredience must have fee. 
 
 Our cloath, stuffe, lace, points, tagges, even to a pinne, 
 
 Nay, even the linen next unto our skinne. 
 
 And needle it is sow'd with. ; they make Boote 
 
 Of every thing we wear from head to foote ; 
 
 Nay I may speake it to them (with a pox), 
 
 I find them even in my Tabacco box. S 
 
 To leave your petty feoffors and feoffees. 
 
 And come to your brave skai-let Patentees. 
 Wlio, when our sope of sweetest oyle was made, 
 By which they drove a good and wholsom Trade. 
 These by ingrost Patent coveting gaine, 
 Compos'd it aU of stinking rape and tuaine : 
 For what care they, so it may make them rich 
 To fill our liodyes full of scabs and itch, 
 Which was a great cause, as some Ai'tists guest, 
 To bring amongst us a contagious pest. 
 An then thinkes one, where sope has fayl'd without, 
 Balderdash wines within wiU worke no doubt. 
 
 And then comes in (that project once begun) 
 New imposts upon every Pipe and Tun. 
 The price of French and Spanisli wines are rais'd 
 How ever in their worth doboyst and crais'd. 
 The subject suffers in each draught he swallows, 
 For which they may be doomed unto the gallows. 
 
 Al>el and Cuiii were shepheards (the text sais), 
 But which is strange, turned Vintners in these days. 
 The wicked Caine his brother Ahcl slew,
 
 344 APPENDIX. 
 
 Which in those brother Vintners proves not true. 
 For unto this day Vaine kecpes up his signe, 
 But ,-1 bet lyes drowned in his Medium wine ; 
 Projecting Kilcert (.some say) was the cause, 
 Wlio making new Lords had de\'is'd new lawes, 
 But those that would the ancient custome vary, 
 Shall now ('tis thought) be made exempleary. 
 
 Lhasis — Pages 142 and 170. 
 
 It has been suggested by a learned authority in the South, 
 that Lhasis is derived from Lazer. Ingenious as this sugges- 
 tion assuredly is, we are, nevertheless, not sufficiently convinced 
 as to accept it in place of the conjecture hazarded previously. 
 Had the word only been used by such an empty inflated fool as 
 Lothario, his immersing the goddess of wisdom hi "a mote" of 
 Assafoetida would have been natural enough. But when it is 
 used by such a man as Foreste when he proposes to subject his 
 wife to a disgrace which it is not necessary here to repeat, it 
 would be strange indeed had he suggested Assafoetida as calcul- 
 ated to increase the vigour of the men he indicated to degrade 
 her. 
 
 In Cooper's Thesaui-us Linguae Romanse et Britanniose 1578, 
 a work of deserved authority, we have the neuter noun Lazer 
 thus translated, "a gumme or juice issuing out of an herbe 
 called Laserpithnn. Some have taken it to be that which 
 Apothecaries call Benswine, but there be great arguments to 
 the contrary. I take the worst kind of Lazer, which is of 
 Media, to be our Asafcetida, and that of long tyrue we have had 
 none of the best and true Lazer out of the Province of Cerene." 
 He gives an adjective Laserpitiatus, as meaning "mixed with 
 Benzwine," and .refers to Pliny's " Laserpitiatum Ascetum," 
 as meaning "Vinegar made with Benzwine." In Ainsworth's 
 Modern Dictionary, Laser is translated, a " gum from which 
 Assa-fa3tida is extracted." But in no English dictionary is such 
 a word as Lhasis given, although, had it been in common use, 
 it would surely have been found in some of them, and its 
 Latin or other origin given. 
 
 In the notes by Lister upon " Laseratum" in his edition of 
 Apicius, cap. xxx.,* he says, "Laser, vero factum est ex voce 
 Laserpitium truncata. Apud recentiores vero deperdita ilia 
 planta, et obscurata ejus notitia, multa in nominibus partium 
 confusio inducta et ali* pro aliis appellatas." 
 
 In the excellent comedy by Plautus, called "Rudens,"act 
 iii., scene 2, Trachalio thus implores Venua : 
 
 * Apicii Coelii de opsoniis ct condimentis, sine arte co(iuinaria 
 Ijibri Doum. Cum annotationibus Martini Lister. Amstelo- 
 dami. 1709, f. 47.
 
 APPENDIX. 345 
 
 " Tcque oi-o, et quwso, si gperas, tihi 
 Hoc anno innltuni futurum serpe et Laser pUiunt." 
 
 Tlioniton has translated this drama, which he calls "The 
 Shipwreck," followinij the example of Madame Dacier, who 
 renders it into French under the name of " L'Heureux 
 Naufrage," discarding the original title, " Rudens " or " The 
 Cable." Although, in a note, he quotes the above lines 
 from the comedy, he leaves them untran.slated in the text. 
 Notwithstanding this omission, he gives this explanation, 
 " Sirpe is a plant which they tell us is a species of Benzoin, or 
 Benjamin, from whence the ancients used to extract an odorifer- 
 ous juice, which was called Laserpitium, that is Lac Serpitium. 
 This was very common in CjTcne." — Comedii'.i of Plautus trans- 
 lated into familiar hlank verse by Bouuel Thornton, 2d edition, 
 London 1769, 8yo, p. 315. 
 
 In Johnson's Dictionary will be found this explanation of Ben- 
 zoin, " a medicinal kind of resin imported from the East Indies, 
 and vulgarly called Benjamin. It is produced by making an in- 
 cision in a tree, whose leaves resemble those of the Lemon tree. 
 The best comes from Siam." Assuming that Sirpe is the resin 
 called Bezoine or Benjamin, then Lazer— which Lister remarks is 
 the word Laserpitium truncatum — becomes another resin or gum 
 called Assafoetida, the medical properties of which are not of a 
 kind to be described as the '' unctious" Lhasis, a word which 
 may have been manufactured lay D'avenant, whose knowledge of 
 stimulants, judging from what he says in Albovine, was limited 
 to Wine and " Mandi'agora." In the excessively rare "Her- 
 barium Apiilei Platonici," printed in 1480, there is a rude 
 woodcut of the Mandrake, which is represented as an herb 
 "habens radicem habentem similitudinem humanam " and 
 the root "posita in vino inebriat vehementer." 
 
 Thus the root of the Mandrake when steeped in wine, ac- 
 cording to the author of the Golden Ass, produces "vehement"' 
 inebriation. 
 
 At the end of the Index to "The Herball, or Generall His- 
 toric of Plantes, gathered by John Gerarde of London, Master 
 in Chii'urgerie," miich enlarged hy Thomas Johnson, London, 
 folio 1636, is "A Catalogue of the British names of Plants; 
 sent mo liy Master Rolicrt Dauys of Guissaney, in Flintshire," 
 in which the following plants occur: — 
 
 Llysie Jvan — Mugwort. 
 Llysie y Wennol — Celandrine. 
 Llysie y Much — Nightshade. 
 Llysie y Criber — Teasell. 
 [Called" in Latin Labrura Veneris, or Carduus Veneris.] 
 Llysie Amor — Floure gentle [or Flower of Love]. 
 
 These are all of a like order. But that genus : the Llysie 
 y Moch, called Bindweed Nightshade, or Enchanter's Nights- 
 hood, in Latin t'irav Latetiana, better illustrates the Lhasis
 
 3i6 APPENDIX. 
 
 of D'avenant than any of the others. Gerard says of it : — 
 "There is no use of this herbe either in Physicke or Surgerie, 
 that I can reade of ; which hath happened by the corruption 
 of time and the errour of some who have taken Mandragoras 
 for Circsea ; in which errour they have still persisted unto this 
 day, attributing unto Circsea the virtues of Mandragoras ; by 
 which meanes there hath not any thing been said of the tnie 
 Circsea, by reason, as I have said, that Mandragoras hath been 
 called Circsea ; but doubtlesse it hath the vertue of garden 
 Nightshade, and may serve instead thereof without errours." 
 
 Of the Mandrake, Mandragon, or Mandragoras, which has 
 been so confounded with the Nightshade, Gerard says : — "There 
 hath been many ridiculous tales brought up of this plant, 
 whether of old wives or some runnagate Surgeons or Physicke- 
 mongers I know not (a title bad enough for them) ; but sure 
 some one or moe that sought to make themselves famous and 
 skilfull above othei-s were the first brochers of that errour I 
 speako of," viz., the resemblance to a man. He continues: — 
 "They add further, that it is neuer or very seldome to be 
 found growing naturally, but vnder a gallowes, where the 
 matter that hath fallen from the dead body hath giuen it the 
 shape of a man, and the matter of a woman the substance of a 
 female plant; with many other such doltish dreames. The 
 fable further affirms that he who would take up a plant thereof 
 must tie a dog thereunto to pull it vp, which will giue a great 
 shreeke at the digging %13 ; otherwise, if a man should do it, 
 he should surely die in short space after. Besides many fables 
 of louing matters, too full of scurrilitie to set forth in print, 
 which I forbear to speak of." 
 
 "Mandrake is called of the Grecians 'Ma>'5/3a70/)as,' of 
 diuers, 'Kip/caia and Circsea'; of Circe, the -witch, who by art 
 could procure loue, for it hath been thought that the root 
 hereof serueth to win loue." 
 
 With reference to the " Persian Crab," coupled by D'avenant 
 with the "unctuous Lhasis," Polmet, in his "History of 
 Druggs," particularizes a portion of the claw of the Crab as 
 calculated to produce vmnatural excitement of the passions, in 
 effect similar to Cantharides. 
 
 Griffin— Page 244. 
 
 " Gryffen or Gryffon (Gryps) — A strange bird with four feet, 
 armed with cruel claws, being from the breast upward fashioned 
 like an eagle, but of purple colour, with red fiery eies and 
 whitish wings, and in the hinder part black, made much like a 
 lyon " — Blount. 
 
 " Grifes, the Gripe, hath so great clawes and so large that of 
 them bee made cups that bee set uppon boordes of kings. And 
 Gripes keope the mountaincs, in tlio which bee gcmniis and
 
 Al'l'ENDlX. 317 
 
 l>recious stones, as Sniaragdus and Jaspis, and suffer them 
 not to be taken from thence as Isi. saith, lib. 14, cap. 3."— 
 Hatinau on Barthuime. 
 
 " Jungentur jam Gryphes Equis." — Vlrg. 8t/i Eclogue. 
 
 " Griff-graff. — By hook or by crook." 
 
 Amonjt^ the curiosities mentioned in an " Inventaii-e du 
 Tresor deSt Denys," Paris l(iS2, is " Un Ongle de Griffon dune 
 grandeur prodigieuse," which had been sent to Charlemagne 
 "par Aaron Roy de Perse," and thereafter " Envoyees a S. 
 Denys par Charles le Chauve." Whether this, among other 
 antiquarian treasures, was preserved after the first Revolution 
 we have not ascertained. 
 
 See also Brown's Vulgar Errors, 8vo Ed., vol. ii., p. •4;)4. 
 
 Bandoleer — Page 269. 
 
 According to Halliwell, "Bandoleers" were little wooden 
 cases covered \vith leather, each of them containing the charge 
 of powder for a musket, and fastened to a broad band of 
 leather, which the per.son who was to use them put round his 
 neck. The land chief is also frequently termed a " Bandoleer." * 
 Their use was not confined to England. 
 
 Middleton, in "the Black Book," 1604, makes his light burn- 
 ing Sergeant, "Lucifer," invade all the houses of evil reputa- 
 tion in the eit j^ of London, where he witnessed many remarkable 
 facts. He patronizes an especially fat lady called Andrey, 
 otherwise Maud, whom he ki.ssed, " hugged her excellent vil- 
 lanies, and cunning, rare conveyances ; then turning myself, 
 I threw mine arms, like a scarf or bandileer, cross the Lieu- 
 tenant's melancholy bosom, embraced his resolute phrases and 
 his dissolute humour, highl}' commending the damnable trade 
 and detestable course of their living, so excellent-filthy, and 
 so admirable-viUanies."t 
 
 Prince D'Ajiolk, p. 319. 
 
 Oldys, in his Life of Sir Walter Ralegh, prefixed to Ralegh's 
 History of the World, thus observes : — " Now as for these pro- 
 ductions of his muse, since several of them are mentioned in 
 the former part of these sheets, they need be here only recap- 
 itulated ; as his poems on Gascoigne's Steel Glass, the Excuse, 
 the Silent Lover, the An.swer to Marlow's Pastoral, with his 
 poem of Cjaithia, and two more on Spenser's Fairy Queen. 
 Since the time that these seven were before spoken of, I have 
 
 * Archaic and Provisional Dicfinnaiy. vol. i . p. 138. 
 t Midrileton's Works by the Kev. Alexander r)yfC, vol. v., ji. .517. Lond. 
 1840. Crown 8vo.
 
 348 APPENDIX. 
 
 met with four other such like poetical pieces, which seem also 
 to have been composed by the same hand, for those elegant 
 tautologies or ritornelles, wherein his sonnets and madri- 
 gals are usually so correspondent with each other." Oldys 
 adds as a footnote : — " Three of these pieces are to be found in 
 an old collection of several ingenious Poems and Songs by the 
 Wits of that Age, 8vo, 1660, and annexed to a comical speech 
 in prose, called Le Prince D' Amour, printed the same year; 
 which, by the latter part thereof, entitled Noctes Tem- 
 plarise, or a Brief Chronicle of the Dark Reign of the Bright 
 Prince of Burning Love, appears, in a volume of the Harleyan 
 MSS., 90, c. vii. fol. 556, to have been written by Sir Benjamin 
 Rudyerd. The poems published with this speech are impro- 
 perly said in the title, to be written by the wits of the age in 
 regard to the time they were published ; for, as the publisher 
 owns in his dedication to the honourable society of the Middle 
 Temi^le, the wit in this collection was born long before our un- 
 happy intestine divisions, and as much in the poems themselves 
 is evident ; there being among them several wi-itten in the time 
 of King James and Queen Elizabeth, and one or more as old as 
 King Henry VIII." 
 
 Among the entries from the manuscript of Sir Henry Her- 
 bert, Master of the Revels, introduced by Malone into his 
 "Historical Account of the English Stage," occurs the fol- 
 lowing : — 
 
 " On Wensday, the 23 of Febru. 1635, the Prmce d' Amours 
 gave a masque to the Prince Elector and his brother, in the 
 Middle Temjjle, wher the Queene was pleasd to grace the 
 entertaynment by putting of Majisty to putt on a citizen's 
 habitt, and to sett upon the scaffold on the right hande amongst 
 her subjects. 
 
 "The Queene was attended in the like habitts by the Mar- 
 ques Hamilton, the Countess of Denbighe, the Countess of 
 Holland, and the Lady Elizabeth Feildinge. Mrs Basse, the 
 law-woman [i.e., the woman who had the care of the hall be- 
 longing to the Middle Temple], leade in this royal citizen and 
 her cumpany. 
 
 " The Earle of Holland, the Lord Goringe, Mr Percy, and Mr 
 Jermjrn were the men that attended. 
 
 " The Prince Elector satt in the midst, his brother Robert on 
 the right hand of him, and the Prince d' Amours on the left. 
 
 " The Masque was very well performed in the dances, scenes, 
 cloathinge, and musique, and the Queene was pleasd to tell 
 mee at her going away, that she liked it very well. 
 
 Henry Lause ") i i.v ht • 
 William Lause| ^''^^^'^ *^« Musique. 
 Mr CoKSEiLLES made the Scenes.
 
 APPENDIX. 341) 
 
 Addendum to footnote p. 319. 
 
 Sir John Finct, in his "Observations touching Foreign Am- 
 bassadors," 8vo, 1656, rcmai'ks: — "that the jewels only which 
 were worn by the king, (lueen, and prince, were valued that day, 
 by his majesty himself (upon occasion of discourse happening 
 to the purpose of the braverie then appearing), at nine hundred 
 thousand pounds sterling." 
 
 Barristers — Page 323. 
 
 " Barristers or Baristers may be said to be of two sorts : 
 
 "1. The oKticard or Utter baristers are such as, for their 
 long study and great industry bestowed upon the knowledge of 
 the common law, which must be for seven years' space at least, 
 are called out of their contemplation to practice, and in the 
 face of the world to take upon them the protection and defence 
 of clients' causes. These always plead without the Bar, and are 
 in other countries called 'Licentiate injure'; howbeit, in 
 modesty, they at first continue themselves hearers for some 
 years, like the scholars of Pj-thagoras, that for the first five 
 years never adventured to reason or discourse openly upon any 
 point of their master's doctrine. 
 
 "2. The Inner Baristers are those who are admitted, as a 
 mark of respect, to plead within the Bar ; such are King, 
 Queen, or Princes' Attorney, Solicitor, or Serjeants, or anj' of 
 the King's Council. But at the Rolls, and some other inferior 
 Judicatures, all Lawyers of the degree of the Bench are ad- 
 mitted -ivithin the Bar." 
 
 "Moot. A term used in the Inns of Court, and signifies the 
 handling or arguing a case for exercise ; as in the Universities 
 there are Disputations, Problems, Sophisms, and such like 
 acts. It seems to be derived from the French word mot, i.e., 
 verbum. Quasi, verba facere, aut sermonem de aliqua habere." 
 In several places in England the Courts of Justice are known 
 by the name of the " MoothaU." 
 
 " Mootmca are those students that argue Readers' cases in 
 the Houses of Chancery, both in Terms and Grand Vacations. 
 Of Mootmen, after some years' stud}-, are chosen Outu-ard Bar- 
 isters; of which degree, after thoj-have been twelve years, they 
 are commonly chosen Benchem or Antients, of which one of the 
 younger sort reads yearly in summer vacation, and is called a 
 single Reader ; and one of the Antients that have formerly read, 
 reads in Lent vacation, and is called a doulde Reader, and it is 
 usual between his first and second Reading nine or ten years. 
 Some of these Readers are afterwards called ad statnm et i/ra- 
 dnm servienlis ad legem, and of Serjeants are constituted the 
 honourable Judges and Sages of the Law. 
 
 •• For the entrance of the young student, who commonly comes 
 from one of the Universities, were fir.st instituted and erected
 
 •■5;")0 APPENDIX. 
 
 eight houses of Chancery, to learn there the elements of the 
 Law; viz., C'lifFords-Inn, Lions-Inn, Clements-Inn, Bernards- 
 Inn, Staple-Inn, Furnivals-Inn, Davies-Inn, and New-Inn. And 
 each of these houses consists of forty persons or more. For 
 the Readers, Utter Baristers, Mootmen, and inferior Students, 
 there are four famous and renowned CoUedges or Inns of 
 Court, called : — the Inner Temijle, to which the first three 
 Houses of Chancery appertain ; Grayes Inn, to which the next 
 two belong ; Lincolns-Inn, which enjoys the last two saving 
 one ; and the Middle Temple, which hath only the last. Each 
 of these Houses of Court consists of Benchers above twenty, of 
 Utter Baristers above thrice as many, of young gentlemen 
 about the number of 160 or 180, who there spend their time in 
 study of Law and commendable exercises. The Judges of the 
 Law and Serjeants, being commonly above the number of 
 twenty, are equally distributed into two higher and more 
 eminent Houses called Serjeants' Inns. All these are not far 
 distant one from another, and altogether make the most famous 
 University for profession of Law onely, or of any other human 
 science in the world, and advanceth itself above all others. 
 Quantum inter Viburna cupressus. Lo. Coke." 
 
 "Apprentice. In former time Baristers were called Ap- 
 prentices to the Law. As appears by Mr Selden's Notes on 
 Fortescu, p. 3 So the learned Plowden stiled himself ; and 
 Mr Hen. Finch, in his Nomotechnia writes himself — ' Appren- 
 tice del Ley.'" — Bhiint's Glossographla. Lond. 1661. 
 
 William and Henry Lawes. Dr Burney, in enumer- 
 ating the number of masques performed during the reign of 
 Charles, and referring to the Prince d'Amour, observes that the 
 vocal and instrumental music, with the sjTnphonies, are said 
 to have been composed by William and Henry Lawes.* Upon 
 this point there is no room for doubt, as the fact of composition 
 by the brothers is positively stated at the end of the masque, and 
 the learned Doctor might, with as much reason, have thrown 
 a doubt on the authorship of D'avenant or the scenic displays of 
 Inigo Jones. He appears to have entertained no high opinion 
 of the merits of either of the brothers, although the generation 
 ;in which they lived thought otherwise. JHe has made a 
 special attack upon the music of Comus, of which Henry was 
 the composer. A great part has been lost, but a portion was 
 in existence when Burney wrote, and probably is now in exist- 
 ence. The notes by Henry Lawes set to "Sweet Echo," are 
 selected as a specimen of his composition, and declared neither 
 "to constitute an air or melody; and, indeed, are too fre- 
 quently prolonged for recitative." Milton believed them ad- 
 mirable, and praised the "composer for his exact accommo- 
 dation of the accent of his music, and the quantities of the 
 verse." 
 
 * History of Music, vol. iii, 4to, London, 17S9, p. 385.
 
 APPENDIX. 351 
 
 Wn.LiAM and Hknr Y Lawes were brothers, and sons of Thomas 
 Lawes, a Vicar-choral of the cathedral church of Salisbury, and 
 a native of that city. The elder brother wa.s placed at the 
 expenise of the Earl of Hertford under Cooper, or Coperario, an 
 Englishman, who, having studied in Italy, upon his return to 
 England, Italianized his original name. William's first prefer- 
 ment was in the choir of Chichester, but in 1602 he was called 
 to London, and was sworn a gentleman of the Chajjcl Royal, 
 an office he resigned in Kill, and became one of the chamber 
 musicians to Charles I. Fuller says, "ho was respected and 
 beloved of all such persons as cast any looks towards virtue 
 and honour." 
 
 It was but natural when the great contest between the 
 monarch and his subject involved the nation in a civil war, during 
 the progress of which the best blood of the land was profusely 
 shed, William Lawes should take up arms for his royal master. 
 To screen him from danger. Lord Gerrard, the King's general, 
 made him a commissary. Disdaining to avail himself of this in- 
 tended security, he lost his life by an accidental shot at the siege 
 of Chester, 1645, having exposed his person incautiously. The 
 king deeply lamented his death, and although in mourning at 
 the time for his kinsman, Lord Bernard Stuart, killed at the 
 same siege, his Majesty put on particular mourning for him 
 "when (lead, whom he loved when liclng, and commonly called 
 the Father of Music."* 
 
 Among Beloe's anecdotes is given the following epitaph on 
 William Lawes: — 
 
 Concord is conquer'd ! In his urn there lies 
 
 The master of great music's mysteries ; 
 
 And in it is a riddle, like the cause, 
 
 Will Lawes was slain by men whose Wills were Laws. 
 
 Henry Lawes was also a disciple of Coperario. Burney 
 says t — " By the cheque-book of the Chapel Royal, it appears 
 that he was sworn in Pisteller in January 1625, and in Novem- 
 ber following. Gentleman of the Chapel ; after this he was 
 appointed clerk of the checjue, and one of the public and private 
 musicians of King Charles I." The writer is somewhat puzzled 
 as to the meaning of the word pisteller, which was not to be 
 found in any of the lexicographers of the time. Tyrrwhit 
 apparently hit upon the meaning, for he says — "unless it 
 implied a reader of the Epistles, 1 am utterly ignorant of its 
 import." His supposition appears to be the cori'cct one, for in 
 " Halliwell's Dictionary of Archaic and Provincial Words" 
 there is this explanation — "Pisteller, one who reads or sings 
 the Epistle; Palgrave, however, has, Pysteller, that sjTigeth 
 the masse. It occurs in Nominale MS." 
 
 The constant depreciation of the works of the brothers by 
 Burney is remarkable, yet he candidly tolls his readers that 
 
 •Fuller's Worthies, vol. iii., p. 186. London, 1840, 4to. 
 t Page 39.8.
 
 352 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Ixul as the music of Lawes appears to us, it seems to have 
 been sincereii/ admired by his contemporaries in general. It is 
 not meant to insinuate that it was pleasing to poets only but 
 that it was more praised by them than any other music of the 
 time." It is certainly an extraordinary fact, if Dr Burney'.s 
 judgment is to be allowed any weight, that music, which for a 
 long series of years delighted the King, Queen, nobility, gentry, 
 lawyers, civilians, and poets, upon which Waller "bestowed his 
 fragrant incense," and Milton la\'islied his praise, should have 
 been in itself so very wretched. If the Doctor be right, what 
 shocking bad ears the good folk of the seventeenth century in 
 
 ' England must have had. 
 
 ^•^ The breaking out of the Eebellion necessarily put an end to 
 
 Hemy's court employment, and he betook himself to teach the 
 ladies to sing, and " by his irreproachable life and gentlemanly 
 deportment, contributed more than all the musicians of the 
 time to raise the credit of his profession." Upon the corona- 
 tion of Charles II., he composed the anthem on the occasion, 
 having "retained his place in the Royal Chapel."* He died on 
 the 21st day of October, 1662, and was buried in Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 Prefixed to the edition of "Ayres and Dialogues for One, 
 Two, and Three Voices, Loudon, folio, 1 653, by Henry Lawes, 
 servant to his Majesty King Charles I., in his Public and 
 Private Music," is a beautiful engi-a\'ing of the author's head 
 by Faithome, which has been re-engraved by Sir John Hawkins 
 for his work. 
 
 * General History of the Science and Practice of Music, by 
 Sir John Hawkins, vol. iv, p. 56, London. 1776, 4to. 
 
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