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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 LIBRARY
 
 THE 
 
 DRAMA TICK WORKS 
 
 O F 
 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE 
 
 DRAMATIC K WORKS 
 
 O F 
 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER; 
 
 Collated with all the Former Editions, 
 AND CORRECTED; 
 
 With Notes, Critical and Explanatory^ 
 
 BY VARIOUS COMMENTATORS; 
 And Adorned with Fifty-four Original Engravings. 
 
 IN TEN VOLUMES. 
 VOLUME THE FIRST; 
 
 CON TA I N I N G, 
 
 PREFACES; 
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS; 
 MAID'S TRA'GEDY; 
 
 PHILASTER-, 
 
 KING AND NO KING; 
 SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 L O N D O N T , 
 
 Printed by T. Sherlock^ Bow-Street, Cogent-Garden ; 
 For T. EVANS, and P. ELMSLEY, in the Strand; 
 J. RIDLEY, St. James's Street; J. WILLIAMS, No. 39, 
 Fleet-Street ; and W. Fox, Hulborn. 
 
 MDCCLXXVIII. 
 
 0689
 
 v.t 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ^CONSIDERING the acknowledged ex^ 
 1 . cellence of our Authors, loudly acknow- 
 ^^^ ledged by the moft eminent of their con- 
 temporaries and fuccefibrs, it appears at firft fight 
 rather wonderful, that in the fpace of a hundred 
 and fifty years, which have elapfed fmce the death 
 k of thefe Poets, no more than three compk 'e editions 
 of their Works have been publifhed ; we fay three, 
 
 becaufe the firft folio profefiedly included no more 
 
 r^ of their Plays, than thofe which had not before 
 
 g \3tenfmgly printed in quarto. 
 
 & 
 
 z To what caufes are we to attribute this amazing 
 
 difparity between the reputation of the Writers, 
 
 6 and the publick demand for their productions ? 
 Are libraries furnifhed with books, as apartments 
 with furniture, according to the fafhion ? or is it 
 necefiary, becaufe plays were originally written to 
 be acted, that they mull continue to be perpetually 
 reprefented, or ceafe to be read ? 
 
 VOL. I. [A] Truth,
 
 'ii PREFACE. 
 
 Truth, we fear, obliges us to confefs that thefc 
 queftions muft, without much qualification, be 
 anfwered in the affirmative. Shakefpeare, admira- 
 ble as he is, certainly owes fome part of his prefent 
 popularity, and the extraordinary preference given 
 to his plays beyond thofe of all our other dramatifts, 
 to the mode adopted by the literary world to extol 
 him. By the changes of fafhion, Nature and 
 right reafon fometimes come into vogue ; but the 
 multitude take them, like coin, becaufe they are in 
 currency, while men of fenfe and letters alone 
 appreciate them according to their intrinfick value, 
 and receive merit, wherever they find it, as 
 bullion, though it has not the ftamp of fafhion 
 imprefTed on it. To fuch men> the genius of 
 Shakefpeare, inflead of obfcuring, illuftrates the 
 kindred talents of Beaumont and Fletcher : Yet fuch 
 men are but rare -, and one of the moft acute and 
 learned editors of Shakefpeare fpeaking of his own- 
 notes " concerned in a critical explanation of the 
 ." author's beauties and defects; but chiefly of hii 
 " beauties, whether in ftile, thought, fentiment, 
 " character, or compofition," adds, that ff the 
 <c public judgment hath lefs need to be afllfted 
 <f in what it ihall rejeft, than in what it ought to 
 cc PRIZE : Nor is the value they fet upon a work, 
 < c a certain proof that they underftand it. For 
 f l // is everfeen, THAT HALF A DOZEN VOICES 
 
 ff OF CREDIT GIVE THE LEAD, and if the pub- 
 
 " lick chance to be in good humour, or the author 
 
 " much
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ni 
 
 " much in tbeir favour, THE PEOPLE ARE SURE 
 
 " TO FOLLOW." 
 
 To the popularity of a dramatick writer, no- 
 thing more immediately contributes than the fre- 
 quency of theatrical reprefentation. Common 
 readers, like barren fpectators, know little more 
 of an author than what the actor, not always his 
 happieft commentator, prefents to them. Muti- 
 lations of Shakefpeare have been recited, and even 
 quoted, as his genuine text; and many of his 
 dramas, not in the courfe of exhibition, are by 
 the multitude not honoured with a perufal. On 
 the ftage, indeed, our Authors formerly took the 
 lead, Dryden having informed us, that in his day 
 two of their plays were performed to one of 
 Shakefpeare. The ftage, however, owes its attrac- 
 tion to the actor as well as author ; and if the able 
 performer will not contribute to give a polifh and 
 brilliancy to the work, it will lie, like the rough 
 diamond, obfcured and difregarded. The artifts 
 of former days worked the rich mine o r Beaumont 
 and Fletcher ; and Betterton, the Rofcius of his 
 age, enriched his catalogue of characters from 
 their dramas, as well as thofe of Shakefpeare. 
 Unfortunately for our Authors, the Rofcius of our 
 day confined his round of characters in old plays, 
 too clofely to Shakefpeare. We may almoft fay 
 of him indeed, in this refpe-t, as Dryden fays of 
 Shakefpea\e's fcenes of magick, 
 
 [A 2] "Within
 
 iv -PREFACE. 
 
 Within that circle none durft walk but he ; 
 
 but furely we mud lament, that thofe extraordinary 
 powers, which have fo fuccefsfully been exerted 
 in the illuftration of Shakefpeare, and fometimes 
 proftituted to the fupport of the meaneft writers, 
 fhould not more frequently have been employed 
 to throw a light upon Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 Their Plays, we will be bold to fay, have the fame 
 excellencies, as well as the fame defects, each 
 perhaps in an inferior degree, with the dramas of 
 their great mafter. Like his, they are built on 
 hiflories or novels, purfuing in the fame manner 
 the ftbry through its various circumftances ; like 
 his, but not always with equal truth and nature, 
 their characters are boldly drawn and warmly 
 coloured; like his, their dialogue, containing every 
 beauty of ftile, and licentioufnefs of conftruction, 
 is thick fown with moral fentiments, interchanged 
 with ludicrous and ferious, ribaldry and fublime, 
 and fometimes enlivened with ivit in a richer vein 
 than even the immortal dramas of Shakefpeare. 
 In Comedy, the criticks of their own days, and 
 thofe immediately fucceeding, gave Beaumont 
 and Fletcher the preference to Shakefpeare ; and 
 although the flow award of time has at length 
 juftly decreed the fuperior excellence of the glo- 
 rious father of our drama beyond all further 
 appeal, yet thefe his illuftrious followers ought 
 not furely to be caft fo far behind him, as to fall 
 
 into
 
 PREFACE. v 
 
 into contemptuous neglect, while the moft carelefs 
 works of Shakefpeare are ftudioufly brought for- 
 ward. The Maid's Tragedy, King and No King, 
 Love's Pilgrimage, Monfieur Thomas, &c. &c. 
 &c. would hardly difgrace that ftage which has 
 exhibited The Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Mr. Seward has employed great part of his Pre- 
 face in citing fimilar pafiages from Shakefpeare and 
 our Authors ; and though we do not entirely agree 
 with him in the comparifons he has drawn, we 
 cannot refift the temptation of adducing one 
 inftance, in our opinion, more to the advantage of 
 our Authors than any mentioned in that Preface. 
 It is the entire character of the boy HEN GO, in 
 the Tragedy of Bonduca; a character which is, 
 we think (taken altogether) better fuftained, and 
 more beautifully natural and pathetick, than the 
 Prince Arthur of Shakefpeare. The fcene in 
 King John between Arthur and Hubert, excellent 
 as it is, almoft paffes the bounds of pity and terror, 
 and becomes horrible ; befides which, Shakefpeare, 
 to whom " a quibble," as Dr. Johnfon fays, c< was 
 c< the fatal Cleopatra for which he loft the world, 
 " and was content to lofe it," has enervated the 
 dialogue \vith many frigid conceits, which he has, 
 with more tlum ufual impropriety, put into the 
 mouth of the innocent Arthur, while he is pleading 
 moft affect! ngly for mercy, 
 
 [A 3] As
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 As for example : 
 
 \Vill you put out mine eyes ? 
 Thefe eyes, that never did, nor never (hall, 
 So much as frown on you ? 
 
 Hub. I've fworn to do it ; 
 And with hot irons muft I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it / 
 The iron of itfclf, tho' heat red hot, 
 Approaching near thefe eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench its fiery indignation. 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, confitme away in ruft> 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more Jlubborn-hard than bammer'd iron ? 
 Oh, if an angel fliould have come to me, 
 And told me, Hubert fhould put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believ'd him; no tongue jbut Hubert's. 
 
 And again : 
 
 Go to ! hold your tongue ! 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 
 needs want pleading for a -fair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold' my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes. Oh, fpare mine eyes ; 
 Tho' to no ufe, but ftill to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the inftrument is cold, 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, in good footh ; the fire is dead with grief^ 
 Being create for comfort, is be us'd 
 In undeferv'd extremes : fee e/fe yourfelf; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of Heaven hath blown its fpirit out, 
 And llrew'd repentant afhes on its head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth.
 
 PREFACE. vii 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blu/h, 
 And glow with Jhame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
 Nay, ;'/, perchance, will fparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog, that is compelVd to fight t 
 Snatch at his majler that doth tarre him on. 
 All things, that you Jhould ufe to do me wrong, 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce fire andiron extend, 
 Creatures of note for mercy-lacking ufes. 
 
 The Reader, we imagine, will concur in our dif- 
 approbation of the paffages printed in Italicks. 
 Between Caratach and Hengo we do not remember 
 that a line occurs, affected or unnatural j and no- 
 thing can be more exquilitely tender than the 
 feveral fcenes between them. The whole play 
 abounds with dramatick and poetick excellence. 
 
 Allowing, however, freely allowing, the ge- 
 neral fuperiority of Shakefpeare to Beaumont and 
 Fletcher (and indeed to all other poets, Homer 
 perhaps only excepted) yet we cannot fo far 
 degrade our Authors, as to reduce th& mod 
 excellent of their pieces to a level with the 
 meaneft effufions of Shakefpeare ; nor can we 
 believe that there' are not many of their long-neg- 
 lected dramas that might not, with very incon- 
 fiderable variations, be accommodated to the tafte 
 of a modern audience. The publick have been 
 long habituated to the phrafeology of Shakefpeare, 
 whole language, in the opinion of Dryden, is a 
 little obfolete in companion of that of our Au- 
 [A 4] thors j
 
 Vlll 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 thors j and irregularities of fable have been not 
 only pardoned, but defended. When the great 
 Englifh aftor, of whom we have been fpeaking, 
 firft undertook the direction of the ft age, his friend 
 (the prefcnt Laureat) boldly told him, 
 
 A nation's tafle depends on you. 
 
 The national tafte, under his happy influence, 
 acquired from day to day, from year to year, an 
 encreafed relifh for Shakefpeare ; and it is almoft 
 matter of amazement, as well as concern, that fo 
 little of his attention was directed to thofe dra- 
 matick writers, whofe poetical character bore fo 
 great an affinity to the juft object of his admira- 
 tion. A deceafed actor, of great merit, and ftill 
 greater promife, very fuccefsfully opened his 
 theatrical career by appearing in the tragedy of 
 Philafter. At the fame time, the fame tragedy 
 contributed not a little to the growing fame of 
 one of our principal actrefles. That play, the 
 Two Noble Kinfmen, and fome other pieces of 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, befides thofe we have 
 already enumerated, would undoubtedly become 
 favourite entertainments of the flage, if the thea- 
 trical talents of the performers bore any kind of 
 proportion to the" dramatick abilities of the 
 writers. Since the directors of our theatres in 
 fome fort hold the keys of the temple of dramatick 
 fame, let them do honour to themfelves by 
 
 throwing
 
 PREFACE. IK 
 
 throwing - open their doors to Beaumont and 
 Fletcher ! Seeing there are at prefent but fmall 
 hopes of emulating the tranfcendent aftor, who 
 fo long and fo effectually imprefled on our minds 
 the excellence of Shakefpeare, let them at leaft 
 refcue their performers from an immediate com- 
 parifon, fo much to their difadvantage, by trying 
 their force on the characters of our Authors ! The 
 Two Noble Kinfmen indeed has been afcribed 
 (falfely, as we think) to Shakefpeare. " The Two 
 <f Noble Kinfmen, (fays Pope) if that play be his, 
 cf as there goes a tradition it was, and indeed it 
 tc has little rejemblance of Fletcher, and more of our 
 * f author, than fome of thofe which have been 
 * f received as genuine." Unhappy Poets ! whofc 
 very excellence is turned againft them. Shake- 
 fpeare's claim to any fhare in the Two Noble 
 Kinfmen we have confidered at the end of that 
 piece, to which we refer the Reader. In this place 
 we lhall only enter our proteft againft the authority 
 of Pope, who appears to have felt himfelf morti- 
 fied and afiiamed, when he " difcharged the dull 
 " duty of an Editor." He furely muft be allowed 
 to difcharge his duty with reluctance, and moil 
 probably with neglect, who fpeaks of it in fuch 
 terms. In his Preface indeed he has, with a moft 
 mafterly hand, drawn the outline of the poetical 
 character of Shakefpeare ; but in that very Preface, 
 by a ftrange perverfion of tafte, he propofes to 
 throw out of the lift of Shakefpeare's plays 'The 
 
 Winter's
 
 x PREFACE. 
 
 Winter's Fate, which he confiders as fpurious ! On 
 no better foundation, we think, has he afierted, 
 that the play of the Two Noble Kinfmen has little 
 rejcmblance of Fletcher. " There goes a tradition/* 
 that Garth did not write his own Difyenfary ; " there 
 " goes a tradition," that the admirable tranflator 
 of Homer, like Shakefpeare himfelf, had little 
 Latin y and UJs Greek; but what candid critick 
 would countenance fuch a tradition ? And is fuch 
 a vague, blind, playhoufe tradition a fufficient 
 warrant for one great poet to tear the laurel from 
 the brows of another ? 
 
 The modern editors of Shakefpeare contem- 
 plate with admiration that indifference to future 
 fame, which fuffered him to behold with un- 
 common apathy fome of his pieces incorrectly 
 printed during his life, without attempting to 
 refcue them from the hands of barbarous editors, 
 or preparing for pofterity a genuine collection of 
 Iiis Works, fupervifcd and corrected by himfelf. 
 In our opinion, the Dedication and Preface of 
 Heminge and Condell more than infmuate the 
 intention of Shakelpeare, had he furvived, to have 
 publifhed fuch a collection *. But, be that as it 
 
 * " We hope, that they outliving him, and he not having the 
 fate common with fome,to beexequutor to his own writings, &c.. v> 
 [Dedication, of Sbakefpeare*s Vr'orkt by Hetr.ir.ge and Cshdell. 
 " It had bren a thing, weconfcffe, worthy to have been wifhed, 
 that the Author bimfelf had lived t a have jet forth, and o=ve r- 
 /eute bis GVJH writings j but Jince it has been ordained otberwife, 
 
 " and
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 may, his fuppofed carelefihefs concerning the fate 
 of his pieces after they had been reprefented, is 
 not fo very fingular; many of the plays of Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher alfo having been inaccurately 
 printed from ftolen copies during the lives of the 
 Authors, and the remainder collected fome years 
 after their deaths, like the Works of Shakefpeare, 
 by the players. Ben Jonfon appears to have been 
 the only dramatick poet of that age, who paid any 
 attention to the publication of his Works. 
 
 The old quarto copies of Beaumont and Fletcher 
 have come down to us exactly in the fame ftate with 
 the old quartos of Shakefpeare. The printers of thofe 
 times not only copied, but multiplied the errors of 
 the tranfcriber. An Editor, nay even a corrector of 
 the prefs, feems to have been a character of which 
 they had not the fmalleft conception. Even the 
 title-pages appear to exhibit the very names of 
 the Authors at random, fometimes announcing 
 the play as the work of one Poet, fometimes of 
 another, and fometimes as the joint production of 
 both. A Bookfeller is fomewhere introduced as 
 reprehending the Jav'mg ways of an Ode-writer, 
 who, he fuppofed, merely to lengthen his work, 
 would often put no more than three or four 
 
 " and be by death departed from that right, we pray you doe not 
 ' envy his friends, the office of their care and paine, to have 
 ' collected and publifhed them." 
 
 [ Preface of Htminge and Condell. 
 
 words
 
 Xll 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 words into a line. The old printers feem to 
 have conceived the fame idea of the parfimony of 
 Poets, and therefore often without fcruple run 
 verfe into profe, not adverting to meafure or har- 
 mony, but folely governed by the dimenfions of 
 the page, whether divided into columns, or car- 
 ried all acrofs from one fcanty margin to another. 
 Their orthography * is fo generally vicious and 
 
 -* Their orthography, &c.] To this article our anceftors feem 
 to have afforded very little attention : Ingenious for ir.gcnnous, 
 alter for altar, cozen for coufin, defert for tie/art, talents for talons, 
 then for than, &c. &c. continually occur in the old books. Nor 
 does there feem to have been any greater regard paid to proper 
 names ; one of our Poets, for inftance, we find called Fleatcher^ 
 Flecker, and Fletcher ; and the other, Beamont, Reamount, and 
 Beaumont. The name of Shakefpeare is fpelt at leaft a dozen ways. 
 We are told, in the firft note on the Dunciad of " an autograph of 
 ' Shakfpeare himfelf, whereby it appeared that he fpelt his own 
 " name without the firft e" Yet even this autograph is not deci- 
 five. In the Regifter-bookat Stratford upon Avon, the name of the 
 family is regularly entered Sbakfpere. In the Poet's own will, which 
 now lies in the Prerogative-Office, Doctor's Commons, his name 
 is fpelt THREE different ways. In the body of the will it is 
 always written Shackfpeare : This, however, may be afcribed 
 to the Lawyer. The will confifis of three iheets, the firft of" 
 which is legibly fubfcribed Shackfpere ; the two others 
 Shakfpeare. It muft be acknowledged that the hand-writing, as 
 well as fituation of the firft fignature, is different from that of the 
 two following ; but it appears extraordinary that a ftranger mould 
 attempt to falfify a fignature, which is ufually fubfcribed to each 
 iheet for the fake of giving authenticity to fc iblcmn an inftrumenr, 
 and is, therefore, always taken to be the hand-writifcg of the teftator. 
 Mr. Garrick, however, has row in his pofTcffion the leafe of a 
 houfe formerly fituated in Black-Friars, and but lately taken down 
 on account of the new bridge, which belonged .to that Poet. As a 
 party to that leafe he figns his name Shakfpeare ; and the firft 
 {y liable of his name is now pronounced in hi.s native county , War- 
 \vickfiure, with the mort a, Shak- and not Shake fpeare. On the 
 pther hand, it muft be confeffed, that the dialeft of that county is
 
 P R E F A C F. xiii 
 
 imfettled, and their punctuation fo totally defec- 
 tive, that the regulation of either rarely merits the 
 triumphs that have fo often been derived from it. 
 On the whole, however, thefe old copies of our 
 Poets may by an intelligent Reader be perufed 
 with fatisfaction. The typographical errors are 
 indeed grofs and numerous ; but their very number 
 and grofTnefs keeps the reader awake to the genuine 
 text, and commonly renders fuch palpable in- 
 accuracies not prejudicial. The genuine work of 
 the Author is there extant, though the lines are 
 often, like a confufed multitude, huddled on one 
 another, and not marfhalled and arrayed by the 
 difcipline of a modern Editor. 
 
 The Firft Folio, containing thirty-four of our 
 Authors' pieces, never till then collected or printed, 
 was publifhed by the Players, obvioufly tranfcribed 
 from the prompter's books, commonly the mod 
 inaccurate and barbarous of all manufcripts, or 
 made out piecemeal from the detached parts copied 
 for the ufe of the performers. Hence it happens, 
 that the ftage-direction has fometimes crept into 
 the text, and the name of the actor is now and 
 then fubftituted for that of the character. The 
 
 more provincial than claffical, and we believe that all the families, 
 who are now known by the Poet's name, both fpell and pronounce 
 it Sbiikefpeare ; which indeed feems moil reconcilable to etimology, 
 if etimology be at all concerned in fo capricious a circumitance. 
 Every thing, however trivial, interefts an Er.glifh reader, from the 
 relation it bears to that GreatPoet; which is the only excufewehave 
 to offer for fo long a note on a point of fo little importance. 
 
 tranfcribers,
 
 w PREFACE. 
 
 tranfcribers, knowing perhaps no language per- 
 feftly, corrupted all languages ; and vitiated the 
 dialogue with falfe Latin, falfe French, falfe Italian, 
 and falfe Spanifh j nay, as Pope fays of the old 
 copies of Shakefpeare, " their very Welch is falfe." 
 
 The Players, however, notwithftanding the 
 cenfure of Pope, " yet from Gibber fore," feem 
 to have been, at leaft with regard to our Poets, 
 as faithful and able editors as others of that 
 period. It is moft natural to fuppofe that the 
 playhoufe manufcript contained the real work of 
 the Author, though perhaps ignorantly copied, 
 and accommodated to the ufe of the theatre. A 
 writer in his clofet often filently acquiefces in the 
 excellence of a continued declamation ; but if at 
 any time the audience, like Polonius, cry out, 
 <c This is too long," fuch paflages are afterwards 
 naturally curtailed or omitted in the reprefenta- 
 tion; but the curious Reader, " being \efefaftidious 
 <c than the 'proud fpectator" (for in fuch terms 
 Horace fpeaks of the fpeftator) is pleafed with the 
 reftoration of thofe paflages in print. " Players, 
 fays Pope, " are juft fuch judges of what is right, 
 " as tailors are of what is graceful" The comparifon 
 is more ludicrous and farcaftick than it is juft. The 
 Poet himfelf, who makes the cloaths, may rather 
 be called the tailor; actors are at moft but the 
 empty beaux that wear them, and the fpeftators 
 cenfure or admire them. A tailor, however, if 
 
 players
 
 PREFACE. xv 
 
 players muft be the tailors, though not equal in 
 fcience to a flatnary or an anatomift, muft yet be 
 conceived to have a more intimate knowledge of 
 the human form than a blackfmith or a carpenter; 
 and if many of the actors know but little of the 
 drama, they would probably have known ftill lefs 
 of it, had they not been retainers to the ftage. 
 Some improvements, as well as corruptions of 
 the drama, may undoubtedly be derived from 
 the theatre. Gibber, idle Gibber, wrote for the 
 ftage with more fuccefs than Pope. ^Efchylus, 
 Sophocles, Plautus, and Terence, were foldiers and 
 freedmen j Shake fpeare and Moliere were aftors. 
 
 The Second Folio contained the firft complete 
 collection of the Works of Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 Concerning that edition we have nothing to add 
 to what has been faid by other Editors, whofe Pre- 
 faces we have annexed to our own. 
 
 The Oclavo Editors of 1711 feemed to aim at 
 little more than reprinting our Authors' Plays, and 
 giving a collection of them more portable and con- 
 venient than the Folios. Their text, however, is 
 more corrupt than that of either the quartos or 
 folios, the errors of which they religioufly pre- 
 ferved, adding many vicious readings of their 
 own, fome of which have been combated in very 
 long notes by their fucceffors. 
 
 In
 
 XVI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In the year 1742, Theobald, on the fuccete 
 and reputation of his Shakefpeare, projected an 
 edition of the Works of Ben Jonfon. What he 
 had executed of it, fell into the hands of Mr. 
 Whalley, and is inferted in that learned and in- 
 genious gentleman's edition. At the fame time 
 he exhibited propofals for a publication of the 
 Plays of Beaumont and Fletcher; in which he 
 was afterwards afiifted by Mr. Seward and Mr. 
 Sympfon: but Theobald dying before he had com- 
 mitted more than the firft and about half the fecond 
 volume to the prefs, the undertaking was con- 
 tinued by the two laft- mentioned gentlemenj and 
 the edition thus jointly, or rather feverally, exe- 
 cuted by Theobald, Mr. Seward, and Mr. Sympfon, 
 .at length appeared in the year 1750. Thefe gen- 
 tlemen were the firfl Editors of our Poets who 
 profefTed to collate the old copies, to reform the 
 punctuation, and to amend the corruptions of* the 
 text. Some attempts alfo were made to elucidate 
 the obfcurities, and enforce the excellencies of 
 their Authors. How far we difagree or coincide 
 with them will appear on infpection of the parti- 
 cular pafTages to which their feveral obfervations 
 refer. Atprefent it will belufficient to declare, that 
 we fiiould have been inclined to entertain a more re- 
 fpectful opinion of theirlabours, if they had not very 
 early betrayed that confidence which every Reader is 
 tempted to repofe.in an Editor, not only by their 
 carelefTnefs, but by the more unpardonable faults of 
 
 faithlefihefs 

 
 PREFACE. xvii 
 
 faithlefihefsand mifrcprefentation. Their reports of 
 the date of the old copies can never fafely be taken on 
 truft, and on examination many of thofe copies 
 will appear tobe both negligently collated, and un- 
 truly quoted. Theirpun<5tuationalfo,hotwithftand- 
 ing their occafional felf-approbation, is almoft as 
 inaccurate as that of the moil antient and rude 
 editions ; and their critical remarks have, in our 
 opinion, eftener been well intended, than con- 
 ceived. Their work, however, has in the main 
 conduced to the illuftration of our Authors, and ' 
 we have feized every fair occafion to applaud the 
 difplay of their diligence, as well as the efforts of 
 their critical acutenefs and fagacity. Such of 
 their notes as appeared inconteftible, or even 
 plaufible, we have adopted without remark ; to 
 thofe more dubious we have fubjoined additional 
 annotations ; thofe of lefs confequence we have 
 abridged ; and thofe of no importance we have 
 omitted. 
 
 In the prefent Edition, it has been our chief 
 aim to give the old text as it lies in the old 
 books, with no other variations, but fuch as the 
 'Writers themfelves, had they fuperintended an 
 imprefllon of their Works, or even a corrector of 
 the prefs, would have made. Yet even thefe va- 
 riations, if at all important, have not been made 
 in filence. Notes, however, have been fubjoined 
 to the text as brifOv r.r.d as fparingly as pofliWe;. 
 [B] bu:
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 but the lapfe of time, and fluctuation of language, 
 have rendered fome Notes necefiary for the purpofe 
 of explaining obfolete words, unufual phrafes, old 
 cuftoms, and obfcure or diftant allufions. Critical 
 remarks, and conjectural emendations, have been 
 feldom hazarded, nor has any ridicule been wan- 
 tonly thrown on former Editors, who have only 
 fomedmes been reprehended for pompous affecta- 
 tion, and more frequently for want of care and 
 fidelity. Every material comment on thefe Plays 
 has been retained in this Edition, though often 
 without the long and oftentatious notes that firft 
 introduced thofe comments to the publick. At 
 the fame time, we have religioufly attributed every 
 obfervation, critical or philological, to its due 
 author, not wilhing to claim any praife as Editors, 
 but by induftrioufly endeavouring, as an act of 
 duty, to collect from all quarters every thing that 
 might contribute to illuftrate the Works of 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 To conclude, we have beheld with pity and 
 indignation the mean parade of many modern 
 Editors, and we have endeavoured to fulfil 'their 
 duties without imbibing their arrogance. We are 
 perhaps too proud to indulge fo poor a vanity ; 
 at ]eaft, we are too much occupied to litigate 
 readings we think of fmall importance, and too 
 honeft to claim reiterations not our own, or to 
 propofe readings as corrections that are no more 
 
 than
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 xix 
 
 than reiterations. The Stationer has not difgraced 
 our Authors with Tobacco-Paper ; the Prefs, we 
 truft, has done its duty j and the Rolling-Prefc, 
 at a very confiderable expence, has added its 
 afliftance. The Cuts, if we are not deceived, are 
 for the moft part happily defigned, and well exe- 
 cuted, and will probably be deemed an agreeable 
 addition to the Work : At lead, we may with 
 truth aflert, that no authors in the Englifh lan T 
 guage, publiflied at the fame price, have fo many 
 and fo valuable Engravings. 
 
 The province of a Painter and an Editor are 
 directly oppofite. In the firft inftance the canvas 
 receives its chief value from the artift:, and in the 
 fecond the artift derives almoft all his confequence 
 from the canvas. The Editor, if he lives, is car- 
 ried down the ftrcam of time by his Author ; and if 
 the Author be excellent, and his commentary- 
 judicious, 
 
 Still (hall his little bark attendant fail, 
 Purfue the triumph, and partake the gale, 
 
 For our parts, we have been incited to this un- 
 dertaking from a real admiration of thefe Poets, 
 grounded, as we apprehend, on their genuine ex- 
 o!-!lp ncies,and a thorough perfuafion that theWorks 
 of Beaumont and Fletcher may proudly claim a 
 fecond place in the Englifh Drama, nearer to the 
 [B 2] firft
 
 xx PREFACE. 
 
 firft than the third, to thofe of Shakefpeare ; foinc 
 of their Plays being fo much in his manner, that 
 they can fcarcely be diftinguilhed to be the work 
 of another hand. 
 
 EXTRACT.
 
 EXTRACT. 
 
 THE following Paflfage, extracted from Mr. 
 Capell's Notes on Shakefpcare's Antony 
 JIT! Cleopatra, is particularly worthy the 
 attention of the Readers of all the Dramatick Per- 
 formances produced in that age. Without adverting 
 to the form of the Stage, and the nature of its 
 Decorations at that period, feveral paflages in old 
 Plays are rather obfcure, and fometimes fcarcely 
 intelligible. It were to be wifhed, indeed, that the 
 ingenious and elaborate Commentator had quoted 
 fome Authorities ; but, from his known fidelity and 
 diligence, there is no doubt but that the information 
 here given may be depended on, as genuine and 
 authentick. 
 
 "BUT this [the cujtom of Shakefpearis ftage, of 
 " having womens* farts atted by boys\ was not the 
 " only defect of the ftage that thefe plays were 
 <f brought out upon \ another, arid more confider- 
 " able, was it's fittings out : Scenes were unknown 
 <f to it ; all its decorations were certain arras or 
 <f tapeflries in front, and fome on the fides, with 
 cc flips between : The platform was double, the 
 <c hinder or back part of it rifing fome little matter 
 " above that in the front ; and this ferved them for 
 " chambers or galleries ; for Juliet to hold difcourfe 
 " from with Romeo, and for Cleopatra in this play 
 
 to
 
 xxii EXTRACT. 
 
 <f to draw up Antony dying * ; and this upper ftage 
 <c too, it is probable, was the place of performance 
 <c for thofe little engrafted pieces that Shakefpeare 
 (C has given us, as the Play in Hamlet, Mafque in 
 <f the Tempeft, &c. the perfons to whom they 
 cc were prefented, fitting upon the lower. That 
 fc this was their ftage's conftruction, and continued 
 <f to be fo, (perhaps, as low down as the general 
 <c reform of it at the Reftoration, the sera of fcenes 
 " and of aclreiTes) is evinced beyond doubting, from 
 " entries that are found in fome plays of rather a 
 <f later date than, the Poet's ; in which are feen the 
 Cf terms upper, anci lower ; and dialogues pafs be- 
 fc tween perfons, (landing fome on the one and fome: 
 * c on the other ftage : And this form it received from 
 <c the earlieft pieces produced on it, the Myfteries : 
 <( For the exhibition of which, the platform had yet 
 ({ another divifion ; a part beyond the two we are 
 <c fpeaking of, and rifmg higher than them j upon 
 " which appeared their Pater Cecleftis, attended by 
 fc angels ; patriarchs and glorified perfons upon that 
 t( in the middle, and mere men on the lowermoft : 
 fc And Hell (a moil neceflary member of thefe cu- 
 <f rious productions, for without it there had been 
 <f no entertainment for fome of their auditors) was, 
 f( reprefented by a great gaping hole on the fide of 
 <c that platform, that vomited fomething like flames; 
 ff out of which their greateil jokers, the devils, 
 <f afcended at times, and mixed with the men ; and 
 * f into which, they were commonly driven in heaps 
 {C at the drama's conclufion : But this Hell, and the 
 <f higher divifion, vaniftied \vith the Myfteries ; and 
 " the ftage's form, after that, was as above. The 
 <f poverty of this apparatus had one very confjder- 
 
 * This Upper Stage muft have been alfo made ufe of in feverd| 
 of the Plays of our Poets ; particularly in Bonduca, Maid's Tragedy, 
 Caftom of the Country, Loyal Subjert, Chances, Propbetefs, Doub'e 
 Marriage, Knight of Malta, Love's Cure, Woman's Prize. lijar.ci 
 Princefs, Night- Walker, Noble Kinfmen, Mafque, Four Plays; 
 and probablv in fome others. 
 
 " able
 
 EXTRACT. pcxiii 
 
 upon the perfons that wrote for it ; the 
 " fetting of which in its due light being of fome 
 ** conkquence to the Poet's reputation, in a matter 
 * c that has been objected to him, it is upon that 
 " account chiefly that this detail of his ilage is 
 c entered into : Naked as it was, and quite motion- 
 ft lefs ; without fcenes, or machinery, not fo much 
 " as a trap-door for a ghofl to rife out of j the fpec- 
 tc tator had nothing to aid him, or contribute to his 
 " deception : Fancy pieced out all thefe defects, as 
 tc well as it could ; and its powers were called out 
 " upon, to imagine the fame unchangeable fpot to 
 " be a hall, a chamber, a palace, a cottage, a fhip, 
 " lawn, field of battle, &c. This call upon their 
 " auditors' fancy, to which the poets were driven by 
 " their ftage's penurioufnefs, made them hardy to 
 l< go a ftcp farther, and bring things upon it that 
 f< cannot be reprefented on any ftage ; not even upon 
 " the prefent, under all its improvements, or under 
 " any other that can be imagined : But they thought, 
 tc and thought rightly, that it was but a ftrain or 
 " two more, and the fame aftive power in their au- 
 " dience that could make them fee places and actions 
 " of which there was not even the fhadow, could 
 " picture others out to them of greater difficulty , 
 " fuch as Pompey's entertainment on fhipboard, 
 " and the monument fcenes in this a<fb." 
 
 PLAYERS*
 
 PLAYERS' DEDICATION. 
 
 ( FOLIO, 1647. ) 
 
 the Right Honourable PHILIP, earl of PEMBROKE 
 and MONTGOMERY; baron Herbert of Cardiff and 
 Sberlandi lord Parr and Rofs of Kendall; lord Fitz- 
 Hugh, Manny on, and Saint Quintin j knight of the 
 moft noble order of the Garfer-, and one of bis 
 Majefry's moft Hen our alls Privy-Council: And cur 
 Singular Good Lord. 
 
 My Lo R D, 
 
 THERE is none among all the names of 
 Honour, that hath more encouraged the 
 legitimate Mufes of this latter age, than thac 
 which is owing to your family ; whofe coronet fhines 
 bright with the native luftre of its own jewels, which, 
 with the accefs of fome beams of Sidney, twifled 
 with their flame, prefents a conftellation, from whofc 
 influence all good may be ftill expected upon wit 
 and learning. 
 
 At this truth we rejoice, but yet aloof, and in our 
 own valley; for we dare not approach with any capa- 
 city in ourfelves to apply your fmile, fmce we have 
 only preferved, as truftees to the allies of the Authors, 
 what we exhibit to your Honour, it being no more 
 our own, than thofe imperial crowns and garlands 
 were thefoldiers', who were honourably defigned for 
 their conveyance before the triumpher to the capitol. 
 
 But directed by the example of fome, who once 
 fleered in our quality, and fo fortunately afpired to 
 
 VOL. I, 4 choofe
 
 ii iP LAYERS' DEDICATION. 
 
 choofe your Honour, joined with your (now glorified) 
 brother, patrons to the flowing compofitions of the 
 then expired fweet fwan of Avon Shakefpeare ' j and 
 fince, more particularly bound to your Lord fhip's moft 
 conftant and diffufive goodnefs, from which we did 
 for many calm years derive a fubfiftence to ourfelves, 
 and protection to the fcene (now withered, and con- 
 demn'd, as we fear, to a long winter and fterility) 
 we have prefumed to offer to yourfelf, what before 
 was never printed of thefe Authors. 
 
 Had they been lefs than all the treafure we had con- 
 tracted in the whole age of poefy (fome few Poems of 
 their own excepted, which, already publifhed, com- 
 mand their entertainment with all lovers of art and 
 language) or were they not the moft juftly admired 
 and beloved pieces of wit and the world, we Ihould 
 have taught ourfelves a lefs ambition. 
 
 Be pleafed to accept this humble tender of our 
 duties ; and, 'till we fail in our obedience to all your 
 commands, vouchfafe we may be Hnown by the 
 cognizance and character of, 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 Your Honour's moft bounden 
 i ' 
 
 JOHN LOWIN, JOSEPH TAYLOR, 
 
 RICHARD ROBINSON, ROBERT BENFEILD, 
 EYL^RD SWANSTON, THOMAS POLLARD, 
 HUGH CLEARKE, WILLIAM ALLEN, 
 
 STEPHEN HAMMERTON, THEOPHILUS BYRD. 
 
 1 'The example of fome, &c.] i. e. Heminge and Condell ; who in 
 7623 publifhed the firft edition of Shakefpeare's Works. They dedi- 
 cated them to this fame nobleman, then earl of Montgomery, and 
 his elder brother, William earl of Pembroke. 
 
 MR.
 
 MR. SHIRLEY'S PREFACE. 
 ( FOLIO, 1647. ) 
 
 POETRY is the child of Nature, which, re- 
 gulated and made beautiful by Art, prefenteth 
 the mofl harmonious of all other compofitions ; 
 among which (if we rightly confider) the dramatical 
 is the moil abfolute, in regard of thofe tranfcendent 
 abilities which fhould wait upon theCompofer; who 
 mud have more than the inftruclion of libraries 
 (which of itfelf is but a cold contemplative know- 
 ledge), there being required in him afoul miraculoufly 
 knowing and converfing with all mankind, enabling 
 him to exprefs not only the phlegm and folly of 
 thick-fkinned men, but the ftrength and maturity of 
 the wife, the air and infmuations of the court, the 
 difcipline and refolution of the foldier, the virtues 
 and pafllons of every noble condition, nay the coun- 
 fcls and characters of the greateft princes. 
 
 This, you will fay, is a vaft comprehenfion, and 
 hath not happened in many ages. Be it then remem- 
 bered, to the glory of our own, that all thefe are de- 
 monflrative and met in BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, 
 whom but to mention is to throw a cloud upon all 
 former names, and benight Pofterity; this book being, 
 without flattery, the grcateft monument of the fcene 
 that Time and Humanity have produced, and muft 
 live, not only the rrown and fole reputation of our 
 own, but the (lain of all other nations and languages: 
 For it may be boldly averred, not one indifcretion 
 hath branded this paper in all the lines, this being 
 a 2 the
 
 iv MR. SHIRLEY'S PREFACE. 
 
 the authentic wit that made Blackfriars an academy, 
 where the three hours' fpe<5hicle,while BEAUMONT and 
 FLETCHER were prefented, was ufually of more ad- 
 vantage to the hopeful young heir, than a coftly, 
 dangerous, foreign travel, with the affiflance of a 
 governing monfieur or fignor to boot ; and it can- 
 not be denied but that the young fpirits of the time, 
 whofe birth and quality made them impatient of the 
 fourer ways of education, have from the attentive hear- 
 ing thefe pieces, got ground in point of wit and car- 
 riage of the moft feverely-employed fcudents, while 
 thefe recreations were digefted into rules, and the 
 very pleafure did edify. How many paflabledifcourfing 
 dining wits ftand yet in good credit, upon the bare 
 ffcock of two or three of thefe fmgle fcenes ! 
 
 And now, Reader, in this tragical age, where the 
 theatre hath been fo much out-acted, congratulate 
 thy own happinefs, that, in this filence of the ilage, 
 thou hail a liberty to read thefe inimitable Plays, to 
 dwell and corr/erfe in thefe immortal groves, which 
 were only fhew'd our fathers in a conjuring-glafs, as 
 fuddenly removed as reprefentcd -, the landfcape is 
 now brought home by this optick, and the prefs, 
 thought too pregnant before, fha!l benowlook'd upon 
 as greateft benefactor to Englifhmen, that mud ac- 
 knowledge, all the felicity of wit and words to this 
 derivation. 
 
 You may here find pafTions raifed to that excellent 
 pitch, and by fuch infmuating degrees, that you fhall 
 not chufe but confent, and go along with them, finding 
 yourfelf at laft grown infenfibly the very fame perfon 
 you read; and then ftand, admiring the fubtil tracks 
 of your engagement. Fall on a fcene of love, and 
 you will never believe the Writers could have the leail 
 room left in their foulsfor another pafilomperufe a fcene 
 of manly rage, and you would fwear they cannot be 
 expreffed by the fame hands ; but both are fo ex- 
 cellently wrought, you rnuft confefs none., but the 
 fame hands, could work them. 
 
 Would
 
 MR. SHIRLEY'S PREFACE, r 
 
 Would thy melancholy have acure r thou lhalt laugh 
 at Dernocritus himfelf; and but reading one piece of 
 this comick variety, find thy exalted fancy in Elizium; 
 and wlien thou art Tick of this cure, (for the excefs of 
 delight may too much dilate thy foul) thou (halt meet 
 almoft in every leaf a foft purling paflion or fpring of 
 forrow, fo powerfully wrought high by the tears of 
 Innocence, and wronged lovers, it fhall perfuade thy 
 eyes to weep into the ftream, and yet {mile when they 
 contribute to their own ruins. 
 
 Infinitely more might be faid of thefe rare copies; 
 but let the ingenuous Reader 1 perufe them, and he will 
 find them fo able to fpeak their own worth, that they 
 need not come into the world with a trumpet, fmcc 
 any one of thefe incomparable pieces,well underftood, 
 will prove a Preface to the reft -, and if the Reader can 
 tafte the beft wit ever trod our Englifh ftage, he will 
 be forced himfelf to become a breathing panegyrick 
 to them all. 
 
 Not to detain or prepare thee longer, be as capri- 
 cious and fick-brained as Ignorance and Malice can 
 make thee, here thou art rectified , or be as healthful 
 as the inward calm of an honeft heart, learning, and 
 temper can ftate thy difpofition, yet this book may be 
 thy fortunate concernment and companion. 
 
 It is not fo remote in time, but very many gentlemen 
 may remember thefe Authors; and fome, familiar in 
 their converfation, deliver them upon every pleafant 
 occafion fo fluent, to talk a comedy. He muft be a 
 bold man that dares undertake to write their lives : 
 What I have to fay is, we have the precious remains j 
 and as the wifeft contemporaries acknowledge they 
 lived a miracle, I am very confident this volume 
 cannot die without one. 
 
 What more fpecially concerns thefe Authors and 
 their Works is told thee by another hand, in the follow- 
 ing epiftle of the Stationer to the Readers. 
 
 1 Ingenuous Reader.] In CoIe^s Di6l. 1677, ic is remarked, 
 ' Inger.itiui and ingenioui are too often confounded.' 
 
 a 3 Farewell :
 
 vi MR. SHIRLEY'S PREFACE. 
 
 Farewell : Read, and fear not thine own under- 
 ftanding ; this Book will create a clear one in thee ; 
 And when thou haft confidered thy purchafe, them 
 wilt call the price of it a charity to thyfelf j and at 
 the fame time forgive 
 
 Thy friend, 
 And thefe Authors humble admirer, 
 
 JAMES SHIRLEY*. 
 
 * fames Shir ley. ~\ It is much to be regretted, that this ingenious 
 gentleman did nothing more to the Firft Folio than writing the Pre- 
 face ; we ftiould not then fo juilly lament the incorreSnefs of that 
 Edition. 
 
 STATIONERS'
 
 STATIONER'S ADDRESS, 
 
 ( FOLIO, 1647. ) 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 BEFORE you engage further, be pleafed to 
 take notice of thefe particulars. You have 
 here a new book\ I can fpeak it clearly; for 
 of all this large volume of Comedies and Tragedies, 
 not one> till now, was ever printed before. A Col- 
 lection of Plays is commonly but a new impreflion, 
 the fcattered pieces which were printed fingle, being 
 then only republifhed together : 'Tis otherwife here. 
 
 Next, as it is all new> fo here is not any thing 
 fpurious or impofed : I had the originals from fuch 
 as received them from the Authors themfelves -, by 
 thofe, and none other, I publilh this edition. 
 
 And as here is nothing but what is genuine and 
 theirs, fo you will find here are no omijfions ; you 
 have not only all I could get, but ail that you muft 
 ever expect. For (befides thofe which were formerly 
 printed) there is not any Piece written by thefe Au- 
 thors, either jointly or feverally, but what are now 
 publifhed to the world in this volume. One only 
 play I muft except (for I mean to deal openly); it is 
 a Comedy called the Wild-Goofe Chafe ', which hath 
 been long loft, and I fear irrecoverable ; for a perfoa 
 of quality borrowed it from the actors many years v 
 fmce, and (by the negligence of a fervant) it was 
 
 1 The Wild-Goofe Chafe. ~\ This Comedy, in the year 1652, was 
 publifhed in folio, by Lowin and Taylor, two of the Players, with 
 a Dedication to the Honour'd, Few, Lovers of Dramatick Poefie,' 
 and feveral Commendatory Verfes annexed. 
 
 a 4
 
 viii STATIONER'S ADDRESS. 
 
 never returned; therefore now I put up thisfi qws, 
 that whofoever hereafter happily meets with it, fhall 
 be thankfully fatisfied if he pleafe to fend it home. 
 
 Some Plays (you know) written by thefe Authors 
 were heretofore printed : I thought not convenient 
 to mix them with this volume, which of itielf is 
 entirely new* And indeed it would have rendered 
 the book fo voluminous, that ladies and gentlewomen 
 would have found it fcarce manageable, who in 
 works of this nature muft firft be remembered. Be- 
 fides, I confidered thofe former pieces had been fo 
 long printed and reprinted, that many gentlemen 
 were already furnifhed ; and I would have none fay, 
 they pay twice for the fame book. 
 
 One thing I muft anfwer before it be objected ; 'trs 
 this : When thefe Comedies and Tragedies were pre- 
 fented on the ftage, the actors omitted fome fcenes 
 and pafiages (with the Authors' confent) as occafion 
 led them ; and when private friends defired a copy, 
 they then (and juftly too) tranfcribed what they 
 acted : But now you have both all that was a5led> 
 and all that 'was not-, even the perfect full originals, 
 without the leaft mutilation; fo that were the Au- 
 thors living, (and fure they can never die) they 
 themfelves would challenge neither more nor Itfs 
 than what is here publifhed ; this volume being now 
 fo complete and finiihed, that the reader muft expect 
 no future alterations. 
 
 For literal errors committed by the printer, it is 
 the falhion to afk pardon, and as much in fafhion to 
 take no notice of him that afl<s it ; but in this alfo 
 I have done my endeavour. 'Twere vain to mention 
 the chargeablenefs of this work ; for thole who owned 
 the manufcripts, too well knew their value to make 
 a cheap eftimate of any of thefe Pieces ; and though 
 another joined with me in the purchafe and printing, 
 yet the care and pains was wholly mine, which I 
 found to be more than you will eafily imagine, un- 
 lefs you knew int-o ho\v many hands the originals 
 
 were
 
 STATIONER'S ADDRESS. !x 
 were difperfed : They are all now happily met in 
 this book, having efcaped thefe public troubles, free 
 and unmangled. Heretofore, when gentlemen de- 
 fired but. a copy of any of thefe Plays, the meaneft 
 piece here (if any may be called mean where every 
 one is beft) coft them more than four times the price 
 you pay for the whole volume. 
 
 I ihould fcarce have adventured in thefe flippery 
 times on fuch a work as this, if knowing perfons hatl 
 not generally allured me that thefe Authors were the 
 moftunqueftionable wits this kingdom hath afforded. 
 Mr. Beaumont was ever acknowledged a man of a 
 mod ftrong and fearching brain ; and (his years con- 
 fidered) the mod judicious wit thefe later ages have 
 produced ; he died young, for (which was an inva- 
 luable lofs to this nation) he left the world when he 
 was not full thirty years old. Mr. Fletcher furvived, 
 and lived till almoft fifty; whereof the world now 
 enjoys the benefit. It was once in my thoughts to 
 have printed Mr. Fletcher's Works by themfelves % 
 becaufe fmgle and alone he would make a juft 
 volume ; but fmce never parted while they lived, I 
 conceived it not equitable to feparate their afhes. 
 
 It becomes not me to fay (though it be a known 
 truth) that thefe Authors had not only high un- 
 exprefllble gifts of Nature, but alfo excellent ac- 
 quired parts, being furnifhed with arts and fciences 
 by that liberal education they had at the Univerfity, 
 which fure is the beft place to make a great wit 
 underftand itfelf ; this their works will foon make 
 evident. I was very ambitious to have got Mr. 
 Beaumont's picture; but could not poffibly, though 
 I fpared no enquiry in thofe noble families whence 
 he was defcended, as alfo among thofe gentlemen 
 that were his acquaintance when he was of the Inner- 
 Temple : The beft pictures, and thofe moft like him, 
 
 4 flctcheSs Worh by tbemfeti'ts .] If Mr. Mcfeley could\\?.ve made 
 this reparation, it is preatly to be regretted that he 'eft us no intimation 
 which p!aj'5 were written by Fletcher alone. 
 
 you
 
 x STATIONER'S ADDRESS, 
 
 you will find in this volume. This figure of Mr* 
 Fletcher was cut by feveral original pieces, which 
 his friends lent me; but withal they tell me, that his 
 unimitable foul did fhine through his countenance 
 in fuch air and fpirit, that the painters confefTed it 
 was not eafy to exprefs him : As much as could be, 
 you have here, and the graver hath done his part. 
 
 Whatever I have feen of Mr. Fletcher's own hand, 
 is free from interlining ; and his friends affirm he 
 never writ any one thing twice 5 : It feems he had 
 that rare felicity to prepare and perfect all firft in his 
 own brain ; to fhape and attire his notions, to add 
 or lop off, before he committed one word to writing, 
 and never touched pen till all was to ftand as firm 
 and immutable as if engraven in brafs or marble. 
 .But I keep you too long from thofe friends of his 
 whom 'tis fitter for you to read ; only accept of the 
 honeft endeavours of 
 
 One that is a Servant to you all, 
 
 HUMPHREY MOSELEY. 
 
 At the Prince's Arms, in 
 St. Paul's Church-Yard, 
 Feb. the I 4 th, 1646. 
 
 * He never writ any one thing twice."] May we not fuppofe this to 
 have been a fort of common-place compliment? but furely it is a 
 very injudicious one. A fmiilar afTertion, applied to Shakeipeart, 
 has afforded miicb convention in the literary world. 
 
 BOOK
 
 BOOKSELLERS' ADDRESS. 
 ( FOLIO, 1679. ) 
 
 COURTEOUS READER, 
 
 TH E firft edition of thefe Plays in this volume 
 having found that acceptance as to give us 
 encouragement to make a fecond imprefiion, 
 we were very defirous they might come forth as 
 correct as might be : And we were very opportunely 
 informed of a copy which an ingenious and worthy 
 gentleman had taken the pains (or rather the pleafure) 
 to read over; wherein he had all along corrected 4 
 feveral faults (fome very grofs) which had crept in 
 by the frequent imprinting of them. His correc- 
 tions were the more to be valued, becaufe he had 
 an intimacy with both our Authors, and had been a 
 fpectator of moft of them when they were acted in 
 their life-time. This therefore we refolved to pur- 
 chafe at any rate ; and accordingly with no fmall coft 
 obtained it. From the fame hand alfo we received 
 feveral Prologues and Epilogues, with the Songs 
 appertaining to each Play, which were not in the 
 former edition, but are now inferted in their proper 
 places. Befides, in this edition you have the addi- 
 tion of no fewer than feventeen Plays more than 
 were in the former, which we have taken the pains 
 and care to collect, and print out of quarto in this 
 volume, which for diftinction fake are marked with 
 a ftar in the catalogue of them facing the firft page 
 
 * He had all along c arrtfitJ, &c. ] Notwhhftanding this bo.ift, in 
 many pi*)*, the Firit FoJio is more correft than the Second. 
 
 of
 
 xii BOOKSELLERS' ADDRESS, 
 of the book. And whereas in feveral of the Plays 
 there were wanting the names of the perfbns repre- 
 fented therein, in this edition you have them all 
 prefixed, with their qualities; which will be a great 
 cafe to the Reader. Thus every way perfect and 
 complete have yon, all both Tragedies and Comedies 
 that were ever writ by our Authors, a pair of the 
 greateft Wits and moft ingenious Poets of their age; 
 from whofe worth we Ihould but detract by our mofi 
 ftudied commendations. 
 
 If our care and endeavours to do our Authors right 
 (in an incorrupt and genuine edition of their Works) 
 and thereby to gratify and oblige the reader, be but 
 requited with a fuitable entertainment, we lhall be 
 encouraged to bring Ben Jonfon's two volumes into 
 one, and publifh them in this form -, and alfo to 
 reprint Old Shakefpeare : Both which are defigned 
 by 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Ready to ferve you, 
 
 JOHN MARTYN, 
 HENRY HERRINGMAN, 
 RICHARD MARIOT. 
 
 P R E F A C E,
 
 PREFACE', 
 
 GIVING SOME ACCOUNT OF THE 
 AUTHORS AND THEIR WRITINGS. 
 
 ( OCTAVO, 1711. ) 
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT,Efquire,wasde- 
 fcended from the ancient family of that name, 
 at Gracedieu in Leicefterfhire, and brother 
 to Sir Henry Beaumont, Knight, of the fame place ; 
 his grandfather was John Beaumont, Matter of the 
 Rolls ; and his father Francis Beaumont, judge of 
 the Common-Pleas, who married Anne daughter of 
 George Pierrepont of Home-Pierrepont, Notting- 
 Jiamfhire. He was educated at Cambridge, and 
 after at the Inner-Temple. He died before he was 
 thirty years of age, and was buried the 9th of March, 
 $615, at the entrance into St. Benedict's Chapel in 
 
 1 Preface.] To this Preface^ Mr. Sympfon, in the Edition of 
 1750, prefixes the following INTRODUCTION. 
 
 'TIS really furprifing that all we know of two fuch illuftrious 
 Authors as Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Fletcher were is, That we know 
 nothing. The Compofer of the following Preface, and Editor of 
 their Works in 1711, calls it ' An Account of the Lives, &c. of his 
 Authois.' But he greatly mifcalls it, for that they were born in 
 fuch a ye.ir, and died in fuch a one, is all he has given us of their 
 hillory and actions ; and by what I can find, had they never wrote a 
 comedy, we fhould not have known, but upon Mr. Shirley's word, 
 that in converfation they ever had talked one. 
 
 Our Authors, 'tis true, take up articles in two Dictionaries, but 
 thefe contain little more than Remarks on their Dramatic Per* 
 fomiances. Believing therefore that the no account, of the following 
 Preface, contains as good an account of our Authors as any can b& 
 given, I fubmit it to the Reader pure and unmix'd, as it came out of 
 
 the
 
 xiv PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 Weftminfter-Abbey. He left one daughter behind 
 him* Mrs. Frances Beaumgint, wh.o died in Leicefter- 
 ihire fince the year 1700 : She had been poffeiTed of 
 feveral Poems of her father's writing, but they were 
 loft at fea coming from Ireland, where fhe had fome- 
 time lived in the Duke of Ormond's family. There 
 was published, after our Author's death, a fmall book 
 containing feveral Poems under his name, and among 
 
 the Editor'i hands, without any alteration or interpolation at all, 
 only firiking out a long quotation from a very irr perfect anfvver of 
 Mr. Dryden's to the obje&ions made againit Shakefpeare and oar 
 Authors by Mr. Rhymer. 
 
 But their Dramatic is no better known than their Civil Hiftory ; I 
 me.in, what part each fuftain'd in their poetical capacities. Did 
 Beaumont plan, and Fletcher raife the fuperUructare-J Then 'tis BO 
 wonder the Work mould be all of a piece. 
 
 But if each fullain'd both characters (as I think is fo plain as net 
 to be doubted) 'tis lbv.nge there should appear no greater diverfity in 
 .their writings, when the fparate parts came to be put together. 
 
 For, unlcfs I be greatly miftaken, we ca:rt fay that here one laid 
 down the pencil, and thfye the other took it up, no more than we 
 can fay of any two contiguous colours in the rainbow^ here this ends 
 and there that begins, fo- fine is the tranfuion, thac 
 ' Spefiantia Itarjna fallit t 
 
 Ufijue adeo quo(t tangit idim tft. 
 
 Mr. Seward will lay before the Reader what internal ewdenet rse 
 thinks he has difcover'd of a diilin&ion of their hands ; bet in gene- 
 ral Beaumont's accuracy, and Fletcher's wit, are 10 unduungmfhabJp, 
 that were we not fure, 10 a deiQor.ftration, that the fv'/afque \va.=. the 
 former's, and the Shepherdcfs the Litter's Cole production, they might 
 each have paffrd for the concurrent labour of boih, or h^ve changed 
 hands, and the lafl been taken for Beaumont's ar.d iti^ fanner for 
 Fletcher's. 
 
 And where i,- the wonder, thr.t Fletcher's Wor!:?, which he wrote 
 fingly after Beaumont's death, fhculd carry the kme llrcngth, v\if, 
 manner, and fpirit in them, fo as not to be difcern'd from what both 
 \vrote in conjunction, when as Sir j. Berkenhead teiis us, 
 ' Beaumont died ; yet left in legr.cy 
 ' His rules and rtandard-wit (Fletcher) to thee ; 
 ' Still the fame planet, tho' i;ot fiU'cl fo loon, 
 ' A two- horn 'd crefcent then, now one full moon. 
 ' Joint Love before, now Honour doth provoke ; 
 
 So th* old twin giants forcing a huge oak, 
 
 Oneflipp'd his footing, th' other fes him Ml, 
 Grafp'd the whole tree and fmgle held up all.' 
 
 And fince I have quoted one poetical authority, let me give another 
 (with a little variation) from the immortal Sper.ier, which may farther 
 
 illuflrate,
 
 PREFACE, 171 1. xv 
 
 them the ftory of Salmacis, from the Mctamorphofes 
 of Ovid ; and a tmnflation of the Remedy of Love, 
 from the fame Author. The Poem of Bol worth-Field, 
 which has been univerfally efteemed, was written by 
 his brother John Beaumont. 
 
 JOHN FLETCHER, Efquire (fon of Dr. 
 Richard Fletcher, who was created by Queen Eliza- 
 beth Bifhop of Briftol, and after removed to Wor- 
 cefter, and from thence, in the year 1593, to Lon- 
 don), was educated at Cambridge, and probably at 
 Bennet-College, to which his father was by his will 
 a benefactor. He died of the plague in the firft year 
 of the reign of King Charles the Firft, and was 
 buried in St. Mary Overy's Church in Southwark, 
 Auguft the I9th, 1625, in the forty-ninth year of 
 his age. 
 
 Several of their Plays were printed in quarto while 
 the Authors were living; and in the year 1645, 
 
 ilhiftrate, if not confirm our opinion. The Poet fpeaking of Priar 
 jnond, after he had died by Cambell's hand in fingle combat, fays, 
 
 His weary ghoft aflbyPd from ficfhly band 
 
 Did not, as others wont, directly fly 
 
 Unto her reft in Pluto's griefly land, 
 
 Ne into air did vam'fh prcfcntly, 
 
 Ne chaunged was into a liar in fky, 
 
 But by traduftion was eftfoon deriv'd ~t 
 
 Into his other brother that furviv'd, 
 
 In whom he liv'd anew, of former life depriv'd. j 
 The application of thefe lines to our Authors, is fo eafy that no 
 Reader can mifs it, and the reafon given for the famenefs of manner, 
 fpirit, feV. in their joint and //# performances, fo clear for * poetical 
 one, that no one can difpute it. 
 
 And as to external evideacft though we have enough of it, 'tis fo 
 little to be depended on, that it has no weight with me, whatever it 
 may have with the intelligent Reader. The teftimony of the verfi- 
 fiers, before our Authors Works, is fo extravagant on the one fide or 
 on the other, that if we truft this panegyrilt, Fletcher wns the fole 
 Author, if t!>at Beaumont wrote alone, and if a third, the whole 
 was the united work and labour of both. 
 
 The printers of the quarto editions are no more concordant ; for 
 in different years and editions, you have fometimes Beaumont's and 
 f letcher's name, and fometimes the larter's fingly before the fame Play. 
 The- Prologue and Epilogue Writers m:iy perhaps be more de- 
 pended upon, but they don't go quite through with their work ; for 
 neither the qt.j, lr co copies nor the thirty. kur Plays in the 1647 edition, 
 
 huve
 
 xvi PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 (twenty years after the death of Fletcher, and thirty 
 after that of Beaumont) there was publifhed in folio 
 a collection of fuch of their Plays as had not before 
 been printed, amounting to between thirty and forty. 
 At the beginning of this Volume are inferted a great 
 many Commendatory Verfes, written in praife of the 
 Authors by perfons of their acquaintance, and the 
 moil eminent of that age for wit and quality. 
 This Collection was publifhed by Mr. Shirley, after 
 the fhutting up of the Theatres, and dedicated to 
 the Earl of Pembroke, by ten of the moft famous 
 aclors, who profefs to have taken great care in the 
 edition ; they lament their not being able to procure, 
 any picture of Mr. Beaumont, from which to take 
 'his effigies, as they had done that of Mr. Fletcher: 
 But, through the favour of the prefent Earl of 
 Dorfct, that is now fupplied; the head of Mr. Beau- 
 mont, and that of Mr. Fletcher, being taken from 
 originals in the noble collection his lordfhip has at 
 Knowles. 
 
 In the year 1679, there was an edition in folio of 
 all their Plays publifhed, containing .thofe formerly 
 printed in quarto, and thofe in the before-mentioned 
 folio edition. Several of the Commendatory Verfes 
 are left out before that impreffion ; but many of them 
 relating to particulars of the Authors, or their Plays, 
 they are prefixed to this; and a large cmiflicn of p,ar: 
 
 have all their full quotas of head and tail pieces ; and of thefe we 
 have, there are few that fpeak out, and tell us from vvhofe labours, 
 their audiences were to expect either pleafure or inllru&ion. 
 
 However this evidence, fuch as it is, I (hall Jay before the Reader, 
 by way of notes to the alphabetical account of cur Authors Pieces (as 
 drawn up by Dr. Larsgbaine) towards the conclufion of the following 
 Preface; r.ncl leave it to his judgment to determine, how far upon 
 fuch tetlimony, the Authors were fingly or jointly concerned ; onlv I 
 mull give this caution, that where the Prologue mentions Pott, or 
 Author in the fingtilar, there I fuppofe Fletcher is only deiigned, 
 where in the plural, Beaumont is included. 
 
 [The evidence Mr. Sympfon here fpeuks of, the Reader wil! fhd, 
 with much additional information, in the title of each Play of the 
 prefent Edition.] 
 
 of
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xvii 
 
 of the Jaft act of the Tragedy of" Thierry and 
 Theodoret, is fupplied in this. 
 
 The frequent and great audiences that feveral of 
 their plays continue to bring, fufficiently declares 
 fhe value this age has for them is equal to that of the 
 former; and three fuch extraordinary writers as Mr. 
 Waller, the duke of Buckingham, and John late 
 earl of Rochefter, felecting each of them one of 
 their plays to alter for the ftage, adds not a little to 
 their reputation. 
 
 The Maid's Tragedy * was very frequently acted 
 after the Reiteration, and with the greateft applaufe ; 
 Mr. Hart playing Amintor, Major Mohun, Melan^ 
 tins, and Mrs. Marfhal, Evadne, equal to any other 
 parts for which they were defervedly famous. But 
 the latter ending of that play, where the king was 
 killed, making it upon fome particular occafion not 
 thought proper to be farther reprefented, it was by 
 private order from the court filenced. This was the 
 reafon Mr. Waller undertook the altering the latter 
 part of that play, as it is now printed in the laft 
 edition of his Works. Upon which alteration, this 
 following remark was made by an eminent hand : 
 
 ' It is not to be doubted who fat for the two bro- 
 ' thers characters. 'Twas agreeable to Mr. Waller's 
 
 * temper to foften the rigour of the Tragedy, as he 
 
 * expreffes it; but whether it be agreeable to the 
 x nature of Tragedy itfelf, to make every thing come 
 
 * off eafily, I leave to the cri ticks.' 
 
 The duke of Buckingham, fo celebrated for 
 writing the Rehearfal, made the two laft acts of the 
 
 1 As our Authors were planning one of their plnvs ( this meft pro- 
 bably) in a tavern, Mr. Fletcher was over-heard, by fome of the 
 Loiife, to fay, /'// undertake to kill the King. Words in appearance 
 jo treafoaabie as thefe were, could not long be kept concealed, and 
 the difcovery of 'em had like to have colt our Poet dear : But ic 
 being demonftrated' that this defign was only aeainlt the perfon of a 
 fctnicalfoverei^n, our Author was freed from any farther trouble, and 
 the intended proccfs entirely dropp'd. Vide Winjlanlij i En?lijb Poets. 
 
 Sympfon. 
 
 VOL. L b Chances
 
 xviii PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 Chances almoft new. Mr. Hart play'd the part of 
 Don John to the higheft fatisfa<5tion of the audience ; 
 the play had a great run, and ever fmce has been 
 followed as one of the bed entertainments of the 
 ftage. His Grace, after that, bedewed fome time 
 in altering another play of our Authors, called Phi- 
 Jafter, or Love Lies a-Bleeding : He made very con- 
 fiderable alterations in it, and took it with him, in- 
 tending to finifh it the laft journey he made to York- 
 (hire in the year 1686. I cannot learn what is become 
 of the play with his Grace's alterations, but am 
 very well informed it was fmce the Revolution in the 
 hands of Mr. Nevil Payne, who was imprifoned at 
 Edinburgh in the year 1689. 
 
 The alterations in Valentinian, by the earl of 
 Rochefter, amount to about a third part of the 
 whole ; but his lordfhip died before he had done all 
 he intended to it. It was acted with very great ap- 
 planfe, Mr. Goodman playing Valentinian, Mr. 
 Betterton, ^Ecius, and Mrs. Barry, Lucina. My 
 lord died in the year 1680, and the play was acled 
 in the year 1684, and the fame year publifhed by 
 Mr. Robert Wolfly, with a Preface, giving a large, 
 account of my lord, and his wridngs. This play, 
 with the alterations, is printed at the end of his 
 lordfhip's poems in octavo. 
 
 Mr. Dryden, in his Effay of Dramatic Poetry, 
 page 17, (in the firft volume of the folio edition of 
 his Works) in a comparifon of the French and 
 Engliih Comedy, fays, f As for comedy, repartee 
 
 * is one of its chiefeft graces. The greatell pleafure 
 ' of an audience is a chafe of wit kept up on both 
 f fides, and fwiftly managed : And this our fore- 
 
 * fathers (if not we) have had in Fletcher's plays, 
 ' to a much higher degree of perfection than the 
 
 * French poets can arrive at.' 
 
 .And in the fame Effay, page 1 9, he fays, f Beau- 
 
 * mont and Fletcher had, with the advantage of 
 r Shakefpeare's wit, which was their precedent, great 
 
 * natural
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xix 
 
 c natural gifts, improved by ftudy. Beaumont 
 
 * efpecially being fo accurate a judge of plays, that 
 
 * Ben Jonfon, while he lived, fubmitted all his 
 
 * writings to his cenfure, and 'tis thought ufed his 
 'judgment in correcting, if not contriving all his 
 c plots. What value he had for him appears by the 
 c verfes he wrote to him, and therefore I need fpeak 
 
 * no farther of it. The firft play that brought 
 c Fletcher and him in efteem, was Philafter ; for 
 c before that, they had written two or three very 
 ' unfuccefsfully ; as the like is reported of Ben 
 
 * Jonfon, before he writ Every Man in his Humour : 
 
 * Their plots were generally more regular than 
 
 * Shakefpeare's, efpecially thole that were made before 
 c Beaumont's death : And they underflood and imi- 
 4 tated the converfation of gentlemen much better; 
 
 * whofe wild debaucheries, and quicknefs of wit in 
 
 * repartees, no poet can ever paint as they have done. 
 ' Humour, which Ben Jonfon xlerived from par- 
 
 * ticular perfons, they made it not their bufmefs to 
 
 * defcribe j they reprefented all the paffions very 
 ' lively, but above all love. I am apt to believe 
 c the Englifh language in them arrived to its higheft 
 
 * perfection ; what words have fmce been taken in, 
 f are rather fuperfiuotis than neceffary. Their plays 
 ' are now the moft pleafant and frequent entertain- 
 
 * ments of the ftage, two of theirs being acted through 
 ' the year, for one of Shakefpeare's or Jonfon's -, the 
 ' reafon is, becaufe there is a certain gaiety in their 
 ' comedies, and pathos in their more ferious plays, 
 c which fuits generally with all mens humour. 
 ' Shakefpear's language is likcwife a little obfolete, 
 
 * and Ben Jonfon's wit comes fhort of theirs.' 
 
 This Effay of Mr. Dryden's was written in the 
 year 1666 } . . 
 
 Mr. Dryclen faid he had been informed, that after 
 Beaumont's death, Mr. James Shirley was confulted 
 
 in the icar :666.] After this iVntcnce was inferted Mr. 
 
 D/yden't Remarks on Rymer, which Sympfon, ia 
 b 2
 
 xx PREFACE, 171 r. 
 
 by Fletcher in the plotting feveral of his plays. If 
 does feem that Shirley did fupply many that were 
 
 p. xiv, mentions having rejected. They here follow, with the Pre- 
 facer's Obfervations. 
 
 ' IN the year 1677, Mr. Rymer (now Hiftoriographer Royal) 
 publifhed ' The Tragedies of the Lait Age confidered" in a Letter to 
 Fleetwood Shepherd, Efq.' In this Treatife he criticifes upon Rolio 
 Duke of Normandy, the Maid's Tragedy, and the King and No 
 King ; all three written by our Author.*, and the moft taking Plays 
 then acled. Ke has there endeavoured to the utmoft the expofing 
 their failings, without taking the ler.ft notice of their beauties ; Mr. 
 Rymer Cent one of his books as a prefent to Mr. Dryden, who on 
 the blank leaves, before the beginning, and after the end of the 
 book, made fcveral remarks, as if he defigned an anfwer to Mr. 
 Rymer's reflections; they are of Mr. Dryden's own hand-writing, 
 and may be feen at the publisher's of this book ; 'tis to be wifhed he 
 had put his lait hand to 'em, and made the connexion clofer, but juft 
 as he left them be pleafed to take them here verbatim inferted. 
 
 " He who undertakes to anfwer this excellent critick of Mr. Rymer, 
 in behalf of our Englifh Poets againft the Greek, ought to do it in 
 this manner. 
 
 " Either by yielding to him the greateft part of what he contends 
 for, which confifts in this, that the eu,-9^- (i. e.) the defign and con- 
 duct of it is more conducing in the Greeks, tothofe ends of tragedy 
 uhich Arillotle and he propofe, namely, to caufe terror and pity ; 
 yet the granting this does not fet the Greeks above theEnglifb. Poets. 
 
 " But the aniwerer ought to pruve two things; Firit, That the fable 
 is not the greateli mailer-piece of a tragedy, though it be the founr 
 dation of it. 
 
 " Secondly, That other ends, as fuitable to the nature of tragedy, 
 may be found in the Engliftt, which were not in the Greek. 
 
 " Ariftotle places the fable firft ; not quoad dignitatem, fed quoad 
 fundament um ; for a fable m ver fo movingly contrived, to thofo ends 
 of his, pity and terror, will operate nothing on our affcclions, except 
 the characters, manners, thought? and words are fuitable. 
 
 " So that it remains for Mr. Rymer to prove, That in all thofs, 
 or the greateft part of them, we are inferior to Sophocles and Eu- 
 ripides ; and this he has offered at in forr.e meafure, but, I think, a 
 little partially to the ancients. 
 
 " To make a true judgment in this competition, between the 
 Greek Poets and the Englifh in tragedy, confider, 
 
 " I. How Ariilotle has defined a tragedy. 
 
 " II. What he afligns the end of it to be. 
 
 " III. What he thinks the beauties of ir. 
 
 " IV. The means to attain the end propofed. Compare ttre 
 Greek and Englim, cragic Poets juftly and without partiality, accord- 
 ing to thofe rules. 
 
 " Then, Secondly, confider, whether Ariflotle has made a jufl tie-. 
 
 fikition
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xxi 
 
 left jmperfedt, and that the old players gave fome 
 remains, or imperfect plays of Fletcher's to Shirley 
 
 finition of tragedy, of its parts, of its ends, of its beauties ; and 
 whether he having not feen any others but thofe of Sophocles, 
 Kuripides, Sec. had or truly could determine what all the excellencies 
 of tragedy are, and wherein they confift. 
 
 " Next (how in what ancient tragedy was deficient; for example, 
 in the narrownefs of its plots, and fewnefs of perfons, and try whe- 
 ther that be not a fault in the Greek Poets ; and whether their ex- 
 cellency was fo giear, when the variety was vifibly fo little ; or 
 whether what they did was not very eafy to do. 
 
 " Then make a judgment on what the Englifh have added to their 
 beauties : As for example, not only more plot, but alfo new paflions ; 
 as namely, that of love, fcarce touched on by the ancients, except 
 in this one example of Phaedra, cited by Mr. Rymer, and in that 
 how fiiort they were of Fletcher. 
 
 " Prove alfo that love, being an heroic pafiion, is fit for tragedy, 
 which cannot be denied ; becaufe of the example alledged of Phxdra: 
 Arsd how far Shakefpeare has outdone them in friend/hip, fee. 
 
 " To return to the beginning of this er.qu ; ry, confider it pity and 
 terror be enough for tragedy to move, and 1 believe upon a true de- 
 finition of Tragedy, it will be found that its work extends farther, 
 and that it is to reform manners bv delightful reprefcntation of human 
 life in great perfons, by way of dialogue. If this be true, then not 
 only pity and terror are to be moved as the only means to bring us 
 to virtue, but generally love to virtue, and hatred to vice, by {hewing 
 the rewards of one, and punifhments of the other ; at lead by ren- 
 dering virtue always amiable, though it be {hown unfortunate ; and 
 vice dereitable, though it be fhown triumphant. 
 
 " If then the encouragement of vii tue, and difcouragement of vice, 
 be the proper end of poetry in tragedy : Pitv and terror, though 
 good nit'.in?, are not the only : For all the paflions in their turns are 
 to be frt in a ferment ; as joy, anger, love, fear, are to be ufed as 
 the poets common places ; and a genera! concernment for the principal 
 actors is to be rai-.'d, by making them appear fuch in their characters, 
 their woid; and fictions, a? will interelt the audience in their fortunes. 
 
 " And il after all, in a large fenfe, pity comprehends this concern- 
 ment for the good, and terror includes defoliation for the bad ; then 
 ]< us confider whether the Englifh have not aniwered this end of 
 ti.'igcdy, as well as the ancients, or perhaps better. 
 
 " And here Mr. Rymer's objections againft thcfe plays are to be 
 impartially weight-el ; that we may fee whether they are of weight 
 enough to turn the balance againlt our countrymen. 
 
 '* It is evident tiiofe plays which he arraigns have moved both thofii 
 
 .flioiis in a high degree upon the Itage. 
 
 " To give the glory of this away from the poet, and to place il 
 upon the aitors, Items unjuit. 
 
 ** O.iC icaion is, becaufe whatever aftors they have found, the event 
 b has
 
 xxii PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 to make up : And it is from hence, that in the firft 
 act of Love's Pilgrimage, there is a fcene of an 
 
 has been the fame, that is, the fame paffions have been always 
 moved : Which mows, that there is fomething of force and merit in 
 the plays them'elves, conducing to the defign of raifing thofe two 
 paiiions: And fuppofe them ever to have been excellently a&ed, yet 
 action only adds grice, vigour, and more life upon the ftage, but 
 cannct give it wholly where it is not firlt. But fecondly, I dare appeal 
 'To thofe who have never feen them afted, if they have not found 
 thofe two paffions moved within them ; and if the general voice will 
 Carry it, Mr. Rymei's prejudice will take off h s fingle teftimony. 
 
 " This being matter of facl, is reafonably to be eftabiifhed by this 
 appeal : As if one man fay it is night, when the reft of the world 
 conclude it to be day, there needs no further argument againft him 
 that it is fo. 
 
 " If he urge, that the general tafte is depraved ; his arguments to 
 prove this can at belt but evince, that our Poets took not the beft 
 way to raife thofe paffions ; but experience proves againft him, that 
 thofe means which they have ufcd, have been fuccefsful, and have 
 produced them. 
 
 " And one reafon of that fuccefs is, in my opinion, this, that 
 Shakefpeare and Fletcher have written to the genius of the age and 
 nation in which they liv'd : For though Nature, as he objeds, is the 
 fame in all places, and Reafon too the fame ; yet the climate, the age, 
 the difpofitions of the people to whom a poet writes, niay be fo dif- 
 ferent, that what pleafcd the Greeks, would not fatisfy an Englifh 
 audience. 
 
 *' And if they proceeded upon a foundation of truer reafon t 
 pleafe the Athenian?, than Shakefpeare and Fletcher to pleafe the 
 Englifh, it only fhows that the Athenians were a more judicious 
 people: But the Poet's bufinefs is certainly to pleafe the audience. 
 
 " Whether our Englifh audience have been pleafed hitherto with 
 acorns, as he calls it, or with bread, is the next qurftion ; that i., 
 whether the means which Shakefpeare and Fletcher Inve iifed in their 
 Piays to raife thofe paffions before.named, be better applied to the. 
 ends by the deck Poets than by them ; and perhaps we (hall not 
 grant him this wholly. Let it be yielded that a writer is not to run 
 down with the ft ream f or to pleafe the people by their own ufual 
 methods, but rather to reform their judgments : It ftill remains to 
 prove that our theatre needs this total reformation. 
 
 " The faults which he has found in their dcGgns, are rather wittily 
 aggravated in many places, than reafonably urged ; and as much may- 
 be returned on the Greeks, by one who were as witty as himfelf. 
 
 " Secondly, They deftroy not, if they are granted, the foundation 
 of the fabrick, only take away from the beauty of the fymmetry ; 
 For example : The faults in the character of the King and No King, 
 are not, as he makes them, fuch as renoer him deteltable ; but only 
 jmperfedioiis which accompany human nature, and for (he moft part 
 
 exculeti
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xxiii 
 
 Oftler, tranfcribed verbatim out of Ben Jonfon's 
 New Inn, adl iii. fcene i. which play was written 
 
 excufed by the violence of his love ; fo that they dtftroy not our 
 pity or concernment for him. This anfwer may be applied to mofl 
 of his obje&ions of that kind. 
 
 " And Rollo committing many murders, when he is anfwerable but 
 for one, is too fcverely arraigned by him ; for it adds to our horror 
 and decefiation of the criminal. And poetick juftice is not negledled 
 neither, for we ftab him in our minds for every offence which he 
 commits ; and the point which the poet is to gain upon the audience, 
 is not fo much in the death of an offender, as the raifmg an horror 
 of his crimes. 
 
 " That the criminal fhould neither be wholly guilty, nor wholly 
 innocent, but fo participating of both, as to move both pity and 
 terror, is certainly a good rule ; but not perpetually to be obferved, 
 for that were to make all tragedies too much alike ; which objection 
 he forefaw, but has noi fully anfwered. 
 
 " To conclude therefore, if the plays of the ancients are more 
 correfUy plotted, ours are more beautifully written ; and if we can 
 raife pafiions as high on worfe foundations, it (hows our genius in 
 tragedy is greater, for in all other parts of it the Englifh have mani- 
 feiily excelled them. 
 
 " For the fable itftlf, 'tis in the Englifh more adorned with epi- 
 fodes, and larger than in the Greek Poets, confequently more divert- 
 ing ; for, if the action be but one, and that plain, without any 
 counterturn of dcfign or epifode ( i. e.) under-plot, how can it be fo 
 pleafing as the Englifh, which have both under-plot, and a turned 
 defign, which keeps the audience in expectation of the cataftrophe ? 
 whereas in the Greek Poets we fee through the whole defign at firft ? 
 " For the charafters, they are neitheir fo many nor fo various in 
 Sophocles arid Euripides, as in Shakefpeare and Fletcher ; only they 
 are more adapted to thofeends of tragedy which Ariftotle commends 
 to us ; pity and terror. 
 
 " The manners flow from the characters, and confequently mull 
 partake of their advantages and di fad vantages. 
 
 " The thoughts and words, which are the fourth and fifth beauties 
 of tragedy, are certainly more noble and more poetical in the Englifh 
 than in the Greek, which muft be proved by comparing them fome- 
 what more equitable than Mr. Rymer has done. 
 
 " After all, we need not yield that the Englifh way is lefs con- 
 ducing to move pity and terror ; becaufe they often mew virtue op- 
 prefs'd, and vice punifhed ; where they do not both or either, they 
 are not to be defended. 
 
 " That we may the lefs wonder why pity and terror are not now 
 the only fpriugs on which our tragedies move, and that Shakefpeare 
 may be more excufed, Rapin confefles that the French tragedies now 
 all ran upon the t entire, and gives the reafon, becaufe love is the 
 paflion win Ji myit predominates in our fouls ; and that therefore the 
 b 4 pailions
 
 xxiv PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 long after Fletcher died, and tranfplanted into Love's 
 
 Pilgrimage after the printing the New-Inn, which 
 
 paflions reprefented become infipid, unlefs they are conformable to 
 the thoughts of the audience ; but it is to be concluded, that this 
 pafllon works not now among the French fo lirongly, as the other 
 two did amonglt the ancients : Amongft us, who have a ilror.ger 
 genius for writing, the operations from the writing are much ftronger ; 
 for the raifing of Shakefpeare's paflions are more from the excellency 
 of the words and thoqghts, than the juftnefs of the occafion ; and if 
 he has been able to pick fingle occafions, he has never fouiided the 
 \vhole reafonably, yet by the genius of poetry, in writing he has 
 fucceeded. 
 
 " The parts of a poem, tragic or heroic, are, 
 
 " I. The fable itfelf. 
 
 " II. The order or manner of its contrivance, in relation of the 
 parts to the whole. 
 
 " III. The manner?, or decency of the characters in fpeahing or 
 acling what is proper for them, ana proper to be {hewn by the poet. 
 
 " IV. The thoughts which exprefs the manners. 
 
 " V. The words which exprefs thofe thoughts. 
 
 " In the lart of thefe Homer excels Virgil, Virgil all other ancient 
 poets, and Shakefpeare all modern poets. 
 
 " For the fecond of thefe, the order ; the meaning is, that a fable 
 ought to have a beginning, middle, and an end, all juft and natural, 
 fo that that part which is the middle, could not naturally be the be- 
 ginning or end, and fo of the reft ; all are depending one on another, 
 like the links of a curious chain. 
 
 "If terror and pity are only to be rais'd ; certainly this author 
 follows Ariftotle's rules, and Sophocles and Huripides's example ; buc 
 joy may be rais'd too, and that doubly, either by feeing a' wicked 
 man punifhed, or a good man at lafi fortunate; or perhaps indigna- 
 tion, to fee wickedaefs piofperous, and goodnefs deprelTed : uoth 
 thefe may be profitable to the end of tragedy, reformation of manners ; 
 but the Jaft improperly, only as it begets pity in the audience : tho' 
 Ariftotle, I confef?, places tragedies of this kind in the fecond form. 
 
 " And, if we fhould grant that the Greeks performed this better ; 
 perhaps it may admit a difpute whether pity and terror are either the 
 prime, or at lea ft the only ends of tragedy. 
 
 " It. is not enough that Ariilotle has laid fo, for Ariftotlc drew h!s 
 models of tragedy from Sophocles and Euripides ; and if he had ice.n 
 ours, might have changed his mind. 
 
 ' And chiefly we have to fay (what I hinted on pity and terror in 
 the laft paragraph fare one) that the puni(hment of vice, and rewr.rd 
 pf virtue, are the molt adequate ends of tragedy, becaufe moft con- 
 ducing to good example of life; now pity is not fo eaiily raifed for 
 a criminal (as the ancient tragedy always reprefents his chief perfon 
 fuch) as it is for an innocent man and the fuffering of innocence and 
 pun ihment of the offender, is of the nature of Engliih Tragedy i 
 
 contrary
 
 PREFACE, lyrt. xxv 
 
 was in the year 1630. And two of the plays printed 
 under the name of" Fletcher, viz. the Coronation, 
 
 contrary in the Greek, innocence is unhappy often, and the offender 
 elCupes. 
 
 " Then we are not touched with the fufFerirrgs of any fort of men 
 fo much as of lovers ; and this was almoll unknown to the ancients ; 
 fo that they neither adminillred poetical juftice (of which Mr. Rymer 
 boait') fo well as we, neither knew they the bell common-place of 
 pity, which is love. 
 
 " He therefore unjuftly blames us for not building upon what the 
 ancients left us, for it feems, upon confideration of che premifcs, that 
 \ve have wholly finifhed what they begun. 
 
 " My judgment on this piece is this ; that it is extremely learned ; 
 but that the author of it is better read in the Greek than in the 
 Englifh Foet.- ; that all writers ought to lludy this critick as the belt 
 account I have ever feen of the ancients ; that the model of tragedy- 
 he has heiejMven, is excellent, ar.d extreme correct ; but th;it it i*s 
 not the or.'y model or ail tragedy ; bt-caufe it is too much circum- 
 fcribed in piot, characters, &c. and laltly, that we may be taught 
 here juftly to adinire and imitate the ancients, without giving them, 
 the preference, with this author, in prejudice to our own country. 
 
 " Want of method, in this excellent treadle, makes the thoughts 
 of the Author fometimes obfcure. 
 
 " His meaning, that pity and terror are to be moved, is that they 
 are to be moved as the means conducing to the ends of tragedy, which 
 are pleafure and inllruction. 
 
 ' And thefe two ends may be thus diftinguifhed. The chief ends 
 of the poet is to pleafe ; for his immediate reputation depends on jr. 
 
 " The great end of the poem is to inftruct, which is performed 
 by making pleafure the vehicle of that inllruction : For poetry is an 
 art, and all arts are made to profit. 
 
 " The pity which the Poet is to labour for, is for the criminal, not 
 for thole, or him, whom he has murdered, or who have been the 
 cccafion of the tragedy : The terror is likewife in the punifhment of 
 the fame criminal, who if he be reprcfented too great 2n offender, 
 will not be pitied ; if altogether innocent, his punilhment will be 
 uujuft. 
 
 " Another cbfcurity is where he fays, Sophocles perfected tragedy, 
 by introducing the third actor ; that is, he meant three kinds of 
 action, one company fmging, or fpeaking, another playing on the 
 mufick, a third < -'anting. 
 
 " Rapin attributes more to the JKfio, that is, to the words and 
 difcourfes of a tragedy, than Ariilotle has done, who pieces them in 
 the lalt rank of beauties ; perhaps only Jail in order, btcaufe they 
 are the lail product of the defign of the difpofition or connexion of 
 its part?, of the characters, of the manners of thofc characters, and 
 of the thoughts of proceeding from thofe manners. 
 
 <' JRapin'* words aie remarkable: 
 
 ' Tfr
 
 xxvi PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 and the Little Thief, have been claimed by Shirley 
 to be his ; 'tis probable they were left imperfect by 
 one, and finifhed by the other. 
 
 Mr. Langbaine, in his account of the Dramatic 
 Poets, printed in the year 1691, is very particular 
 upon the feveral plays of our Authors, and therefore I 
 ihall conclude with tranfcribing from him, page -204. 
 viz. < Mr. Beaumont was a mafter of a good wit, 
 
 * and a better judgment, that Mr. Jonfon himfelf 
 e thought it no difparagement to fubmit his writings 
 c to his correction. Mr. Fletcher's wit was equal to 
 c Mr. Beaumont's judgment, and was fo luxuriant, 
 e that like fuperfiuous branches it was frequently 
 c pruned by his judicious partner. Thefe Poets per- 
 
 * fectly underftood breeding, and therefore fuccefs- 
 f fully copied the converfation cf gentlemen. They 
 c knew howtodefcribe the manners of the age; and 
 ' Fletcher had a peculiar talent in exprefling all his 
 ' thoughts with life and brifknefs. No man ever 
 ' underflood or drew the paffions more lively than he^ 
 f and his witty raillery was fo drefTed, that it rather 
 ' pleafed than difgufted the modeft part of his au- 
 ' dience. In a word, Fletcher's fancy and Beaumont's 
 
 * judgment combined, produced fuch Plays, as will 
 c remain monuments of their wit to all poflerity. 
 f Mr. Fletcher himfelf, after Mr. Beaumont's death, 
 ' compofed feveral Dramatic Pieces, which were 
 ' worthy the pen of fo great a mafter.' And this 
 Mr. Cartwright alludes to, in his verfes before the 
 book, _________ _____ 
 
 " 'Tis not the admit able intrigue, the fu.-prizing events, and 
 extraordinary incidents that make the beauty of a tragedy, 'iis the 
 difcourfes, when they are natural and paflionate. 
 
 " So are Shakefpeare's. ' 
 
 ' Here Mr. Dtyden breaks off. 
 
 * About a year after Mr. Ryrr.et's publifhing his crit'cifm, he printed 
 a tragedy written by himfelf in rhime, called Eug?.r ; or, The Eng- 
 Jilh Monarch ; an heroick tracedy, dedicated to King Charles the 
 Second ; this Play never appeared on the ilage, the players not 
 thinking it worth their while, nor ha any one made any criticifms 
 upon that.' 
 
 The
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xxvii 
 
 The following verfes, put under his folio piclure, 
 
 were written by Sir John Berkenhead. 
 Fdicis <evi, ac Pr<ejulis natus ; comes 
 BEAUMONTIO ; fie, quiff e Parnaftts, biceps; 
 EL ETC HER us unam in pyramida furcas agens. 
 ->Stru\it cborum plus fimplicem "j cites duplex \ 
 Plus duplicemfolus j nee ullum trar.ftulit ; 
 Nee transferrendus : Dramalum xternijales, 
 dnglo tbeatro, orbi, fibi, fuperftitites. 
 FLETCHERE, fades abjque vulfit pingitur j 
 Quantus I <uel umbram circuit nemo tuam. 
 There are fifty-two plays written by thefe Authors, 
 
 each of which I fhall mention alphabetically. 
 
 Beggars,'' Bujh, a Comedy. This Play I have feen feveral 
 times afted with applaufe. 
 
 Bonduca, a Tragedy. The plot of this Play is borrowed 
 from Tacitus's Annals, lib. 14. See Milton's Hiltory of 
 England, book 2. Ubaldino de Vita ddle Donne lllujlri del 
 Regno d* Inghelterra & Scotia, p. 7. &c. 
 
 Bloody Brother, or Ratio Duke of Normandy^ a Tragedy 
 much in requeft ; and notwithstanding Mr. Rymer's criti- 
 cifms on it, has ftill the good fortune to pleafe : It being 
 frequently aled by the prefent company of aftors, at the 
 Queen's Playhoufe in DorfetGarden. The defign of this 
 Play is hillory: See Herodian, lib. 4. Xiphilini Epit. Dion, 
 in yit. Ant. Ca^acalla. Part of the language is copied from 
 Seneca's Fhebais. 
 
 Captain, a Comedy. 
 
 Chances, a Comedy, revived by the late Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, and very much improved ; being ated with extra* 
 ordinary applaufe at the Theatre in Dorfet-Garden, and 
 print d \vith the alterations, London, 410, 1682. This 
 Phy is built on a Novel written by the famous Spaniard 
 Mig'jel de Cervantes, called The Lady Cornelia ; which the 
 Reader may read at large in a folio volume called Six Exem- 
 plary Novels. 
 
 Coronation, a Tragi-Comedy. 
 
 Coxcomb, a Comedy, which was revived at the Theatre- 
 Royal, the Prologue being fpoken by Joe Haines. 
 
 Cupid's Revenge, a Tragedy. 
 
 Cujlom of the Country, a fragi-Comedy. This is accounted, 
 an excellent Play, the plot of Rutilio, Duarte, and Guiomar, 
 is founded o one of Malefpiui's Novels, deca. 6. nov. 6.
 
 xxviii PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 Double Marriage, a Tragedy, which has been revived 
 fome years ago ; as I learn from a ne\v Prologue printed m 
 Co vent-Garden Dro^ery, p. 14. 
 
 Elder Brother, a Comedy, which has been acted with 
 good :applaufe. 
 
 Faithful Shepherdefs, a Paftoral, writ by Mr. Fletcher, and 
 commended by two copies written by the judicious Reaun\pnt, 
 and the learned Jonfon, which are inferted among the Com- 
 mendatory Poems at the beginning of this Edition. When 
 this Paftoral was firft acted before their Majeities at Soiner- 
 fet-Houfe on Twelfth-Night, 1633, inftead of a Prologue, 
 there was a Song in Dialogue, fung between a Prieft and a 
 Nymph, which was writ by Sir William D J Avenant ; and an 
 Epilogue was fpoken by the Lady Mary Mordant, which the 
 Reader may read in Covent-Garden Drollery, p. 86. 
 
 Fair Maid of the Inn, a Tragi-Comedy. Mariana's dif- 
 owning Crefario for her fon, and the Duke's injunction to 
 marry him, is related by Caufin in his Holy Court, and is 
 transcribed by Wanley in his Hiftory of Man, fol. book 3. 
 chap. 26. 
 
 Falft One, a Tragedy. This Play is founded on the ?.d- 
 ventures of Julius Cxfar in yEgypt, and his amours with 
 Cleopatra. See Suetonius, Plutarch, Dion, Appian, I'lorus," 
 Eutropius, Orbflus, &c. 
 
 Four Plays, or Moral Representations in One ; viz, The 
 Triumph cf Honour ; The Triumph if Love ; The Triumph of 
 J)eath\ 7 he Triumph of Time. I knmv not whether ever 
 thefe Reprefentations appeared on the itage, or no. The 
 Triumph of Honour is founded on Coccace his Novels, day 
 10. nov. 5. The Triumph cf Love, on the fame Author, 
 day 5. nov. 8. The Triumph of Death, on a Novel in The 
 fortunate, Deceived, and Unfortunate Lovers, part 3. nov. 3. 
 fee befides Palace of Pleafurc, nov. 40. ik-lleforeft, &c. 
 The Triumph of Time, a-j far as falls within my difcovcrv, 
 is wholly the Author's invention. 
 
 Honcjl Alan's Fortune, a Tragi-Comedy. As to t!ie plot 
 of Montague's being preferred by Lamira to be her hufbarid, 
 when he was in adveifity, and leait expecled, the like - 
 is related by Keywood, Hiftory of Women, b. 9. p. 641. 
 
 Humorous Lieutenant, a Tragi-Comedy, which I have often 
 feen acted with applaufe. The character of the Humourous 
 Lieutenant refuting to fight after he was cured of his 
 wounds, refembles the ftory of the foldier belonging to 
 Lucullus, defcribed in the Epiitles of Horace, lib. 2. ep. 2. 
 fcut the very ftory is related in Ford's Apothegms, p. 30. 
 Mowncarthe Poet keeps to the hiftorian Iniuil leave to 
 
 that
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xxix 
 
 that will compare the Play with the writers of the lives of 
 Antigonus and Demetrius, the father and the fon. See 
 Plutarch's Life of Demetrius, Diodorus, Juftin, Appian, &c. 
 
 Ijland Princefs, a Tragi-Comedy. This Play about three 
 years ago was revived with Alterations by Mr. Tate, being 
 acled at the Theatre-Royal, printed in 4to. London, 1687, 
 and dedicated totheRightHonourableHenryLordWalgrnve. 
 
 King and No King, a Tragi-Comedy, which notwith* 
 ftandingits errors difcovered byMr.Rymerin hiscriticifms, 
 has always been ated with applaufe, and has lately been 
 revived on our prefent Theatre with fo great fuccefs, that we 
 mayjuftly fay with Horace, 
 
 H&c placuit Jemely h<zc decies repetita placebit. 
 
 Knight of the Burning Pejlle^ a Comedy. This Play was 
 in vogue fome years fince, it being revived by the King'* 
 Houfe, and a new Prologue (iuftead of the old one in 
 profe) being fpoken by Mrs. Ellen Giiin. The bringing the 
 Citizen and his Wife upon the ftage, was poilibly in imita- 
 tion of Ben Jonfon's Staple of News, who has introduced 
 on the ftage Four GofTips, lady-like attired, who remaia 
 during the whole alion, and criticife upon each icene. 
 
 Knight of Malta, a Tiagi-Comedy. 
 
 Laws of Candy, a Tragi-Comedy. 
 
 Little French Lawyer, a Comedy. The plot is borrowed 
 from Gufman, or the Spanifh Rogue, part 2. chap. 4'. The 
 ftory of Dinant, Cleremont, and Lamira, being borrowed 
 from Don Lewis de Caftro, and Don Roderigo de Montalva. 
 The like ftory is in other novels ; as in Scarron's Novel, 
 called The Fruitlefs Precaution 5 and in The Complaifant 
 .Companion, 8vo. p. 263, which is copied from the above- 
 mentioned original. 
 
 Loves Cure, or The Martial Alaid, a Comedy. 
 
 Love's Pilgrimage, a Comedy. This I take to be an ad- 
 mirable Comedy. The foundation of it is built on a novel 
 t>f Miguel de Cervantes, called The Two Damfels. The 
 fcene in the firft act, between Diego the hoft of Ofluna, 
 and Lazaro his oftler, is ftoln from Ben Jonfon's New Inn ; 
 which I may rather term borrowed, for that Play mifcarry- 
 ing in the action, I luppofe they made ufe of it with Ben's 
 content. 
 
 Lover? Progrefs, a Tragi-Comedy. This Play is built oa 
 aFrench Pvomance written bv Mr. Daudiguier, called Lyfantkr 
 and Califta. 
 
 Loyal Sublet?, a Tragi-Comedy. 
 
 Mad Lover, a Tragi-Comedy. The defign of Cleamhe's 
 fuboraing the Prieilefs to give a falfc oracle iu favour of her 
 
 brother
 
 xxx PREFACE, 1711. 
 
 brother Syphax, is borrowed from the ftory of Mundus arid 
 "Paulina, defcribed at large by Jofephus, lib 18. cap. 4, 
 This Play Sir Afton Cokain has chiefly commended in his 
 Copy of Verfes on Mr. Fletcher's Plays. See the Verfes be- 
 fore this Edition ; and Cokain's Poems, p. 101. 
 
 Maid in the Mil/, a Come'dy. This Play amongft others, 
 has likewife been revived by the Duke's Houfe. The plot 
 of Antonio, Ifmenia, and Aminta, is borrowed from 
 Gerardo, a Romance translated from the Spanifh of Don 
 Gonzalo de Cefpides, and Moneces ; fee the Story of Don 
 Jayme, p. 350. As to the plot of Otrante's feizing Florimel 
 the miller's fuppofed daughter, and attempting her chaftity : 
 'Tis borrowed from an Italian novel writ by Bandello ; a 
 tranflation of which into French, the Reader may find in 
 Les Hijtoires Tragiques, par M. Belleforeft, torn. i. hi ft. 12. 
 The fame (lory is related by M. Goulart ; fee Les Hi/ioiret 
 admirable! de notre terns, 8vo. torn. I. p. 212. 
 
 Maid's Tragedy , a Play which has always been acted with 
 great applaufe at the King's Theatre ; and which had dill 
 continued on the Englifh ftage, had not King Charles the 
 Second, for fome particular reafons, forbid its further 
 appearance during his reign. It has fince been revived by 
 Mr. Waller, the lad act having been wholly altered to 
 pleafe the court. This laft act is publiflied in Mr. Waller's 
 Poems, printed in 8vo. London, 1711. 
 
 - Mafque of Grays-Inn Gentlemen, and the Inner-Temple. 
 This Mafque was written by Mr. Beaumont alone, and pre- 
 fented before the King and CVueen in the Banqueting-Houfe 
 of Whitehall, at the marriage of the Illuftrious Frederick 
 and Elizabeth, Prince nnd Princefs Palatine of the Pxhine. 
 
 Monfieur Thomas^ a Comedy, which not long fince ap- 
 peared on the prefent ftage under the name of Trick for 
 Trick. 
 
 Nice Valour ; or The Pajjionate Mad-man, n Comedy. 
 
 Night-Walker, or The Little Thief, a Comedy, which I 
 Tiave feen acted by the King's Servants, with great applaufe, 
 both in the city and country. 
 
 Noble Gentleman, a Comedy which was lately revived by 
 Mr. Durfey, under the title of The Fools Preferment, or 
 The Three Dukes of Dunn-able. 
 
 Philajler, or Love Lies a-Bleeding, a Tragi-Comedy which 
 h^s always been acted with fuccefs, and has been the diverfion 
 of the ftage, even in thefe days. This was the firft Play that 
 brought thefe excellent Authors in efteem ; and this Play was 
 one of thole that were reprcfented at the old Theatre in Lin- 
 s, when the women cled alone. The Prologue 
 
 and
 
 PREFACE, 1711. xxxi 
 
 atid Epilogue were fpoken by Mrs. Marfhal, and printed in 
 Covent-Garden Drollery, p. 18. About this time there was a 
 Prologue written on purpofe for the women by Mr.Dryden,aiid 
 is printed in his Mifcellany Poems in 8vo. p. 285. 
 
 Pilgrim, a Comedy which was revived ibme years fince, 
 and a Prologue fpoke, which the Reader may find in 
 Covent-Garden Drollery, p. 12. 
 
 Prophetefs, a Tragical Hiltory, which has lately been re- 
 vived by Mr. Dryden, under the title of The Prophetefs, or 
 The Hiftory of Diocletian, with Alterations and Additions 
 after the manner of an Opera, rcprefented at the Queen'* 
 Theatre, and printed 410. London, 1 690. For the plot con- 
 fult Eufebius lib. 8. Nicephorus lib. 6. and 7. Vopifc. Car. 
 & Carin. Aur. Vi&oris Epitome. Eutropius lib. 9. Baroni-as 
 An. 204. sV. Orofius, 1. 7. c. 16. Coeffeteau, 1. 20, &c 
 
 Queen of Corinth, a Tragi-Comedy. 
 
 Rule a Wife and Have a Ifffe, a Tragi-Comedy which 
 within thefe few years has been ailed with applaufe, at the 
 Queen's Theatre in Dorfet-Garden. 
 
 Scornful Lady, a Comedy acted with good applaufe, even 
 in thefe times, at the Theatre in Dorfet-Garden. Mr. 
 Dryden has condemned the conclufion of this Play, in re* 
 ference to the converfion of Moorcraft the ufurer ; but whe- 
 ther this cataftrophe. be excufable, I mull leave to the critics. 
 
 Sea-voyage, a Comedy lately revived by Mr. Durfey, under 
 the title of The Commonwealth of Women. This Play is 
 fuppofed by Mr. Dryden, (as I have obferved) to be copied 
 from Shakefpeare's Tempetl. 
 
 * The florm which vanilh'd on the neighbouring fiiore, 
 
 * Was taught by Shakeipeare's Tempeil firft to roar 5, 
 ' That innocence and beauty which did finite 
 
 ( In Fletcher, grew on this enchanted hie/ 
 Spanijb Curate, a Comedy frequently revived with general 
 applaufe. The plot of Don Henrique, Afcanio, Violante, 
 and Jacintha, is borrowed from Gerardo's Hiftory of Don 
 John, p. 202. and that of Leandro, Bartolus, Amarantha, 
 and Lopez, from The Spanifti Curate of the fame Author, 
 p. 214, fcfc. 
 
 Thierry and Theodsret, a Tragedy. This Play is accounted 
 by fome an excellent old Play ; the plot of it is founded on 
 hiftory. See the French Chronicles in the reign of Clotaire 
 the Second. See Fredegarius Scholafticus, Aimoinus Mo- 
 nachus Floriacenfis, DC Serres, Mczeray, Crifpin, &c. 
 
 Two Nobl: Kinfmcn, a Tragi-Comedy. This Play war 
 written by Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Shakcfpeare. The ilory 
 is taken from Chaucer's Knight's Tale, which Mr. Dryden 
 
 has
 
 xxxii P R E F A C E, 1711. 
 
 has admirably put into modern Englifii -, it is the firft Poem 
 in his Fables. 
 
 Valentln\an t a Tragedy revived not long ago by that great 
 wit, the earl of Rocheller; acted at the Theatre-Royal, 
 and printed in 4to. 1685, with a Preface concerning the 
 Author and his Writings. For the plot fee the writers of 
 thofe times ; as Caflidori Chron. Amm. Marcell. Hiit. Eva- 
 grius, lib. 2. Procopius, &c. 
 
 Wife for a Month, a Tragi-Comedy. This Play is in my 
 poor judgment well worth reviving, and with the a Iteration of a 
 judicious pen, would be an excellent drama. The character 
 and ftory of Alphonfo, and his brother Frederick's carriage 
 to him much refembles the hiftory of Sane ho the Eighth, 
 King of Leon. I leave the Reader to the perufal of his ftory 
 in Mariana, and Louis de Mayerne Turquet. 
 
 Wild-Goof e Chafe, a Comedy valued by the beft judges 
 of poetry. 
 
 Wit at Several Weapons, a Comedy which by fome is 
 thought very diverting , and poffibly was the model en which 
 the characters of the Elder Palatine and Sir Morglay Thwack 
 were built by Sir William D' Avenant, in his Comedy 
 called The Wits. 
 
 Wit without Money, a Comedy which I have feen aled at 
 the Oid Houfe in Little Lincoln's-Inn Fields with very 
 great applaufe ; the part of Valentine being played by that 
 complete ator Major Mohun deceafed. This was the firil 
 Play that was ated after the burning the King's Houfe in 
 Drury-Lane ; a new Prologue being writ for them by Mr. 
 Dryden, printed in his Miicellany Poems in 8vo. p. 205. 
 
 Woman-Hater, a Comedy. This Play was revived by Sir 
 William D' Avenant, and a new Prologue (ir.ftcad of the 
 old one writ in profe) was fpoken, which the Reader may 
 perufe in Sir William's Y/orks in folio, p. ,249. This Play 
 was one of thofe writ by Fletcher alcnc. 
 
 Women Pleas' d, a Tragi'-Comedy. The comical parts of 
 this Play throughout between Bartello, Lopez, liabclla, 
 and Claudio, are founded on feveral of Boccace's Novels ; 
 See day 7. nov. 6. and 8. day 8. nov. 8. 
 
 Wor-iarfs Prize, or The Tamer Tamd, a Comedy, written 
 on the fame foundation with Shakefpeare'.s Taming of jhc 
 Shrew; or which we may better call a Second Part or Coun- 
 terpart to that admirable comedy. This was v.rit by Mr. 
 FJetcher'o pen lik-jwiu;. 
 
 MR.
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, 
 ( OCTAVO, 1750. ) 
 
 TH E public at length receives a new edition, 
 of the two great Poets, who, with a fate 
 in each cafe alike unjuft, were extolled for 
 near a century after their deaths, as equals, rivals, 
 nay, fuperiors to the immortal Shakefpeare ; but in 
 the prefent age have been cepreffed beneath the 
 finooth-polifhed enervate ifllie of the modern drama. 
 And as their fame has been fo different with refpect 
 to other poets, fo has it varied alfo between them- 
 felves. Fletcher was a while fuppofed unable to rife 
 to any height of eminence, had not Beaumont's 
 flronger arm bore him upwards. Yet no fooner had 
 he loft that aid, and demonftrated that it was clelighn 
 and love, not necefiity, which made him f oar alreaft 
 with his amiable friend ; but the ftill injurious world 
 began to ftrip the plumes from Beaumont, and to 
 drefs Fletcher in the whole fame, leaving to the 
 former nothing but the mere -pruning of Fletcher's 
 luxuriant wit, the lim<e labor, the plummet, and the 
 rule, but neither the plan, materials, compcfition, or 
 ornaments. This is directly afierted in Mr. Cart- 
 wright's Commendatory Poem on Fletcher. 
 
 Who therefore wifely did fubmit each birth 
 To knowing Beaumont ere it did come forth, 
 Working again until he faid, 'twas fit, 
 And made him \k\sfabriety of His wit. 
 VOL. I. c The'
 
 xxxiv MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 Tho' thus he call'd his judge into \\\sfame t 
 And for that aid allow'd him half the name t &c. 
 
 See Cartwright's Poem bcloiv. 
 
 Mr. Harris, in his Commendatory Poem, makes 
 Beaumont a mere dead weight hanging on the boughs 
 of Fletcher's palm. 
 
 When thou didft fit 
 
 But as a joint commifiioner in wit ; 
 
 When it had plummets hung on to fupprefs 
 
 Its too-luxuriant growing mightinefs. 
 
 'Till as that tree which fcorns to be kept down, 
 
 Thou grew'il to govern the whole ftage alone. 
 
 I believe this extremely injurious to Beaumont j but 
 as the opinion, or fomething like it, has lived for 
 ages, and is frequent at this day, it is time at length 
 to reftore Beaumont to the full rank of fellowfhip 
 which he poflefTed when living, and to fix the ftandard 
 of their refpecYive merits, before we fhew the degree 
 in which their united fame ought to be placed on 
 the Britifri Theatre. 
 
 Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Harris wrote thirty years 
 after Beaumont's death, and twenty after Fletcher's; 
 and none of the numerous contemporary poems, 
 publifhed with theirs before the firft folio edition of 
 our Authors, degrade Beaumont fo very low as thefe. 
 Sir John Berkenhead allows him a full moiety of the 
 fame, but feems to think his genius more turned to 
 grave Jublimity than to fprightlinefs of imagination. 
 
 Fletcher's keen treble^ and deep Beaumont's bafe. 
 
 Thus has this line of Sir John's been hitherto read 
 and underftood, but its authenticity in this light will 
 be difputed when we come to that poem, and the 
 juftnefs of the character at prefent. We have among 
 the Commendatory Poems, one of Mr. Earle's, 
 wrote immediately after Beaumont's death, and ten 
 years before Fletcher's : He feems to have been an 
 
 acquaintance
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, xxxr 
 
 acquaintance as well as contemporary, and his 
 teftimony ought to have much more weight than 
 all the traditional opinions of thofc who wrote thirty 
 years after. He afcribes to Beaumont three firft-rate 
 plays; The Maid's Tragedy, Philafter, and The 
 King and No King. The firft of thefe has a grave 
 fublimity mingled with more horror and fury than are 
 frequently feen among the gay-Jpirited fcenes of 
 Fletcher, and probably gave rife to the report of 
 Beaumont's deep bafe. But there is fcarce a more 
 lively-fpirited character in all their plays than Phi- 
 lafter, and I believe Beaumont aimed at drawing a 
 Hamlet racked with Othello's love and jealoufy. 
 The King and No King too is extremely fpirited in 
 all its characters ; Arbaces holds up a mirror to all 
 men of virtuous principles but violent pajfions : Hence 
 he is as it were at once magnanimity and pride, patience 
 and/ary, gentlenejs and rigor, chaftity and incsft, and 
 is one of the fineft mixture of virtues and vices that 
 any poet has drawn, except the Hotfpur of Shake- 
 fpeare, and the impiger, iracundus, inexerabilis Acer, 
 of Homer. (For a defence of this character againft 
 Mr. Rymer's cavils, fee the concluding note on King 
 and No King.) BeiTus and his two Swordfmen in 
 this play are infinitely the livelieft comic characters 
 of mere bragging cowards which we have in our 
 language; and if they do not upon the whole equal 
 the extenfive and inimitable humours of FalftafFand 
 his companions, they leave all other characters of the 
 fame fpecies, even Shakefpeare's own Parolles far 
 behind them. 
 
 Our excellent Congreve has confolidated the two 
 Swordfmen to form his Captain BlufF. And be it 
 his honour to have imitated fo well, though he is far 
 from reaching the originals. Beaumont lived in the 
 age of duelling upon every flight punctilio. Con- 
 greve wrote his BlufF in the-JFJanders war : Times 
 when a braggart was the moft ridiculous of all cha- 
 racters; and fo far was Beaumont from the fuppofed 
 '2 grave
 
 xxxvi MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 grave Johmn tragic poet only, that comic humour, 
 particularly in drawing cojoardije y leems his peculiar 
 talent. For the fpirit of Beffus -paulum mutatus, 
 changed only fo as to give a proper novelty of cha- 
 racter, appears again in The Nice Valour; or, Paf- 
 fionate Madman. The traces of the fame hand, fo 
 ftrongly marked in this play, ftrike a new light upon 
 Beaumont's character. For in a letter to Jonfon, 
 printed at the end of The Nice Valour, vol. x. 
 he fpeaks of himfelf not as a mere corrector of 
 others works, but as a Poet of acknowledged emi- 
 nence, and of The Nice Valour, and fome other 
 comedy, (which the publifher of the fecond folio * 
 took for the Woman-Hater) as his plays (which 
 muft be underftood indeed as chiefly his, not ex- 
 cluding Fletcher's affiirance.) Now thefe two plays 
 totally differ in their manner from all that Fletcher 
 wrote alone : They confift not of characters from 
 real life, as Fletcher and Shakefpeare draw theirs, 
 but of paffions and humours perfomz'd, as cowardife in 
 Lapet, nice honour in Shamont, the madnefs of dif- 
 ferent paflions in the Madman, the love of nice eating 
 in Lazarillo, the hate of women in Gonderino. This 
 is Jonfon's manner^ to whom in the letter quoted 
 above, Beaumont indeed acknowledges that he 
 owed it. 
 
 1 The publilhers of the fecond folio acitied feveral genuine Songs, 
 Prologues, Epilogues, and fome lines in particular p'ays not contained 
 in any former edition, which, by the account given, they perhaps got 
 from either an old aclor, or a playhoufe-prompter ; they fay, from a 
 gentleman who had been intimate with both the Authors, they pro- 
 bably were directed by lights received from him to place The Wouiin- 
 Hater directly before The Nice Valour, and to make this the other 
 play which Beaumont claims. The Little French Lawyer, and The 
 Knight of the Burning Fettle, are molt certainly two plays which 
 Beaumont had a large fhare in, for his hand is very vifible in the ex- 
 treme droll charadttr of The French Lawyer who runs duello-mad; 
 the Prologue talks of the Authors in the plural number, and the 
 itrain of high buriefque appears very fimilar in the two characters of 
 Lazarillo in The Woman-Huter, and Ralpho in The Burning Peftle. 
 Beaumont's name too is put firft in the title-page of the firlt quarto 
 ef this laft play, p ubiifiied a few years after Fletcher's death. 
 
 Fate
 
 MR. SE WARD'S PREFACE, xxxvii 
 
 Fate once again 
 
 Bring me to thee, who canft make fmooth and plain 
 
 The way of knowledge for me, and then I, 
 
 Who have no good but in thy company, 
 
 Proteft it will my greateft comfort be 
 
 T' acknowledge all I have to floxv from thee. 
 
 Ben, when thefe fcenes are perfect we'll tafte wine : 
 
 I'll drink thy muffs health, thou (halt quaff mine. 
 
 Does Jonfon (who is faid conftantly to have con- 
 fulted Beaumont, and to have paid the greateft de- 
 ference to his judgment) does he, I fay, treat him 
 in his anfwer as a mere critic > and judge of others 
 works only ? No, but as an eminent poet, whom he 
 loved with a zeal enough to kindle a love to his 
 memory, as long as poetry delights the underftand- 
 ing, or friendfhip warms the heart. 
 
 How I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy mufe, 
 That unto me doll fuch religion ufe ! 
 How I do fear myfelf, that am not worth 
 The leaft indulgent thought thy pen drops forth ! 
 
 See the remainder of this Poem III. of the Com- 
 mendatory Verfes ; fee alfo the firft of thefe Poems 
 by Beaumont himfelf, the clofe of which will fuffi- 
 ciently confirm both his vigour of imagination and 
 
 Jprigbtlinefs of humour. Having thus, we hope, dif- 
 perled the cloud that for ages has darkened Beau- 
 mont's fame, let it again fhine in full luflre Britannia 
 
 fidus alterum et decu$ gemellum. And let us now 
 examine the order and magnitude of this poetic con^ 
 
 ftellation, and view the joint characters of Beaumont 
 and Fletcher. 
 
 Thefe Authors are in a direft mean between Shake- 
 fpeare and Jonfon, they do not reach the amazing 
 rabidity and immortal flights of the former, but they 
 foar with more eaje and to nobler heights than the latter; 
 they have lefs of the os magnajonans^ the <vivida vis- 
 animi, the noble enthufiajm y the mufe of fire ', the terrible 
 graces of Shakefpeare, but they have much more of 
 c 3 all
 
 xxxviiiMa. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 all thefe than Jonfon. On the other hand, in litera- 
 ture they mucn excel the former, and are excelled by 
 the latter ; and therefore they are more regular in 
 their plots and more correft in thtir fentiments and 
 diRion than Shakefpeare, but left fo than Jonfon. 
 Thus far Beaumont and Fletcher are one, but as 
 hinted above in this they differ , Beaumont ftudied 
 and followed Jonibn's manner, perfonized the pajfions 
 and drew Nature in her extremes -, Fletcher followed 
 Shakefpeare and Nature in her ufual drefs (this dif- 
 tinftion only holds with regard to their comic works, 
 for in tragedies they all chiefly paint from real life.) 
 Which of thefe manners is moft excellent may be 
 difficult to fay > the former feems m6ftjtrikfar t the 
 latter more p'leafmg, the former fhews vice and folly 
 in the moft ridiculous lights, the latter more fully 
 Ihews each man himfelf, and unlocks the inmoft 
 recefies of the heart. 
 
 Great are the names of the various mafters who 
 followed the one and the other manner. Jonfon, 
 Beaumont and Moliere lift on one fide j Terence, 
 Shakefpeare and Fletcher on the other. 
 
 But to return to our duumvirate, between whom 
 two other fmall differences are obfervable. Beau- 
 mont, as appears by various leftimonies and chiefly 
 by his own letter prefixed to the old folio edition of 
 Chaucer, was a hard ftudent ; and for one whom 
 the world loft before he was thirty, had a furprifmg 
 compafs of literature : Fletcher was a polite rather 
 than a deep Jcholar, and converfed with men at leaft 
 as much as with books. Hence the gay fprigktlinefs 
 and natural eafe of his young gentleman are allowed 
 to be inimitable ; in thefe he has been preferred by 
 judges of candour even to Shakefpeare himfelf. If 
 Beaumont does not equal him in this, yet being by 
 his fortune converfant alfo in high life (the fon of a 
 judge, as the other of a bifhop) he is in this too 
 alter ab illo, a goodfecond, and almoft a Jecond felf, 
 as Philafter, Amintor, Bacurius in the three firft 
 
 plays,
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, xxxix 
 
 plays, Count Valore, Oriana, Clerimont, Valentine, 
 and others evidently fliew. 
 
 This fmall difference obferved, another appears by 
 no means fimilar to it : Beaumont, we faid, chiefly 
 ftudied books and Jonfon; Fletcher, Nature and 
 Shakefpeare, yet fo far was thejirft from following 
 his /rzVW and mafter in his frequent clofe and almoft 
 fervile imitations of the ancient daffies, that he feems 
 to have had a much greater confidence in the fertility 
 and ritbnefs of his own imagination than even 
 Fletcher himfelf : The latter in his mafterpiece, The 
 Faithful Shepherdefs, frequently imitates Theocritus 
 and Virgil ; in Rollo has taken whole fcenes from 
 Seneca, and almoft whole acts from Lucan in The 
 Falfe One. I do not blame him for this, his imita- 
 tions have not thtftijfnefs, which fometimes appears 
 (though not often) in Jonfon, but breathe the free 
 and full air of originals ; and accordingly Rollo * and 
 The Falfe One are two of Fletcher's firft-rate plays. 
 But Beaumont, I believe, never condefcended to 
 tranflate and rarely to imitate ; however largely he 
 was fupplied with claffic ftreams, from his own urn 
 all flows pure and untinttured. Here the two friends 
 change places : Beaumont rifes in merit towards 
 Shakefpeare, and Fletcher defcends towards Jonfon. 
 
 Having thus feen the features of thefe twins of 
 poetry greatly refembling yet ftill diftincl: from each 
 other, let us conclude that all reports which feparate 
 and leffen the fame of either of them are ill-grounded 
 and falfe, that they were as Sir John Berkenhead 
 calls them, two full congenial fouls, or, as either 
 Fletcher himfelf, or his ftill greater colleague 
 
 * Rollo is in the firft edition in quarto afcribed to Fletcher alone. 
 The Falfe One is one of thofe plays that is more dubious as to its 
 Authors. The Prologue fpcaks of them in the plural number and 
 'tis probable that Beaumont affilled in the latter part of it, but I be- 
 lieve not much in the two firft ads, as thefe are fo very much taken 
 from Lucan, and the observation of Beaumont's not indulging him- 
 felf in fuch liberties holds good in all the plays in which he is known 
 to have had the largeft (hare. 
 
 c 4 Shakefpeare
 
 xl MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 Shakefpeare expreffes it in their Two Noble Kinf- 
 men. Vol. x. p. 32. 
 
 They were an endlefs mine to one another ; 
 They were each others wife, ever begetting 
 New births of wit. 
 
 They were both extremely remarkable for their 
 ready flow of wit in converfation as well as compofition, 
 and gentlemen that remembered them, fays Shirley, 
 declare that on every occafion they talked a comedy. 
 As therefore they were fo twinned in genius, worth 
 and wit, Jo lovely and pie af an! in their lives, after death, 
 let not their fame be ever again divided. 
 
 And now, Reader, when thou art fired into rage 
 or melted into pity by their tragic Jeeves, charmed 
 with the genteel elegance or burfting into laughter 
 at their comic humour, canft thou not drop the inter- 
 vening ages, fteal into Jonfon, Beaumont and 
 Fletcher's club-room at the Mermaid, on a night when 
 Shakefpeare, Donn and others vifited them, and 
 there join in fociety with as great wits as ever this 
 nation, or perhaps ever Greece or Rome could at one 
 time boafl ? where animated each by the other's 
 prefence, they even excelled themfelves ; 
 
 For wit is like a reft, 
 
 Held up at tennis, which men do the beffc 
 
 With the bed gamefters. What things have we fcen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 
 So nimble and fo full of fubtle flame, 
 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jejl t 
 
 And had refolv'd to live a fool the relt 
 
 Of his dull life ; then when there hath been thrown 
 
 Wit able' enough to juftify the town 
 
 For three days paft ; wit that might warrant be 
 
 For the whole city to talk foolifhly 
 
 'Till that were cancell'd ; and when that was gone 
 
 We left an air behind iis, which alone 
 
 Was able to make the two next companies 
 
 Right witty} tho' but downright fools, mere wife. 
 
 Beaumont's Letter to Jonfcn, vol. x. 
 Hitherto
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. xli 
 
 Hitherto the Reader has received only the portraits 
 of onr Authors without any proof of the fimilitude 
 and juftice of the draught; nor can we hope that it 
 will appear juft from a mere curfory view of the 
 originals. Many people read plays chiefly for the 
 fake of the plot, hurrying ftill on for that difcovery. 
 The happy contrivance of furprifing but natural 
 incidents is certainly a very great beauty in the 
 drama, and little writers have often made their ad- 
 vantages of it i they could contrive incidents to 
 embarrafs and perplex the plot, and by that alone 
 have fucceeded and pleafed, without perhaps a fingle 
 line of nervous poetry, a frngle Jentiment worthy of 
 memory, without a paffion worked up with natural 
 vigour, or a character of any diftinguifhed marks. 
 The befl -poets have rarely made this dramatic me* 
 cbantfm their point. Neither Sophocles, Euripides, 
 Terence, Shakefpeare, Beaumont, Fletcher or Jonfon, 
 are at all remarkable for forming a labyrinth of in- 
 cidents and entangling their readers in a pleafing per- 
 plexity : Our late dramatic poets learnt this from 
 the French, and they from romance-writers and no- 
 velifts. We could almoft wifh the readers of Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher to drop the expectation of the 
 event of each ftory, to attend with more care to the 
 beauty and energy of the fentiments, ditJion, pajfions 
 and characters. Every good author pleaies more, 
 the more he is examined j (hence perhaps that par- 
 tiality of editors to their own authors ; by a more 
 intimate acquaintance, they difcover more of their 
 beauties than they do of others) efpecially when the 
 ftile and manner are quite old-fajhioned, and the beau- 
 ties hid under the uncouthnefs of the drefs. The 
 tqfte zndfajbion of poetry varies in every age, and 
 though our old dramatic writers are as preferable to 
 the modern as Vandyke and Rubens to our modern 
 painters, yet mod eyes muft be accuftomed to their 
 manner before they can difcern their excellencies. 
 Thus the very beft plays of Shakefpeare were forced 
 
 to
 
 xlii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 to be drefied fafoionably by the poetic taylors of the 
 late ages before they could be admitted upon the 
 ilage, and a very few years fince his comedies in ge- 
 neral were under the highefl contempt. Few very 
 few durft fpeak of them with any fort of regard, till 
 the many excellent criticifms upon that author made 
 people fludy him, and fome excellent attors revived 
 thefe comedies, which completely opened mens eyes; 
 and it is now become as fajhionable to admire as it 
 had been to decry them. 
 
 Shakefpeare therefore even in \\lsfeccnd-beft manner 
 being now generally admired, we fhall endeavour to 
 prove that his Jecond-rate and our Author's fujl-rate 
 beauties are fo near upon a par that they are fcarce 
 diftinguifhable. A Preface allows not room fof 
 fufficient proofs of this, but we will produce at lean: 
 fome parallels of poetii diffion and Jentiments, and 
 refer to fome of the characters and paffions. 
 
 The inftances fhall be divided into three clafTes : 
 The firft of paffages where our Authors fall fhort in 
 comparifon of Shakefpeare -, the fecond of fuch as 
 are not eafily difcerned from him ; the third of thofe 
 where Beaumont and Fletcher have the advantage. 
 
 In The Maid's Tragedy there is a fimilar pafiage 
 to one of Shakefpeare, the comparifon of which 
 alone will be no bad fcale to judge of their different 
 excellencies. Melantius the general thus fpeaks of 
 his friend Amintor. 
 
 His worth is great, valiant he is and temperate, 
 And one that never thinks his life his own 
 If his friend need it: When he was a boy 
 As oft as I returned (as, without boaft 
 I brought home conqueft) he would gaze upon me, 
 And view me round, to find in what one limb 
 The virtue lay to do thofe things he heard ; 
 Then would he wifh to lee my fword, and feel 
 The quicknefs of the edge, and in his hand 
 Weigh it. He oft would make me fmile at this ; 
 His youth did promife much, and his ripe years 
 Will fee it all performed. Vol. I. page 7. 
 
 A youth
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, xliii 
 A youth gazing on every limb of the victorious 
 chief, then begging his fword, feeling its edge, and 
 poifmg it in his arm, are attitudes nobly exprefiive 
 of the inward ardor and ecftacy of foul : But what 
 is moft obfervable is, 
 
 And in his hand 
 
 Weigh it He oft, fcfr. 
 
 By this beautiful paufe or break, the acJion and 
 fitture continue in view, and the Poet, like Homer, 
 is eloquent in filence. It is a fpecies of beauty that 
 Ihews an intimacy with that/<2/^r of poetry, in whom 
 it occurs extremely often '. Milton has an exceeding 
 fine one in the defcription of his Lazar-Houfe. 
 
 Defpair 
 
 'Tended the fick, bufieft from couch to couch, 
 And over them triumphant Death his dart 
 Shook, but delay'd to ftrike, &c. 
 
 Paradife Loft, book xi. line 489. 
 
 As Shakefpeare did not ftudy verification fo much as 
 thofe poets who were converfant in Homer and 
 Virgil, 1 don't remember in him any ftriking inftance 
 of this fpecies of beauty. But he even wanted it 
 not, his fentiments are fo amazingly ftriking, that 
 they pierce the heart at once ; and diffion and numbers, 
 which are the beauty and nerves adorning and in- 
 vigorating the thoughts of other poets, to him are 
 but like the bodies of angels, azure vehicles, through 
 which the whole Joul Ihines tranfparent. Of this 
 take the following inftance. The old Belarius in 
 Cymbeline is defcribing the in-born royalty of the 
 two princes whom he had bred up as peafants in his 
 cave. 
 
 This Paladour, (whom 
 
 The king his father call'd Guiderius) Jove ! 
 
 * See two noble inftances at 1. 141. of the i 3th Book of th Iliad, 
 and in the application of the fame iimile a few lines below. 
 
 When
 
 xliv MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 When on my three-foot ftool I fit, and tell 
 ^The warlike feats I've done, his fpirits fly out 
 Into my ftory : Say thus mine enemy fell, 
 And thus I fet my foot on's neck even then 
 The princely blood flows in his cheek, he fweats, 
 Strains his young nerves, and puts himfelf in poflure 
 That ats my words. 
 
 Cymbeline t aft Hi. fcene ill. 
 
 Much the fame difference as between thefe two paf- 
 fages occurs likewife in the following pictures of 
 rural melancholy, the firft of innocence forlorn, the 
 fecond of philofophic tendernejs. 
 
 I have a boy 
 
 Sent by the gods I hope to this intent, 
 
 Not yet feen in the court. Hunting the buck 
 
 I found him fitting by a fountain-fide, 
 
 Of which he borrow'd fome to quench his thirft, 
 
 And paid the nymph again as much in tears j 
 
 A garland lay by him, made by himfelf 
 
 Of many feveral flowers, bred in the bay, 
 
 Stuck in that myftic order that the rarenefs 
 
 Delighted me : But ever when he turn'd 
 
 His tender eyes upon them, he would weep, 
 
 As if he meant to make them grow again, 
 
 Seeing fuch pretty helplefs innocence 
 
 Dwell in his face, I aflc'd him all his (lory ; 
 
 He told me, that his parents gentle died, 
 
 Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, 
 
 Which gave him roots, and of the cryftal fp rings 
 
 Which did not flop their courfes ; and the fun 
 
 Which ftill he thank'd him, yielded him his light. 
 
 Then took he up his garland, and did (hew, 
 
 What every flower, as country people hold, 
 
 Did fignify ; and how all, order'd thus, 
 
 Expreft his grief; and to my thoughts did read 
 
 The prettieft leclure of his country art 
 
 That could be wim'd, fo that methought I could 
 
 Have fludied it. Philajler t vol. L p. 120. 
 
 Jaques in As You Like It is moralizing upon the 
 fate of the deer goared by the hunters in their native 
 confines. 
 
 The
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. xlv 
 
 The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, 
 
 To day my lord of Amiens and myfelf 
 Did Real behind him, as he lay along 
 Under an oak, whofe antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood j 
 To the which place a poor fequeflered ftag, 
 That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 Did come to languid) ; and indeed, my lord, 
 The wretched animal heav'd forth fuch groans, 
 That their difcharge did ftretch his leathern coat 
 Almoft to burfting ; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nofe 
 In piteous chafe ; and thus the hairy fool 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on th' extremeft verge of the iwift brook, 
 Augmenting it with tears. 
 
 Duke. But what faid Jaques ? 
 Did he not moralize this fpeftacle ? 
 
 i Lord. Oh, yes, into a thoufand (imilies. 
 Firft, for his weeping in the needlefs ftream ; 
 Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'ft a teftament 
 As worldlings do, giving thy fum of more 
 To that which had too much ; then being alone 
 Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends: 
 'Tis right, quoth he, thus mifery doth part 
 The flux of company : Anon a carelefs herd, 
 Full of the pafture, jumps along by him, 
 And never ftays to greet him : Ay, quoth JaqueS, 
 Sweep on, ye fat and greafy citizens, 
 Tis juft the fafhion, &V. 
 
 As Ton Like It, aft it. ftene /. 
 
 Shakefpeare is certainly much preferable, but 'tis 
 only as a Raphael is preferable to a Guido Philafter 
 alone would afford numbers of pafTages fimilar to 
 fome of Shakefpeare's, upon which the fame obfer- 
 vation will hold true, they are not equal to his very 
 beft manner, but they approach near it. As I have 
 mentioned Jonfon being in poetic energy about the 
 fame diftance below our Authors, as Shakefpeare is 
 above them, I fhall quote three paffages which feem 
 to me in this vttyJcaU. Jonfon tranilates verbatim 
 
 from
 
 xlvi MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 from Saluft great part of Catiline's fpeech to his 
 
 foldiers, but adds in the clofe : 
 
 Methinks, I fee Death and the Furies waiting 
 What we will do ; and all the Heaven at leifure 
 For the great fpec"lacle. Draw then your fwords : 
 And if our Deftiny envy our Virtue 
 The honour of the day, yet let us care 
 To fell ourfelves at fuch a price, as may 
 Undo the world to buy us ; and make Fate 
 While fhe tempts ours ; fear for her own eflate. 
 
 Catiline , al v. 
 
 Jonfon has here added greatly to fae ferocity, terror 
 and defpair of Catiline's fpeech, but it is confonant 
 to his character both in his life and death. The 
 image in the three firft lines is extremely noble, and 
 may be faid to emulate though not quite to reach 
 the poetic exftacy of the following parTage in Bon- 
 duca. Suetonius the Roman general having his 
 fmall army hemmed round by multitudes, tells his 
 foldiers that the number of the foes, 
 
 Is but to flick more honour on your actions, 
 
 Load you with virtuous names, and to your memories 
 
 Tie never-dying Time and Fortune constant. 
 
 Go on in full aiTurance, draw your fwords 
 
 'As daring and as confident as Juftice. 
 
 The Gods of Rome fight for ye ; loud Fame calls ye 
 
 Pitch'd on the toplefs Apennine, and blows 
 
 To all the under world, all nations, feas, 
 
 And unfrequented defarts where the fnow dwells j 
 
 Wakens the ruin'd monuments, and there 
 
 Informs again the dead bones with your virtues*. 
 
 The four firft lines are extremely nervous, but the 
 image which appears to excel the noble one of 
 Jonfon above, is Fame pitch'd on mount Apennine 
 (whofe top is fuppofed viewlefs from its ftupendous 
 
 [* Is but to ftick, &C. Mr. Servant kas in this pnffage amended 
 the punfluatioti, which in the farmer copies materially i-jured the fenfe. 
 Ibe Reader is defired to confult tkt It'tfion of the prejtnt Edition, a.nd 
 the Note, vol. <vi. p. 323-4.] 
 
 height)
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, xlvii 
 height) and from thence founding their virtues fo 
 loud that the dead awake and are re-animated to hear 
 them. The clofe of the fentiment is extremely in 
 the fpirit of Shakefpeare and Milton, the former fays 
 of a florrn 
 
 That with the hurljr Death itfelf awakes ; 
 Milton in Comus, defcribing a lady's finging, fays; 
 
 He took in founds that might create a foul 
 Under the ribs of Death. 
 
 To return to Shakefpeare With him we muft foar 
 far above the toplefs Apennine, and there behold an 
 image much nobler than our Author's Fame. 
 
 For now fits Expectation in the air *, 
 
 And hides a fword from hilts unto the point 
 
 With crowns imperial. 
 
 Chorus In Henry V. aft it. fcene I. 
 
 As we fh?Jl now go on to the fecond clafs, and 
 quote paffages where the hand of Shakefpeare is not 
 fo eafily difcerned from our Author's, if the reader 
 happens to remember neither, it may be entertain- 
 ing to be left to guefs at the different hands. Thus 
 each of them describing a beautiful boy. 
 
 Dear lad, believe it, 
 
 For they fhall yet belie thy happy years 
 
 + For nonvjiti Expectation, &c.] See Mr. Warburton's juft obfer- 
 vation on the beauty of the imagery here. But, v& jlmilar btautiet 
 do not always ftrike the fame taite alike, another paflage in this play 
 that feems to deferve the fame admiration is rejected by this great 
 man as not Shakefpeare's. The French King fpeaking of the Black 
 Prince's victory at Crefly, fays, 
 
 * While that his mountain Sire, On mountain (landing, 
 " Up in the air crown'd with the golden fun, 
 
 ' Saw his heroic _/?*</, and fmiPd to fee him 
 
 * Mangle the work of Nature.' Henry V. aft ii. fcene 4. 
 I have marked the line reje&eci, " and which feems to breathe the 
 full foul of Shakefpeare. The reader will find a defence and expla- 
 nation of the whole pafiage at vol. x. p. 1 78. of this edition. 
 
 That
 
 xlviii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 That fay thou art a man : Diana's lip 
 Is not more fmooth and rubious ; thy fmall pipe 
 Is as the maidens organ, fhrill, and found, 
 And all is femblative a woman's part. 
 
 The other is 
 
 Alas ! what kind of grief can thy years know ? 
 
 Thy brows and cheeks are fmooth as waters be 
 When no breath troubles them : Believe me, boy, 
 Care feeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, 
 And builds himfelf caves to abide in them. 
 
 The one is in Philafter, page 131. The other in 
 Twelfth-Night, aft i. fcene 4. In the fame page of 
 Philafler, there is a defcription of love^ which the 
 reader, if he pleafes, may compare to two defcrip- 
 tions of love in As You Like It both by Silvia, but 
 neither preferable to our Author's. I cannot quote 
 half of thofe which occur in the play of Philafler 
 alone, which bear the fame degree of likenefs as 
 the laft quoted paffages, /. e. where the hands are 
 fcarce to be diflinguifhed ; but I will give one parallel 
 more from thence, becaufe the paffages are both 
 extremely fine, though the hands from one fmgle 
 expreffion of Shakefpeare's are more vifible, a prince 
 deprived of his throne and betrayed as he thought 
 in tove, thus mourns his melancholy ftate. 
 
 Oh ! that I had been nourifh'd in thefe woods 
 With milk of goats and acorns, and not known 
 The right of crowns, nor the dillembling trains 
 Of womens looks ; but dig'd myfelf a cave, 
 Where 1 5 , my fire, my cattle and my bed, 
 Might have been fhut together in one med ; 
 And then had taken me fome mountain girl, 
 Beaten with winds, chaile as the harden'd rocks 
 Whereon (lie dwells ; that might have ftrew'd my bed 
 With leaves and reeds, and with the fkins of beafts 
 Our neighbours ; and have borne at her big breads 
 My large coarfe iflue ! 
 
 s Juvenal, k Sat. vi. 
 
 In
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, xlix 
 In the other, a king thus compares the ftate of 
 royalty to that of a private life. 
 
 No not all thefe, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony, 
 
 Not all thefe laid in bed majeftical, 
 
 Can fleep fo foundly as the wretched Have ; 
 
 Who with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, 
 
 Gets him to reft, cramm'd with diftrefsful bread ; 
 
 Never fees horrid Night, the child of hell : 
 
 But, like a lackey *, from the rife to fet, 
 
 Sweats in the eye of Phcebus, and all night 
 
 Sleeps in Elyfium j next day, after dawn, 
 
 Doth rife and help Hyperion to his horfe ; 
 
 And follows fo the ever-running year 
 
 With profitable labour to his grave. 
 
 And (but for ceremony) fuch a wretch 
 
 Winding up days with toil, and nights with fleep, 
 
 Hath the forehand and 'vantage of a king. 
 
 The inftances of thefe two claffes, particularly 
 the former, where the exquifite beauties of Shake - 
 fpeare are not quite reach d, are mod numerous ; 
 and though the defign of the notes in this edition 
 was in general only to fettle the text, yet in three of 
 the plays, The Faithful Shepherdefs, The Falfe One, 
 and The Two Noble Kinfmen, that defign is much 
 enlarged, for reafons there affigned. And if the 
 Reader pleafes to turn to thefe, he will find feveral 
 parallels between Fletcher, Shakefpeare, and Milton, 
 that are mod of them to be ranged under one of 
 thefe clafies : But there is a third clafs of thofe in- 
 ftances where our Authors have been fo happy as to 
 foar above Shakefpeare, and even where Shakefpeare 
 is not greatly beneath himfelf. 
 
 [* But like a lackey, &c. Se-ward propofes altering A to His ; for 
 A lackey being ' the idleft of all fervants,' ' the fimile is abfurd ;' 
 but HIS lackey ' (i.e. the lackey of Phoebus)' means 'one who follows 
 4 the motions of the fun as conftant as a lackey does thofe of his 
 * matter.' It not this a diftinflion 'without a difference? cr does Apollo 
 keep but one lackey ? Infupporting the <variation, be make i fame re- 
 tnarkt (which <we think uninterefting) on remote antecedents, and 
 digreffes on the fubjeft of Richard mentioning the formal Vice, Iniquity, 
 with -which every Reader of Shakefpeare' i Commentators muji be 
 already furfeit(d. \ 
 
 VOL. I. d la
 
 i MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 In The Two Gentlemen of Verona, the forlorn 
 Julia, difguifed as a boy, being afked of Silvia how 
 tall Julia was, anfwers : 
 
 About my datura: For at Pentecoft, 
 When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
 And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown. 
 And at that time I made her weep a-good, 
 For I did play a lamentable part. 
 Madam, 'twas Ariadne paflioning 
 For Thefeus* perjuiy and unjuft flight ; 
 Which I fo lively atled with my tears, 
 That my poor miftrefs, moved therewithal, 
 Wept bitterly, and would I might be dead, 
 If 1 in thought felt not her very forrow 6 . 
 
 Att iv. fcene the loft. 
 
 There is fomething extremely tender, innocent, 
 and delicate, in thefe lines of Shakefpeare, but our 
 Authors are far beyond this praife in their allufion 
 to the fame ftory. In the Maid's Tragedy, Afpatia 
 in like manner forfaken by her lover, finds her maid 
 Antiphila working a picture of Ariadne , and after 
 feveral fine reflexions upon Thefeus, fays -, 
 
 But where's the lady ? 
 
 Ant. There, madam. 
 
 Afp. Fy, you have mifs'd it here, Antiphila, 
 Thefe colours are not dull and pale enough, 
 
 * If 1 in thought felt not her wry farrow.] Whoever fully catches 
 the tender melancholy of thefe lines, will know that Julia under fuch 
 diftrefs could not feign a cafe fo exa&ly the parallel of her own, with- 
 out fuch emotions as would fpeak themfelves in every feature, and 
 flow in tears from her eyes. She adds the lafl line therefore to take 
 off the fufpicion of her being the real Julia j But would fhe only fay, 
 .that fhe/*// Julia's forrow formerly, when fhe faw her weep ? No ! 
 She mult excufe the prefent perturbation of her countenance, and the 
 ftuc reading moft probably is : 
 
 ' Ar.d would I might be dead, 
 
 ' If I in thought feel not her very forrow. 
 
 This better sgrees with the double meaning intended, and with 
 Silvia's reply, who fays, 
 
 * She is beholden to thee, gentle youth. 
 
 ' I -laeep myfelf to think upon thy words.' 
 [The text is furelj unexceptionable, and the alteration a nettflrfi
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, li 
 
 To (hew a foul fo full of mifery 
 
 As this fad lady's was ; do it by me ; 
 
 Do it again by me the loft Afpatia, 
 
 And you (hall find all true. Put me' on th' wild ifland ?. 
 
 7 Put mi on th' wild ifland. ] I have given thefe lines as I think 
 we ought to read them, but very different from what are printed in 
 this edition. Four of the old quarto* t, ihefo/ia, and che late otfava 
 read, 
 
 And you Jball find all true but tie wild i/lana 1 . 
 1 fland upon the fea-beach no*u, and think, &c. 
 I obferved to Mr. Theobald, that here was a glaring poetical eon* 
 tradition. She fays, you'll find ail true except the ivild ijland, and 
 inftantly (he is upon the ifland. 
 
 1 fland upon the fea leach now, &c. 
 
 The wild ifland therefore in her imagination is as true as the reft. 
 The enthufiafm is noble, but wants a proper introduction, which the 
 change only of a b for a p will tolerably give. 
 
 dnd you jb all find all ttue. Put the iuiI4 ifland ; 
 1 ft and, Sec. 
 
 But as there are numberlefs inftances of many words, and particularly 
 monofyllables, being dropt from the text (of which there is one in the 
 fame page with thefe lines, and another in the fame play, vol. i. p. 59. 
 very remarkable) I fuppofe this to have happened here ; for by read- 
 ing Put me on the 'wild ijland; 1 Jiand upon, &c. how nobly does 
 (he ttart as it were from fancy to reality , from the pifture into the 
 life ? Me' on ttf by elifions common to all our old poets, may become 
 one fyllable in the pronunciation ; but if we fpeak them full, and 
 make a twelve fyllable verfe, it will have a hundred fellows in our 
 Authors, and ftiould have had one but three lines below the paffage 
 here quoted. 
 
 Make a dull filence, till you feel a fudden/aa'nefs 
 Give us ne*w Jouls. 
 
 AJ Afpatia's grief had been of long continuance, fudJen was evidently 
 corrupt, and I therefore propofed to Mr. Theobald to read fullen t 
 which is an epithet perfectly proper and extremely nervous ; but a3 
 he could by no means be perfuaded to mention the former conjeiture, 
 and the only objection he urged was, that it made a twelve-fyllable 
 verfe, he would not let one of twelve fyllables remain fo near it ; and 
 therefore without authority of any prior edition, difcarded the epithet 
 intirely from the text, and adopted the reading of the firft quarto in 
 the former paffage. 
 
 Suppofe I ftandupon the fea-beach now, &c. 
 
 As this is much the moft unpoetjcal of all the readings, and the fJrft 
 introducers of the text in the intermediate editions claim their cor- 
 reftions from the original manufcript, I can by no means approve the 
 shoice he has made. 
 
 [ff'e cannot perceive any nteeffity for thefe variations; the oldejt 
 
 quarto it therefore followed in thit Edition. But /'; certainly prefer- 
 
 d 2 able
 
 lii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 I (land upon the fea-beach now, and think 
 
 Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown by the wind, 
 
 Wild as that defart, and let all about me 
 
 Be teachers of my ftory ; do my face 
 
 (If thou hadft ever feeling of a forrow) 
 
 Thus, thus, Antiphila j itrive to make me look 
 
 Like Sorrow's monument ; and the trees about me 
 
 Let them be dry and leaflefs ; let the rocks 
 
 Groan with continual furges, and behind me 
 
 Make all a defolation ; fee, fee, wenches, 
 
 A miferable life of this poor piclure. Vol. i. p- 38. 
 
 Whoever has feen either the original or print of 
 Guide's Bacchus and Ariadne will have the beft 
 comment on thefe lines. In both are the arms ex- 
 tended, the hair blown by the wind, the barren 
 roughnefs of the rocks, the broken trunks of leaflefs 
 trees, and in both fhe looks like Sorrow's monument. 
 So that exactly ut picfura poefis ; and hard it is to fay, 
 whether our Authors or Guido painted beft. I fhall 
 refer to the note below for a farther comment, and 
 proceed to another inftance of fuperior excellence in 
 our Authors, and where they have more evidently 
 built on Shakefpeare's foundation. At the latter- 
 end of King John the King has received a burning 
 poifon ' 3 and being afked, 
 
 How fares your majefty ? 
 
 K.Jobn. Poifon'd, ill fare ! dead, forfook, caft offj 
 And none of you will bid the Winter come, 
 To truft his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their courfe 
 Thro' my burnt bofom ; nor entreat the North 
 To make his bleak winds kifs my parched lips, 
 And comfort me with cold. I do not afk you much, 
 I beg cold comfort. 
 
 The firft and laft lines are to be ranged among 
 
 aUt to put, with Se<v.ard"s elifions ; and fuppofe, at the beginning 
 of the line,feemt much belter than and think at the end, at it continues 
 the dialogue more eafily. As to fudden, Theobald'* Jt/ent omiffion is 
 n>rrj faulty ; tie exprtfion is dark, but we cannot find that fallen at 
 allajpjli it.'} 
 
 the
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Hii 
 
 the faults that fo much difgrace Shakefpeare, which 
 he committed to pleafe the corrupt tafte of the age 
 he liv'd in, but to which Beaumont and Fletcher's 
 learning and fortune made them fuperior. The 
 intermediate lines are extremely beautiful, and 
 marked as fuch by the late great editor, but yet are 
 much improved in two plays of our Authors, the 
 firft in Valentinian > where the Emperor poifoned in 
 the fame manner, dies with more 'violence, fury, and 
 horror, than King John ; but the paflage which I 
 fhall quote is from A Wife for a Month, a play 
 which does not upon the whole equal the poetic 
 fublimity of Valentinian, though it rather excels it 
 in the poifoning fcene. The prince Alphonfo, who 
 had been long in a phrenzy of melancholy, is poi- 
 foned with a hot fiery potion ; under the agonies of 
 which he thus raves. 
 
 Give me more air, more air, air j blow, blow, blow, 
 
 Open thou Eaftern gate, and blow upon me > 
 
 Diftil thy cold dews, oh, thou icy moon, 
 
 And rivers run thro' my affli&ed fpirit. 
 
 I am all fire, fire, fire ; the raging Dog-ftar 
 
 Reigns in my blood j oh, which way {hall I turn me ? 
 
 /Etna and all her flames burn in my head. 
 
 Fling me into the ocean or I perifli. 
 
 Dig, dig, dig, dig, until the fprings fly up, 
 
 The cold, cold fprings, that I may leap into them, 
 
 And bathe my fcorch'd limbs in their purling pleafures ; 
 
 Or (hoot me into the higher region, 
 
 Where treafures of delicious fnow are nourifli'd, 
 
 And banquets of fweet hail. 
 
 Rug. Hold him faft, friar, 
 Oh, how he burns ! 
 
 Alpb. What, will ye facrifice me ? 
 Upon the altar lay my willing body, 
 And pile your wood up, fling your holy Incenfe ; 
 And, as I turn me, you {hall fee all flame, 
 Confuming flame. Stand off me, er you're aflies. 
 
 Mart. To bed, good Sir. 
 
 My bed will burn about me ; 
 
 d 3 Like
 
 liv MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 Like Phaeton, in all-confuming fla(hes 
 
 Am I enclos'd ; let me fly, let me fly, give room j 
 
 'Twixt the cold bears, far from the raging lion, 
 
 Lies my fafe way ; oh, for a cake of ice now 
 
 To clap unto my heart to comfort me. 
 
 Decrepit Winter hang upon my (boulders, 
 
 And let me wear thy frozen ificles, 
 
 Like jewels round about my head, to cool me. 
 
 My eyes burn out and (ink into thek fockcts, 
 
 And my infected brain like brimftone boils ; 
 
 I live in hell and feveral furies vex me. 
 
 Oh, carry me where never fun e'er (hew'd yet 
 
 A face of comfort, where the earth is cryftal, 
 
 Never to be diflblv'd, where nought inhabits 
 
 But night and cold, and nipping frofts and winds, 
 
 That cut the ftubborn rocks, and make them (hiver ; 
 
 Set me there, friends. 
 
 Every reader of tafte will fee how fuperior this is 
 to the quotation from Shakefpeare. The- images 
 are vaftly more numerous, more judicious, more 
 nervous, and the paffions are wrought up to the 
 higheft pitch ; fo that it may be fairly preferred to 
 every thing of its kind in all Shakefpeare, except 
 one fcene of Lear's madnefs, which it would emulate 
 too, could we fee fuch an excellent comment on it 
 as Lear receives from his reprefentative on the ftage. 
 
 As thefe laft quotations are not only fpecimens of 
 diffion and Jentiment, but of paffions inflamed into 
 poetic enthufiafm ; I fhall refer the reader to fome other 
 parallels of pajfions and char afters that greatly refem- 
 ble, and fometimes rival the fpirit and fublimity of 
 Shakefpeare. He will pleafe therefore to compare 
 the phrenzy and the whole fweet cbarafter of the 
 Jailor's Daughter in the Two Noble Kinfmen to 
 Ophelia in Hamlet, where the copy is fo extremely 
 like the original that either the fame hand&revf both, 
 or Fletcher's is 1 not to be diftinguifhed from Shake- 
 fpeare's : To compare the deaths of Pontius and 
 jEcius in Valentinian with that of Caffius, Brutus 
 and their friends in Julius Casfar, and if he admires 
 a little lefs, he will weep much more 3 it more excels 
 
 in
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ir 
 
 in the pathetic than it falls Ihort in dignity : To 
 compare the char after andpajfions of Cleopatra in the 
 Falfe One, to thofe of Shakefpeare's Cleopatra : 
 To compare the pious deprecations and grief-mingled 
 fury of Edith (upon the murder of her father by 
 Rollo, in the Bloody Brother) to the grief and fury 
 of Macduff, upon his wife and children's murder. 
 Our Authors will not, we hope, be found light in 
 thefcale in any of thefe inftances, though their beam 
 in general fly fome little upwards, it will fometimes 
 at leaft tug hard for a poife. But be it allowed, that 
 as in dlftion andfentiwenf, fo in characters andpaflions, 
 Shakefpeare in general excels, yet here too a very 
 ftrong inftance occurs of preeminence in our Authors. 
 It is Juliana in the Double Marriage, who, through 
 her whole character, in conjugal fidelity, unfhaken 
 conftancy and amiable tendernefs, even more than 
 rivals the Portia of Shakefpeare, and her death not 
 only far excels the others, but even the moft pathetic 
 deaths that Shakefpeare has any where defcribed or 
 exhibited; King Lear's with Cordelia dead in his 
 arms, moft refembles, but by no means equals it ; 
 the grief, in this cafe, only pufhes an old man into 
 the grave, already half burled with age and mis- 
 fortunes ; in the other, it is fuch confummate horror^ 
 as in a few minutes freezes youth and beauty into a 
 monumental flatue. The laft parallel I fhall mention, 
 fhall give Shakefpeare his due preference, where our 
 Authors very vifibly emulate but cannot reach him. 
 It is the quarrel of Amintor and Melantius in the 
 Maid's Tragedy compared to that of Brutus and 
 Caflius. The beginning of the quarrel is upon as 
 juft grounds, and the pafTions are wrought up to as 
 great violence, but there is not fuch extreme dignity 
 of character, nor fuch noble fentiments of morality, 
 in either Amintor or Melantius as in Brutus 8 . 
 
 8 One^y to Amintor's heroifm and diftrefs, will, I believe, folve 
 
 all the objedions that have been raifed to this fcene ; which will vanifh 
 
 at once by only an occafwnal conformity to our Authors ttbical and 
 
 d 4. political
 
 Ivi MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 Having thus given, we hope, pretty ftrong proofs 
 of our Authors excellence in thejtiblime, and fhewn 
 how near they approach in fplendor to the great fun 
 of the Britifh Theatre ; let us now juft touch on 
 their comedits and draw one parallel of a very different 
 kind. Horace makes a doubt whether comedy fliould 
 be called poetry or not, /. e. whether the comedies of 
 Terence, Plautus, Menander, :c fhouldbeefteemed 
 fuch, for in its own nature there is a comic 'poetic 
 diEtion as well as a tragic one j a diclion which Horace 
 himlelf was a great mailer of, though it had not 
 then been ufed in the drama ; for even the fublimeft 
 fentiments of Terence, when his comedy raijes its 'voice 
 to the greateft dignity, are ftill not cloathed in poetic 
 diftion. The Britifh drama which before Jonfon re- 
 ceived only fome little improvement from the models 
 of Greece and Rome, but fprung chiefly from their 
 own moralities^ and religious farces ; and had a birth 
 extremely fimilar to what the Grecian drama origi- 
 nally fprung from ; differed in its growth from the 
 Greeks chiefly in two particulars. The latter lepa- 
 rated the /<?/ parts of their religious fhews from 
 the/tf/JW farcical parts of them, and fo formed the 
 diflinct fpecies of tragedy and comedy, the Britons 
 
 political principles. They held paff-ve obedience and non-rejjftance to 
 princes an irdifpenfable duty ; a doctrine which Queen Elizabeth's 
 goodnefs made her fubjefts fond of imbibing, and which her/uccej/"or''s 
 Aing-craft with far different views, carried to its higheft pitch. Jn 
 this period, our Authors wrote, and we may as well quariel with 
 Taflb for Popery, or with Homer and Virgil for Heathenifm. as with 
 cur Authors for this principle. It is therefore the violent fhocks of 
 the higheil provocations flruggling with what Amintor thought his 
 eternal duty ; of nature rebelling againil principle (as a. famous Par- 
 tifen for this doctrine in Queen Ann's reign cxprefll-d it, when he 
 happened not to be in the minilby) which drive the heroic youth into 
 that pkreny.y, which makes him challenge his dearelt friend for efpouf- 
 ing too revengefully his own quarrel againft thefacred majefty of the 
 inoft abandonecily inicked king. The fame key is neceflkry to the he- 
 roifm of ^Ecms, Aubrey, Archas, and many otheis of our Author's 
 characters j in all which the reader will perhaps think, there is fome- 
 thing unnaturally abfurd ; but the abfardity is wholly chargeable on 
 the doftrine not on the Poets. 
 
 >vere
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ivii 
 
 were not fo happy, but fuffered them to continue 
 united, even in hands of as great or greater poets 
 than Sophocles and Euripides. But they had far 
 better fuccefs in the fecond inftance. The Greeks 
 appropriated the fpirit and nerves of poetry to tra- 
 gedy only, and though they did not wholly deprive 
 the comedy of metre, they left it not the fliadow of 
 poetic dicTion andfentiment ; 
 
 Idclrco quidam, comcedia necne poema 
 EJfet, quafivere : htod accr fpiritus ac vis 
 Nee verbis nee rebus ineft. 
 
 The Britons not only retained metre in their come- 
 dies, but alfo all the acer Jpiritus, all the ftrength 
 and nerves of poetry, which was in a good meafure 
 owing to the happinefs of our blank verfe, which 
 at the fame time that it is capable of the higheft 
 Jublimity y the moft extenfive and nobleft harmony of 
 the tragic and epic-, yet when ufed familiarly is fo 
 near the fermo pedeftris, fo eafy and natural as to be 
 well adapted even to the drolleft comic dialogue. The 
 French common metre is the very reverie of this ; it 
 is much too ftiff and formal either for tragedy or 
 comedy, unable to rife with proper dignity to the 
 fublimity of the one, or to defcend with eafe to the 
 jocofe familiarity of the other. Befides the cramp 
 of rhime every line is cut afunder by fo ftrong a 
 ctffure, that in Englifh we fhould divide it into the 
 three-foot ftanza y as 
 
 When Fanny blooming fair 
 
 Firft caught my ravifh'd fight, 
 Struck with her fhape and air 
 
 I felt a ilrange delight *. 
 
 Take one of the rhimes from thefe, and write them 
 in two lines, they are exactly the fame with the 
 French tragic and epic metre. 
 
 When Fanny bloomingfair, firft caught my ravifh'd fight, 
 Struck with her air and fhape, T felt a ftrange delight. 
 
 [ Tbii ii the Jirji Jlanza of a Jong fy Lord Chtjter field. R.] 
 
 In
 
 Jviil MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 In a language where this is their fublimeft meafure, 
 no wonder that their greateft poet fhould write his 
 felemaque an Epic Poem in profel Every one muft 
 know that the genteel 'parts of comedy, defcriptions of 
 polite life, moral fentences, paternal fondncfs, filial 
 duty, generous friendfhip, and particularly the de- 
 licacy and tendernefs of lovers' fentiments are equally 
 proper to poetry in comedy as tragedy j in thefe things 
 there is no fort of real difference between the two, 
 and what the Greeks and Latins formed had no foun- 
 dation in nature j our old poets therefore made no 
 fuch difference, and their comedies in this refpecl 
 vaftly excel the Latins and Greeks. Jonfon who 
 reformed many faults of our drama , and followed 
 the plans of Greece and Rome very clofely in moft 
 inftances, yet preferved the poetic fire and diition of 
 comedy as a great excellence. How many inftances 
 of inimitable poetic beauties might one produce from 
 Shakefpeare's comedies ? Not fo many yet extremely 
 numerous are thofe of our Authors, and fuch as in 
 an ancient claffic would be thought beauties of the 
 firft magnitude. Thefe lie before me in fuch variety, 
 that I fcarce know where to fix. But I'll confine 
 rnyfelf chiefly to moral Jentiments. In the Elder 
 Brother, Charles the fcholar thus fpeaks of the joys 
 of literature ; being afked by his father 
 
 -Nor will you 
 
 Take care of my eftatc ? 
 
 Char. But in my wifhes ; 
 
 For know, Sir, that the wings on which my foul 
 Is mounted, have long fince borne her too high 
 To ftoop to any prey that foars not upwards. 
 Sordid and dunghill minds, compos'd of earth, 
 In that grofs element fix all their happinefs ; 
 But purer fpirits, purg'd and refin'd, lhake off 
 That clog of human frailty. Give me leave 
 T' enjoy myfelf; that place that does contain 
 My books, the beft companions, is to me 
 A glorious court, where hourly I converfe 
 "With the old faget and pbilcfopbers ; . , ,. , 
 
 And
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. li* 
 
 And fometimes, for variety, I confer 
 
 With kings and emperors^ and weigh their counfds ; 
 
 Calling their victories, if unjuftly got, 
 
 tJnto a ftrit account, and, in my fancy, 
 
 Deface their ill-plac'd Jtatues. Vol. //'. p. 123. 
 
 Jn Monfieur Thomas, a youth in love with his 
 friend's intended wife, after refilling the greateft 
 temptations of pa/fton, is thus encouraged by th& 
 young lady to perfevere in his integrity. 
 
 Francis. Whither do you drive me ? 
 
 Cellide. Back to your honefty> make that good ever, 
 Tis like a ftrong-built caftle feated high, 
 That draws on all ambitions ; ftill repair it, 
 Still fortify it : There are thoufancl^j, 
 Befide the tyrant beauty will afiail it. 
 Look to your centineh that watch it hourly, 
 
 Your eyes, let them not wander, 
 
 Keep your ears, 
 
 The two main ports that may betray ye, ftrongly 
 
 From light belief fir ft, then irom flattery y 
 
 Efpecially where woman beats the parley ; 
 
 The body of yourflrength, your noble heart 
 
 From ever yielding to diihoneft ends, 
 
 Ridg'd round about with virtue , that no breaches^ 
 
 No fubtle mines may find you 9 . 
 
 * Our Authors, in carrying the metaphor of a citadel compared to 
 the mind through fo many divifions, feem to have built on the foun- 
 dation of St. Paul, who in like manner carries on a metaphor from 
 armour through it? feveral parts. Ephefians vi. i i f 
 
 Put on the whole armour of God having your loins girt about 
 with Truth, and having on the Breajl-plate of Right eoufnefs. Above 
 all, taking the Shield of Faith, wherewith ye {hall be able to quench 
 all theory Darts of the wicked ; and take the Helmet of Salvation, 
 and the fword of the Spirit which is the Word of God. See alfo the 
 fame metaphor in Ifaiah lix. 17. from whom St. Paul took his. 
 Were I to quote our Author's frequent refemblance to the flile and 
 fentiments of the Scriptures, another very large field would open to 
 us ; and this would help us to the folution of two queftions, which 
 they who have a juft taite of the excellencies of our old Englilh Poets 
 naturally alk : I. How came the Britifh mufe in the very infancy of 
 literature, when but jult fprung from the dark womb of monkifh 
 fuperftition, to rife at once to fuch maturity, as (he did in Spenfer, 
 Shakefpeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Jonfon and Mafienger ? 2. What 
 fjpjrit is it that has animated the frozen foggy geniui of Britain into 
 
 a nobler
 
 Ix MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 As Cellide had before ufed a light behaviour in trial 
 of his virtue, upon rinding it only a trial, and 
 receiving from her this virtuous ledture, he rejoins j 
 
 How like the fun 
 
 Labouring in his edipfe y dark and prodigious 
 She fhew'd till now ? ( when having won his way, 
 How full of wonder he breaks out again 
 And fheds his virtuous beams ? 
 
 Such pafTages as thefe are frequent in our Authors 
 comedies*, were they expreft only in genteel prole, 
 they would rank with the very nobleft pafTages of 
 
 a nobler and fiercer flame of poetry than was ever yet kindled in the 
 bright invigorating climes of France and modern Italy ; infomucb, 
 that a Gallic and Italian eye is dazzled and offended at the brightness 
 of the nobleft exprefiions of Milton, and the Authors above-men, 
 tioned ? We anfvver. It was no lefs a Spirit than the Spirit of God, 
 it was the Sun of Rigbteoufnefs, the hallowed Light of the Scriptures 
 that was jull then rifen on the Britifh clime, but is ftill hid in clouds 
 and darknefs to France and Italy. A light to which the brightelt 
 ftrokes of M ikon and Shakefpeare are but as the rays of the mid -day 
 Jun, when compared to that ineffable inconceivable lujlre which fur- 
 rounds the throne of God. When the zeal of religion ran high, and 
 a collection of far the nobleft poe ms that were ever wrote in the world, 
 thofe of Job, David, Ifaiah and all the Prophets were daily read, 
 and publicly, foleniniy and learnedly commented upon, in almoft 
 every town in the kingdom ; when every man thought it a difgrace 
 not to ftudy them in private, and not to treafure the nobleft parts of 
 them in his memory, what wonder was it that our Poets fhould catch 
 fo much of the facred fire, or that the Britifh genius fliould be arrayed 
 with the beams of the Ealt ? But when the love of the fcriptures 
 waxed faint, the nerves of our poetry grew in the fame proportion 
 weak and languid. One of the belt means therefore to gain a true 
 -tulle of the extreme poetic fublimity of the facred Scriptures, is to 
 converfe with thofe poets whofe ftile and fentiments molt referr.ble 
 them. And the very belt means to refiore the Britifh^raw to its 
 priftin vigour, and to create other Shakefpeares and other Miltons, 
 is to promote the ftudy, love and admiration of thofe Scriptures. 
 
 A concurrent caufe, which raifed the fpirit of poetry to fuch a 
 height in Queen Elizabeth's reign, was the encouragement and in- 
 fluence of the $>ueen herielf ; to whom polite literature was the moft 
 courtly accomplifnment. Look into Spenfer's Defcription of her 
 Lords and Favourites, and you'll find a learned S^ueen made a whole 
 court of Poets, jult as an amorous monarch afterwards made every 
 flowery courtier write romance j aiid martial princes have tamed in 
 Umidaled umiies into heroes. 
 
 Terence,
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixi 
 
 Terence, but what reafon upon earth can be afilgned, 
 but mere fafoion, why, becaufe they are parts of 
 comedies, they fhould be weakened and flattened into 
 profe lo by drawing the fmews of \ht\rftrengtb and 
 ecltpfmg thofe poetic beams that fhed vigour, life and 
 
 luftre on every fentiment ? 
 
 Such poetic excellence therefore will the Reader 
 find in the genteel parts of our Author's comedies, 
 but, as before hinted, there is a poetic ftile often 
 equally proper and excellent even in the lowefl 
 drollery of comedy. Thus when the jocofe old Mira- 
 mont in the Elder Brother catches auftere folemn 
 tnagi/trateBrifac endeavouring to debauch hisfervant's 
 wife Before he breaks in upon him, he fays ; 
 
 Oh, th' infinite frights that will aflail this gentleman! 
 
 The quartans, tertians, and quotidians, 
 
 That'll hang, like fergeants, on \SASWorJbijfs flioulders ! 
 
 How will thofe folemn looks appear to me, 
 
 And that fev ere face \\\zt fpake chains and Jhackles / 
 
 How fmall a change of the comic words would 
 turn this into the fublime ? fuppofe it fpoke of Nero 
 by one who knew he would be at once deferted by 
 ihejenate and army, and given up to the fury of the 
 
 people* 
 
 What infinite frights will foon aflail the tyrant ? 
 What terrors like flern littors will arreft him ? 
 How will that fierce terrific eye appear, 
 Whofe flighted bend fpake dungeons, chains, and death ? 
 
 Such as the former, is the general ftile of our Au- 
 thor's drollery, particularly of Fletcher's -, Beaumont 
 deals chiefly in another fpecies, the burlefque epic. 
 
 10 There is much lefs proje left in this edition than there was in 
 all the former ; in which the meafure was often molt miferably neg- 
 lefted. Wit Without Money, the very full Play which fcll to my 
 Jot to prepare for the prefs after Mr. Theobald's death, was all 
 printed as profc, except about twenty lines towards the end ; but the 
 Reader will now find it as true meafure as almoft any comedy of our 
 Authors. 
 
 Thus
 
 Ixii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 Thus when the Little comic French Lawyer is 
 run Jigbting-mad, and his antagcnift excepts againfl 
 his fhirt for not being laced (as gentlemen's (hirts 
 of that age ufed to be) he anfwers, 
 
 Bafe and degenerate coufin, dofl not know 
 
 An old and tatter'd colours to an enemy, 
 
 Is of more honour, and fhews more ominous ? 
 
 This {hirt five times victorious I've fought under, 
 
 And cut thro' fquadrons of your curious cut-works, 
 
 As I will do thro' thine j fliake and be fatisfy'd. 
 
 This file runs thro* many of Beaumont's charac- 
 ters, befide La- Writ's, as Lazarillo, the Knight of 
 the Burning-Peftle, Beflus's two Swordfmen, &c . and 
 he has frequent allufions to and even parodies of the 
 fublimeft parts of Shakefpeare ; which both Mr. 
 Sympfon and Mr. Theobald look upon as Jneers 
 upon a poet of greater eminence than the fuppofed 
 fneerer (a very great " crime if true) but I believe it 
 an entire mi/take. The nature of this burlefque epic 
 requires the frequent ufe of the mod known and 
 moft acknowledged expreffions of fublimityy-which 
 applied to low objects render them, not the author of 
 thofe expreffions, ridiculous. Almoft all men of wit 
 make the fame ufe of Shakefpeare and Milton's ex- 
 prefllons in common converfation without the leaft 
 thought of fneering either; and indeed if every 
 quotation from Shakefpeare thus jocularly applied is 
 a real fneer upon him, then all burlefque fullime is a 
 Jmer upon the real fublime, and Beaumont fneered 
 himfelf as well as Shakefpeare. 
 
 From thefe three fhort fpecimens the reader 
 will form, we hope, a juft idea of the three fliles 
 
 " For a further defence of our Authors from this imputation, fee 
 note 43 of The Little French Lawyer, and note 32 of The Woman- 
 Hater. In both which there is a miftake with regard to the Author 
 of thcfe Plays. When I wrote the notes, I fuppofed it Fletcher, 
 till Beaumont's letter at the end of The Nice Valour, gave me a 
 key, which is given to the Reader in the firft feftion of the Preface, 
 and which explains the difference of manr.tr between BeauinoBt 
 atnd Fletcher. 
 
 ufcd
 
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixiii 
 
 ufed in our Author's Comedies, the Jublime, the droll 
 poetic, and the burlefque fublime. There is indeed 
 a fmall mixture of profe, which is the only part of 
 our old dramatic poets flile that moderns have 
 vouchfafed to imitate. Did they acknowledge the 
 truth, and confefs their inability to rife to the 
 Jpirity vigour y and dignity of the other ftiles, they 
 were pardonable. But far from it, our reform'd 
 tafte calls for profe only, and before Beaumont and 
 Fletcher's plays can be endur'd by fuch Attic ears, 
 they muft be corrected into proje, as if, becaufe well- 
 brew'd porter is a whole fome draught, therefore 
 claret and burgundy muft be dafhed with porter 
 before they were drinkable. For a true fpecimen 
 of our modern tafte, we will give the reader one 
 cup of our Author's wine thus porteri*zd> and that 
 by one who perfectly knew the palate of the age, 
 who pleafed it greatly in this very inftance, and 
 fome of whofe comedies have as much or more me- 
 rit than any moderns except Congreve. Mr. Gibber 
 has' confolidated two of our Author's plays, the 
 Elder Brother, and the Cuftom of the Country, to 
 form his Love makes a Man j or, the Fop's Fortune. 
 In the former there are two old French noblemen, 
 Lewis and Brifac, the firft proud of his family and 
 fortune, the other of his magifterial power and 
 dignity j neither men of learning, and therefore 
 both preferring courtly accomplishments, and the 
 knowledge of the world, to the deepeft know- 
 ledge of books, and the moft extenfive literature. 
 Such characters exclude not good fenfe in general, 
 but in that part of their characters only where their 
 foibles lie ; (as Polonius in Hamlet is a fool in his 
 pedantic foibles, and a man of fenfe in all other in- 
 llances) accordingly Fletcher makes Brifac and Lewis 
 thus treat of a marriage between their children. 
 
 Bri. Good monfieur Lewis, I efteem myfelf 
 Much honour'd in your clear intent to join 
 Our ancient families, and make them one; 
 
 And
 
 Ixiv MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 And 'twill take from my age and cares, to live 
 And fee what you have purpos'd put in act ; 
 Of which your vifit at this prefent is 
 A hopeful omen ; I each minute expecting 
 Th' arrival of my fons ; I have not wrong'd 
 Their birth for want of means and education, 
 To (hape them to that courfe each was addicted ; 
 And therefore that we may proceed difcreetly, 
 Since what's concluded raflily feldom profpers, 
 You firft fliall take a ftrict perufal of them, 
 And then from your allowance, your fair daughter 
 May fafhion her affeUon. 
 
 Lew. Monfieur Brifac, 
 You offer fair and nobly, and I'll meet you 
 In the fame line of honour ; and, I hope, 
 Being bled but with one daughter, I fliall not 
 Appear impertinently curious, 
 Though with my utmoft vigilance and fludy, 
 I labour to befbow her to her worth : 
 Let others fpeak her form, and future fortune 
 From me defcending to her, I in that 
 Sit down with filence. 
 
 Bri. You may, my lord, fecurely, 
 Since Fame aloud proclaimeth her perfections, 
 Commanding all mens tongues to fmg her praifes.- 
 
 I quote not this as an inftance of the fublime, 
 but of our Authors genteel dialogue enliven'd by a 
 few poetic figures, as in the laft lines Fame is 
 ferfojtiid %n& commands the tongues of men. Now 
 let us fee this dialogue modernised: The names of 
 the old gentlemen being chang'd to Antonio and 
 Charino, they thus confer. 
 
 Ant. Without compliment, my old friend, I fliall think 
 myfelf much honour'd in your alliance ; our families 
 are both ancient, our children young, and able to 
 fupport 'em ; and I think the fooner we fet 'em to 
 work the better. 
 
 Cha. Sir, you offer fair and nobly, and fliall find I dare 
 meet you in the fame line of honour ; and I hope, fince 
 I have but one girl in the world, you won't think me 
 a troublefome old fool, if I endeavour to beftow her 
 to her worth ; therefore, if you pleafe, before we 
 
 {hake
 
 MR, SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixv 
 
 {hake hands, a word or two by the bye, for I have 
 feme confulerable qucftioni to alk you. 
 
 Ant. A fit 'em. 
 
 Cba. Well, in the firft place, you fay you have two fons. 
 
 Ant. Exadly. 
 
 Cba. And you are willing that one of 'em fhall marry my 
 daughter ? 
 
 Ant. Willing. 
 
 Cba. My daughter Angelina ? 
 
 Ant. Angel ii. a. 
 
 Cha. And you are likewife content that the faid Angelina 
 fhall furvey 'em both, and (with my allowance) take to 
 her lawful hufband, which of 'em fhe pleafes ? 
 
 Ant. Content. 
 
 Cha. And you farther promife, that the nerfon by her 
 
 (and me) fo chofen (be it elder or younger) (hall be 
 your fole heir 5 that is to fay, fhall be in a conditional 
 poficrfiion, of at leaft three parts of your eftate. You 
 know the conditions, and this you pcfitively promife ? 
 
 Ant. To perform. 
 
 Cba. Why then, as the laft token of my full confent and 
 approbation, I give you my hand. 
 
 Ant. There's mine. 
 
 Cha. Is't a match ? 
 
 .Ant. A match. 
 
 Cha. Done. 
 
 Ant. Done. 
 
 Cha. And done ! -that's enough 
 
 Strike out an exprefTion or two of Fletcher's, 
 and a couple of grafiers would have put more 
 fenfe into an ox-bargain. I blame not the Author, 
 if a man's cuftomers refolve to pay the price of 
 Champaign ) and yet infill upon mild find ftale, who 
 would refufe it them ? This is only a fpecimen of 
 the tafle of the late wonderfully enllghtned age. But 
 as Shaliefpeare and Milton have already in a good 
 meafure difperfed the clouds of prejudice which 
 had long obfcured their excellencies ; 'tis to be 
 hoped that our eyes are now inured to bear the 
 luftre of fuch poefs, who moft refemble thefe Jv.ns 
 of Britain. To fuch readers therefore who are de- 
 firous of becoming acquainted with the excellencies 
 
 VOL. I. e of
 
 Ixvi MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 of Beaumont and Fletcher, I fhall beg leave to recom- 
 mend their plays to be read in the following order, 
 beginning with which fpecies they like beft *. 
 
 c 
 
 LASS I. 
 
 Tragedies and Tragi- 
 
 
 comedies. 
 
 Paftoral. Comedies. 
 
 Maid's Tragedy vol. I 
 Philafter vol. i 
 
 Faithful Shepherdefs Elder Brother vol. 2 
 vol. 3 Rule a Wife and have a 
 
 King and no Kin^ vol. I 
 
 vol. i 
 
 The Two Noble Kinfinen 
 
 Little French Lawyer 
 
 vol. 10 
 
 vol. 4 
 
 The Double Marriage 
 
 Wit without Money v \.z 
 
 vol. 7 
 
 S pan ih Curate vol.2 
 
 The Blood v Brother, or 
 
 NiceVnlour, or Paflionate 
 
 Rollo ' vol. 5 
 
 Mad-Man vol. i 
 
 The Falfe One vol. 4 
 
 
 The Knight of Malta 
 
 
 vol. 7 
 
 
 Valentinian vol. 4 
 
 
 C 
 
 LASS II. 
 
 Laws of Candy vol. 4 
 Loyal Subieft vol. 3 
 
 Burlefque Sublime, Fair Maid of the Milt: 
 Fair Maid of the Inn. 
 
 ThelflandPrincefsvol. 8 
 
 Wild-goofe Chafe. 
 
 Thierry and Theodoret 
 
 Mor.fieur Thomas. 
 
 vol. 10 
 
 The Chances. 
 
 Wife for a Month vol. 5 
 
 Honeft Man's Fortune. 
 
 Bonduca vol. 6 
 
 Cuftom of the Country. 
 
 
 Beggar's Builu 
 
 
 The Captain. 
 
 
 The Sea-Voyage. 
 
 
 Love's Cure, or the Mar 
 
 
 rial Maid. 
 
 
 Coxcomb. 
 
 
 The Knight of the Burn- Woman-Hater . 
 
 
 ing Peftle vol. 6 Wit at feveral Weapon*. 
 
 
 Women pleas'd. 
 
 
 Tamer tr.m'cl. 
 
 
 Scornful Lady. 
 
 CLASS 
 
 III. 
 
 The Coronation vol. 9 Mask vol. 10 Pilgrim vol. 5 
 
 The Queen of Corinth Moral Reprefentations Love's Pilgrimage vol. 
 
 vol. 10 
 
 rol. 6 
 The Lover's Progrefs 
 
 vol. 5 
 
 The Prophetefs vol. 6 
 Cupid's Revenge vol. 9 
 
 vol. 7 
 
 Night-Walker " vol. 8 
 Noble Gentleman vol. 3 
 
 [* fffnmjfcaJ as this c! ailing of our Autbyrs 1 pla-s muji appear, it 
 isfurely more whim/teal that Mr. Seiuard could not fnd a place In 
 either clafs for tkofe e.rccl/gnt (orncdics, Tne Mad Lover, and The 
 Humorous Lieutenant.] 
 
 The
 
 MR. SE WARD'S PREFACE. Jxvii 
 The Reader will find many excellent things in this 
 [aft clafs, for th^ plays of our Authors do not differ 
 from each other near fo much as thofe of Shakefpeare. 
 The three latt tragedies are detruded fo low on account 
 of their magick and machinery, in which our Authors 
 fall fhorter of Shakefpeare than in any other of their 
 attempts to imitate him. What is the reafon of this ? 
 Is it that their genius improved by literature and polite 
 converfation, could well describe men and manners, 
 but had not that poeiick that creative power to form 
 new beings and new worlds, 
 
 and give to airy nothings 
 
 A local habitation and a name 
 
 as Shakefpeare excellent! ydefcribes his own genius? I 
 believe not. The enthufiajm of pajfions which Beaumont 
 and Fletcher are fo frequently rapt into, and the vaft 
 variety of diftinguim'd characters which they have fo 
 admirably drawn, fhew as ilrong powers of invention 
 as the creation of witches and raifing of ghofts. Their 
 deficiency therefore in magick is accountable from a 
 caufe far different from a poverty of imagination ; it 
 was the accidental disadvantage of a liberal and learned 
 education: Sorcery, witchcraft, aftrology, ghofts, and 
 apparitions, were then the univerfal belief of both the 
 great vulgar and the fmall, nay they were even the 
 parliamentary, the national creed; only fome early- 
 enlightned minds faw and contemned the whole fnper- 
 ftitious trumpery : Among thefe our Authors were pro- 
 bably initiated from their fchool-days into a deep- 
 grounded contempt of it, which breaks out in many 
 parts of their Works, and particularly in The Bloody 
 Brother and The Fair Maid of the Inn, where they be- 
 gan that admirable banter which the excellent Butler 
 carried on exactly in the fame ftrain, and which, with 
 fuch zfecond, has at laft drove the bugbears from the 
 minds of almoft all men of common understanding. 
 But here was our Authors difadvantage; the tafte of 
 iheir age called aloud for the afiiftance of ghofts and 
 e i Jortery
 
 Ixviii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 forcery to heighten the horror of Tragedy ; this horror 
 they had never felt, never heard of but with contempt, 
 and confequently they had no arcbe-fypes in their own 
 breads of what they were called on to defcribe. 
 Whereas Shakefpeare from his low education " had 
 believed and felt all the horrors he painted , for though 
 the univerfities and inns of court were in fome degree 
 
 Iz Sbakefpeart from his few education, &c.J The gentleman who is 
 mod obliged to Shakefpeare, and to whom Shakefpeare is mofi; obliged 
 of any man living, happening to fee the (licet of the Preface where 
 Shakefpeare's peculiar fuperiority over our Authors in his magic, is 
 afcribed to the accidental advantage of a low education, hecould not well 
 brook a paflage which feemed to derogate from his favourite. As 
 Shakefpeare had as good fenfe as our Authors, he thought, he would 
 be as free from real wperftitfon. This does not always follow. Edu- 
 cation will tincture even the brighreft parts. There is proof that our 
 Authors held all forcery, witchcraft, &c. as mere juggler's tricks, 
 but not the leaft room to doubt of Shakefpeare's having believed 
 them in his youth, whatever he did afterwards ; and this is all that 
 is after ted. Is this therefore a derogation ? No, it only fhews the 
 amazing power of his genius ; a genius which could turn the bugbears 
 of his former credulity into the nobleft poetic machines. Juft as Homer 
 built his machinery on the fuperiUtions which he had been bred up 
 to. Both indeed give great diftinclion of characters, and great poetic 
 dignity to the daemons they introduce ; nay, they form fome new 
 ones ; but the fyftem they build on is the vulgar creed. And here 
 (after giving due praife to the gentleman above, for reftoring Shake- 
 fpeare's mr.gick to its genuine horror, out of that low buffoonery 
 which former actors and managers of theatres had flung it into) I 
 fhall fhew in what light Shakefpeare's low education always appeared 
 to me by the following ppitaph wrote many years fince, and publifhed 
 in Mr. Dodfley's Mifcelhny. 
 
 Upon SHAKESPEARE'S Monument at Stratford upon Avon, 
 
 Great Homer's birth fev'n rival cities claim, 
 ' Too mighty fuch monopoly of Fame : 
 
 * Yet not to birth alone did Homer owe 
 
 ' His wondrous worth ; what JE^ypi could beftow, 
 
 * With all the fchools of Greece and Af:a join'd, 
 
 * Enlarg'd th' immenfe expanfion of "his mind. 
 ' Nor yet unrival'd the Maeonian ftrain, 
 
 '. The Britifh ra*!e* and the Mantuan faeax, [* Milton, 
 ' Tow'r equal ''.eights. But happier Stratford, thou 
 ' With incontefted hurels deck thy brow ; 
 
 * Thy bard was thine unfcbooTd, and from thee 1 rought 
 ' More than ai! /E^ypr, Greece, or Afia, taught; 
 
 ' Not Homer's felf fuch matchlefs laurels won, 
 
 * The Greek ha? rivals, but thy Shakefpeare none.' 
 
 [?be above Note was inftrtfd as a Poilfcript to Se^ujard^s Preface.] 
 
 freed
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixix 
 freed from thefe dreams of fuperftition, the banks of 
 the Avon were then haunted on every fide. 
 
 There tript with printlefs foot the elves of hills, 
 Brooks, lakes, and groves ; there Sorcery bcdimn'd 
 The noon-tide fun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
 And 'twixt the green fea and the azur'd vault 
 Set roaring War, &c. Tempe/t. 
 
 So that Shakefpeare can fcarcely be faid to create a 
 new world in his magick ; he went but back to his 
 native country, and only drefled their goblins in poetic 
 \veeds , hence even Thefeus is not attended by his 
 own deities*, Minerva, Venus, t\\e fauns, Jatyrs, &c. 
 but by Oberon and his fairies: Whereas our Authors 
 however auk ward ly they treat of gbofts and forcer -ers t 
 yet when they get back to Greece (which was as it 
 were their native foil) they introduce the claffic deities 
 with eafe and dignity, as Fletcher in particular does 
 in his Faithful Shepherdefs, and both of them in 
 their Mafques-, the hi ft of which is put in the third 
 dais not from any deficiency in the compofition, but 
 fit-in the nature of the allegorical Mafque which, 
 when no real characters are intermixed, ought in gene- 
 ral to rank below Tragedy and Comedy. Our Authors, 
 who wrote them bfcaufe they were in fafhion, have 
 thciTilMves fhewed how light they held them. 
 
 They mutt commend their king, and fpeak in praifc 
 Of the aflemblyj blefs the bride and bridegroom 
 In perfon of fotne god ; they're tied to rules 
 Of flattery. Maid's Tragedy^ aft ;'. fcene i. 
 
 This was probably wrote by Beaumont with an eye 
 to the Maiquc a: Gray's Inn, as well as mafques in 
 general. '] he Reader will find a farther account of 
 our-Authors* Plays, and what fhare Mr. Shirley is 
 iuppofed to have had in the completion of fome that 
 
 [* Mr. Scward dees not Jcct;: to ba<ve recollected, that in the Two 
 Nble Kmfmen there is an equal mixture ofGot'ritk and Grecian man- 
 ne>s. It ivat tbt common trror of all our old Englijb writers from 
 C/.'fucer to Milton, ivho has itijrei/itcetfiAijn&ry even into Paradife Loft.] 
 
 e 3 were
 
 hex MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE, 
 were left imperfect in Mr. Symplon's Lives of the 
 Authors. But before I finifh my account of them, 
 it is neceflary to apologife for a fault which muft 
 fhock every modeft reader : It is their frequent ufe of 
 grofs and indecent expreffions. They have this fault in 
 common with Shakefpeare, who isfometimes moregrofs 
 than they ever are ; but I think groffnefs does not occur 
 quite fo often in him. In thefecond clafs of parallel 
 pafTages where the hands of Shakefpeare and our 
 Authors were not diftinguifhabk, I omitted one in- 
 ftance for decency fake, but I will infert it here as 
 proper to the fubject we are now upon. Philafter 
 being violently agitated by jealoufy, and firmly be- 
 lieving his miftrefs to have been loofe, thus fpeaks of 
 a letter which he has juft received from her, 
 
 Oh, let all women 
 
 That love black deeds learn to difiemble here ! 
 Here, by this paper, fhe doth write to me, 
 As' if her heart were mines of adamant 
 To ail the world befide ; but unto me, 
 A maiden fnow that melted with my looks. 
 
 Pel. /. page 144, of this Edition. 
 
 Strength and delicacy are here in perfect union. In 
 like manner Pofthumus in Cymbeline, afc ii. agitated 
 by as violent a jealoufy of his wife, thus delcribes 
 her feeming modefty : 
 
 Oh, vengeance ! vengeance ! 
 
 Me of my lawful pleafure flic reftrain'd, 
 
 And pray'd me oft forbearance, did it with 
 
 A pudency fo rofy, the fweet look on't 
 
 Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought, h^r 
 
 As chafte as unfunn'd fnow. 
 
 This is a moft amiable picture of conjugal delicacy, 
 but it may be juftly objected that it draws the curtains 
 of the marriage-bed, and expofes it to the view of 
 the world ; and if the Reader turns to the fpeech of 
 which it is a part, he will find much groficrexpreffions 
 in the fequel. But thefe were fo far from offending 
 the ears of our anceftors, that Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 
 though
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixxi 
 
 though fo often guilty of them, are perpetually cele- 
 brated by the writers of their own and of the following 
 age, as the great reformers of the drama from bawdry 
 and ribaldry. Thus when Fletcher's charming Paftoral, 
 The Faithful Shepherdefs, had been damned by its 
 firit night's audience, Jonfon fays that they damned 
 it for want of the vicious and bawdy fcenes which 
 they had been accuftomed to, and then breaks out in 
 a rapture worthy of Jonfon, worthy of Fletcher. 
 
 I that nm glad thy innocence was thy guilt, 
 And wifli that all the rnufes blood was fpilt 
 In fuch a martyrdom, to vex their eyes 
 Do crown thy murder'd poem, C3Y. 
 
 Yet even this pattern of chaftity is not free from ex- 
 preffions which would now be juftly deemed too 
 grofs for the ftage. Sir John Berkenhead, fpeaking 
 of Fletcher's Works in general, fays, 
 
 And as thy thoughts were clear, fo innocent, 
 Thy fancy gave no unfwept language vent, 
 Slander'ft no laws, prophan'ft no holy page, 
 As if thy 13 father's crofier rul'd the ftage. 
 
 Our Poets frequently boaft of this chaftity of lan- 
 guage themfclves. See the prologue to The Knight 
 of the Burning Ptftle. Lovelace, a poet of no fmall 
 eminence, fpeaks of the great delicacy of exprefiion 
 even in the Cullom of the Country. 
 
 View here a loofe thought faid with fuch a grace, 
 Minerva might have fpoke in Venus' face, 
 So well difguis'd, that 'twas conceiv'd by none, 
 But Cupid had Diana's linnen on. 
 
 Yet of this play Dryden afferts that it contains more 
 bavidry than all his plays together. What muft we 
 fa\ of thcfe different accounts ? Why 'tis clear as 
 d; y, that the ftile of the age was fo changed, that 
 what was formerly not efteemed in the lealt degree 
 indecent, was now become very much fo ; juft as in 
 
 '* i-Jetcher b;lnop of London. 
 
 4 Chaucer,
 
 Ixxii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 Chaucer, the very filthieft words are ufed without 
 ciiieuife, and fays Beaumont in excufe for him, he 
 gave thofe exprcfilons to low characters, with whom 
 they were then in common ufe, and whom he could 
 not therefore draw naturally without them. The 
 lame plea is now necefiary for Beaumont himielf and 
 all his contemporary Dramatic Poets; but there is 
 this grand and efTential difference between the grofs 
 expreffions of our old poets, and the more delicate 
 leyodnejs of modern plays. In the former, profs ex- 
 preffions arc generally the language of low life, and 
 are given to characters which are fet in defpicable 
 lights : In the latter, kii'dnefs is frequently the cha- 
 racteriftic of the hero of the comedy, and fo intended 
 to inflame the pafiions and corrupt the heart. Thus 
 much is necefTary in defence, not only of our Au- 
 thors, but of Mr. Symplon and mylelf, for engaging 
 in the publication of Works which contain a great 
 inany indecencies, which we could have wiihed to 
 have been omitted-, and which, when I began to pre- 
 pare my part of the work for the prefs, I had actually 
 itruck off, as far as I could do it without injuring 
 the connection of the context; but the bookfellers 
 prefs'd, and indeed infilled upon their refloration : 
 They very fenfibly urged the lanSmentioned plea, 
 and thought that the bare notion of a curtailed edi- 
 tion would greatly prejudice the fale of it. We hope 
 therefore that the reader will not be too fevere en the 
 editors of works which have great excellencies, and 
 which in general tend to promote virtue and chaitity, 
 though the cuftom of the age made the Authors not 
 entirely abftain from expreffions not then efteemed 
 grofs, but which now muft offend every modefl ear. 
 Hitherto we have treated of our Authors and 
 their merit, fomething muft be added of the attempt 
 of the prefent Editors to clear them from that mafs 
 of confufion and obfcurity flung upon them by the 
 inaccuracy of former editors, or what was worfe, by 
 the wilfulncfs and ignorance of our old players, who 
 kept moil of their plays many years in manukript 
 
 as
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixxiii 
 as mere play-houfe properties, to be changed and 
 mangled by every new actor's humour and fancy. 
 As this was the cafe of mod of our old plays, the 
 learned Mr. Upton feems ftrangely miftaken in af- 
 ferting that no more liberty ought to be taken in the 
 correction of the old [mangled] text of Shakefpeare, 
 than with the two firft [accurate] editions of Paradife 
 Loft. Upon this groundlefs afierrion are built thofe 
 very undeierved reflections upon the eminent Editors 
 of Shakefpeare who are compared to the Vice of the 
 old comedy beating their author's original text with, 
 their daggers of lath. Surely fomething very dif- 
 ferent from fuch farcafm is due from every true lo- 
 ver of Shakefpeare to thole editors whofe emendations 
 have cleared fo many obfcurities, and made fo many 
 readers iludy and perceive innumerable excellencies 
 which had otherwife been parted over unnoted and 
 perhaps defpifed. For verbal criticilm, when it 
 means the reftoring the true reading to the mangled 
 text, very juftly holds the palm from every other 
 fpecies of criticifm, as it cannot be performed with 
 fuccefs without, comprehending all the reft ; it mufb 
 clearly perceive thc4ti!e, manner, characters, beau- 
 ties and defects : And to this muft be added fome 
 fparks of that original fire that animated the feet's 
 oivn invention. No fooner therefore were criticijms 
 wrote on our Englilh poets, but each deep-read fcho- 
 lar whofe feverer ftudies had made him frown with 
 contempt on poems and plays, was taken in to read, 
 to ftudy, to be enamoured : He rejoiced to try his 
 flrength with the editor, and to become a critic him- 
 felf: Nay, even Dr. Bentley's ftrange abfurdities in 
 his notes on Milton, had this good effect, that they 
 engaged a Pearce* to anfwer, nnd perhaps were the firil 
 motives to induce the greatett poef, the moft uni- 
 vcrfal genius +, one of the greateit orators^ and one of 
 
 [* Dr. Zacbary Pearce, late Bi//jop of ^Rocbejlcr. R.] 
 " j- M>. Sewardbere afcriocs to Bcntley'i notes on Milton cenfcquentes 
 cbtbey did not produce : Mr. Popis EJitian of Rbakefycart appeared 
 fweral years before Dent Icy fxMij.ijcdbis Edition of \liltin ; and, from 
 the datf and lontentt of thf ieltbi'aled Lettfr of hjkop tf'arburton to 
 
 uhid
 
 Ixxiv Mr. SEWARD'S PREEACE. 
 
 the mod itidujlrioits Jckolars in the kingdom each to 
 become editors of Shakefpeare. A Pope, a Warbur- 
 ton, and a Hanmer did honour to the Jcience by en- 
 gaging in cridcifm , but the worth of that Jcience is 
 moft apparent from the diftinction Mr. Theobald 
 gained in the learned world, who had no other claim 
 to honour but as a critic on Shakefpeare. In this light 
 his fame remains frefh and unblafted though the 
 lightning of Mr. Pope and the thunder of Mr. War- 
 burton have been both lanched at his head. Mr. 
 Pope being far too great an original himfelf to fu fa- 
 in it his own tafte to that of Shakefpeare's was fairly 
 driven out of the field of criticilm by the plain force 
 of reafon and argument j but he foon retired to his 
 foetic citadel, and from thence played fuch a vciUy 
 of iv it and bu/ncur on his antagonift^ as gave him 
 * very grotefque profile on his left ; but he never 
 drove him from his bold on Shakefpeare, and his 
 countenance on that fide is (till clear and unfpotted. 
 Mr. Warburton's attack was more dangerous, but 
 though he was angry from the apprehenfion of perfonal 
 injuries, yet his juftice has (till left Mr. Theobald in 
 poffeffion of great numbers of excellent emenda- 
 tions, which will always render his name refpeftable. 
 The mention of the merit of criticifm in eftablifhing 
 the tafte of the age, in raiting refpect in the con- 
 temptuous, and attention in the carelefs readers of 
 our old poets, naturally leads us to an enquiry, 
 Whence it comes to pafs, that whilft almoft every 
 one buys and reads the works ot our late critical 
 editors, nay almoft every man of learning aims at 
 imitating them and making emendations himfelf, 
 yet it is ftill the fafhion to flurt at the names of critic 
 and commentator., and almoft to treat the very fciencc 
 with derifion. The enquiry has been often made by 
 
 Coiuannen (which, although it has not yet found its way to the prefs, 
 Dr. Akenftde fays, * will probably be remembered as long as any of 
 
 this prelate's writings,') // manifejily appears, that ibe notes of that 
 learned Editor ivere, iv&at he ajjerii them in his Preface to ha^je been t 
 
 * among his younger amufements,' and c safequently prior to the pub* 
 
 of Beatify* t Mil: en. R.J 
 
 triiics
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixxv 
 
 .critics themfelves, and all have faid, that it was 
 owing to the ftrange miftakes and blunders of for- 
 mer critics, to mens engaging in nfcience which they 
 had neither learning nor talents to manage and adorn. 
 Each thinking himfelf exempt from the cenfure, and 
 each having it retorted upon him in his turn. If 
 this is the cafe, I am afraid all remedy is hopelefs ; 
 if the great names above-mentioned did really want 
 abilities for the province they undertook, who fhall 
 dare to hope that he pofiefTes them ? If frequent mif- 
 takes in an editor are totally to fink his merit, who 
 can efcape the common wreck ? But I am far from 
 thinking this to be the fole or even the principal caufe ; 
 and the two, which I fhall afilgn as much greater 
 inlets to this difgrace on the art of criticifm, arc 
 fuch as admit of the eafieft remedy in the world, a re- 
 medy in.the power of 'critics themfelves, and which their 
 own intereft loudly calls on them all to apply. The 
 firft caufe is ; that in a fcience the moft fallible of 
 all others, depending in a great meafure on the 
 tottering bottom of mere conjecture, almoft every 
 critic aflfumes the air of certainty, pojitivenefs and 
 infallibility ; he feems fure never to mifs his way, . 
 though in a wildernefs of confufion, never to ftumble 
 in a path always gloomy, and fometimes as dark as 
 midnight. Hence he dogmatizes, when he fhould 
 only fropofe, and dictates his guejfes in the deffotic 
 ftilc. The reader, and every riyal editor, catches the 
 fame fpirit, all his faults become unpardonable, and 
 the demerit of a few miftakes fhall overwhelm the 
 merit of all his juft emendations : He deems himfelf 
 perfect, and perfection is demanded at his hands 5 
 and this being no where elfe found but by each writer 
 in his own works, every f utter-forth of two or three 
 emendations fwells as big, and flings his fpittle as 
 liberally on a Warbnrton, aHanmer, or a Theobald, 
 as if he were the giant and they the d-warfs of cri- 
 ticifm ; and he has, upon the fuppofition of per- 
 fection being neceflary, this evident advantage of 
 them, that an editor of three or four emendations 
 
 has
 
 Ixxvi MR. Sr\YARD'S PREFACE. 
 has a much better chance to avoid rniftakes than the 
 editors of three or four thculand; though it has 
 generally happened, that they v/ho were very obfcure 
 in merit have had their dements as glaring as the 
 rnoft voluminous editors. 
 
 From the fame fource arifes the fecond flill more 
 remarkable caufe of critical difgrace, it is the ill lan- 
 guage and ungentleman-like treatment which critics 
 have fo frequently given their rivals. If the pro- 
 fefTors of the famtjcier.ee are continually cuffing and 
 buffeting each other, the world will fet them on, 
 laugh at, and enjoy the ridiculous fcuffie. Is it 
 not amazing, that ignorant, cMurd> llundsring dunces 
 and blocklcads fhould be the common epithets and 
 titles, that gentlemen of learning and liberal educa- 
 tion beftow on each other, for fuch miflakes as they 
 know thaf all their brother critics have been con- 
 ilantly guilty of, and which nothing but the vaineft 
 felf-fufficiency can make them fuppofe themfclves 
 exempt from ? 
 
 ^uam temere in nofmet legem fancimus inlquam ! 
 
 }f we ourfelves are guilty of the very fame fort of 
 mi flakes for which we ftigrhatize others as blunderers 
 and blockheads, we brand our own foreheads by our 
 pwn "jsrdifiy obloquy upon us is bare jufticc } and we 
 become blunderers and Hsckheads upon record. The 
 finl remarkable introducer * of critical editions of 
 our En^liih Poets thought his fupericr learning gave 
 him a right to tyrannife and trample upon all his 
 rival editors -, but Having nope to exercife his fury 
 ppon, in his edition of Paradife Loft, he raifcd a 
 ntbtn edlicr, iii :he perfori of whom he fiu'ng dirt 
 lipon Milton bimfelf. But tlie prefent worthy Bifhpp 
 of Bangor-j- not only cleared his lelovsdfcei from fuch 
 iinjuft aiperfions, but fhewed that he could aniwei 
 [lander, meer and obloquy, with decency, candour, 
 and good manners. K^ppy had it been for the 
 
 [* Dr. Jfaf/tA &1 ' 
 
 [J Jfin i. d- J:._ r ' ; of RocZt/er. R .] 
 
 learned
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixxvir 
 learned world, had thole excellent notes been at firft 
 joined to Milton's text; that his candour^ and not the 
 other's coarjenejs^ might have been the llandard ot 
 critical language ; but as great part of thofe notes 
 are now engrafted into Dr. Newton's elegant edition, 
 it is to be hoped that they will henceforth become 
 fo. Happy for us had it been too, if Sir Thomas 
 Hanmer had carried on that candour and good manner s 
 which appear in his Preface into a body of notes 
 upon his author-, he had not only placed his emenda- 
 tions in a much fairer and more confpicuous light ; 
 he had not only avoided the objection which fome 
 have made of an arbitrary infertion of his alterations 
 into the text; but he would. have fet us an example 
 of elegance and politenefs of ftile, which we muft 
 perhaps in vain hope for from any man, that has 
 not been long exercifed in one of the great fchools 
 of rhetoric, the boufes of parliament ; imlefs fome: 
 other eminent orator vv another fpeaker fhould become 
 an editor, as well as a patron of criticifms. Mr. 
 Theobald, who was a much better critic on Shake-, 
 fpeare than Dr. Bentley had been on Milton, yet 
 followed the doctor's file and manner, and in fome 
 meafure deferved the lafh he fmarted under in the 
 Dunciadj for though he had a right to correct Mr. 
 Pope's errors upon Shakefpeare, he had none to life 
 fo exalted a character with the leaft difrefpect, much 
 lefs with derifion and contempt. Mr. Upton a gen-; 
 tleman of very diftinguifhed literature, has in his 
 Re/narks on Shakefpeare followed this ftile of triumph 
 and infult over his rival critics^ and as this gentle- 
 man will, I hope, long continue his fervices to the 
 learned world, I will endeavour to convince him of 
 the injuftice and ill policy of fuch treatment of them. 
 The btft canon to judge of an editor's merits, feerns 
 to be a computation of the good and bad alterations 
 which he has made in the text -, if the latter are pre- 
 dominant he leaves his author worfc than he found 
 him, and demerits only appear at the bottom of the 
 account: If the good are moil numerous, put the 
 
 bad'
 
 IxxviiiMR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 bad ones on the fide of debtor, balance the whole, 
 and we fhall eafily fee what praifes are due to him. 
 Now if fome hundred good ones remain upon balance 
 to each of the three laft Editors of Shakefpeare, 
 how unjuft is it for a publifher of only thirty or 
 forty alterations (fuppofing them all to be perfectly 
 juft) to fpeak with contempt of thofe, whofe merits 
 are fo much more confpicuous than his own ? But to 
 do this, without an aflurance of being himfelf exempt 
 from the like miftakes, is as impolitic as it is wjuff. 
 I have not now time for an examination of this gen- 
 tleman's criticifms on Shakefpeare ; but I will choofc 
 a very particular fpecimen of his miftakes, for it fhall 
 be the very fame which a real friend of this gentleman 
 publifhed as a fyecimen of his excellencies, in Mr. 
 Dodfley's Mufeum, a monthly pamphlet then in 
 great repute. Th'isfpecimen confifted of two altera- 
 tions which the letter-writer thought very happy 
 ones. The nrft was in Antony and Cleopatra, aft ii. 
 fcene iv. The Soothfayer thus advifes Antony to 
 fhun the fociety of Casfar. 
 
 O Antony, ftay not by his fide. 
 
 Thy daemon, that's thy fpirit which keeps thee, is 
 Noble, couragious, high, unmatchable, 
 Where Csefar's is not. But near him thy angel 
 Becomes a fear 
 
 7. e. becomes not only fearful but even fear itjdf. 
 The image is extremely poetical; for as Antony's 
 daemon was according to the heathen theology per- 
 fonifed and made fomething different from Antony, 
 fo the paiTion of fear is not only perfonifed, but even 
 fluralifed : The imagination beholds many fears , and 
 Antony's fpirit becomes one of them. Thus doubts 
 and fears are perfonifed in Macbeth, and become 
 his vexatious companions. 
 
 Fm cabin'd, crib'd, bound in 
 
 To lawcy doubts %&& feoff. 
 
 Thus God himfelf perfonifes fear, and fends it 
 among the Canaanites as the harbinger of Ifrael. 
 
 Exodus
 
 M*. SE'WARD'S PREFACE. Ixxi* 
 Exodus xxiii. and xxvii. And again in Ezekiel xxx. 
 13. Htr fays, / will putt a fear / the land of Egypt. 
 Thus the companions of Mars in Homer are A^ar 
 T' v$i <i>(/'oj. A. 440. Terror and fsar. But the in- 
 flance the mod appofite, is in The Maid's Tragedy, 
 where the forlorn Afpatia lees her iervant working 
 the ftory of Thefeus and Arradne, and thus adviies 
 her to puniih the perfidy of the former. 
 
 In this place work a quick-fand, 
 
 And over it a (hallow i'miling- water, 
 
 And his fhip ploughing it; and liicn a fear, 
 
 Do thatyiw bravely. Vol. i. p. 38^ 
 
 Here though fear could only in painting be ex- 
 prefled on their countenances, yet poetry goes farther, 
 
 and gives to airy nothings 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 
 Thefe are thofe great flrokes which a man muft be. 
 born with a foul to perceive as well as write, . other- 
 wife not all the reading of an Upton or a Bentley 
 can give the leaft idea of them. Thefe are thofe 
 inimitable graces of poetry which a critic's pencil 
 fhould no more dare to retouch than a modern painter 
 fhould the cheek or eye of a Raphael's madona. For 
 fee how flat and dim it will appear in this gentleman's 
 celebrated alteration, he reads, 
 
 but near him thy angel 
 
 Becomes oj'cc.^d *. 
 
 [* Mr. Spwardbere introduces a note containing avery prolix commen- 
 tary on Jamepaflages in Shakefpearis Antony and Cleopatra ~In the lines t 
 ' If we draw lots, he fpeeds ; 
 
 * His cocks do win the battle ftill of mine, 
 
 * When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever 
 ' But mine in-boop ' d at odds,' 
 
 te fays there is ' evidently a fad anti climax : His cocks win the bat- 
 ' tie of mine when it is all to nought on my fide, and his quails, 
 ' fighting in a hoop, beat mine when the odds are on ray 0de ;' and 
 wculd thertfore read, 
 
 ? Beat mine in ivboofd-at odds. 1 
 
 Dr.
 
 Ixxx MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 How fhould we have flatned our Authors if we 
 had, as the Rehearfal calls ir, tranjprcfed them in 
 the like manner ? 
 
 In this place work a quickfand, 
 And over it a (hallow fmiling water, 
 And his fhip ploughing it, and them afeaSd; 
 Do their fear bravely. 
 
 The fecond inftance quoted in the Mufxum as a 
 proof of Mr. Upton's excellency, is his alteration of 
 another of Shakefpeare's peculiar graces in the fol- 
 lowing celebrated paffage. 
 
 Ay, but tp die, and_ go we know not where ; 
 To lie in c61d obftruction, and to rot : 
 This fenfible warm motio!i to become 
 A kneaded clod, and the delighted fpirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to refide 
 In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice. 
 
 The epithet delighted in the fourth line is extremely 
 beautiful, as it carries on the fine antithefis between 
 the joys of life and the horrors of death, This Jen- 
 Jlble warm motion muft become a kneaded clod,, and this 
 Jpirit, delighted as it has hitherto been with the footh- 
 ing delicacies of fenfe and the pleafing ecftafies of 
 youthful fancy, mtift bathe in fiery floods. This is 
 
 Dr. yohnfon mentions and rejefts this variation ; Dr. Farmer denies 
 the neceffity of change. 
 
 ' The editions, fays Seward, which diftinguifli Antony's fpeech 
 ' (as conjeflured by Clecpatra, afti.fc. <v.) either by Italics or com- 
 ' mas, make him only fay, ' Where's my lerpent of old Nile ?' the 
 " reit is Cleopatra's own. Antony's fpeech fhould be continued as 
 ' the metaphor is, 
 
 " Where's my ferpent of old Nile ? 
 
 " Now I feed myfclf 
 
 " With moft delicious poifon r 
 
 ' Both parts belong to him.' No Editor ofS'^akefpeare mention: th':s. 
 For BROAD-fronied Caefar he would fubftitate BALD-fronted. This 
 Steevens notices. 
 
 Mr. Seiuard alfo reprclates Manner's alteration of arm gaunt to 
 arm-girt; 'I fuppofe (Jays he) he meant iv/V/.ar;/ orfooulders bound 
 round -with trappings. 'The expirffion is very Itift" ir. this fenfe, and 
 rejected by Wr. \Varbwton, who reiloies arm gaum, and ex- 
 
 ' plains
 
 MR. SEWARDS PREFACE. Ixxxi 
 
 peculiarly proper from a youth juft (hatched from 
 revelry and wantonnds, to fuffer the anguifh and hor- 
 ror of a fhameful death. But this beautiful fenfe 
 not being feen, Mr. Upton makes the firft editor fur- 
 prifingly blind indeed, for he fays that he did not fee 
 the abfurdity of a fpirit's being delighted to bathe in 
 fiery floods. Upon fuppofition therefore of this ab- 
 furdity being chargeable on the old texr, he alters 
 delighted Jpirit to delinquent fpirit : A change which 
 totally lofes the whole fpirit of the poet's original 
 fentiment. Thefe are fuch miftakes, that neither the 
 moft extenfive literature nor the accuracy of a Locke's 
 judgment can fecure a man from ; nor indeed any 
 thing but a poetic tafte, a foul that 
 
 Is of imagination all compact, 
 That can follow Shakefpeare in his ftupendous flights, 
 
 And (hoot from earth to Heav'n, from Heav'n to earth. 
 Midfummer Night's Dream. 
 
 But mould fuch a genius contemn and deride men 
 of cooler reafon and fuperior knowledge ? No ; nor 
 fliould the deep-read fcholar defpife him. Great learn- 
 ing and duickncfa of parts very rarely meet in one 
 breaft: When they do, they are excellent indeed; but 
 feparately they are extremely valuable. Far therefore 
 from contempt or variance, they mould, like filter- 
 plains it of a war-horfe grown gaunt or lean by long marches and 
 frequent fights. But why mud Antony, after a profound peace and 
 a long revel in the arms of Cleopatra upon his return to Rome, 
 have nothing to ride but an old battered lean war-horfis? Befides, 
 lean horfes are feldom remarkable like this for neighing loud and 
 vigoroufly. By arm we all underftand the Jhoulder, in Latin, Ar- 
 mui ; gaunt is lean or thin. It is common for poets to mention the 
 moft diftinguifhed beauty of any thing to exprefs beauty in general, 
 by fynecdoche a part is put for the whole : Ann-gaunt therefore 
 fignifies thin fliouldered, which we know to be one of the principal 
 beauties of a horfe, and the epithet has, from the uncommon ufe 
 of either part of the compound word in this fenfe, an antique dig- 
 nity and grandeur in found that poets much delight in.' Edward? 
 fneers at thit ; but Jurelj Mr* Steward' t argument ujudici'iut.'] 
 
 VOL. I. f fciences 3
 
 Ixxxii MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. 
 
 faiences, love and accord, and each in honour -prefer 
 the other to itjelf. Mr. Upton poiTtffes the firft of thefe 
 characters in a very eminent degree, and the * learned 
 world have only to complain of his impofmg mere 
 conjectures upon them for abfolute certainties, and of 
 his rough treatment of his brother critics, and then 
 to acknowledge its obligations to him for many ju- 
 dicious criticifms and emendations on Shakefpeare and 
 other Authors. Shakefpeare alone is a vail garden of 
 criticifm, where though the editors have pulled up 
 great numbers of weeds, and the view is much im- 
 prov'd, yet many are ftill left, and each of the edi- 
 tors have miftakingly pulled up fome flowers which 
 want to be replaced. And this will be the fate of 
 every critic who knows not every fingle word, hif- 
 tory, cuftom, trade, &c. that Shakefpeare himfelf 
 knew, which at this diftance of time is next to an 
 impoffibility. What room therefore for quarrels and 
 infults upon each other ? Veniam petimufque damufque, 
 ihould be our general rule and motto. Without this 
 we in this edition Hand felf-condemned. Beaumont 
 and Fletcher are another field of criticifm next in 
 beauty to Shakefpeare, and like him over-run with 
 weeds, many of which are, we hope, now rooted 
 out ; and fome real flowers, we fear, miftakinely 
 pluckt up with them. Far therefore from the lealt 
 pretence to perfection, from the leaft right to impofe 
 our conjectures as infallible-, we have only inferred 
 thofe in the text which for the reafons affigned in the 
 notes appeared more probable than the former read- 
 ings. We have endeavoured to give fair play to the 
 old text, by turning it on every fide, and allowing it 
 all the interpretations we could poflibly affix to the 
 words, and where it appeared corrupt, we never in- 
 ferted our own reading without giving what we 
 thought a probable account of the method how fucli 
 
 [* Seiuard here introduces a very long Note, to refute fundry opi- 
 nions of Upton on fcriptural topics : As nothing can be more dijlunt 
 from ourfubjeft, ive have omitted ;'/.] 
 
 a change
 
 MR. SEWARD'S PREFACE. Ixxxiii 
 a change had been before made. At lead, as I can 
 properly fpeak for myfelf only, thefe were the rules 
 I always wifh to have followed, and endeavoured to 
 follow, as foon as I became a principal in the work. 
 But the mare which I had in it, gives not the lealt 
 room for any thing like completion on my part. The 
 afliftance which I gave Mr. Theobald and Mr. Symp- 
 fon, who publiftied about two thirds of the work, 
 was by neceflary avocations intermitted through fe- 
 veral plays, and the others more or lefs attended to, 
 as bufmefs or company would permit, or as the plays 
 feemed more or lets to deferve attention. To what I 
 printed myfelf, I only dedicated fome few of the 
 many leifure hours which I had in a country vil- 
 lage, hoping for pardon for the idlenefs rather than 
 merit from the ufefulnefs of the work. If thefe notes 
 mould ever go through a fecond edition, I (hall grate- 
 fully acknowledge any emendations either of them or 
 the text of our Authors, which any reader will fa- 
 vour me with ; and muft fay to each, 
 
 -7 Si quid novifti reRius iftis, 
 
 Candldus imperil; Ji non 3 bis utere me cum. 
 
 COM-
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 I. 
 
 To my Friend Mafter JOHN FLETCHER, upon his 
 Faithful Shepherdefs. 
 
 IK N O W too well, that, no more than the man, 
 That travels thro' the burning defarts, can, 
 When he is beaten with the raging fun, 
 Half-fmother'd with the duft, have power to run 
 From a cool river, which himfelf doth find, 
 Ere he be flak'd ; no more can he, whofe mind 
 Joys in the Mufes, hold from that delight, 
 When Nature, and his full thoughts bid him write'. 
 Yet wifh I thofe, whom I for friends have known, 
 To fihg their thoughts to no ears but their own. 
 Why mould the man, whofe wit ne'er had a ftain, 
 Upon the public ftage prefent this vein, 
 And make a thoufand men in judgment fit, 
 To call in queftion his undoubted wit, 
 Scarce two of which can underftand the laws 
 Which they mould judge by, nor the party's caufe ? 
 Among the rout, there is not one that hath 
 In his. own cenfure an explicit faith; 
 One company, knowing they judgment lack, 
 Ground their belief on the next man in black ; 
 Others, on him that makes figns, and is mute; 
 Some like, as he does in the faireft fuit ; 
 lie, as his miflrefs doth ; and fhe, by chance ; 
 Nor want there thofe, who, as the boy doth dance 
 
 1 When Nature and his full thoughts bid him 'write.'] Here fays the 
 judicious writer of Beaumont's life in the General Dictionary, Beau- 
 mont evidently (hews that he was fired with that violent paffion for 
 writing, which the poets very juftly call infpiration ; and he makes 
 this one proof of Beaumont's not being a mere corredior of Fletcher's 
 works, but a joint author. As I think I have collected fome ftronger 
 proofs of this, both external and internal than have been yet pro- 
 duced, and as I have already built the former part of my Preface 
 upon thefe proofs, 1 fliall place them before the reader in the next note 
 jult as they occurred to me. Stnuard. 
 
 f 3 Between
 
 Ixxxvi COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Between the ats, will cenfure the whole play; 
 Some like, if the wax-lights be new that day ; 
 But multitudes there are, whofe judgment goes 
 Headlong according to the actor's cloaths. 
 For this, thefe public things' and I agree 
 So ill, that, but to do a right to thee, 
 I had not been perfuaded to have hurl'd 
 Thefe few, ill-fpoken lines into the world ; 
 Both to be read, and cenfur'd of, by thofe 
 Whofe very reading makes verfe fenfelefs profe 3 ; 
 
 5 Both to be read, and cenfur'd of by thoje, 
 
 Whofe *very reading makes wrfe fenfelefs profe. ~\ Here we fee a 
 confcioufnefe of the Poet's own merit, and an indignation at the ftupi- 
 ditv of the age he lived in, which feera to have been the characleriftics 
 of Beaumont and Jonfon. This will appear ftronger in the procefs of 
 this note, in which I (hall endeavour to prove what fhare Beaumont 
 had in the compofition of the following plays. I have already men- 
 tioned that Mr. Earl's teftimony, wrote immediately after Beaumont's 
 death, is decifive as to Beaumont's having the largeil (hare in the 
 compofition of the Maki's Tragedy, Philafter, and the King and no 
 King, and that Beflus in particular was drawn by him. [See Mr. Earl's 
 poem below.] This was undoubtedly the reafon why Beaumont's 
 name is put firft in the old quarto's of thefe plays, pub'ifhed by the 
 players after Beaumont's death, but before Fletcher's. For would the 
 players have complimented the dead at the expence of their living 
 friend, patron, and fupporter ? After two fuch proofs as thefe, gene- 
 ral expreflions or even traditional opinions of the panegyric-writers 
 thirty years after are lighter than vanity itfelf. From thefe plays no 
 diftin&ion of hands between Beaumont and Fletcher was difcerned, 
 nor any fufpicion of fuch a diitindtion occurred 'till I came to the 
 Woman Hater, vol. 10. which appeared vifibly to have more of 
 Jonfon's manner than any piny I had before met with, which I men- 
 tioned at note 32 on that play, when deceived as Langbane had been 
 by the firft quarto (publifhed feveral years after the death of both the 
 Authors) I verily thought that it had been Fletcher's only. I had 
 rot then attended to the poem of Beaumont's to Jonfon, publifhed at 
 the end of the Nice Valour, and Woman-Hater, by the fecond folio. 
 ]f the reader will confult that poem, he will find that it was fent from 
 the country to Jonfon with two of the precedent comedies not then 
 finifhed, but which Beaumont claims as his own. 
 
 Ben, nuben thefe fcenes are perfect, we 1 It tafle iuint t 
 Til drink thy muje^s health, tbou Jkalt quaff mine. 
 It is plain that they had been his amufement during a fummer vaca- 
 tion in the country, when he had no companion but his mufe to en- 
 tertain him ; for all the former part of the poem is a uefcription of 
 the execrable wine, and the more execrable company which he was 
 forced to endure. Fletcher therefore could not be with him. So that 
 there are certainly two comedies which properly te'ong to Beaumcnt 
 only, which therefore we mail endeavour to find out. The verfes tell
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. Ixxxvii 
 
 Such as muft fpend above an hour, to fpell 
 A challenge on a poft, to know it well. 
 
 us that he acknowledged all he had to be owing to Jonfon, there is no 
 doubt therefore of his imitating Jonfon's manner in thefe comedies. 
 Shirley in the full folio, and the publifher of the fecond folio, both 
 agree in making the Nice Valour one of thefe plays : Now this play 
 is extremely in Jonfon's manner as is obferved in the beginning of 
 the Preface and at note 8 on the verfes to Jonfon. The Prologue of 
 this play has no weight, being wrote feveral years after it, but the 
 Epilogue was evidently wrote in the Author's life time, probably 
 either by the Author himfelf, or elfe by his friend Jonfon : For 'tis 
 extremely like Jonfon in his Prologues and Epilogues, who generally 
 lets his audience know, that if they did not admire him it was their 
 faults, not his. So tl:is Epilogue makes the Author declare 
 
 the play ii good, 
 
 lie Jays, * be knows it^if -well undcrfiood. [* The Author. 
 How unlike is this to Fletcher ard Shakefpeare's manner, who, when 
 they join together in the Two Noble Kinfmen, are even Madefy 
 itfilf? See the Prologue and Epilogue to that play, vol. lo. the 
 latter has thefe lines ; 
 
 And yet miftake me not, I am not bold, 
 Wive no Jucb cauje. If the tale we have told 
 (For 'tis no other) any way content, 
 (For to tlat bonefl purpo/e it <vuai meant) 
 He have our end ; and ye Jball have e'er lsng t 
 1 dare fay many a better to prolong 
 
 Tour old /01'CJ tO US. 
 
 I hope the reader will now fee fufiicient grounds to believe that the 
 Nice Valour was Beaumont's play : It is not demonilration, but it is 
 n high degree of probability. But ftill the diftinftion of manner from 
 T'letcher, in perfonizing the paffions and not drawing from real lif 
 fpoke of above, will not follow if Fletcher wrote the Woman Hater, 
 as the firft edition in quarto of that play afTerts, but the fecond con- 
 tradicb it, and puts Beaumont's name firft in the title page, and claims 
 its changes from the Author's mannfcript. The pobliftier of the 
 lecond folio follows the fecond quarto, and makes it one of the plays 
 referred to in Beaumont's verfes. The Prologue appears to be wrote 
 by the Author himfelf, fpeaks of himfelf in the fingular number, 
 ar.d (hews great confidence in the goodnefs of the play, and an utter 
 contempt of twopenny gallery judges Here Beaumont's hand there- 
 fore feemed vifible. J therefore be^an to recollecl which of the fore- 
 going plays moft refembled this, to fee what light might be gained 
 Irani them ; the firil that occurred was the Knight of the Burning 
 IVllie, which is all burlefque jublime, as Lazarillo's character in the 
 Wo man Hater is throughout. Here all the editions give the Knight 
 to Beaumont and Fletcher, this therefore is clear, and the Prologue 
 of that play is in ilile and fentiments fo exaclly like that of the 
 Woman- Hater, that the fame hand undoubtedly drew both. Believ- 
 ing therefore that the Nice Valour \va? Beaumont's only, and that he 
 htd at kail the grtateil fliare of the Woman-Hater ar.d the Knight 
 f 4 of
 
 Ixxxviii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 But fince it was thy hap to throw away 
 Much wit, for which the people did not pay, 
 
 of the Burning Pcftle, I proceeded to other plays, and firft to the 
 Little French Lawyer, where La- writ runs fgbting-mad juft as La- 
 zarillo had run eating mad, the Knight of the Burning Peftle, romance- 
 mad; Chamont in the Nice Valour, honour mad, &c. This is what 
 our old Englifh writers often diftinguifii by the name of humour. The 
 ftile too of La-writ, like Lszarillo's and the Knight's, is often the 
 burlefque fublime. Here I found the Prologue fpeaking of the Authors 
 in the plural number, /. e. Beaumont and Fletcher. There is a good 
 deal of the fame humour in the Scornful Lady wrote by Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, as all the quartos declare. The publifhers of the General 
 Di&ion ry, whofe accuracy deferves the higheft applaufe, have helped 
 me to another play, the Martial Maid, in which Beaumont had a 
 ihare, a r d Jonfon's manner of chara&erifing is very vifible ; an effe- 
 . minate youth and a mafculine young lady are both reformed by love, 
 like Jonfon's Every Man in his Humour, and Every Man out of his 
 Humour. Wit without Money nnd the Cuftom of the Country which 
 have Beaumont's name firft in all the editions, have fomethingof the 
 lame hand, particularly in Valentine's extravagant contempt of money, 
 and do great honour to Beaumont, as both are excellent plays, and 
 the full an incomparable one. Shirley fuppofes the Humorous Lieu- 
 tenant to be one of the plays referred to by Beaumont's verfes to 
 Jonfon, and the publisher of Beaumont's poems, which came out 
 about five years after Shirley's folio of our Author's plays, has wrote 
 under that poem the Maid in the Mill: This, I fuppofe, was a mar- 
 ginal note of fomebody who believed Beaumont to have been a joint 
 author in that play : Jt feems highly probable that he was fo in both 
 thefe plays, as the Lieutenant and Baftapha are both ftrong caraca- 
 tures and much in Beaumont's manner. The Falfe One mentions 
 the Authors in the plural number, and I believe Beaumont chiefly 
 drew the character of Septimius which gives name to the play ; but 
 whatever Ihare he had in that play, it does him great honour. Cupid's 
 Revenge, which all the editions afcribe to Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 is only fpoiled from being a very good tragedy by a ridiculous mix- 
 ture of machinery ; this play, the Noble Gentleman, and the Cox- 
 comb, are all that remain which have any fort of external evidence 
 which I know, of Beaumont's being a joint author, and thefe I build 
 nothing upon. There are two others that partake of his manner, 
 which for that reafon only I fufpeft ; the Spanim Curate, and the 
 Laws of Candy ; the latter of which extremely refemblcs the King 
 and no King in its principal characters. But we need not reft upon 
 mere conjectures, fmce Beaumont's (hare of the Maid's Tragedy, Phi- 
 hfter, ^nd the King and no King, give him a full right to mare 
 equally with Fletcher the fame of a tragic poet ; and Wit without 
 Money, the Nice Valour, and the Little Fiench Lawyer, raife his 
 character equally high in comedy. Seward. 
 
 Mr. Seward has been exceedingly elaborate in this difquifition ; 
 "wherein, we apprehend, no one meets conviction, though the Writer 
 feems to be himielf fo perfectly fatisficd, both with the internal and 
 
 external
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. Ixxxix 
 
 Becaufe they faw it not, I not diflike 
 This fecond publication, which may flrike 
 
 external evidence. With refpect to the firft, each Reader will 
 judge for himfelf ; in the fecond, he appears to be uncommonly 
 erroneous. 
 
 Seward fpeaks of the firft quarto of the Woman-Hater ; the firft 
 juarto he never faw : He fays, it was publifhed {everal years after the 
 death of both Authors ; it was publi(hed in the life- time of both, in 
 the year 1 607. This copy is, indeed, very fcarce ; and had not Mr. 
 Garrick's invaluable library been as eafy, as moft others are difficult, 
 of accefs, a pcrufal of that edition would not, perhaps, have been 
 obtained. 
 
 The firft quarto was printed (as before obferved) in 1607, without 
 any Author's name prefixed, but in Mr. Garrick's copy has been 
 wrote ( by John Fletcher,' through which name a pen has been ran, 
 and ' Francis Beamont' wrote over the line ; even this interlineation 
 appears to be very old. The fecond quarto appeared in 1648, the 
 title whereof mentions Fletcher fmgly ; and the third in 1649, which 
 has both names. The third, however, feems to be merely the fecond, 
 with a new title-page, and the additions of the auxiliary title The 
 Hungry Courtier, a drama, and D' Avenant's Prologue for the revival. 
 
 Great ftrefs is alfo laid by Seward on the fituation of Beaumont's 
 Letter to Jonfon ; but this fituation is evidently a mere cafualty of 
 the prefs. To expedite the printing, the firft folio was divided into 
 eight different portions, as the printer's directory letters for the book- 
 binder, and the numeration of the pages, evince. 
 
 The plays alloted for the third portion were, Chances, Loyal 
 Subject, Laws of Candy, Lovers' Progrefs, Ifland Frincefs, Humorous 
 Lieutenant, and Nice Valour : Thefe not making perfect fheets, the 
 Editor, to avoid leaving a blank leaf in the body of the book, there 
 inferted this Letter ; and hence, undoubtedly, originated the fituation 
 of the Poem, which ought (did its title deferve attention) to have been 
 placed at the end of the whole Work ; for had any fpecification been 
 intended, we mould not have had the vague expreffion, * two of the 
 precedent,' but ' the two precedent comedies.' 
 
 Seward fays, Shirley fuppofes the Humorous Lieutenant to be one 
 of the plays referred to by the verfes : Shirley thought nothing of the 
 matter, knew nothing of the arrangement, did nothing but write the 
 Preface: It were unjuft to believe he did more. It is not always 
 eafy to difcover Seward's meaning ; but he feems, however, to have 
 diftrufted Shirley 1 1 fuf/pojition, and to have relied on the fubfequent 
 Editor, by faying the verfes were ' published at the end of the Nice 
 
 * Valour AND Woman-Hater, in the fecond folio.' This proves 
 nothing ; that Editor continued them with the play to which he 
 found them annexed. 
 
 The title to thefe verfes runs, ' Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to 
 ' Ben. Jonfbn, written before he and Mafter Fletcher came to London, 
 
 * with two of the precedent comedies then not finimed, which de- 
 
 * ferrcd their merry meetings at the Mermaid.' If this title and the 
 {Uuation afford proof of any kind, it will be directly oppofite to 
 
 Seward's
 
 xc COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Their conferences, to fee the thing they fcorn'd, 
 
 To be with fo much wit and art adcrn'd. 
 
 Befides, one 'vantage more in this I fee, 
 
 Your cenfurers muft have the quality 
 
 Of reading, which I am afraid is more 
 
 Than half your fhrewdeft judges had before. Ft. Beaumont* 
 
 II. 
 
 To the worthy Author Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, upon, 
 his Faithful Shepherdefs. 
 
 THE wife, and many-headed bench, that fits 
 Upon the life and death of plays, and luits, 
 (Composed of gamefter, captain, knight, knight's man, 
 Lady, or Pucelle, that wears maJk or fan, 
 Velvet, or taffata cap, rank'd in the dark 
 With the fhop's foreman, or fome fuch brave f park, 
 That may judge for his fix-pence) had, before 
 They faw it half, damn'd thy whole play; andj morC| 
 Their motives were, fince it had not to do 
 With vices, which they look'd for, and came to. 
 
 I, that am glad thy innocence was thy guilt, 
 And wifh that all the mufes 1 blood were fpilt 
 In fuch a martyrdom, to vex their eyes, 
 Do crown thy murder'd poem ; which fhall rife 
 A glorified work to time, when fire, 
 Or moths, fhall eat what all thefe fools admire. Ben.Jonfon. 
 
 Seward's opinion : Firft, as the title mentions ' two of the precedent 
 
 * comedies,' the Woman-Hater could NOT be one, having no place 
 in the tirft folio. Secondly, Scward ftys, Fletcher could not be 
 ' with Beaumont ; but what fays the title r ' Written before he AND 
 
 * Matter Fletcher came, fcsV.' And, thirdly, if Beaumont AND 
 Fletcher were together, Nice Valour and the Humorous Lieutenant 
 muft be looked on as joint productions. 
 
 But, befides the title and fituation failing to prove which the 
 comedies were, the Poem itfelf affords no pioof that Beaumont was 
 then writing any play at all. The words 
 When thefe SCENES are PERFECT, 
 
 are all which can lead to fuch a fuppofition j and may we not under- 
 ftand thofe words to mean only, ' When [ CHANGE the SCENE,' or, 
 
 * when the time for my flay HERE is COMPLETED ?' with this fenfe 
 of the word perfetl every Reader of old books muft be acquainted. 
 Whether this explanation is admitted, or not, it at leall feerp-s 
 clear that no fuch external evidence as Seward fuppofes, is deducible 
 from either the title or fituation of the Poem in queilion. J. N. 
 
 Ill-
 
 COMMENDATORY fOlMS. xci 
 
 III. 
 
 To Mr. FRANCIS BEAUMONT, (then living.) 
 
 HOW I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy mufe* t 
 That unto me doft fuch religion ufe ! ' 
 How I do fear myfelf, that am not worth 
 The leaft indulgent thought thy pen drops forth ! 
 At once thou mak'ft me happy, and unmak'ft ; 
 And, giving largely to me, more thou tak'ft. 
 What fate is mine, that fo itfelf bereaves? 
 What art is thine, that fo thy friend deceives? 
 When even there, where moft thou praifeft me 
 For writing better, I muft envy thee. Ben. Jonfon. 
 
 IV. 
 
 On Mr. FRANCIS BEAUMONT, on his Imitations of 
 
 Ovid, an Ode. 
 THE matchlefs luft of a fair poefy, 
 
 Which erft was buried in old Rome's decays, 
 Now 'gins with heat of rifing majefty, 
 
 Her duft-wrapt head from rotten tomb to ratfe. 
 And with frefh fplendor gilds her fearlefs creft, 
 Rearing her palace in our Poet's bread. 
 The wanton Ovid,.whofe enticing rimes 
 
 Have with attractive wonder forc'd attention, 
 No more (hall be admir'd at ; for thefe times 
 
 Produce a poet, whofe more rare invention 
 Will tear the love-fick myrtle from his brows, 
 T' adorn his temples with deferved boughs. 
 The dronged marble fears the fmalleft rain ; 
 
 The rutting canker eats the pureft gold ; 
 Honour's bed dye dreads envy's blacked dain; 
 
 The crimfon badge of beauty mud wax old; 
 But this fair iflue of thy fruitful brain, 
 Nor dreads age, envy, cank'ring rud or rain. J. F 5 . 
 
 4- This fliort copy (which feems wrote with a fincerity not common 
 in complimentary Poems) treats Beaumont not only as an excellent 
 critic, but as an excellent poet ; and is an anfwer to Beaumont's Letter 
 to Jonfon. SeivarJ. 
 
 5 The J. F. here is undoubtedly John Fletcher, and the Ode, 
 though not immediately relating to the Piays, is inferted here, firft, 
 
 for
 
 xcii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 V. 
 
 On Mr. BEAUMONT. 
 
 (Written preferttly after his death.) 
 
 BEAUMONT lieshere; and where now (hall we have 
 A mufe like his to figh upon his grave ? 
 Ah ! none to weep this with a worthy tear, 
 But he, that cannot, Beaumont that lies here. 
 Who now fhall pay thy tomb with fuch a verfc 
 As thou that lady's didft, fair Rutland's hearfe 6 ? 
 
 for its intrinfic merit; and, fecondly, as it will be pleafing to find 
 that Fletcher's Mufe was animated with friendfhipas well as Beaumont's ; 
 a circumllance, which, till I faw this Ode, feemed wanting to com- 
 plete the amiable union which reigned between them. In the third 
 itanza, the reader will fee an authority for Milton's ufe of the word. 
 rime for verfe in general, 
 
 * Things unattempted yet in profe or rime." 1 
 
 Which Dr. Bentley fo injudicioufly altered to profe and verfe. That 
 Beaumont wrote fomething in the Ovidian manner feems evident from 
 thefe lines j but the Hermaphrodite which is printed as his, and fup- 
 poled to be the thing referred to in this Ode, is claimed by Cleavei 
 land as a conjunct performance between himfelf and Randolph. 
 
 Sfivard. 
 6 Who naiu Jhall pay thy tomb with fuch a. verfe 
 
 di thou that lady's did 'ft ', fair Rutland's herfe ?] To pay thy tomb 
 is a little obfcure, but it feems to mean, to repay thee for writing fo 
 txcellent an Epitaph, by one as excellent on thyjelf. There are ieveraj 
 jEpitaphs and Elegies in Beaumont's Poems, but by an expreffion in 
 Mr. liarje's two next lines relating to the marble of the to>*b, I be* 
 Jieve the following beautiful Epitaph is what is here referred to ; 
 
 .An EPITAPH. 
 
 Here fhe lies, whofe fpotlefs fame 
 Invites a Hone to learn her name. 
 The rigid Spartan that denied 
 An Epitaph to all that died, 
 Unlefs for war, in charity, 
 Would here vouchfafe an elegy. 
 She died a wife, but yet her mind, 
 Beyond virginity refin'd, 
 From lawlcfs fire remain'd as free, 
 As now from heat her afhes be. 
 Her hufband yet without a fin, 
 Was not a ftranger, but her kin ; 
 That her chafte love might feem no other 
 To her hufband tUn a brother.
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, xcin 
 
 A monument that will then lading be, 
 
 When all her marble is more duft than {he. 
 
 In thee all's loft : A fudden dearth and want 
 
 Hath feiz'd on Wit, good epitaphs are fcant ; 
 
 We dare not write thy elegy, whilft each fears 
 
 He ne'er (hall match that copy of thy Tears. 
 
 Scarce in an age a poet, and yet he 
 
 Scarce lives the third part of his age to fee} 
 
 But quickly taken off, and only known, 
 
 Is in a minute fhut as foon as (hewn. 
 
 Why (hould weak Nature tire herfelf in vain 
 
 In fuch a piece, to dafh it flraight again ? 
 
 Why fhould me take fuch work beyond her Ikill, 
 
 Which, when me cannot perfect, ihe muft kill ? 
 
 Alas, what is't to temper flime or mire ? 
 
 But Nature's puzzled, when flie works in fire : 
 
 Great brains (like brightest glafs) crack ftraight, while thofc 
 
 Of ftone or wood hold out, and fear not blows : 
 
 And we their ancient hoary heads can fee, 
 
 Whofe wit was never their mortality : 
 
 Beaumont dies young 7 , fo Sidney died before ; 
 
 There was not poetry he could live to more ; 
 
 He could not grow up higher -, I fcarce know, 
 
 If th' art itfelf unto that pitch could grow, 
 
 Were't not in thee, that hadft arriv'd the height 
 
 Of all that Wit could reach, or Nature might. 
 
 Oh, when I read thofe excellent things of thine, 
 
 Such ftrength, fuch fweetnefs, couch'd in every line, 
 
 Such life of fancy, fuch high choice of brain, 
 
 Nought of the vulgar wit or borrow'd {train, 
 
 Such paflion, fuch expreflions meet my eye, 
 
 Such wit untainted with obfcenity, 
 
 ' Keep well this pawn, thou marble cheft, 
 
 Till it be call'd for, let it reft ; 
 
 For while this jewel here is fee, 
 
 ' The grave is like a cabinet.' 
 
 This is extremely in the fpirit of Milton and Shakefpeare's Epitaphs, 
 and (hews that Beaumont excelled in every fpecies of writing which. 
 he attempted. There are three Elegies of his which I believe genuine, 
 and they have great merit ; two are figned by his name, and another 
 begins, 
 
 ' Can my poor lines no better office have, 
 
 ' Than, fcreech-owl like, ftill dwell about the grave ?' 
 This (hews that he had wrote feveral Elegies and Epitaphs. Seivard. 
 7 So Sidney did before \] It jnight perhaps have been fo Sidney 
 died before. SeivarA 
 
 Beaumont's Poems exhibit diet, 
 
 An
 
 xciv COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 And thefe fo unaffectedly exprefs'd, 
 
 All in a language purely-flowing dreft ; 
 
 And all fo born within thyfelf, thine own, 
 
 So new, fo frefh, fo nothing trod upon, 
 
 I grieve not now, that old Menander's vein 
 
 Is ruin'd, to furvive in thee again ; 
 
 Such in his time was he, of the fame piece, 
 
 The fmooth, ev'n, natural wit, and love of Greece. 
 
 Thofe few fententious fragments fhew more worth, 
 
 Than all the poets Athens e'er brought forth ; 
 
 And I am forry we have loft thofe hours 
 
 On them, whofe quicknsfs comes far fhortof ours, 
 
 And dwell not more on thee, whofe every page 
 
 May be a pattern for their fcene and ftage. 
 
 I will not yield thy works fo mean a praife ; 
 
 More pure, more chafte, more fainted than are plays, 
 
 Nor with that dull fupinenefs to be read, 
 
 To pafs a fire, or laugh an hour in bed. 
 
 How do the mufes fuffer every where, 
 
 Taken in fuch mouths' cenfure, in fuch ears, 
 
 That, 'twixt a whiff, a line or two rehearfe, 
 
 And with their rheum together fpawl a verfe ! 
 
 This all a poem's leifure, after play 8 , 
 
 Drink, or tobacco, it may keep the day. 
 
 Whilft ev'n their very idlenefs, they think, 
 
 Is loft in thefe, that lofe their time in drink. 
 
 1 <J"hh all a poems leifure after play, 
 
 Drink or tobacco, it may keep the day.~\ What is all a poem's 
 leafure ? I can affix no idea to it but a Latinifm, which if ddigned 
 is extremely forced. This is all a poem's, i. e. a poem's part, power 
 or worth, it may ferve to fpend one's leafure hours after dice, drink, 
 or tobacco. But unlefs the reader fees a more natural explication, I 
 believe he will agree to its being difcarded as a corruption, for a trifling 
 change will give a clear fenfe, 
 
 This all a poem s pleafure, after play, 
 
 Drink or tobacco, it may keep the day. 
 
 i. e. All the pleafure a poem gives to thefe fons of dulnefs, is to fpin, 
 out or pafs away the time till fun-fet, after cards, bottles, and tobacco 
 are removed ; thus to pafs ajire, a little above, fignifies to pafs away 
 the time till the fire is burnt out. But to keep a day, is an expreffion 
 not very applicable to this fenfe, (a fenfe which the context evidently 
 requires) and though it may indeed be drained to fomething like it, 
 yet as we can retain three of the letters in keep, and by a fmall tranf- 
 pofuion of the reft, give a much properer verb, it feems probaWe 
 that eke was the original, we generally now fay to eke out the day ; 
 but it was ufed by our anceilors without the adverb, to ekt a thing, i. e.
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. fT xcv 
 
 Pity their dullnefs; we that better know, 
 
 Will a more ferious hour on thee beftow 9 . 
 
 Why (hould not Beaumont in the morning pleafe, 
 
 As well as Plautus, Ariftophanes ? 
 
 Who, if my pen may as my thoughts be free, 
 
 Were fcurril wits and buffoons both to thee j 
 
 Yet thefe olir learned of fevered brow 
 
 Will deign to look on, and to note them too, 
 
 That will djefy our own ; 'tis Englifh (luff, 
 
 And th' author is not rotten long enough. 
 
 Alas, what phlegm are they, compar'd to thee, 
 
 In thy Philafter, and Maid's Tragedy? 
 
 Where's fuch an humour as thy Beffus, pray ? 
 
 Let them put all their Thrafoes in one play, 
 
 He (ball out-bid them ; their conceit was poor lo , 
 
 AH in a circle of a bawd or whore, 
 
 A coz'ning Davus " ; take the fool away, 
 
 And not a good jeft extant in a play. 
 
 Yet thefe are wits, becaufe they're old, and now, 
 
 Being Greek and Latin, they are learning too : 
 
 to protraft or lengthen it out. The reader will fee a much greater 
 corruption of the prefs than either of thefe at the latter end of this 
 Poem. Seiuard. 
 
 The meaning feems to be, ' They have no leifure for poetry, till 
 ' they have done with gaming, drinking, and fmoaking; thefe having 
 ' had their time, poetry may command the day. 1 
 
 9 Pity then dull ive, ive that better know, 
 
 Will a more ferious hour on thee bejlow.] There is too much 
 inconliitency in this fentence to fuppofe it genuine. He ironically 
 calls himfelf and friends dull, and literally afferts their fuperior under- 
 Handing in the fame fentence. Befide, Pity then iue will btflonu, Sec. 
 does not feem Englifh. I change but an to an m, and read, Pity 
 them dull ; We, <uae that, Sec. Sewerd. 
 
 The text is from Beaumont's Poems. 
 
 10 Their conceit ivas poor, Sic.'] Mr. Earle's reflections on Terence 
 are in part at leaft very unjuft. There is perhaps too much famenefs 
 in his plots ; but his old men and young, his fervants, his parafites, 
 fcfr. arc each a diftinft character from all the reft, and preferved 
 throughout each play with infinite fpirit and judgment. Befide which, 
 the elegant diction and fine fentiments which every where abound in 
 him are patterns to the belt comic writers ; and which Beaumont and 
 Fletcher ftrive to excel him in by. adding fublimity of poetry to juit- 
 nefs of fentiment; well knowing that jejts and drollery are only the 
 loweft degree of comic excellence. SnvarJ. 
 
 11 A coining dance.] Corrected by Theobald, who fays, ' Davut 
 
 is the name of a fubtk jujgling fervant in Terence's comedy called 
 
 * the Fav Andrian.' 
 
 But
 
 xcvi COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 But thofe their own times were content t' allow 
 
 A thriftier fame IZ , and thine is loweft now. 
 
 But thou fhalt live, and, when thy name is grown 
 
 Six- ages older, {halt be better known ; 
 
 When thou'rt of Chaucer's (landing in the tomb, 
 
 Thou fhalt not {hare, but take up all, his room *. 
 
 Job. Earh '. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On Mr. FRANCIS BEAUMONT, (then newly dead.) 
 
 HE that hath fuch acutenefs, and fuch wit, 
 As would afk ten good heads to hufband it ; 
 He, that can write fo well, that no man dare 
 Refufe it for the beft, let him beware : 
 
 Beaumont is dead, by whofe fole death appears, 
 Wit's a difeafe confumes men in few years. 
 
 Rich. Corbet **. D. D. 
 
 11 A thirfty fame.'] To make thirjly fignify poor or fcanty may 
 be admitted ; but as the fmalleft change gives a more natural word, 
 thrifty feems the original. Seivard. 
 
 The text from Beaumont's Poems. 
 
 * This copy varies confiderably from that printed with Beaumont's 
 Poems. 
 
 ** Job. Earle."] Mr. Earle was young when he wrote this, and 
 there are indifputable marks of a bright poetic genius, which had 
 probably been greatly infpired by an intimacy with Beaumont. He 
 was in high repute as a preacher and a fcholar in King Charles the 
 Firft's reign ; and feems to have been a true patriot ; for it is probable 
 that he oppofed the court in the beginning of the troubles, as he was 
 elected one of the djjembly of Divines ; but he refufed to aft with 
 them, and adhered to the king in his loweft Hate, and for it was de- 
 prived of the chancel lorfhip of Salifbury, and all his other preferments. 
 After the reftoration, he was made, firft Dean of Weltminlter. then 
 Bifhop of Worceller, and afterwards of Salifbury. Mr. Wood gives 
 a character of him, that extremely refembles that of the excellent 
 Dr. Hough, the late Bifhop of Worcefter ; the fum of it is, that he 
 joined the politenefs of a courtier to the fan&ity, goodnefs, and 
 charity of an apoille. Seivard. 
 
 '* Richard Corbet, firft Student, then Deac of Chrift-Church, 
 afterwards Bifhop of Oxford, and from thence tranflated to Norwich j 
 in his youth was eminent for wit and poety, of which this is a fpe- 
 cimen, and a good teftimony of Beaumont's having a luxuriant wit 
 as well as Fletcher, 
 
 lhat vjauU ajk ten good heads t bvjland it. SrwarJ. 
 
 VII.
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, xcvii 
 
 VII. , 
 
 On the happy Colleftion of Mr. FLETCHER'S Works, 
 never before printed. 
 
 FLETCHER, arife ! ufurpers fhare thy bays, 
 They canton thy vaft wit to build fmall plays : 
 He comes ! his volume breaks thro' clouds and duft ; 
 Down, little wits ! ye muft refund, ye muft. 
 
 Nor comes he private ; here's great Beaumont too : 
 How could one (ingle world encompafs two ? 
 For thefe co-heirs had equal power to teach 
 All that all wits both can, and cannot, reach* 
 Shakefpeare was early up, and went fo dreft 
 As for thofe dawning hours he knew was bed ; 
 But, when the fun fhone forth, you two thought fit 
 To wear juft robes, and leave off trunk-hofe wit. 
 Now, now, 'twas perfect ; none muft look for new, 
 Manners and fcenes may alter, but not you; 
 For yours are not mere humours, gilded drains ; 
 The falhion loft, your mafly fenfe remains. 
 
 Some think your wits of two complexions fram'd, 
 That one the fock, th' other the bttjkin, claim'd; 
 That fhould the ftage embattle all its force, 
 Fletcher would lead the foot, Beaumont the horfe. 
 But, you were both for both ; not femi-wits, 
 Each piece is wholly two, yet never fplits : 
 Ye're not two faculties, and one foul ftill, 
 He th' under/landing , thou the quick free will i 
 Not as two voices in one fong embrace, 
 Fletcher's keen treble, and deep Beaumont's bafe '% 
 
 *f But, as t<voo qjoicei in one fong tmbrace, 
 
 (Fletcher's keen treble, and deep Beaumont's bafr) 
 T'nvo, full, congenial fouls. ~\ Here Berkenhead is fpeakingof th 
 doubtful opinions relating to the (hare which Beaumont and Fletcher 
 had in thefe Plays : He tells you, that the general opinion was, that 
 Beaumont was a grave tragic writer, Fletcher molt excellent in 
 comedy. This he contradi&s ; but how, why, they did not differ 
 as a general of horfe does from a general of foot, nor as the fock does 
 from the bujkin, nor as the twill from the underftanJing, but were 
 two full congenial fouls, and differed only as the bafe and treble do 
 in the fame fong. Why, if this is the true reading, he confirms in 
 thefe lines what he had contradicted in all the foregoing fimiles, 
 for bafe and treble have much the fame difference between them as 
 horfe and foot in an army, or the wit and underftanding in the foul. 
 Voi. I. g To
 
 fccviii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Two, full, congenial fouls > flill both prevail'd ; 
 His mufe and thine were quartered, not impal'd 16 : 
 Both brought your ingots, both toil'd at the mint, 
 Beat, melted, fifted, 'till no drofs fluck in't ; 
 Then in each other's fcales weigh'd every grain, 
 Then fmboth'd and burnifti'd, then weigh'd all again ; 
 Stampt both your names upon't at one bold hit, 
 Then, then 'twas coin, as well as bullion-wit. 
 
 Thus twins : But as when Fate one eye deprives, 
 That other ftrives to double, which furvives, 
 So Beaumont died ; yet left in legacy 
 His rules and ftandard wit (Fletcher) to thec. 
 Still the fame planet, tho' not fill'd fo foou, 
 A two-horn'd crefcent then, now on full-moon. 
 Joint love before, now honour, doth provoke ; 
 So th' old twin giants forcing a huge oak, 
 One flip'd his footing, th' other fees him fall, 
 Grafp'd the whole tree, and fingle held up all. 
 Imperial Fletcher ! here begins thy reign ; 
 Scenes flow like fun-beams from thy glorious brain; 
 Thy fwift-difpatching foul no more doth (lay, 
 Than he that built two cities in one day ; 
 Ever brim-full, and fometimes running o'er, 
 To feed poor languid wits that wait at door ; 
 Who creep and creep, yet ne'er above-ground flood ; 
 (For creatures have molt feet, which have leaft blood) 
 But thou art itill that bird of paradife, 
 Which hath no feet , and ever nobly flies : 
 Rich, lufty fenfe, fuch as the Poet ought; 
 For poems, if not excellent, are naught ; 
 
 To make the writer confident with himfelf, the true reading feems 
 to be not inftead of but : 
 
 Not as tivo ^voices in one fotrp embrace, 
 
 Fletcher's keen treble and deep Beaumont 's bafe ; 
 
 7"if0 full congenial fouls. Seaward. 
 
 16 His mufe and thine were quarter'd, not impal'd ;] I know I 
 am going out of my depth, in attempting a criticifm on terms in 
 heraldry. But my books tell me, that impaling is when the arms of 
 the man and wife are placed on the fame efcutcheon, the one on the 
 right and the other on the left ; which is a proper emblem of the 
 matrimonial union; and might feemingly be as well applied to the 
 marriage of Beaumont and Fletcher's wit, as the word quartering can, 
 which the fame Berkenhead fpeaks of at the latter end of this Poem ; 
 
 What Jlrange producJitn is at la ft difplayd, 
 
 Got by two fathers without female aid! 
 
 lut I fhall attempt no change in z/crence where I am ignorance itfelf. 
 
 StivarJ. 
 
 Low
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, xcix 
 
 Low wit in fcenes in ftate a peafant goes } 
 If mean and flat, Jet it foot yeoman-profe, 
 That fuch may fpell, as are not readers grown $ 
 To whom he, that writes wit, (hews he hath none. 
 
 Brave Shakefpeare flow'd, yet had his ebbings too, 
 Often above himfclf, fometimes below; 
 Thou always belt ; if aught feem'd to decline, 
 *Twas the unjudging rout's miftake, not thine : 
 Thus thy fair Shepherdefs, which the bold heap 
 (Falfe to themfelves and thee) did prize fo cheap, 
 Was found (when underftood) fit to be crown'd ; 
 At worit 'twas worth two hundred thonfand pound. 
 
 Some blaft thy works, left we fhould track their walk, 
 Where they deal all thofe few good things they talk; 
 Wit-burglary mufl chide thofe it feeds on, 
 For plunder'd folks ought to be rail'd upon ; 
 But (as ftoln goods go off at half their worth) 
 Thy ftrong fenfe palls, when they purloin it forth. 
 When didft thou borrow ? where's the man e'er read 
 Aught begg'd by thee from thofe alive or dead ? 
 Or from dry gsddcjfcs? as fome who, when 
 They fluff their page with gods, write worfe than men $ 
 Thou waft thine own mu'fe, and hadft fuch vaft odds, 
 Thou out-writ'ft him whofe verfe made all thofe gods: 
 Surpafling thofe our dwarfifh age up-rears, 
 As much as Greeks, or Latins, thee in years: 
 Thy ocean fancy knew nor banks nor dammsj 
 We ebb down dry to pebble-anagrams j 
 Dead and infipid, all defpairing fit ; 
 Loft to behold this great relapfe of wit : 
 What ftrength remains, is like that (wild and fierce) 
 Till Jonfon made good poets and right verfe. 
 
 Such boift'rous trifles thy mufe would not brook, 
 Save when {he'd (hew how fcurvily they look ; 
 No favage metaphors (things rudely great) 
 Thou doft difplay, not butcfier a conceit ; 
 Thy nerves have beauty, which invades and charms j 
 Looks like a princefs harnefs'd in bright arms. 
 
 Nor art thou loud and cloudy ; thofe, that do 
 Thunder fo much, do't without lightning too ; 
 Tearing themfelves, and almoft fplit their brain 
 To render harfh what thou fpeak ft free and cloanj 
 Such gloomy fenfe may pafs for high and proud, 
 But true-born wit (till flies above the cloud; 
 Thou knew'ft 'twas impotence, what they call height; 
 Who blufters ftrong i'th' dark, but creeps i'th' light. 
 
 g * And
 
 C COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 And as thy thoughts were clear , fo, innocent ; 
 Thy fancy gave no unfwept language vent ; 
 Slander'ft not laws, prophan'ft no holy page 
 (As if thy father's crofier aw'd the ftage) ; 
 High crimes were flill arraign'd ; tho' they made drift 
 To pYofper out four afts y were plagu'd i'th' fifth : 
 All's fafe, and wife ; no ftiff affected fcene, 
 Norfwoln, noryfor, a true full natural vein ; 
 Thy fenfe (like well-dreft ladies) cloath'd as fkinn'd, 
 Not all unlac'd, nor city-ftarch'd and pinn'd ? 
 Thou hadft no (loth, no rage, no fullen fit, 
 5$nt Jirength and mirth', Fletcher's * f anguine wit. 
 
 Thus, two great <r0/w/-poets all things fway'd, 
 'Till all was Englifh born or Englifh made : 
 Mitre and coif here into one piece fpun, 
 Beaumont a judge's, this a prelate's fon. 
 What ftrange production is at laft difplay'd, 
 Got by two fathers, without female aid ! 
 Behold, two masculines efpous'd each other ; 
 Wit and the world were bora without a mother. 
 
 7. Berkenhead 1 *. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On the Works of BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, now 
 at length printed. 
 
 GREAT pair of Authors, whom one equal ftar 
 Begot fo like in genius, that you are 
 In fame, as well as writings, both fo knit, 
 That no man knows where to divide your wit, 
 Much lefs your praife : You, who had equal fire, 
 And did each other mutually infpire ; 
 Whether one did contrive, the other write, 
 Or one fram'd the plot, the other did indite ; 
 Whether one found the matter, th' other drefs, 
 Or th' one difpos'd what th' other did exprefs : 
 Where-e'er your parts between yourfelves lay, we 
 In all things, which you did, but one thread fee ; 
 So evenly drawn out, fo gently fpun, 
 That Art with Nature ne'er did fmoother run. 
 
 *7 y. Berkinbead.~\ Berkinbead was firft smanuenfiS to bifliop 
 Laud, and fellow of All Souls. He was author of the Mercurioui 
 Adieus, a very loyal paper in the time of the rebellion. He was 
 perfecuted much in Cromwell's days, and lived by his wits ; after- 
 wards he had good places under King Charles the Second, was member 
 of parliament, and knighted. Seward. 
 
 Where
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. ci 
 
 Where fhall I fix my praife then ? or what part 
 
 Of all your numerous labours hath defert 
 
 More to be fam'd than other ? Shall I fay, 
 
 I've met a lover fo drawn in your play, 
 
 So paflionately written, fo innam'd, 
 
 So jealoufly enrag'd, then gently tam'd, 
 
 That I in reading have the perfon feen, - 
 
 And your pen hath part ftage and actor been ? 
 
 Or fhall I fay, that I can fcaree forbear 
 
 To clap, when I a * captain do meet there ; [* Bejfusl 
 
 So lively in his own vain humour dreft, 
 
 So braggingly, and like himfelf expreft, 
 
 That modern cowards, when they faw him play'd, 
 
 Saw, blufh'd, departed, guilty and betray'd ? 
 
 You wrote all parts right ; whatfoe'er the ftage 
 
 Had from you, was feen there as in the age, 
 
 And had their equal life : Vices which were 
 
 Manners abroad, did grow corrected there : 
 
 They who pofleft a box, and half-crown fpent 
 
 To learn obfcenenefs, returnM innocent, 
 
 And thank'd you for this coz'nage, whofe chafte fcene 
 
 Taught loves fo noble, fo reform'd, fo clean, 
 
 That they, who brought foul fires, and thither came 
 
 To bargain, went thence with a holy flame. 
 
 Be't to your praife too, that l8 -your ilock and vein 
 
 Held both to tragic and to comic ftrain ; 
 
 Wherc-c'er you lilted to be high and grave, 
 
 No brtjkin ihew'd more folemn ; no quill gave 
 
 Such feeling objects to draw tears from eyes, 
 
 Spectators late parts in your tragedies. 
 
 And where you lifted to be low and free, 
 
 Mirth turu'd the whole houfe into comedy ; 
 
 So piercing (where you pleas'd) hitting a fault, 
 
 That humours from your pen iflued all fait. 
 
 Nor were you thus in works and poems knit, 
 
 As to be but t^-o halfs, and make one Wit ; 
 
 But as fome things, we fee, have double caufe, 
 
 And yet the effect itfelf from both whole draws ; 
 
 So, though you were thus twifted and combin'd, 
 
 As in two bodies t' have but one fair mind * 9 , 
 
 18 your ilock and vein 
 
 Held both to tragic and to comic Jirain~\ t. e. Your^or/f of un- 
 
 derftanding and knowledge, and your vein of wit and humour, ar 
 
 equally excellent in tragedy and comedy. SeivarJ. 
 
 '9 dt two bodies to have but one fair mind ] Amended by Sewud. 
 
 g Yet
 
 cii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Yet if we praife you rightly, we muft fay, 
 
 Both join'd, and both did wholly make the play. 
 
 For that you could write fingly, we may guefs 
 
 By the divided pieces which the prefs 
 
 Hath feverally fent forth* ; nor were join'd Co, 
 
 Like fome our modern authors, made to go 
 
 One merely by the help of th' other 11 , who 
 
 To purchafe fame do come forth one of two ; 
 
 Nor wrote you fo, that one's part was to lick 
 
 The other into fnape; nor did one flick 
 
 The other's cold inventions with fuch wit, 
 
 As ferv'd, like fpice, to make them quick and fit } 
 
 Nor, out of mutual want, or emptinefs, 
 
 Did you confpire to go ftill twins to th' prefs ; 
 
 But what, tl 1 us join'd, you wrote, might have come forth 
 
 As good from each, and ftor'd with the fame worth 
 
 That thus united them : You did join fenfe ; 
 
 In you 'twas league, in others impotence ; 
 
 And the prefs, which both thus amongft us fends**, ^ 
 
 Sends us one poet in a pair of friends. J a fp^ r Maine 13 . 
 
 * By the divided pieces which the prefs 
 
 Hath federally fent forth. "\ I have before (hewed that there were 
 two comedies wrote by Beaumont fingly, and given ibme reafons why 
 the Nice Valour ought to be deemed one of them. Whether Mr. 
 Maine in this place referred to th'efe two comedies, knowing which 
 they were ; or whether he only meant the mafic at Gray's Inn, which 
 was the only piece which we know to have been publiflud in Beau- 
 mont's name before thefe Commendatory Poems were publimed , or 
 wbether he fpoke in general terms, without a Uriel adherence to fafts, 
 mull be left uncertain. S sward. 
 
 11 nor ivtre gone fo t 
 
 Like fome our modern authors made to go 
 
 On merely by the help of tti other. ~\ The word go which ends 
 the next line, feems to have ran in the printer's head, and made him 
 put gone here inftead of fome other word. Mr. Theobald had pre- 
 vented me in the emendation : We read join'd fo, and as I have his 
 concurrence, I have the l?fs doubt in preferring it to Mr. Symplon's 
 conjecture AW were one fo tho' this latter is very good (enfe, 
 and nearer the trace of the letters, but it would make one be repeated 
 too often, for it is already in the third and fourth lines after, and 'tis 
 very evident to me that it fhouid have been in the fecond, for On merely % 
 I read One merely. Sfjuard. 
 
 . ** And the p'efs ivhich loth thus amongjl ui fends, } To make this 
 verfe run imoother, Seward would read, 
 
 -and thus the prefi which both amcngft us fends, 
 and refers to hib rule for verfe in note 4 on Wit without Money. 
 
 2? J a fP er Maine.'] This gentleman was author of the City Match, 
 a comedy, and the Amorous War, a tragi comedy. He was an 
 
 cmineut
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. ciii 
 
 IX. 
 
 Upon the report of the printing of the Dramatical 
 Poems of Mailer JOHN FLETCHER, never collected 
 before, and now fet forth in one volume. 
 THO' when all Fletcher writ, and the entire 
 
 Man was indulg'd unto that facred fire, 
 
 His thoughts, and his thoughts' drefs, appear'd both fuch| 
 
 That 'twas his happy fault to do too much : 
 
 Who therefore wifely did fubmit each birth 
 
 To knowing Beaumont ere it did come forth, 
 
 Working again until he faid, 'twas fit t 
 
 And made him the fobriety of his wit. 
 
 Tho* thus he cali'd his judge into his fame, 
 
 And for that aid allow'd him half the name; 
 
 'Tis known, that fometimes he did ftand alone, 
 
 That both the fpunge and pencil were his own ; 
 
 That himfelf judg'd himfelf, could fmgly do, 
 
 And was at lait Beaumont and Fletcher too : 
 Elfe we had loft his Shepherdefs 24 , a piece 
 
 Even and fmooth, fpun from a finer fleece; 
 
 Where foftnefs reigns, where paflions paflions greet, 
 
 Gentle and high, as floods of balfam meet. 
 
 Where drefs'd in white expreilions fit bright loves, 
 
 Drawn, like their faireft queen, by milky doves; 
 
 eminent preacher in the civil war, but warmly adhering to the king, 
 \vas deprived of all his preferments in Cromwell's time, and taken for 
 charity into the earl of Devonihire's family, where his learning, piety, 
 and wit, rendered him a proper advocate for religion againft the 
 famous Mr. Hobbs, then a tutor in that family. After the reftora- 
 tion he was made canon of Chrift- Church, and archdeacon of Chi- 
 cheiter. Se<warJ. 
 
 z + Eife iv e lad lojl bis Sbcpberdefs.] Mr. Cartwright was a very 
 bright but a very yoang man, and fecms to taile our Authors plays 
 extremely well, but to have known nothing of their dates and hiftory. 
 Hel'jppofes the Shepheidcfs.wrote-after Beaumont's death, fo that his 
 teitimony ought to have no fort of weight in excluding Beaumont from 
 all (hare in the compofition of the plays. He had taken up thefup- 
 pofition of Beaumont's being only a corrector, perhaps merely becaufe 
 jonfon had celebrated hii judgment ; not confidering that he celebrated 
 his fancy too. Senuard. 
 
 Cnrtw right could not fuppofe the Shepherded was wrote after Beau- 
 mont's death: His words only mean, ' If Fletcher could not have 
 * wrote without Beaumont, we mould not have had the Faithful 
 ' SJiepherdcfj,' in which the latter had no concern. 
 
 g 4 - A piece,
 
 civ COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 A piece, which Jonfon in a rapture bid 
 Come up a glorified work ; and fo it did. 
 
 Elfe had his mvife let with his friend ; the ftage 
 Had mifs'd thofe poems, which yet take the age i 
 The world had loll thofe rich exemplars, where 
 Art, language, wit, fit ruling in one fphere ; 
 Where the frefh matters foar above old themes, 
 As prophets' raptures do above our dreams j 
 Where in a worthy fcorn he dares refufe 
 All other gods, and makes the thing his mufe ; 
 Where he calls paffions up, and lays them fo, 
 As fpirits, aw'd by him to come and go; 
 Where the free author did whate'er he would, 
 And nothing will'd but what a poet fhould. 
 
 No vafh uncivil bulk fwells any fcene, 
 The ftrength's ingenious, and the vigour clean; 
 None can prevent the fancy, and fee through 
 At the firft opening ; all ftand wondring how 
 The thing will be, until it is ; which thence 
 With frefh delight ftill cheats, ftill takes the fenfe ; 
 The whole defign, the fhadows, the lights fuch, 
 That none can fay he (hews or hides too much : 
 Bufinefs grows up, ripen'd by juft encreafe, 
 And by as juft degrees again doth ceafe ; 
 The heats and minutes of affairs are watch'd, 
 And the nice points of time are met, and fnatch'd : 
 Nought later -than it fhould, nought comes before ; 
 Chymifts, and calculators, do err more : 
 Sex, age, degree, affections, country, place, 
 The inward fubftance, and the outward face, 
 All kept precifely, all exactly fit ; 
 What he would write, he was, before he writ. 
 'Twixt Jonfon's grave, and Shakefpeare's lighter found, 
 His mufe fo fteer'd, that fomething ftill was found 
 Nor this, nor that, nor both, but fo his own, 
 That 'twas his mark, and he was by it known: 
 Hence did he take true judgments, hence did ftrike 
 All palates fome way, though not all alike : 
 The god of numbers might his numbers crown, 
 And, liftRing to them, wifh they were his own. 
 
 Thus, welcome forth, what eafe, or wine, or wit 
 
 Purlt yet produce j that is, what "Fletcher writ 1
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. cv 
 
 X. 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 FLETCHER, tho' fome call it thy fault, that wit 
 So overflow'd thy fcenes, that ere 'twas fit 
 To come upon the ftage, Beaumont was fain 
 To bid thee be more dullj that's, write again, 
 And bate fome of thy fire ; which from thee came 
 In a clear, bright, full, but too large a flame ; 
 And after all (finding thy genius fuch) 
 That blunted, and allay'd, 'twas yet too much, 
 Added his fober fpunge ; and did contract 
 Thy plenty to lefs wit, to make't exacl : 
 Yet we through his corrections could fee 
 Much treafure in thy fuperfluity ; 
 Which was fo fil'd away, as, when we do 
 Cut jewels, that that's loft is jewel too ; 
 Or as men ufe to warn gold, which we know- 
 By lofing makes the ftream thence wealthy grow. 
 They who do on thy works feverely fit, 
 And call thy ftore the over-births of wit, 
 Say thy mifcarriages were rare, and when 
 Thou wert fuperfluous, that thy fruitful pen 
 Had no fault but abundance, which did lay 
 Out in one fcene what might well ferve a play; 
 And hence do grant, that, what they call excefs, 
 Was to be reckon'd as thy happinefs, 
 From whom wit iffued in a full fpring-tide ; 
 Much did enrich the ftage, much flow'dbefide. 
 For that thou couldft thine own free fancy bind 
 In drifter numbers, and run fo confin'd 
 As to obferve the rules of art, which fway 
 In the contrivance of a true-born play, 
 Thofe works proclaim which thou didft write retir'd 
 From Beaumont, by none but thyfelf infpir'd. 
 Where, we fee, 'twas not chance that made them hit, 
 Nor were thy plays the lotteries of wit; 
 But, like to Durer's pencil 15 , which firft knew 
 The laws of faces, and then faces drew, 
 
 *5 Like to Durer's pencil.] Albert Durer was a moft excellent Ger- 
 man painter (born in 1471), much admired even by the great Ra- 
 phael himfelf ; and in fo high efteem with the emperor Maximilian 
 the Firft, that he prefented him with a coat of arras as the badge of 
 nobility. Theobald. 
 
 Thou 
 
 r
 
 cvi COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Thou kncw'ft the air, the colour, and the place, 
 
 The fymmetry, which gives a poem grace. 
 
 Parts are fo fitted unto parts, as do 
 
 Shew thou hadil wit, and mathematics too: 
 
 Knew'ft where by line to fpare, where to difpenfe, 
 
 And didfl beget juft comedies from thence: 
 
 Things unto which thou didft fiich life bequeath, 
 
 That they, (their own Black-Friars 26 ) unadled, breath. 
 
 Jonfon hath writ things lading, and divine, 
 
 Yet his love-fcenes, Fletcher, compar'd to thine, 
 
 Are cold and frofly, and exprefs love fo, 
 
 As heat with ice, or warm fires mix'd with fnow ; 
 
 Thou, as if ftruck with the fame generous darts, 
 
 Which burn, and reign, in noble lovers' hearts, 
 
 Hall cloath'd affeftions in fuch native tires, 
 
 And fo defcrib'd them in their own true fires,' 
 
 Such moving fighs, fuch undiflembled tears, 
 
 Such charms of language, fuch hopes mix'd with fears, 
 
 Such grants after denials, fuch purfuits 
 
 After defpair, fuch amorous recruits, 
 
 That fome, who fat fpeclators, have confeft 
 
 Themfelves transform'd to what they faw expreft : 
 
 And felt fuch fhafts fteal through their captiv'd fenfe, 
 
 As made them rife parts, and go lovers thence. 
 
 Nor was thy ftile wholly composed of groves, 
 
 Or the foft (trains of fhepherds and their loves ; 
 
 When thou wouldft comic be, each fmiling birth, 
 
 In that kind, came into the world all mirth, 
 
 All point, all edge, all fharpncfs; we did fit 
 
 Sometimes five acts out in pure fprightful wit, 
 
 Which flow'd in fuch true fait, that we did doubt 
 
 In which fcene we laugh'd moft two millings out. 
 
 Shakefpeare to thee was dull ~ 7 , whofe beft jeft lies 
 
 I'th' ladies' queftions, and the fools' replies, 
 
 * 6 That they, (their own Black-Friari.~\ i. e. their own theatre: 
 meaning, that Fletcher's plays were fo fprighdy, that, tho' then un- 
 acted (by reafon of the troubiefome times, and civil war which raged 
 againit king Charles the Firft) they wanted no advantage of a ilage to 
 fet them off. One of the feven playhoufes, fubfiftirsg in our Author's 
 time, vvas in Black Friars. Theobald. 
 
 17 Shakcfpeare to thee was dull.~\ This falfe cenfure arofe from the 
 ufual fault of panegirilh, of depreciating others to extol their fa- 
 vourite. Had he only (aid, as in the farmer copy, that Fietcher was 
 in a due medium between Jonfon'scorrecTnefs and Shakeipeare's fancy, 
 he had done Fletcher as well as himfelf more real honour. But it 
 iaft be bferved, that Beaumont and Fletcher were fo much the ge- 
 neral
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cvii 
 
 Old-fafhion'd wit, which walk'dfrom town to town 
 
 In trunk-hofe 18 , which our fathers call'd the clown; 
 
 Whofe wit our nice times would obfcenenefs call, 
 
 And which made bawdry pafs for comical. 
 
 Nature was all his art ; thy vein was free 
 
 As his, but without his fcurrility ; 
 
 From whom mirth came unforc'd, no jeft perplex'd, 
 
 But without labour clean, chafte, and unvex'd. 
 
 Thou wert not like fome, our fmall poets, who 
 
 Could not be poets, were not we poets too ; 
 
 Whofe wit is pilf'ring, and whofe vein and wealth 
 
 In poetry lies merely in their Health ; 
 
 Nor didlt thou feel their drought, their pangs, their qualms, 
 
 Their rack in writing, who do write for alms ; 
 
 Whofe wretched genius, and dependent fires, 
 
 But to their benefactors' dole afpires. 
 
 Nor hadit thou the fly trick thyfelf to praife 
 
 Under thy friends' names j or, to purchafe bays, 
 
 Didft write ftale commendations to thy book, 
 
 Which we for Beaumont's or Ben Jonjfon's took : 
 
 That debt thou left'ft to us, which none but he 
 
 Can truly pay, Fletcher, who writes like thee. 
 
 William Cartwright * 9 . 
 
 neral tafte of the age, both in Charles the Firft and Second's reign, that 
 Mr. Cartwright only follows the common judgment. The reafon 
 feems to be this, Jonfon furvived both Shakefpeare and our Authors 
 many years, and as he warmly oppofed the ftrange irregularities of 
 theEngiifli theatre, at the head of which irregularities was fo great a 
 genius as Shakefpeare, he formed a ftrong party againft him. But 
 .Nature frequently fpoke in Shakefpeare fo diredly to the heart, and 
 his excellencies as well as faults were fo glaring, that the prejudices 
 againft the latter could not wholly blind men to the former. As our 
 Authors refembled him in thefe excellencies more than Jonfon, and 
 yet often followed Jonfon's correftnefs and manner, the partifans 
 both of Shakefpeare and Jonfon were willing to compromife it, and 
 allow them the firft honours, as partaking of both their excellencies. 
 After the reftoration, French rules of the drama were introduced, 
 and our Authors being nearer them than Shakefpeare, they ftill held 
 their fupenority. Seivard. 
 
 18 In turn'd hofe."] We muft read, trunk-bofe ; i. e. a kind of larg 
 flops, or trowzers, worn by the clowns. So in the 2 5th copy of verfes j 
 
 TTuu (wo thought Jit 
 
 To nvearjuft rotes, and leave off trunk-hofe wit. Thtobald, 
 
 *9 William Cartwrigbt] Mr. Cartwright was efleemed one of the 
 beft poets, orators, and philofophers of his age; he was firft a king's 
 at Weilmir.fter. then ftudent of Chrilt-Church, Oxon. Wood 
 
 calls
 
 cviii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 To the Manes of the celebrated Poets and Fellow- 
 writers, FRANCIS BEAUMONT and JOHN FLETCHER, 
 upon the printing of their excellent Dramatic 
 Poems. 
 
 DISDAIN not, gentle {hades, the lowly praife 
 Which here I tender your immortal bays : 
 Call it not folly, but my zeal, that I 
 Strive to eternize you, that cannot die. 
 And though no language rightly can commend 
 What you have writ, fave what yourfelves have penn'd ; 
 Yet let me wonder at thofe curious drains 
 (The rich conceptions of your twin like brains) 
 Which drew the gods' attention ; who admir'd 
 To fee our Englifh ftage by you infpir'd : 
 Whofe chiming mufes never fail'd to fing 
 A foul-afFecling mufic, ravifhing 
 Both ear and intellect ; wjiile you do each 
 Contend with other who (hall higheft reach 
 In rare invention ; conflicts, that beget 
 New ftrange delight, to fee two fancies met, 
 That could receive no foil -, two wits in growth 
 So juft, as had one foul informed both. 
 Thence (learned Fletcher) fung the mufe alone, 
 As both had done before, thy Beaumont gone. 
 In whom, as thou, had he out-iiv'd, fo he 
 (Snatch'd firft away) furvived ftiil in thee. 
 
 What tho' diftempers of the prefent age 
 Have baniuYd your fmooth numbers from the ftage ? 
 You (hall be gainers by't; it {hall confer 
 To th' making the vaft world your theatre ; 
 The prefs fhall give to every man his part, 
 And we will all be ators ; learn by heart 
 Thofc tragic fcenes and comic (trains you writ, 
 Unimitable both for art and wit; 
 
 calls him the moft feraphical pr.n.cher of his age, another Tally and 
 another Virgil : He died about the age of thirty in 1645, in the year 
 of his prodtorfhip, when King Charles the Full was at Oxford, by 
 whom his death was moft affectionately mourned. He wrote the 
 l,ady Errant, the Royal Slave, and Love's Convert, tragi comedies j 
 and a volume of his Poems were printed after his death. See Wood's 
 Athena;. Sev.-arJ. 
 
 Ca;tw right's beft play, the Ordinary, Mr. Seward has not mentioned. 
 
 And
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. cix 
 
 And, at each exit, as your fancies rife, 
 
 Our hands (hall clap deferred plaudities. John Webb *. 
 
 XII. 
 
 On the Works of the moft excellent Dramatic Poet, 
 Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, never before printed. 
 
 HAIL, Fletcher! welcome to the world's great ftage; 
 For our two hours, we have thee here an age 
 In thy whole works, and may th' imprcjfion call 
 The pretor that prefents thy plays to all ; 
 Both to the people, and the lords that fway 
 That herd, and ladies whom thofe lords obey. 
 And what's the loadftone can fuch guefts invite 
 But moves on two poles, profit and delight f 
 Which will be foon, as on the rack, confeft, 
 When every one is tickled with a jeft, 
 And that pure Fletcher's able to fubdue 
 A melancholy more than Burton knew 3I . 
 And, tho' upon the bye to his defigns, 
 The native may learn Englim from his lines, 
 And th' alien, if he can but conftrue it, 
 May here be made free denifon of wit. 
 But his main end does drooping Virtue raife, 
 And crowns her beauty with eternal bays; 
 In fcenes v/here fhe inflames the frozen foul, 
 While Vice (her paint wafh'd off) appears fo foul, 
 She muft this llcjfed ijle and Europe leave, 
 And fome njw qifadrant of the globe deceive; 
 Or hide her blufhes on the Afric more, 
 Like Marius, but ne'er rife to triumph more ; 
 
 * John Wtbb.~\ I find no other traces of a John Webb who was 
 likel/to be author of this ingenious copy of verfes, but that in 
 1629, four years after Fletcher's death, one John Webb, M. A. and 
 fellow of Magdalene College in Oxford, was made matter of Croydon 
 School. He was probably our Mr. Webb, and much nearer the times 
 of our Authors than Mr. Cartwright, and had I difcovered this foon 
 enough, he mould have took place of him ; but his teftimony of 
 Beaumont's abilities, as a writer, is a proper antidote againft Mr. 
 Cartwright's traditional opinion. Seward. 
 
 Jl And that pure Fletcher, able to fubdue 
 
 A melancholy more than Burton kMe-ix."] Mr. Syrnpfon obferved 
 that the comma flood in the place of 'j, Fletcher is able. Burton was 
 author of the Anatomy of Melancholy, a folio. $rward. 
 
 That
 
 ex COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 That honour is refign'd to Fletcher's fame ; 
 Add to his trophies, that a poet's name 
 (Late grown as odious to our modern Jiates, 
 As that of King to Rome) he vindicates 
 From black afperfions, caft upon't by thofe 
 Which only are infpir'd to lie in profe. 
 
 And, by the court of mufes bit decreed, 
 What graces fpring from poefy's richer feed, 
 When we name Fletcher, (hall be fo proclaim'd, 
 As all, that's royal t is when Cxfar's nam'd. 
 
 Robert Stapylton J % Knt. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 To the Memory of my moft honoured Kinfman, 
 Mr. FRANCIS BBAUMONT. 
 
 I'LL not pronounce how flrong and clean thou writ'ft, 
 Nor by what new hard rules thou took'ft thy flights, 
 Nor how much Greek and Latin fome refine, 
 Before they can make up fix words of thine ; 
 But this I'll fay, thou ftrik'ft our fenfe fo deep, 
 At once thou mak'ft us blufh, rejoice and weep. 
 Great father Jonfon bow'd himfelf, when he 
 (Thou writ'ft fo nobly) vow'd, be envied thee. 
 Were thy Mardonius arm'd ; there would be more 
 Strife for his fword than all Achilles wore ; 
 Such wife juft rage, had he been lately tried, 
 My life on't he had been o'th' better fide ; 
 And, where he found falfe odds, (thro* gold or floth) 
 There brave Mardonius would have beat them both. 
 
 Behold, here's Fletcher too ! the world ne'er kne\v 
 Two potent wits co-operate, till you ; 
 For ftill your fancies are fo wov'n and knit, 
 'Twas Francis Fletcher, or John Beaumont writ, 
 Yet neither borrow'd, nor were fo put to't 
 To call poor gods and goddefles to do't ; 
 Nor made nine girls your mufes (you fuppofe, 
 Women ne'er write, fave love-letters in profe) 
 
 3* Sir Robert Stapylton of Careltoa in Yorkfhire, a poet of much 
 fame, was at the battle of Edgehill with king Charles the Firit, and 
 had an honorary degree given him at Oxford for his behaviour on 
 that occafion. He wrote The Slighted Maid, a comedy ; The Step- 
 Mother, a tragi-comedy ; and Hero and Leander, a tragedy ; be- 
 fides feval Poems and Translations. Seward. 
 
 But
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. cxi 
 
 But are your o\vn infpJrers, and have made 
 Such powerful fcenes, as, when they pleafe, invade. 
 Your plot, fenfe, language, all's fo pure and fit, 
 He's bold, not valiant, dare difpute your wit. 
 
 George LiJJe , Knt. 
 
 XIV. 
 On Mr. JOHN FLETCHER'S Works. 
 
 S O fhall we joy, when all whom beads and worms 
 Had turn'd to their own fubftances and forms, 
 Whom earth to earth, or fire hath chang'd to fire, 
 We fhall behold, more than at firft entire, 
 As now we do, to fee all thine, thine own 
 In this thy mufe's refurrelion : 
 
 Whofe fcatter'd parts, from thy own race, more wounds 
 Hath fuffer'd, than Aleon from his hounds j 
 Which firft their brains, and then their bellies, fed, 
 And from their excrements new poets bred. 
 But now thy mufe enraged from her urn, 
 Like ghofts of murder'd bodies, doth return 
 To accufe the murderers, to right the ftage, 
 And undeceive the long-abufed age; 
 Which cafts thy praife on them, to whom thy wit 
 Gives not more gold than they give drofs to it : 
 Who, not content like felons to purloin, 
 Add treafon to it, and dcbafe thy coin. 
 
 But whither am I ftray'd ? I need not raife 
 Trophies to thee from other metis' difpraife ; 
 Nor is thy frme on lefler ruins built, 
 Nor needs thy jufter title the foul guilt 
 
 George Lifle, Knight. ] This I take to be the fame with Sir 
 John Lifle one of king Charles's judges ; for Wood in his Index ta 
 his Athenae, calls Sir John by the name of George : He might 
 perhaps have had two Chriftian names. If this was he, he was ad- 
 mitted at Oxford in the year 1622, feven years afcer Beaumont's 
 death, and as he was a kinfman might be fuppofed to know more of 
 his compofuions than a ftranger. His teftimony therefore adds ftrength 
 to what has been before advanced concerning Beaumont, nay it doet 
 fo whether Sir George Lifle be the regicide or not. If he was, he 
 was an eminent lawyer and fpeaker in the houfe of commons, and 
 made lord commiflioner of the privy-fcal by the parliament. After 
 the Reiteration he fled to Lolanna in Switzerland, where he was treat- 
 ed as loid chancellor of England, which fo irritated fome furiow 
 JrilL lovaliils that they (hot him dead as he was going to church. 
 
 StivarJ. 
 
 Of
 
 cxii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Of Eaftern kings, who, to fecure their reign, 
 Mud have their brothers, fons, and kindred flain. 
 Then was 34 Wit's empire at the fatal height, 
 When, labouring and finking with its weight, 
 From thence a thoufand lefler poets fprung, 
 Like petty princes from the fall of Rome ; 
 When Jonfon, Shakefpeare, and thyfelf did fit, 
 And fway'd in the triumvirate of Wit. 
 Yet what from Jonfon's oil and fweat did flow, 
 Or what more eafy Nature did beftow 
 On Shakefpeare's gentler mufe, in thee full grown 
 Their graces both appear; yet fo, that none 
 Can fay, here Nature ends, and Art begins ; 
 But mixt, like th' elements, and born like twins; 
 So interweav'd, fo like, fo much the fame, 
 None this mere Nature, that mere Art can name : 
 
 'Twas this the ancients meant ; Nature and Ikill 
 
 Are the two tops of their Parnaflus hill. 
 
 y. Den bam. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Upon Mr. JOHN FL ETCHER'S Plays. 
 
 FLETCHER, to thee, we do not only owe 
 All thefe good plays, but thofe of others too : 
 Thy wit, repeated, does fupport the ftage, 
 Credits the laft, and entertains this age. 
 No worthies form'd by any mufe, but thine, 
 Could purchafe robes to make themfelves fo fine : 
 What brave commander is not proud to fee 
 Thy brave Melantius in his gallantry ? 
 Our greateft ladies love to fee their fcorn 
 Out-done by thine, in what themfelves have worn : 
 Th' impatient widow, ere the year be done, 
 Sees thy Afpatia weeping in her gown. 
 I never yet the tragic ftrain afiay'd, 
 Deterr'd by that inimitable Maid ; 
 And when I venture at the comic ftile, 
 Thy Scornful Lady 3S feems to mock my toil : 
 
 3* Wit's empire at the fatal height.'} i. e. The higheit pitch which 
 Fate allows it to rife to. The following account of Shakefpeare, 
 Jonfon, and Fletcher, though rather too favourable to the laft, is as 
 much preferable to all the former poets encomiums as Sir John was 
 preferable to them in abilities as a poet. Se*ward, 
 
 Js Tbj Scornful Lady.] Many great men, as well as Mr. Waller, 
 
 have
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxiii 
 
 Thus has thy mufe, at once, improv'd and marr'd 
 
 Our fport in plays, by rend'ring it too hard. 
 
 So when a fort of lufty fhepherds throw 
 
 The bar by turns, and none the reft outgo 
 
 So far, but that the bell are meafuring cafts, 
 
 Their emulation and their pailime lafts; 
 
 But if fome brawny yeoman of the guard 
 
 Step in, and tofs the axle-tree a yard, 
 
 Or more, beyond the furtheft mark, the reft 
 
 Impairing (land, their fport is at the beft. 
 
 Edw. Walhn 
 
 XVI. 
 
 To FLETCHER Reviv'd. 
 
 H OW have I been religious ? What ftrange good 
 Has 'fcap'd me, that I never underilood ? 
 Have I hell-guarded herefy o'erthrown ? 
 Heal'd wounded flates ? made kings and kingdoms one ? 
 That Fats fhould be fo merciful to me, 
 To let me live t* have faid, / have read tbee. 
 
 Fair ftar, afcend ! the joy, the life, the light 
 Of this tempefl.uous age, this dark world's fight ! 
 Oh, from thy crown of glory dart one flame 
 May ftrike a facred reverence, whilft thy name 
 (Like holy flamens to their god of day) 
 We, bowing, fing ; and whilil we praife, we pray. 
 
 Bright fpirit ! whofe eternal motion 
 Of wit, like time, ftJIl in itfelf did run; 
 Binding all others in it, and did give 
 Commiifion, how far this, or that, fhall live: 
 Like Dciliny 36 , thy poems ; who, as fhe 
 Signs death to all, herfelf can never die. 
 
 have celebrated this phy. Beaumont's hand is viiible in fome high 
 caracatures, but J mull o*'n my diffent to its being called a firft rate 
 comedy. Seivard. 
 
 }6 Like deftiny of poems, ivbo, at fie 
 
 Sings death to all, berjelf can never dye.] This is extremely 
 obfcure : H? fays fir It, that Fletcher is the feint of poetry, that he 
 is the god of it, and has decreed the fate of all other poems, \vhe- 
 tht r they are to live or dye ; after this he is like the deiliny of poems, 
 ar.d living only himfeif fjgns death to all others. This if, very 
 high drained indeed, and rather felf contradictory, for Fletcher':, fpirit 
 jives commifiion how far fome fhall live and yet figns death to 
 ;!'. A flight change will make fomewhat eafier and clearer fenfe. 
 J understand the foui firil lines thus; Fletcher's poetry is the ftand- 
 
 VOL. I. h ard
 
 cxiv COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 And now thy purple-robed tragedy, 
 In her embroider' d buflcins, calls mine eye, 
 Where brave Aetius we fee betray'd, VaUntlnl&n. 
 
 T' obey his death, whom thoufand lives obey'd; 
 Whilll that the mighty fool his fcepter breaks, 
 And through his gen'ral's wounds his own doom fpeaks ; 
 Weaving thus richly Valentinian, 
 The coiilieft monarch with the cheapeft man. 
 
 Soldiers may here to their old glories add, 
 The Lover love, and be with reafon Mad : Mad Lwtr. 
 
 Not as of old Alcides furious, 
 Who, wilder than his bull, did tear the houfe ; 
 (Hurling his language with the canvas (lone) 
 'Twas thought, the monfter roar'd the fob'rer tone. 
 
 But, ah ! when thou thy forrow dicift infpire 
 With paffions black as is her dark attire, 
 Virgins, as fufferers, have wept to fee Areas* 
 
 So white a foul, fo red a cruelty ; Bella. 
 
 That thou haft griev'd, and, with unthought redrefs, 
 Dried their wet eyes who now thy mercy blefs ; 
 Yet, loth to lofe thy watry jewel, when 
 Joy wip'd it off, laughter flrait fprung't agen. 
 
 Now ruddy-cheeked Mirth with rofy wings Comedks. 
 
 Fans ev'ry brow with gladnefs, whilft flie fings Spamjb Curate, 
 Delight to all ; and the whole theatre Humorous Lieutenant. 
 
 A fellival in Heaven doth appear. 
 
 Nothing but pleafure, love; and (like the morn) Tamer Tamd. 
 Each face a general fmiling doth adorn. Little French Lawyer. 
 
 Here, ye foul fpeakers, that pronounce the air 
 Of flews and fewers, I will inform you where, 
 And how, to cloath aright your wanton wit, 
 Without her nafty bawd attending it. Cufiom of jbe Country. 
 
 View here a loofe thought faid with fuch a grace, 
 Minerva might have fpoke in Venus' face ; 
 So well difguis'd, that 'twas conceiv'd by none, 
 . But Cupid had Diana's linen on ; 
 And all his naked parts fo veiPd, they exprefs 
 The fhapc with clouding the uncomelinefs ; 
 
 ard cf excellence i whatever is not formed by that model mull dye, 
 therefore J read, 
 
 Like deftini, thy poems ; i. c. Thy poems being the ftandard of 
 excellence, are ;ike deitiny, which determines the fate of others, but 
 herfetf n mams Hill the fame. J republiih this poem as there are itrong 
 marks of genius in it, particularly in foine of the following para- 
 graphs. Sfward. 
 
 that
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxv 
 
 That if this reformation, which we 
 
 Receiv'd, had not been buried with thee, 
 
 The ftage, as this work, might have liv'd and lov'd ; 
 
 Her lines the auftere fcarlet had approv'd ; 
 
 And th' affors wifely been from that offence 
 
 As clear, as they are now from audience. 
 
 Thus with thy genius did thefcene expire, 
 Wanting thy aclive and enliv'ning fire, 
 That now (to fpread a darknefs over all) 
 Nothing remains but poefy to fall. 
 And though from thefe thy embers we receive 
 Some warmth, fo much as may be faid, we live ; 
 That we dare praife thee, blufhlefs, in the head 
 Of the bed piece Hermes to Love e'er read ; 
 That we rejoice and glory in thy wit, 
 And feaft each other with remembring it ; 
 That we dare fpeak thy thought, thy acts recite : 
 Yet all men henceforth be afraid to write. Ricb.Lcvelacf 37 . 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Upon the unparallel'd Plays written by thofe 
 renowned Twins of Poetry, BEAUMONT and 
 FLETCHER. 
 
 WHAT'S here? another library of praife 38 , 
 Met in a troop t' advance contemned plays, 
 And bring exploded wit again in fafhion ? 
 I can't but wonder at this reformation. 
 My flipping foul furfeits with fo much good, 
 To fee my hopes into fruition bud. 
 
 37 Ri(k. Lovelace. ! This gentleman was eldeft fon of a good fa- 
 mily, extiemeiy accomplished, being very eminent for wit, poetry, 
 and muf;c, but fi ill more fo for politenefs of manners and beauty of per- 
 fon. He had an ample fortune and every advantage that feemed to 
 promife happinefs in life ; but his fteady attachment to the royal caufe, 
 and a liberality that perhaps approach'd too near profufenefs, reduced 
 him to extreme poverty. Something of the gaiety of the foldier ap- 
 pears in the beginning of this poem. His Poems were published in 
 J 749. Seward. 
 
 * 8 dnotker library of praife. "] This alludes to the numerous com- 
 mendatory copies of verfeh on Tom. Coryatis Crudities, which fwelled 
 into an entire volume. This is touched at in the 2 3d copy ofverfes, 
 by Richard Brome : 
 
 For the witty copies took, 
 Of bit encomiums made tbtmf elves a book. Tbeot>a/J. 
 
 ha A happy
 
 cxvi COMiMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 A happy coymiflry ! bleft viper, Joy ! 
 
 That thro' thy mother's bowels gnaw'ft thy way ! 
 
 Wits flock in fhoals, and club to re-erect, 
 In fpite of ignorance, the architect 
 Of occidental poefy -, and turn 
 Gods, to recal frit's afhes from their urn. 
 Like huge ColofTes, they've together knit 4 * 
 Their fhoulders to fupport a world of wit. 
 The tale of Atlas (tho' of truth it mifs) 
 We plainly read mytbologiz'd in this ; 
 Orpheus and Amphion, whofe undying ftorie* 
 Made Athens famous, are but allegories. 
 'Tis Poetry has power to civilize 
 Men, worfe than ftones, more blockifh than the trees. 
 I cannot choofe but think (now things fo- fall) 
 That Wit is pad its dimatferical, 
 
 And though the Mufes have been dead and gone, 
 
 I know, they'll find a refurrettion. 
 
 'Tis vain to praife ; they're to themfelves a glory, 
 
 And filence is our fweeteil oratory. 
 
 For he, that names but Fletcher, muft needs be 
 
 Found guilty of a loud hyperbole. 
 
 His fancy fo tranfcendently afpires, 
 
 He (hews himfelf a wit, who but admires. 
 
 Here are no volumes fluff 7 d with cheverel fenfe, 
 
 The very anagrams of eloquence , 
 
 Nor long long-winded fentences that be, 
 
 Being rightly fpell'd, but \vh'sj?fuagrapby, 
 
 Nor \vorJs, as void of reafon as of rhinie, 
 
 Only csefura'd to fpin out the time. 
 
 But here's a magazine of purcfh fenfe, 
 
 Cloath'd iu the neweil garb of eloquence : 
 
 Scenes that are quick and fprightly, in whofe veins 
 
 Bubbles the quinteffence of fvveet-high drains. 
 
 Lines, like their Authors, and each word of it 
 
 Does fay, 'twas writ b' a gemlni of vit. 
 
 4 they've together met 
 
 V'leir jhoulders to fupport a world of wit. 1 T fhould not find fruit 
 with met and -wit being ni:ide rhimes here, (the poets of thofe times 
 giving themfelves fuch a licence) bur that two ptrfons meeting their 
 Jhoulders is neither ienfe nor EngHfh ! I am therefore perfuaded the 
 author wrote knit. So twice in the eighth copy by Jafper Maine, 
 In fame, as well as writings, Aotbfoknit, 
 7 hat no man knows where to divide your ivit. 
 And again, 
 
 Nor were you thus in works and poems knit, &C. TLeobalJ. 
 
 How
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxvii 
 
 How happy is our age ! how bleft our men ! 
 When fuch rare fouls live themfelves o'er again. 
 We err, that think a poet dies; for this 
 Shews, that 'tis but a metempfycbofts, 
 Beaumont and Fletcher here, at laft, we fee 
 Above the reach of dull mortality, 
 Or pow'r of fate : And thus the proverb hits, 
 (That's fo much crofs'd) Tbefe men live by their wits. 
 
 Alex. Brome. 
 
 XVIII. 
 On the Death and Works of Mr. JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 MY name, fo far from great, that 'tis not known, 
 Can lend no praife but what thou'dft blufh to own j 
 And no rude hand, or feeble wit, fhould dare 
 To vex thy fhrine with an unlearned tear. 
 
 I'd have a (late of wit convok'd, which hath 
 A power to take up on common faith; 
 That, when the flock of the whole kingdom's fpent 
 In but preparative to thy monument, 
 The prudent council may invent frefli ways 
 To get new contribution to thy praife; 
 And rear it high, and equal to thy wit; 
 Which muft give life and monument to it. 
 
 So when, late, Effex died 41 , the public face 
 Wore forrow in't ; and to add mournful grace 
 To the fad pomp of his lamented fall, 
 The commonwealth ferv'd at his funeral, 
 And by a folemn order built his hearfe; 
 But not like thine, built by thyfelf in verfe. 
 Where thy advanced image fafely ftands 
 Above the reach of facrilegious hands. 
 Bafe hands, how impotently you difclofe 
 Your rage 'gainft Camden's learned ames, whofc 
 Defacedyfotatf and martyr'd book, 
 Like an antiquity, and fragment look. 
 Nonnulla defunts legibly appear, 
 So truly now Camden's Remains lie there. 
 Vain malice ! how he mocks thy rage, while breath 
 Of Fame {hall fpeak his great Elizabeth ! 
 
 + So 'when, late, Effex dfd ] The Earl of Effex, who had been 
 
 general for the parliament in the civil war againlt King Charles the 
 
 hirft, died on the 1410 of September, 1646, and the full folio of 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's Works was published in 1647. Theobald. 
 
 h 3 'Gaiuit
 
 cxviii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 'Gainft time and thee he well provided hath ; 
 Britannia is the tomb and epitaph. 
 Thus princes honours ; but wit only gives 
 A name which to fucceeding ages lives. 
 
 Singly we now confult ourfelves and fame, 
 Ambitious totwift ours with thy great name. 
 Hence we thus bold to praife : For as a vine, 
 With fubtle wreath and clofe embrace, doth twine 
 A friendly elm, by whofe tall trunk it moots 
 And gathers growth and moifture from its roots; 
 About its arms the thankful clufters cling 
 Like bracelets, and with purple ammelling 
 The blue-cheek'd grape, ftuck in its vernant hair, 
 Hangs like rich jewels in a beauteous ear. 
 So grow our praifes by thy wit ; we do 
 Borrow fupport and ftrength, and lend but (how. 
 And but thy male wit 4 % like the youthful fun, 
 Strongly begets upon our paffion, 
 Making our forrow teem with elegy, 
 Thou yet unweep'd, and yet unprais'd might'ft be, 
 But they 're imperfect births; and fuch are all 
 Produc'd by caufes not univocal, 
 The fcapes of Nature, paffives being unfit ; 
 And hence our verfe fpeaks only mother-wit. 
 
 Oh, for a fit o'th' father ! for a fpirit 
 That might but parcel of thy worth inherit; 
 For but a fpark of that diviner fire, 
 Which thy full bread did animate and infpire ; 
 That fouls could be divided, thou traduce 
 But a fmall particle of thine to us ! 
 Of thine ; which we admir'd when thou didft fit 
 But as a joint-commiffioner in wit; 
 When it had plummets hung on to fupprefs 
 Its too-luxuriant growing mightinefs : 
 Till, as that tree which fcorns to be kept down, 
 Thou grew'ft to govern the whole ftage alone; 
 In which orb thy throng'd light did make the ftar, 
 Thou wert th' intelligence did move that fphere. 
 Thy fury was compos'd ; Rapture no fit 
 That hung on thee ; nor thou far gone in wit 
 As men in a difeafe ; thy fancy clear, 
 Mufe chafte, as thofe flames whence they took their fire +J ; 
 
 +* And but thy male ivit, &c.] Mr. Seward omits this and the nin 
 following lines. 
 
 *'> Mufe cba/lt, as tbofe frames ivkence they took their f re ;] This 
 fcems obfcure, for what are thofe frames whence Fletcher took hia 
 
 fire?
 
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxix 
 
 No fpurious compofures amongft thine, 
 Got in adultery 'twixt Wit and Wine. 
 
 And as th' hermetical phyficians draw 
 From things that curfe of the firft broken law, 
 That ens venenum, which extracted thence 
 Leaves nought but primitive good and innocence : 
 So was thy fpirit calcin'd ; no mixtures there 
 But perfect, fuch as next to fimples are. 
 Not like thofe meteor-wits which wildly fly 
 In ftorm and thunder thro' th' amazed fky ; 
 Speaking but th' ills and villainies in a ftate, 
 Which fools admire, and wife men tremble at, 
 Full of portent and prodigy, whofe gall 
 Oft 'fcapes the vice, and on the man doth fall. 
 Nature us'd all her (kill, when thee fhe meant 
 A wit at once both great and innocent. 
 
 Yet thou hadft tooth j but 'twas thy judgment, not 
 For mending one word a whole meet to blot. 
 Thou couldft anatomife with ready art, 
 And fkilful hand, crimes lock'd clofe up i' th' heart. 
 Thou couldft unfold dark plots, and fhew that path 
 By which Ambition climb'd to greatnefs hath ; 
 Thou couldft the rifes, turns, and falls of dates, 
 How near they were their periods and dates ; 
 Couldft mad the fubje6l into popular rage, 
 And the grown feas of that great ftorm afiuage ; 
 Dethrone ufurping tyrants, and place there 
 The lawful prince and true inheriter ; 
 Knew'ft all dark turnings in the labyrinth 
 Of policy, which who but knows he finn'th, 
 Save thee, who un-infedted didft walk in't, 
 As the great genius of government. 
 And when thou laidft thy tragic bufltin by, 
 To court the ftage with gentle comedy, 
 How new, how proper th' humours, how exprefs'd 
 In rich variety, how neatly drefs'd 
 
 fire? The ftars? Even if this was meant, I fhould think flamtt the 
 better word : But asjlamet will fignify heavenly Jire in general, either 
 the ftars, fun, angels, or even the Spirit of God himfelf, who niaketh 
 his miniften flames of fire: I much prefer the word, and believe 
 it the original. As this poet was a clergyman of character with re- 
 gard to his fandity, and much celebrates Fletcher's chaftity of fenti- 
 ments and language, it is very evident that many words which appear 
 grofs to us were not fo in king Charles the Firft's age. See pages 70, 
 71, and 72 of the Preface. Srward. 
 
 h 4 In
 
 cxx COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 In language, how rare plots, what ftrength of wit 
 Shin'd in the face and every limb of it ! 
 The ftage grew narrow while thou grew'fl to be 
 In thy whole life an exc'llent comedy. 
 
 To thefe a virgin-modefty, which firft met 
 Applaufe with blufh and fear, as if he yet 
 Had not deferv'd ; 'till bold with conftant praife 
 His brows admitted the unfought-for bays. 
 Nor would he ravifh Fame ; but left men free 
 To their own vote and ingenuity. 
 When his fair Shepherciefs, on the guilty ftage, 
 Was martyr'd between ignorance and rage ; 
 At which the impatient virtues of thofe few 
 Could judge, grew high, cried murder ! tho' he knew 
 The innocence and beauty of his child, 
 He only, as if unconcerned, fmiFd. 
 Princes have gather'd fince each fcatter'd grace, 
 Each line and beauty of that injur'd face 43 ; 
 And on th' united parts breath'd fuch a fire 
 As, fpite of malice, fhe fhall ne'er expire. 
 
 Attending, not affe&ing, thus the crown, 
 Till every hand did help to fet it on, 
 He came to be fole monarch, and did reign 
 In Wit's great empire, abs'lute fovereign. John Harris**. 
 
 * J Princes have gather 'd fence each fcatter'd grace, 
 
 Each line and beauty of that injur d face.] This relates to king 
 Charles the Firft caufing the Faithful Shepherdefs to be revived, and 
 afted before him. The lines are extremely beautiful, and do honour 
 to the king's talle in poetry, which as it comes from an adverfary (tho' 
 certainly a very candid one, and who before condemned the fire-brand- 
 fcriblers and meteor- wits of his age) is a ftrong pi oof of its being a 
 very good one. Queen Elizabeth may be called the mother of the 
 Englifh poets ; James the Firft was a pedagogue to them, encouraged 
 their literature, but debafed it with puns and pedantry ; Charles the 
 Firft revived a good tafte, but the troubles of his reign prevented the 
 great effedls of his patronage. Sward. 
 
 *+ John Harris was of New- College, Oxford, Greek profeflbr of 
 the univerfuy, and fo ejninent a preacher that he was called a fecond 
 Chryfoftom. In the civil wars he fided with the Prefbyterians, and 
 was one of the Affembiy of Divines, and is the only poet in this col- 
 lection whom we certainly know to have been for the parliament 
 againft the king. His poem has great merit ; the fine break after 
 the mention of the earl of EiTex, and the fimile of the elm and 
 clufters of grapes, deferve a particular attention. After this fimile 
 I have (Iruck out fome lines that were unequal in merit to their 
 brethren, left the reader, tired with thefe, fhcuid flop too fhort ; for 
 thofe which now follow, tho' ufijuft with regard to Beaumont, are 
 poetically good. SeivarJ. 
 
 XIX.
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxxi 
 
 XIX. 
 
 On Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, and his Works, never 
 before publifhed. 
 
 T O flatter living fools is eafy Height ; 
 But hard, to do the living-dead men right. 
 To praife a landed lord, is gainful art j 
 But thanklefs to pay tribute to defert. 
 This (hould have been my tafk : I had intent 
 To bring my rubbith to thy monument, 
 To flop fome crannies there, but that I found. 
 No need of leafl repair ; all firm and found. 
 Thy well-built fame doth ftill itfelf advance 
 Above the world's mad zeal and ignorance. 
 Tho' thou diedft not poiTefs'd of that fame pelf, 
 Which nobler fouls call dirt, the city, wealth: 
 Yet thou haft left unto the times fo great 
 A legacy, a treafure fo compleat, 
 That 'twill be hard, I fear, to prove thy will: 
 Men will be wrangling, and in doubting ftill, 
 How fo vaft fums of wit were left behind ; 
 And yet nor debts, nor fharers, they can find. 
 'Twas the kind providence of Fate to lock 
 Some of this treafure up; and keep a (lock 
 For a referve until thefe fullen days; 
 When fcorn, and want, and danger, are the bays 
 That crown the head of merit. But now he, 
 Who in thy will hath part, is rich and free. 
 But there's a caveat enter'd by command, 
 None {hould pretend, but thofe can underftand. 
 
 Henry Moody, Bart**. 
 
 a Sir Henry Moody was of the number of thofe gentlemen who 
 had honorary degrees conferred !:y king Charles the Firft at his return 
 to Oxford after the battle of Edgehill. The poem has fome ftrong 
 marks of genius in it, particularly in thefe lines, 
 
 until tkefe fullen days ; 
 
 Jf r >.'n fcorn, and want < and danger, are the bayt 
 
 That crown the bead of merit. 
 
 I confefs myfelf a great admirer of verfes in rhime, whofe paufcs run 
 into each other as boldly as blank verfe itfelf. When our moderns cor- 
 rected many faults in the meafure of our verfe by making the accents 
 always fall on right fyliables, and laying afide thofe harfh elifions ufed 
 by our ancient poets, they miftook this run of the verfes into each 
 other after the manner of Virgil, Homer, &c. for a fault, which de- 
 prived
 
 cxxii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 On the deceafed Author, Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, his 
 
 Plays j and efpecially the Mad Lover. 
 "WHILST his well-organ'd body doth retreat 
 To its firft matter, and the formal heat 46 
 Triumphant fits in judgment, to approve 
 Pieces above our cenfure, and our love 47 j 
 Such, as dare boldly venture to appear 
 Unto the curious eye, and critic ear : 
 Lo, the Mad Lover in thefe various times 
 Is prefs'd to life, t' accufe us of our crimes. 
 While Fletcher liv'd, who equal to him writ 
 Such lafting monuments of natural wit ? 
 Others might draw their lines with fweat, like thofc 
 That (with much pains) a garrifon inclofe ; 
 Whilft his fweet, fluent, vein did gently run, 
 As uncontrol'd and fmoothly as the fun. 
 After his death, our theatres did make 
 Him in his own unequal language fpeak : 
 And now, when all the mufes out of their 
 Approved modefty filent appear, 
 This play of Fletcher's braves the envious light, 
 As wonder of our ears once, now our fight. 
 Three-and-fourfold-bleft poet, who the lives 
 Of poets, and of theatres, furvives ! 
 A groom, or oftler of fome wit, may bring 
 His Pegafus to the Caftalian fpring ; 
 Boaft, he a race o'er the Pharfalian plain, 
 Or happy Tempe-valley, dares maintain : 
 Brag, at one leap, upon the double cliff 
 (Were it as high as monftrous Teneriffe) 
 Of far-renown'dParnaflus he will get, 
 And there (t' amaze the world) confirm his feat: 
 When our admired Fletcher vaunts not aught, 
 And flighted every thing he writ as nought : 
 
 prived our rhime of that grandeur and dignity of numbers which 
 arifes from a perpetual change of paufes, and turned whole poems into 
 diftichs. Seixard. 
 
 * 6 And the formal heat, &c-] Formal heat, I take to be a metaphy- 
 ftcal and logical term for the/out, as the formal caufe is that which 
 conftitutes theeflence of any thing. Fletcher's foul therefore now fits 
 in judgment, to approve works deferving of praife. Scward. 
 
 *7 fifCfs above our candour.] Amended by Theobald. 
 
 While
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxxiii 
 
 While all our Englifh wondring world (ill's caufe) 
 
 Made this great city echo with applaufe. 
 
 Read him, therefore, all that can readj and thofe, 
 
 That cannot, learn ; if you're not learning's foes, 
 
 And wilfully refolved to refufe 
 
 The gentle raptures of this happy mufe. 
 
 From thy great conftellation (noble foul) 
 
 Look on this kingdom ; fuffer not the whole 
 
 Spirit of poefy retire to Heaveh ; 
 
 But make us entertain what thou haft given. 
 
 Earthquakes and thunder diapafons make ', 
 
 The feas' vaft roar, and irrefiftlefs {hake 
 
 Of horrid winds, a fympathy compofe ; 
 
 So in thefe things there's mufic in the clofe : 
 
 And tho' they feem great difcords in our ears, 
 
 They are not fo to them above the fpheres. 
 
 Granting thefe mufic, how much fweeter's that 
 
 Mnemofyne's daughters' voices do create ? 
 
 Since Heav'n, and earth, and feas, and air confent 
 
 To make an harmony, (the inftrument, 
 
 Their own agreeing felves) (hall we refufe 
 
 The mufic which the deities do ufe ? 
 
 Troy's ravifh'd Ganymede doth fing to Jove, 
 
 And Phoebus' felf plays on his lyre above. 
 
 The Cretan gods, or glorious men, who will 
 
 Imitate right, muft wonder at thy (kill, 
 
 (Beft poet of thy times !) or he will prove 
 
 As mad, as thy brave Memnon was with love. 
 
 Ajlon Cokaine, Bart* 9 . 
 
 XXI. 
 
 On the Edition of Mr. FRANCIS BEAUMONT'S and 
 Mr. JOHN FLETCHER'S Plays, never printed before. 
 
 I AM amaz'd; and this fame extafy 
 Is both my jdory and apology. 
 
 48 JJlon Cokaine, Bart.} This gentleman who claimed being made 
 a baronet by king Charles I. at a time when the king's diilrefs pre- 
 vented the creation pafling the due forms, was a poet of fome repute, 
 for which reafon this copy is inferted more than for its intrinfic 
 worth. He was lord of the-manors of Pooley in Polefworth-parifh, 
 Warwickfhirc, and of Amburn in Derbyfliire ; but with a fate not 
 uncommon to wits, fpent and fold both ; but his defendants of this 
 age have been and are perfons of diltinguilhsd merit and fortune. 
 
 SfwarJ. 
 
 Sobtr 
 
 '
 
 cxxiv COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Sober joys are dull pajfions ; they mud bear 
 Proportion to the fubjcft : If fo, where 
 Beaumont and Fletcher fliall vouchfafe to be 
 That fubjecJ, That joy muft be extafy. 
 Fury is the complexion of great wits ; 
 The fool's diflemper: He, that's mad by flts t 
 Is wife fo too. It is the poet's mufe ; 
 The prophet's god; the fool's, and my excufe. 
 For (in me) nothing lefs than Fletcher's name 
 Could have begot, or jujlified, this flame. 
 
 Fl h I return 'd rnethinks, it fhould not be: 
 No, not in's works ; plays are as dead as he. 
 The palate of / flgr gufts nothing high, 
 That has not cuftard in't, or bawdery. 
 Folly and madnefs fill they?<7<r : The _/** 
 Is Athens ; where, the guilty, and the #207*, 
 The yie/ 'fcapes well enough ; learned and grcat t 
 Suffer an cftracifm ; ftand exulate. 
 
 Mankind is fa/l'n again, Jhrunk a degree^ 
 A ftep below his very apojlacy. 
 Nature hcrfelf is out of tune ; and ^^ 
 Of tumult and diforder, lunatic. 
 
 Yet w^<rt wor/^ would not chearfully endure 
 The torture, or difeafe, t* fw/sy the rwri? ? 
 l 
 
 the half am, and the hellebore, 
 Muft preferve bleeding Nature, and rejlore 
 Our crazy JJupor to z.ju/1 quick fenfe 
 Both of ingratitude, and Providence. 
 That teaches us (zt once) to feel zn& know, 
 Two deep points -, what we o/a/, and what we ow^. 
 Yet jr^tf ^<70^> ^"z;^ /^/r /V/j : Should we tranfmit, 
 'To future times, the />cw'r of /u'y* and wrV, 
 In f^;V example ; would they not combine 
 To make our imperfections their defign ? 
 They'd Jludy our corruptions ; and take more 
 Care to be /'//, than to be good, before. 
 For nothing, but fo great infirmity, 
 Could make them worthy of fuch remedy. 
 
 Have you not feen the fun's almighty ray 
 Refcue th' affrighted world, and redeem day 
 From black defpair ? how his victorious beam 
 Scatters \.\\ejiorm, and droivns the petty flame 
 Of lightning, in the glory of his eye ; 
 How full of /oii/V, how y// of majefty ? 
 
 When,
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxx? 
 
 When, to us mortals, nothing elfe was known, 
 But the fad doubt) wh^tiier to burn, or drown. 
 
 Choler, and phlegm, beat, and dull ignorance, 
 Have caft the people into fnch a trance, 
 That fears and danger fcem great equally, 
 And no difpute left now, bat Afltf to die. 
 Juft in //>'* //, Fletcher Jets the world clear 
 Of all diforder, and reforms us here. 
 
 The formal youth, that knew no other grace, 
 Or v0/tt*, but bis */f/V, and hib ;W, 
 GlaJJes himfelf, and, \\\ this faithful mirror, 
 Views, disapproves, reforms, repents his frrar. 
 
 The credulous, bright girl, that believes all 
 Language, in <?rt/ta (if good) canonical, 
 Is fortified, and taught, here, to beware 
 Of *s/'ry fpecious Zfl/V, of *-z;';;y y>/<?rtf 
 Save c^ ; and that fame caution takes her JTWY, 
 Than a// the 'flattery ^ felt before. 
 She finds her boxes, and her thoughts betray 1 d 
 By the corruption of the chamber-maid; 
 'Then throws her wa/hes and dijjemblings by, 
 And -zmfj- nothing but ingenuity. 
 
 T\\z fever ejlatefman quits ti\& fullen form 
 Of gravity and buinefs ; the lukewarm 
 Religious, his neutrality; the hot 
 Brainfick illuminate, his z^z/; the fat, 
 Stupidity; the foldier, \\isarrears; 
 The court, its corfidence; the />/*fo, their fears; 
 Gallants, their a'i/hnefs and perjury ; 
 Women, their pLafure and inconjlancy ; 
 Poets, their wine; the ufuret , his pe/f; 
 The world, its wwwVy j and /, myfe/f. Roger UEJlrangt*. 
 
 xxti. 
 
 On the EDITION. 
 FLETCHER (whofe fame no age can ever waftc ; 
 Envy of ours, and glory of the lafl) 
 Is now alive again; and with his name 
 His facred afhes wak'd into a flame ; 
 Such as before, did by a iecret charm 
 The wildeft heart fubdue, the coldeft \varm; 
 
 *' For the fame reafon that Sir Ailon Cokaine's poem is reprinted, 
 Sir Roger L'Eftrange's keeps its place. His name is well known to 
 the learned world, but this copy of verfcs does no great honour either 
 to himfelf or our Authors. Seward. 
 
 An4
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 And lend the ladies' eyes a power more bright, 
 Difpenfmg thus to either heat and light. 
 
 He to a fympathy thofe fouls betray'd, 
 Whom love, or beauty, never could perfuade ; 
 And in each mov'd fpeclator could beget 
 A real paiTion by a counterfeit : 
 When tirft Bellario bled, what lady there 
 Did not for every drop let fall a tear ? 
 And when Afpatia wept, not any eye 
 But feem'd to wear the fame fad livery ; 
 By him infpir'd, the feign'd Lucina drew 
 More dreams of melting forrow than the true ; 
 But then the Scornful Lady did beguile 
 Their eafy griefs, and teach them all to fmile. 
 
 Thus he affections could or raife or lay ; 
 Love, grief, and mirth, thus did his charms obey ; 
 Ke Nature taught her paffions to out-do, 
 How to refine the old, and create new ; 
 Which fuch a happy likenefs feem'd to bear, 
 As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. 
 
 Yet all had nothing been, obfcurely kept 
 In the fame urn wherein his duft hath flept ; 
 Nor had he ris' the Delphic wreath to claim, 
 Had not the dying fcene expir'd his name ; 
 Defpair our joy hath doubled, he is come ; 
 Thrice welcome by this poft-liminium. 
 His lofs preferv'd him ; They, that filenc'd Wit, 
 Are now the authors to eternize it ; 
 
 Thus poets are in fpite of Fate reviv'd, 
 
 And plays by intermiffion longer-liv'd. 
 
 Tho. Stanley 50 . ^ 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 To the Memory of the Deceafed but Ever-living Au- 
 thor, in thefe his Poems, Mr. JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 ON the large train of Fletcher's friends let me 
 (Retaining (lill my wonted modefty) 
 Become a waiter, in my ragged verfe, 
 As follower to the mufes' followers. 
 Many here are of noble rank and worth, 
 That have, by ftrength of Art, fet Fletcher forth 
 
 ' Mr, Stanley educated at Pembroke- Hall, Cambridge, was a poet 
 of fome eminence, and his verfes have merit ; and contain a proof of 
 what is afTerted in the Preface, of plays bein kept unpublifhed for 
 ihe benefit of the players. Sward. 
 
 In
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxxvii 
 
 In true and lively colours, as they faw him, 
 
 And had the belt abilities to draw him ; 
 
 Many more are abroad, that write, and look 
 
 To have their lines fct before Fletcher's book ; 
 
 Some, that have known him too; fome more, fome lefs ; 
 
 Some only but by hear-fay, fome by guefs ; 
 
 And fome for falhion-fake would take the hint, 
 
 To try how well their wits would (hew in print. 
 
 You, that are here before me, gentlemen, 
 
 And princes of Parnafius by the pen, 
 
 And your juit judgments of his worth, that have 
 
 Preferv'd this Author's memory from the grave, 
 
 And made it glorious ; let me, at your gate, 
 
 Porter it here, 'gainft thofe that come too late, 
 
 And are unfit to enter. Something I 
 
 Will deferve here : For, where you verfify 
 
 In flowing numbers, lawful weight, and time, 
 
 I'll write, tho' not rich verfes, honeft rhime. 
 
 I am admitted. Now, have at the rout 
 
 Of thole that would crowd in, but muft keep out. 
 
 Bear back, my mafters ; pray keep back ; forbear : 
 
 You cannot, at this time, have entrance here. 
 
 You, that are worthy, may, by interceflion, 
 
 Find entertainment at the next impreflion. 
 
 But let none then attempt it, that not know 
 
 The reverence due, which to this fhrine they owe : 
 
 All fuch mult be excluded ; and the fort, 
 
 That only upon truft, or by report, 
 
 Have taken Fletcher up, and think it trim 
 
 To have their verfes planted before him : 
 
 Let them read firft his works, and learn to know him ; 
 
 And offer, then, the facrifice they owe him. 
 
 But far from hence be fuch, as would proclaim 
 
 Their knowledge of this author, not his fame ; 
 
 And fuch, as would pretend, of all the reft, 
 
 To be the bed wits that have known himbeft. 
 
 Depart hence, all fuch writers, and before 
 
 Inferior ones thruft in, by many a fcore ; 
 
 As formerly, before Tom Coryate, 
 
 Whofe work, before his praifers, had the fate 
 
 To perifh : For the witty copies took 
 
 Of his encomiums made themielves a book. 
 
 Here's no fuch fubjecl: for you to out-do, 
 
 Out-fhine, out-live, (tho' well you may do too 
 
 In other fpheres) for Fletcher's flourifhing bays 
 
 Mult never fade, while Phoebus wears his rays. 
 
 Therefor*
 
 cxxviii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Therefore forbear to prefs upon him thus. 
 
 Why, what are you, (cry fome) that prate to us ? 
 
 Do not we know you for a flalhy meteor ? 
 
 And Ilil'd (at bell) the mufes* ferving-creature ? 
 
 Do you control ? Ye've had your jeer: Sirs, no ; 
 
 But, in an humble manner, let you know, 
 
 Old ferving-creatures oftentimes are fit 
 
 T' inform young matters, as in land, in wit, 
 
 What they inherit ; and how well their dads 
 
 Left one, and wifh'd the other, to their lads. 
 
 And from departed poets I can guefs 
 
 Who has a greater {hare of wit, who lefs. 
 
 'Way fool, another fays. I let him rail, 
 
 And 'boat his own ears flourifh his wit-flail, 
 
 Till with his fwingle he his noddle break ; 
 
 While this of Fletcher, and his Works, I fpeak : 
 
 His works ? (fays Momus) nay, his plays, you'd fay : 
 
 Thou haft faid right, for that to him was play 
 
 Which was to others' brains a toil: With eafe 
 
 He play'd on waves, which were their troubled feas. 
 
 His nimble births have longer liv'dthan theirs 
 
 That have, with ftrongeft labour, divers years 
 
 Been fending forth the iffues of their brains 
 
 Upon the Jlage j and fhall, to th'ftattoner's gains, 
 
 Life after life take, till fome after-age 
 
 Shall put down priming, as this doth \\-\aJlage \ 
 
 Which nothing now prefents unto the eye, 
 
 But in dumb-flows her own fad tragedy. 
 
 'Would there had been no fadder works abroad, 
 
 Since her decay, aled in fields of blood ! 
 
 But to the man again, of whom we write, 
 The writer that made writing his delight, 
 Rather than work. He did not pump, nor drudge, 
 To beget wit, or manage it j nor trudge 
 To wit-conventions with note-book, to glean, 
 Or fteal, fome jefts to foift into a fcene : 
 He fcorn'd thole {Lifts. You, that have known him, kno\r 
 The common talk; That from his lips did flow, 
 And run at \vafte, did favour more of wit, 
 Than any of his time, or fmcc, have writ 
 (But few excepted) in the ftage's way : 
 t^fsjcfnts were atls, and every al a pfay. 
 I knew him in his ftrength ; even then, when he, 
 That was the mafter of his art and me 5I , 
 
 s* Mafter of bh art and meJ\ Mr. Richard Brome was many 
 years a fcrvam to Ben Joafua (an amauucuii?, i prti'ume), and learn- 
 ed
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxxix 
 
 Moft knowing Jonfon (proud to call him fon) y 
 
 In friendly envy fwore he had out-done 
 
 His very f elf. I knew him, till he died ; 
 
 And, at his diflblution, what a tide 
 
 Of forrow overwhelm'd \hzjlage ; which gave 
 
 Vollies of fighs to fend him to his grave, 
 
 And grew diftratled in mofl violent fits, 
 
 For Jhe had loft the beft part of her iv;ts. 
 
 In the firft year, our famous Fletcher fell, 
 
 Of good king Charles, who grac'd thcfe poems well, 
 
 Being then in life of action : But they died 
 
 Since the king's abfence ; or were laid afide, 
 
 As is their poet. Now, at the report 
 
 Of the king's fecond coming to his court, 
 
 The books creep from the prefs to life, not action j 
 
 Crying unto the world, that no protraction 
 
 May \\inderfatrtd majefty to give 
 
 Fletcher, in them, leave on the Jiage to live. 
 
 Others may more in lofty verles move ; 
 
 I only, thus, exprefs my truth and love. Rich. Brome. 
 
 XXIV s1 . 
 
 Upon the Printing of Mr. JOHN FLETCHER'S Works. 
 WHAT means this numerous guard ? or, do we come 
 To file our names, or verfc, upon the tomb 
 Of Fletcher, and, by boldly making known 
 His wit, betray the nothing of our own ? 
 For, if we grant him dead, it is as true 
 Againft ourfelves, no wit, no poet now ; 
 
 ed the art of writing comedy under him : Upon this, Ben compli-' 
 ments him in a fhort poem prefix'd to Brome' s Northern i-ais. 
 * I had you for a fervant, once Dick Brome, 
 
 ' And you perforrn'd a fervant's faithful parts j 
 ' Now you are got into a nearer room 
 
 * Of fellowfhip, profcliing my old arts, ts'cS Theobald. 
 
 s 1 The Commendatory Poems were printed without judgment or 
 order ; feveral of them (particularly the firlt as rank'd in the laie 
 editions) greatly injureour Authorsby injudicious encomiums, and have 
 too little merit to be republilhed. Mr. Theobald left feveral corrections 
 upon thefe obfcure Poems, and maiiy others would have been added, 
 had not una litura appeared the belt remedy. All are therefore no\v 
 difcarded but what appeared worthy of the render's attention, and 
 thefe are ranged according to the order of time in which they feem 
 to have been wrote. Beaumont himfclf now leads in defence of hi 
 fiiend Fletcher's charming dramatic paftoral the Faithful Shepberdefs, 
 
 VOL. I. i which
 
 cxxx COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 Or if he be return'd from his cool (hade 
 
 To us, this book his refurreclion's made: 
 
 We bleed ourfelves to death, and but contrive 
 
 By our own epitaphs to fhew him alive. 
 
 But let him live ! and let me prophefy, 
 
 As I go fwan-Iike out 5I , our peace is nigh: 
 
 A balm unto the wounded age I (ing ; 
 
 And nothing now is wanting, but the king. 
 
 Ja. Shirley **. 
 
 XXV. 
 On the Dramatic Poems of Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, 
 
 WONDER. ! who's here ? Fletcher, long buried, 
 Reviv'd ? 'Tis he ! he's rifen from the dead ; 
 His winding-fheet put off, walks above ground, 
 Shakes off his fetters, and is better bound. 
 And may he not, if rightly underftood, 
 Prove plays are lawful ? he hath made them good. 
 Is any Lover Mad? fee, here Love's Cure\ 
 Unmarried ? to a Wife he may be fure, 
 
 which having beendamn'datits firft appearance on the llage, Beaumont 
 and Jonfon, with the fpirits of Horace and Juvenal, Lfh the dull herd 
 for their ftupid ingratitude. Seivard. 
 
 In addition to the above, which Mr. Seward makes an introductory 
 Note, it may not be amifs to remark, that the Firit Folio had thirty- 
 fix Commendatory Poems ; from which the Editors of the Second 
 Folio felecled no more than eleven. In the Qftavo of 1711. all 
 but one were copied from the Firit Folio ; and to thefe were added 
 Beaumont's and Jonfon's Verfes on the Faithful Shepherdefs. Cf 
 thefe thirty-feven Mr. Seward retained twenty-three, and added Poein 
 IV. figned J, F. We think that Seward, fo far from rejecting any 
 pieces worth prefervation, has kept fome which might very well have 
 been fpared : We have, however, adopted his feledion, which ends 
 with Shirley's poem ; and lhall now reftore the Verfes written by Gardi- 
 ner and Hills, (not becaafe they pofiefsany poetick merit, but that the 
 Reader may judge what refpect is due to the teflimony of" thofe 
 Verfes, which are frequently mentioned asalcribing particular plays to 
 Fletcher),, and add a palfage, -relative to our Authors, written by the 
 ingenious Mr. Fenton. 
 
 s* sis I go fkvan-like out.~\ This feems to allude to his verfts having 
 been the laft in the Collection. 
 
 s* Mr. Shirley, was publifher of the Firft Folio edition in 1647, 
 
 SenvarJ. 
 
 By publifier we fuppofe Mr. Seward means eJitar : This Mr. Shir- 
 ]ey certainly was not. It is true he wrote the Pieface ; but it would 
 be exceedingly unjuft to that great man, to believe he did more for, 
 or at leaft could be editor of, fo incorrecl a book.
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxxxi 
 
 A rare one, fir a Month ; if {he difpleafc, 
 
 The SpanijJ) Curate gives a writ of eafe. 
 
 Enquire the Cujhm of the Country, then 
 
 Shall the French Lawyer fet you free again. 
 
 If the two Fair Maids take it wondrous ill, 
 
 (.One of the Inn, the other of the Mill) 
 
 That th' Lovers' Progrefs' ftopt, and they deum'd, 
 
 Here's that makes Women Pleas'd, and Tamer TanSd. 
 
 But who then plays the Coxcomb ? or will try 
 
 His lyit at Several Weapons, or elfe die ? 
 
 Nice Valour, and he doubts not to engage 
 
 The Noble Gentleman, in Love's Pilgrimage, 
 
 To take revenge on the Falfe One, and run 
 
 The Honeji Man's Fortune, to be undone 
 
 Like Knight of Malta, or elfe Captain be, 
 
 Or th' Humorous Lieutenant ; go to fea 
 
 (A Voyage for to ftarve) he's very loath, 
 
 'Till we are all at peace, to fwear an oath, 
 
 That then the Loyal Subjeft may have leave 
 
 To lie from Beggars' Bu/h, and undeceive 
 
 The creditor, diicharge his debts ; why fb, 
 
 Since we can't pay to Fletcher what we owe ? 
 
 Oh, could his Propbetefs but tell one Chance, 
 
 When that the Pilgrims {hall return from France., 
 
 And once more make this kingdom as of late, 
 
 The I/land Princefs, and we celebrate 
 
 A Double Marriage ; every one to bring 
 
 To Fletcher's memory his offering, 
 
 That thus at laft unfequefters the ftage, 
 
 Brings back the filver, and the golden age ! Robert Gardiner. 
 
 xxvr. 
 
 Upon the ever-to-be-admired Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, 
 and his Plays. 
 
 WHAT'S all this preparation for ? or why 
 Such fudden triumphs ? Fletcher, the people cry ! 
 Juft fo, when kings approach, our conduits run 
 Claret, as here the fpouts flow Helicon : 
 See, every fprightful mufe, drefs'd trim and gay, 
 Strews herbs and fcatters rofes in his way. 
 
 Thus th' outward yard fet round with boyes we've feen, 
 Which from the garden hath tranfplanted been ; 
 Thus, at the praetor's feaft, with needlefs cofts, 
 Some muft b'employ'd in painting of the polls ; 
 
 i 2 And
 
 cxxxii COMMENDATORY POEMS. 
 
 And fome, as dimes made for fight, not tafte, 
 Stand here as things for (how to Fletcher's feaft. 
 Oh, what an honour, what a grace 't had been, 
 T' have had his cook in Rollo ferve them in ! 
 Fletcher, the king of poets ! fuch was he, 
 That earn'd all tribute, claim'd all fovereignty ; 
 And may he that denies it, learn to bluih 
 At's Loyal Sitbjeft, flarve at's Beggars' Bujl) ; 
 And, if not drawn by example, lhame, nor grace, 
 Turn o'er to's Coxcomb, and the JVild-Gooje Chafe. 
 
 Monarch of wit ! great magazine of wealth ! 
 From whofe rich bank, by a Promethean Health, 
 Our lefler flames dc blaze ! His the true fire, 
 When they, like glow-worms, being touch'd, expire., 
 'Twas firit believ'd, becaufe he always was 
 The ipfe dixit, and Pythagoras 
 To our difciple-wits, his foul might run 
 (By the fame dreamt-of tranfmigration) 
 Into their rude and indigefted brain, 
 And fo inform their chaos-lump again ; 
 For many fpecious brats of this laft age 
 Spoke Fletcher perfectly in every page. 
 This rous'd his rage, to be abufed thus, 
 Made's Lover Mad, Lieutenant Humorous. 
 Thus ends of gold ana 1 fihcr-men are made 
 (As th' ufe to fay) goldfmiths of his own trade ; 
 Thus rag-men from the dunghill often hop, 
 And publifii forth by chance a broker's fhop. 
 But by his own light, now, we have defcried 
 The drofs, from that hath been fo purely tried. 
 Proteus. of wit ! who reads him doth not fee 
 The manners of each fex, of each degree ? 
 His full-flor'd fancy doth all humours fill, 
 From th' Queen of Corinth to the Maidtftti Mill \ 
 His Curate, Lawyer, Captain, Propbetefs, 
 Shew he was all and every one of thefe ; 
 He taught (fo fubtly were their fancies feix'd) 
 To Rule a Wife, and yet the J'J /r o?nen Picas' d. 
 ParnaiTus is thine own ; claim it as merit, 
 Law makes the Elder Brother to inherit. 
 
 G. Hills. 
 
 EXTRACT
 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS, cxxxiii 
 
 EXTRACT from FEN TON'S POEMS. 
 
 like the radiant twins that gild the fpherc, 
 
 Fletcher and Beaumont next in pomp appear: 
 The firft a fruitful vine, in bloomy pride, 
 Had been by fuperfluity deftroy'd, 
 But that his friend, judicioufly fevere, 
 Prun'd the luxuriant boughs with artful care: 
 On various founding harps the mufes play'd, 
 And fung, and quafPd their nedlar in the fhade. 
 Few moderns in the lifts with thefe may {land, 
 For in thofe days were giants in the land : 
 SulTice it now by lineal right to claim, J 
 
 And bow with filial awe to Shakefpeare's fame ; > 
 
 The fecond honours are a glorious name. j 
 
 Achilles dead, they found no equal lord, 
 To wear his armour, and to wield his fword. 
 
 Upon
 
 [ cxxxiv ] 
 
 Upon AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE'*. 
 
 By Mr. JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 YO U that can look thro' Heav'n, and tell the (tars, 
 Obferve their kind conjunctions, and their wars ; 
 Find out hew lights, and give them where you pleafc, 
 To thofe men honours, pleafures, to thofe eafe ; 
 You that are God's furveyors, and can fhew 
 How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow ; 
 Know all the charges of the dreadful thunder, 
 And when it will fhcot over, or fall under ; 
 Tell me, by all your art I conjure ye, 
 Yes, and by truth, what fhall become of me ? 
 Find out my ftar, if each one, as you fay, 
 Have his peculiar angel, and his way 53 ; 
 Obferve my fate, next fall into your dreams, 
 Sweep clean your houfes, and new-line your fchemes, 
 Then fay your word ! Or have I none at all? 
 Or is it burnt out lately ? or did fall ? 
 Or am I poor ? not able, no full flame ? 
 My ftar, like me, unworthy of a name ? 
 Js it, your art can only work on thofe 
 That deal with dangers, dignities, and cloaths ? 
 With love, or new opinions ? You all lie ! 
 A fifn-wife hath a fate, and fo have I ; 
 But far above your finding ! He that gives, 
 Out of his providence, to all that lives, 
 And no man knovs his treafure, no, not you ! 
 He that made ./^E^vpt blind, from whence you grew 
 
 51 Thefe Veries are in all former Editions printed at the end of 
 the Comedy of The Hor.eft Man 3 Fortune : As they have not the leaft 
 reference to that Play, we have chofe to place them here. 
 
 * J Have bis peculiar angel, and his way :] lay\ in its common 
 acceptation, is not nonfenie ; it may fignify his path of life marlCd 
 cut to him by tbefars. Cut Mr. Sympfon thinks it certainly corrupt, 
 and conjectuies firft fay, which, he fays, Signifies fpirit, or Jaie, 
 which he fays, though a very uncommon woid, fignifies fate: As 
 he quotes no authority, I can only fay, that I remember/i?y ufed by 
 Spcnfer ns the fame with/Wry, but none of my gloflaries know fuch 
 n word as fcie : and if an obfo'ete word muft be ufed, \ve need not 
 tiepart at ;:11 from the trace of the letters ; for ixey or way (the fpel!- 
 ing of former ages, ns well as the prefent, being extremely uncertain) 
 tnay figr.iiy fa/e ; the wejs were the fates of the Northern nations, 
 from whence the Witches in Macbeth are called ivcyivard fifters. 
 fcee Mr. Warbimcri's ingenious and learned note upon them. SVwW. 
 
 Scabby
 
 Upon AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE, cxxxv 
 
 Scabby and loufy, that the world might fee 
 
 Your calculations are as blind as ye ; 
 
 He that made all the flars you daily read, 
 
 And from thence filch a knowledge how to feed, 
 
 Hath hid this from you ; your conjectures all 
 
 Are drunken things, not how, but when they fall : 
 
 Man is his own ftar, and the foul that can 
 
 Render an honeft and a perfect man, 
 
 Commands all light, all influence, all fate i 
 
 Nothing to him falls early, or too late. 
 
 Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 
 
 Our fatal (hadtiws that walk by us.ftill ; 
 
 And when the ftars are labouring, we believe 
 
 It is not that they govern, but they grieve 
 
 For ftubborn ignorance ; all things that are 
 
 Made for our general ufes, are at war, 
 
 li'en we among ourfelves ; and from the flrifc, 
 
 Your firft unlike opinions got a life. 
 
 Oh, man ! thou image of thy Maker's good 54 , 
 What canit thou fear, when breath'd into thy blood 
 His fpirit is, that built thee ? what dull fenle 
 Makes thee fufpcc.1, in need, that Providence 
 Who made the morning, and who plac'd the light 
 Guide to thy labours j who cali'd up the night, 
 And bid her fall upon thee like fweet Ihowers 
 In hollow murmurs, to lock up thy powers ; 
 Who gave thee knowledge, who fo trufted thee, 
 To let thee grow fo near himfelf, the tree ; 
 Muft he then be diftrufted? (hall his frame 
 Difcourfe with him, why thus and thus I am ? 
 He made the angels thine, thy fellows all, 
 Nay, even thy fervants, when devotions call. 
 Oh, canft thou be fo ftupid then, fo dim, 
 To feck a faving influence, and lofe him ? 
 Can fUrs protect thee ? or can poverty, 
 Which is the light to Heav'n 55 , put out his eye ? 
 
 54> Thou image of thy Maker's good,] Mr. Sympfon would read, 
 
 thy Maker good, 
 
 but I fee not fufficient reafon for a change, fince good men are, and 
 c.\\ men fliould endeavour to make themfelve?, images of the goodnefs 
 of God. Nay, the man who baniihes virtue from his foul, forfeits 
 the only valuable hkenefs which he bears to his Maker. SeivarJ. 
 
 55 Or can poverty, 
 
 Which is tie light to Hea"Sn, put out his e\e f] This Pcem 
 
 has- vnft beauties ; what Fletcher hod often bantered in his comeiiiet, 
 
 the cheats of aiirology (almoit univcrfally believed in his age) he 
 
 i 4 now
 
 cxxxvi Upon AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE. 
 
 He is my ftar, in him all truth I find, 
 
 All influence, all fate ! and when my mind 
 
 Is furnifh'd with his fullnefs, my poor ftory 
 
 Shall out- live all their age, and all their glory! 
 
 The hand of danger cannot fall amifs, 
 
 When I know what, and in whofe power it is : 
 
 Nor want, the curfe of man 56 , (hall make me groan ; 
 
 A holy hermit is a mind alone. 
 
 Doth not experience teach us, all we can, 
 
 To work ourfelves into a glorious man ? 
 
 Love's but an exhalation to beft eyes, 
 
 The matter fpent, and then the fool's fire dies ! 
 
 Were I in love, and could that bright ftar bring 
 
 Encreafe to wealth, honour, and every thing ; 
 
 Were me as perfect good as we can aim, 
 
 The firftwasfo, and yet me loft the game. 
 
 My miftrefs, then, be Knowledge and fair Truth ! 
 
 80 I enjoy all beauty and all youth. 
 
 And tho' to Time her lights and laws fhe lends, 
 
 She knows no age that to corruption bends : 
 
 Friends' promifes may lead me to believe, 
 
 But he that is his own friend, knows to live ; 
 
 Affliction, when I know it is but this, 
 
 A deep allay, whereby man tougher is 
 
 To bear the hammer ", and, the deeper, ftill 
 
 We ftill arifc more image of his will ; 
 
 Sicknefs, an humorous cloud 'twixt us and light, 
 
 And death, at longeft, but another night ! 
 
 Man is his own ftar, and that foul that can 
 
 Be honcft, is the only perfect man. 
 
 row lafhes with the fpirit of a claflic fatirift, and the zeal of a Chri- 
 itian divine. But the line above, Mr. Sympfon fays, is fad fluff \ I 
 own it a little obicure, but far from deferving that title. Poverty 
 and aflliifhon often bring men to a due fenfe of their own fiate, and 
 to an entire dependence on their Creator, therefore may be confidered 
 as lights that often guide men to Heaven. Poets, whofe imaginations 
 are fo full of fentimtnt as Shakefpeare's and Fletcher's, do not always 
 ftudy petfpicuity in their cxpreffions fo much as thofe of cooler dif- 
 pofitions. SewarJ. 
 
 It is true, that they Jo not always JluJy perfpicuity ; hut the light of 
 Heaven refers to bis eye, not to poverty. This mode of ccnllrudion 
 is not uncommon with our Authors, and has often occafioned mif- 
 interpretation.'. 
 
 * 6 The caufe of man.'} Corrected in 1750. 
 
 57 To hear the hammer.} Seward falfely afferts, that this is the 
 reading of \hcforaur editions. 
 
 LETTER
 
 LETTER 
 
 FRO M 
 
 BEAUMONT TO BEN JONSON 1 . 
 
 THE fun (which doth the greateft comfort bring 
 To abfent friends, becaufe the felf-fame thing 
 They know they fee, however nbfent) is 
 Here, our beft haymaker, (forgive me this ! 
 It is our country's ftile) in this \varm fhine 
 I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. 
 Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees, 
 Drink apt to bring in drier herefies 
 Than beer, good only for the fonnet's drain, 
 With fuftian metaphors to ftuff the brain ; 
 So mix'd, that, given to the thirftieft one, 
 'Twill not prove alms, unlefs he have the ftone : 
 I think with one draught man's invention fades, 
 Two cups had quite fpoil'd Homer's Iliades. 
 'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, 
 Lie where he will*, and make him write worfe yet. 
 FilPd with fuch moifture, in moft grievous qualms, 
 Did Robert Wifdom write his finging-pfalms ; 
 
 1 Letter, c5V.] This Letter has hitherto been printed at the end 
 of Nice Valour, with the following title : * Mr. Francis Beaumont's 
 ' Letter to Ben Jonfon, written before he and Matter Fletcher 
 came to London, with two of the precedent comedies then not 
 finimed, which deferred their merry meetings at the Mermaid.' 
 As we apprehend it is demonrtrated (p. Ixxxix, & ' feq), that this fitu- 
 ation was cafual, and the title not to be relied on, we have ventured 
 to remove the one and alter the other. 
 
 * Ltenvkerehe w///.] If we keep to the old reading, it mult 
 rtficcl; upon SutclifTs hiding himfclf for debt. I have not the Lives 
 of the Poets now by me, but don't remember any thing of the poverty 
 of this minor poet of our Author's age, by reading // for he, the 
 archnefs is fmarter as well as more good-humoured, let his wit lie in 
 what part of his body it will. Senvard. 
 
 We fee no great archnefs in this alteration, nor think the old reading 
 implies Sutcliff's hiding for debt. 
 
 And
 
 cxxxviii BE AUMONT'S LETTI.R TO JONSON. 
 
 And fo muft I do this : And yet I think 
 
 It is a potion fent us down to drink, 
 
 By fpecial Providence, keeps us from fights, 
 
 Makes us not hugh when we make legs to knights. 
 
 Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our dates, 
 
 A medicine to obey our magi it rat c : 
 
 For we do live more free than you ; no hate, 
 
 No envy at one another's hnppy ft ate, 
 
 Moves us ; we are all equal ; every whit 3 
 
 Of land that God gives men here is their wit, 
 
 If we confider fully , for our bed 
 
 And graved man will with his main houfe-ieft, 
 
 Scarce pleafe you ; we want fubtilty to do 
 
 The city-tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too : 
 
 Here are none that can bear a painted fhov, 
 
 Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow 4 ; 
 
 Who, like mills fet the right way for to grind, 
 
 Can make their gains alike with every wind : 
 
 Only fome fellows, with the fubtled pate 
 
 Amongd us, may perchance equivocate 
 
 At felling of a horie, and that's the mod. 
 
 Methinks the little wit I had is loft 
 
 Since I faw you ; for wit is like a rcfb 
 
 Held up at tennis 5 , which men Ho the beil 
 
 1 If'e are all equal every n>:lit : 
 
 Of land that God %i<ves men here is their -itvV : 
 If <we conjider fully, ~\ 1*his d&tk fentence has berr> cleared ur> 
 by Mr. Sympfon, who by pointing differently ives this {entiment. 
 Men? wit is here in exadt proportion to their land ; and tben the next 
 fentence, 
 
 for our b~fl 
 And vrerjgft men will with his main-houfe jejt, 
 
 Scarce pleafe you ; 
 
 has a juit connection with the former : Main-houfe j?fi, I read with 
 a hyphen and underftand by it the/Vy? that receive.- its merit fiom the 
 grandeur, riches, and antiquity of his family who utters it, as the 
 hearers' admire it upon thefe accounts. Se-jwrd. 
 
 Main-hc-ujc is a itrangc exprdiion ; if there needs a hyphen, L-oufe- 
 jeft would be better. 
 
 * Strike fivben yvu winch, and tlrn lament the Z'/c-v.] Thi=i Hoes 
 not appear fenie : The pcn't ipeaks of co-unit r= wearing a painted cut- 
 fide (and perhaps ear ; n the former line would be a better reading 
 th.:n hear) and after they themlllvcs h, : vc ihuck you feaetly \vhcn 
 you did not fee them, will pretend to Lum-nt the blow. But what 
 has winch to do with this fenfe ? I do^ht not hut the true reading is, 
 Siiike when you wink, and then latnmt the blow. Senxard. 
 
 5 Wit is like a REST held up at tsnni:.'] This, we think, tends to
 
 BEAUMONT'S LETTER TO JONSON. cxxxix 
 
 \Yith the bed gamefters : What things have we feen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 
 So nimble, and fo full of fubtile flame, 
 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jeft, 
 
 And had refolv'd to live a fool the relt 
 
 Of his dull life ; then when there hath been thrown 
 
 Wit able enough to juftify the town 
 
 For three days paft ; wit that might warrant be 
 
 For the whole city to talk foolifhly 
 
 'Till that were cancell'd ; and when that was gone, 
 
 We left an air behind us, which alone 
 
 Was able to make the two next companies 
 
 Right witty ; tho' but downright fools, mere wife s 
 
 When I remember this, and fee that now 
 
 The country gentlemen begin to allow 
 
 My wit for dry-bobs, then I needs muft cry, 
 
 I fee my days of ballading grow nigh ; 
 
 I can already riddle, and can fmg 
 
 Catches, fell bargains, and I fear (hall bring 
 
 Myfelf to fpeak the hardeft words I find 6 , 
 
 Over as oft as any, with one wind, 
 
 That takes no medicines: But one thought of thec 
 
 Makes me remember all thefe things to be 
 
 The wit of our young men, fellows that (hew 
 
 No part of good, yet utter all they know ; 
 
 Who, like trees of the garden, have growing fouls ~. 
 
 Only ftrong Deftiny, which all controls, 
 
 explain the expreflion that fo often occurs of fitting up a reft, which 
 commonly includes an allufion to fame game, and which game here 
 appears to be team's. 
 
 5 Though but downright fools, more wife."] More wife is an anti- 
 climax after right 'witty ; but I believe the true reading is meeriuife, 
 i. e. nothing but meer wifdom itielf. It ftems an exprelfion per- 
 feclly in the lti!e of the context. Senuard. 
 
 6 To fpeak the hetrdtj! words Ifnd, 
 Over, as oft as a;:y, 'with one <wind, 
 
 That takes no medicines.'] This relates to the play of repeating 
 hard words (fuch a< Chichefiei church flands in Chichefler church-yard) 
 feveral times in a breath, and generally they are fuch as betray the 
 fpeaker into indecencies. But are we to underfland That takes no tne- 
 didnes only for the fake of ftrengthning the wind ? Or a fccret fling 
 at the phyficians and apothecaries foj rflYfting hard words, and fo 
 one effeft of their medicines may jocularly be fuppofed to enable a 
 man to talk hard words more fluently ? Seward. 
 
 The firft of thefe interpretations is, we think, the true. 
 
 7 ffto like trees of tie guard, lave growing fouls.} What, fays 
 
 Mr.
 
 cxl BEAUMONT'S LETTER TO JONSON. 
 
 I hope hath left a better fate in ftore 
 
 For me thy friend, than to live ever poor, 
 
 Banifh'd unto this home ! Fate once again 
 
 Bring me to thee, who canft make fmooth and plain 
 
 The way of knowledge for me, and then I, 
 
 Who have no good but in thy company, 
 
 Protefb it will my greatefl comfort be 
 
 To acknowledge all I have to flow frem thee $ . 
 
 Ben, when thefefcenes are perfect, we'll talle wine ; 
 
 I'll drink thy mufe's health, thou {halt quaff mine. 
 
 Mr. Sympfon, can trees of the guard poffibly mean ? } believe it cor- 
 rupt for garden, which the old poets would Without temple contract 
 into one iylhblegarfn, and how cafily might a tranfcnber, not know- 
 ing what word it was, change it to guard. ^ficard. 
 
 It is probable gardtn is right; but how could our poets, or any 
 poets, or mortals, contract garden into one fyllable ? The Editors of 
 1750, have prefented to our eyes many conti.ictions and apoihophes 
 which no tongue can exprefs, or human organs articulate. 
 
 s To fliiv from tbeeJ] I had obferved upon the Woman Hater be- 
 fore I knevv of thefe verles of Beaumont's having any relation to that 
 play, how much more it was wrote in Ben. Jonforf s manner than any 
 other of our Authors foregoing plays : The fame is true of The Nice 
 Valour which conn'ils chiefly of fajjior.< pcrfonatcd, not of characters 
 fiorn real life ; and which allows thole paflions to be carried to the 
 higheft pitch of extrav.igance. Here is a confirmation of Jonfon be- 
 ing the writer they mutated. In the greatrit part of their works 
 they feem to follow Shakefpeare. I find tiorn theie verfe?, that at note 
 32 in the Woman-Hater, I was miflaken in fuppofing Fletcher was 
 the fole author of that play from the full edition, having his name 
 only prefixt : It being printed after both their death?, it was very 
 cafy to make the miftake, which was corrected by the fecond edition. 
 The character of Lapet in this play has fo much of that inimitable hu- 
 mour, which was displayed before in the character of BeflTus in the 
 King or no King, that it was probably the work of the fame hard, 
 viz. Beaumont's, for to him Mr. Earle (in the rr.oft authentic copy 
 of verfes prefixed to thefe plays, as being writ immediately after the 
 death of Beaumont, and near ten years before that of Fletcher) af- 
 cnbes BefTus together with Philalter and the Maid's Tragedy. How 
 wrong therefore is the prevailing opinion, that Beaumont's genius 
 was only turned for tragedy, that he poffefs'd great corrednefs of 
 judgment, but that the livelinefs of imagination, vivacity of wit, 
 and comic humour which fo much abounds in thefe plays were all to 
 be afcribed to Fletcher only ? See Beikenhead's Poem on this {ub- 
 jeft prefixed to this edition.' Seacard. 
 
 See p. Ixxxix, cjf fey. 
 
 Names
 
 Names of the principal A6lors Tvho performed in 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER'S Plays. 
 
 N. B. The names marked thus * are the names of the Players who 
 dedicated the edition of 1647 * ^ }e ^ ar ^ f Pembroke. 
 
 William Allen 
 Hugh Atawell 
 Richard Burbadge 
 
 * Theophilus Byrd 
 
 * Robert Benfield 
 George Birch 
 William Barkfted 
 Thomas Bafle 
 
 Henry Condel 
 Alexander Cooke 
 
 * Hugh Clearke 
 
 William Egleftone 
 Nathaniel Field 
 
 Sander Gough 
 Giles Gary 
 
 Thomas Holcombe 
 
 * Stephen Hammerton 
 John Honyman 
 James Horn 
 
 * John Lowin 
 William Oaier 
 
 * Thomas Pollard 
 William Penn 
 
 Emanuel Read 
 John Rice 
 
 * Richard Robinfon 
 William Rowly. 
 
 Richard Sharpe 
 Eylceard Swanfton 
 John Shank 
 
 * Jofeph Taylor 
 las Toolie 
 
 Nichol 
 
 William Trigg 
 John Thomlbn 
 
 John Underwood.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PREFACES. i 
 COMMENDATORY POEMS. Ixxxv 
 
 VERSES ON AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE, cxxxiv 
 BEAUMONT'S LETTER TO JONS ON. cxxxvii 
 MAID'S TRAGEDY. i 
 PHILASTER. _ _ _ _ I03 
 
 KING AND NO KING. 193 
 
 SCORNFUL LADY. 301 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY. i 
 
 ELDER BROTHER. 107 
 
 SPANISH CURATE. i 9 r 
 
 WIT WITHOUT MONEY. 297 
 
 BEGGARS' BUSH. 393 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 HUMOROUS LIEUTENANT. i 
 FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS. - vi 3 
 MAD LOVER. _____ 2 ii 
 
 LOYAL SUBJECT. 307 
 
 RULE A WIFE AND HAVE A WIFE. 419 
 
 VOL. IV. 
 
 LAWS OF CANDY. i 
 
 FALSE ONE. ' 75 
 LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER. 169 
 TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN. 269 
 MONSIEUR THOMAS. 377 
 
 VOL. V. 
 
 CHANCES. .___ i 
 TRAGEDY OF HOLLO, DUKE OF NORMANDY. 83 
 WILD-GOOSE CHASE. - 175 
 A WIFE FOR A MONTH. 269 
 LOVERS' PROGRESS. 359 
 PILGRIM. 433 
 
 V O L.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. VI. 
 
 CAPTAIN. .__ i 
 
 PROPHETESS. 100 
 
 QUEEN OF CORINTH. ,B;> 
 
 TRAGEDY OF BONDUCA. _ 2? c, 
 
 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 373 
 
 VOL. VII. 
 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. i 
 
 DOUBLE MARRIAGE. 102 
 MAID IN THE MILL. 203 
 KNIGHT OF MALTA. 295 
 LOVE'S CURE; OR, THE MARTIAL MAID. 395 
 
 VOL. VIII. 
 
 WOMEN PLEAS'D. - i 
 
 NIGHT-WALKER; OR, THE LITTLE THIEF. 91 
 
 ISLAND PRINCESS. i 79 
 
 WOMAN'S PRIZE ; OR, THE TAMER TAM'D. 275 
 
 NOBLE GENTLEMAN. _ _ _ 33, 
 
 VOL. IX, 
 
 CORONATION. . T 
 
 SEA-VOYAGE. 79 
 
 COXCOMB. _-_ ._ , S3 
 
 WIT AT SEVERAL WEAPONS. 243 
 
 FAIR MAID OF THE INN. 3 
 
 CUPID'S REVENGE. 435 
 
 V O L. X. 
 
 TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. i 
 
 TRAGEDY OF THIERRY AND THEODORET. 115 
 WOMAN-HATER. 213 
 NICE VALOUR; OR, THE PASSIONATE 
 
 MADMAN. 315 
 
 HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE. 387 
 MASQUE. ______ 4 8 7 
 
 FOUR PLAYS, OR MORAL REPRESEN- ' 
 
 TATIONS, IN ONE. 505

 
 THE 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 The fir ft edition we meet with of this Tragedy was printed in 1619. 
 The Commendatory VerJ'es by Howard, Stanley, Herrick, and Waller, 
 /peak of Fletcher as the foie Author of it ; thofe by Earle, afcribe it 
 to Beaumont ; but it is generally beliewd to be their joint production. 
 It always met with great applaufe till the reign of Charles II. who 
 forbid its reprefentaiion. Mr. Walltr then wrote a new fifth ccl t 
 rendering the catajlrophe fortunate, which is printed in a 'volume 
 of that gentleman's poems ; ard with which Langbahie, and aJl 
 the dramatic biftoriograpbers Jince, ajfcrt it was again brought on 
 the Jlage, and received as much applaufe as ever. But this revival 
 is much doubted; becaufe Mr. Fenton, in his notes on Waller , fays, 
 be had been ajfjured by his friend Southerne t that, in the latter end 
 cf Charles Il.'s reign, he had feen this play acted at the Theatre- 
 Royal, as it was originally written by Fletcher ; but ne<vtr with 
 Waller's alterations. 
 
 VOL. I. A ,
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONA. 
 
 M E N. 
 King. 
 
 Lyfippus, brother to the king. 
 Amintor, a noble gentleman. 
 Melantius, ") 
 Diphilus, \^other S toEvadne. 
 
 Calianax, an old 'humourous lord, and father to Afpatia. 
 
 Cleon, 7 
 
 Strato, \ Clemen. 
 
 Piagoras, a fervant to Calianax. 
 
 W O M E N, 
 
 Evadne, wife to Amintor. 
 
 Afpatia, troth-flight wife to Amintor. 
 
 Antiphila, 1 
 
 Olympiad, J *>*&'%$*#!'**< to Afpatia. 
 
 Dula, a lady. 
 Night, 
 
 Cynthia, 
 
 ' } mafauers. 
 
 Meptune, 
 
 SCENE, RHODES. 
 
 A 2 THE
 
 THE 
 
 M A ID's TRAGEDY, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter Cleen, Strata, Lyfippus, and Dtphttus. 
 
 Ckon. r "^ H E reft are making ready, Sir. 
 
 Lyf. So let them ; there's time 
 JL. chough. 
 
 Dipb. You are the brother to the king, my lord 5 
 we'll take your word. 
 
 Lyf. Strato, thou haft fome fkill in poetry : 
 What think'ft thou of the mafque 1 ? will it be well ? 
 
 Strat. As well as mafque can be. 
 
 Lyf. As mafque can be ? 
 
 Strat. Yes ; they muft commend their king, and 
 fpeak in praife of the affembly ; blefs the bride and 
 bridegroom, in perfon of fome god. They're ty'd to 
 rules of flattery. 
 
 Cle. See, good my lord, who is returned ! 
 
 Enter Melantius. 
 
 Lyf. Noble Melantius ! the land, by me, 
 Welcomes thy virtues home to Rhodes. 
 
 1 What think'ft tbou of a mafque 'f~\ It fhould be, the mafque. It 
 was not then to be formed ; nor does the prince mean to aflc, whether 
 it will be well to have one ; but whether this, which is prepared, 
 will be a good one. This Strato's anfwerand the fequel of the play 
 plainly ihevV. Mr, Beward. 
 
 A 3 Thou,
 
 6 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Thou, that with blood abroad buy'ft us our peace ! 
 The breath of kings is like the breath of gods ; 
 My brother wifh'd thee here, and thou art here. 
 He will be too kind, and weary thee with 
 Often welcomes. But the time doth give thee 
 A welcome above his, or all the world's. 
 
 Mel. My lord, my thanks , but thefe fcratch'd 
 
 limbs of mine 
 
 Have fpoke my love and truth unto my friends, 
 More than my tongue e'er could. My mind's the fame 
 It ever was to you : Where I find worth, 
 I love the keeper till he let it go, 
 And then I follow it. 
 
 Dipb. Hail, worthy brother! 
 He, that rejoices not at your return 
 In fafety, is mine enemy for ever. 
 
 Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus! But thou art faulty j 
 I fent for thee to exercife thine arms 
 With me at Patria : Thou cam'ft not, Diphilus 5 
 'Twas ill. 
 
 Dipb. My noble brother, my excufe 
 Is my king's ftraight command ; which you, my lord> 
 Can witnefs with me. 
 
 Lyf. 'Tis true, Melantius -, 
 He might not come, till the folemnity 
 Of this great match was pad. 
 
 Dipb. Have you heard of it ? 
 
 Mel. Yes. I have given caufe to thofe, that 
 Envy my deeds abroad, to call me gamefome : 
 I have no other bufinefs here at Rhodes. 
 
 Lyf. We have a mafque to-night, and you muft tread 
 A foldier's meafure. 
 
 Mel. Thefe fort ar.d filken wars are not for me : 
 The mufic muft be fhrill, and all confus'd, 
 That ib'rs my blood ; and then I dance with arms. 
 But is Amintor wed ? 
 
 Dipb. This day. 
 
 Mel. All joys upon him ! for he is my friend. 
 Wonder not that I call a man fo young my friend : 
 
 Hi*
 
 THE MAlD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 His worth is great j valiant he is, and temperate ; 
 And one that never thinks his life his own, 
 If his friend need it. When he was a boy, 
 As oft as I return'd (as, without boaft, 
 I brought home conqueft) he would gaze upon 
 And view me round, to find in what one limb 
 The virtue lay to do thofe things he heard. 
 Then would he wrfh to fee my fword, and feel 
 The quicknefs of the edge, and in his hand 
 Weigh it : He oft would make me fmile at this. 
 His youth did promile much, and his ripe years 
 Will fee it all perform'd. 
 
 Enter Afyatia, $affmg by* 
 Hail, maid and wife ! 
 Thou fair Afpatia, may the holy knot 
 That thou haft ty'd to-day, laft till the hand 
 Of age undo it ! may'fl thou bring a race 
 Unto Amintor, that may fill the world 
 Succefiively with foldiers ! 
 
 Afy. My hard fortunes 
 Deferve not fcorn ; for I was never proud, 
 When they were good. 
 
 Mel. How's this ? 
 
 Lyf. You are miftaken, 
 For me is not married. 
 
 Mel You faid Amintor was. 
 
 Dipb. 'Tis true ; but 
 
 Mel. Pardon me, I did receive 
 Letters at Patria from my Arnintor,. 
 That he mould marry her. 
 
 Dipb. And fo it flood 
 In all opinion long ; but your arrival 
 Made me imagine you had heard the change* 
 
 Mel. Who hath he taken then ? 
 
 Lyf, A lady, Sir, 
 
 That bears the light above her, and ftrikes dead 
 With flames of her eye : the fair Evadjie, 
 Your virtuous filter, 
 
 A 4
 
 8 THE MAlD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them ! 
 But this is ftrange. 
 
 Lyf. The king my brother did it 
 To honour you ; and thefe folemnities 
 Are at his charge. 
 
 Mek 'Tis royal, like himfelf. But I am fad 
 My fpecch bears fo unfortunate a found 
 To beautiful Afpatia. There is rage 
 Hid in her father's breaft, Calianax, 
 Bent long againft me , and he mould not think, 
 If I could call it back, that I would take 
 So bafe revenges, as to fcorn the ftate 
 Of his neglcded daughter. Holds he flill 
 His greatnefs with the king? 
 
 Lyf. Yes. But this lady- 
 Walks difcontented, with her watry eyes 
 Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods 
 Are her delight ; and when me fees a bank 
 Stuck full of flowers, me with a figh will tell 
 Her fervants what a pretty place it were 
 To bury lovers in ; and make her maids 
 Pluck 'em, and drew her over like a corfe. 
 She carries with her an infectious grief, 
 That ftrikes all her beholders -, me will fing 
 The mournful'ft things that ever ear hath heard, 
 And figh, and fing again ; and when the reft 
 Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood, 
 Tell mirthful tales in courfe, that fill the room 
 With laughter, me will with fo fad a look 
 Bring forth a ftory of the filent death 
 Of fome forfaken virgin, which her grief 
 Will put in fuch a phrafe, that, ere me end, 
 She'll fend them weeping one by one away. 
 
 Mel. She has a brother z under my command, 
 
 4 She has a brother, fcfr.]. Tke critics, in all ages, upon dramatic 
 poems, have laid it down for a rule, that an incident (hould be prepared, 
 but not prevented ; that is, not forefeen, fo as to takeoff the furprize : 
 For then the whole pleaiure of the incident is pall'd, and has no effed 
 
 upon 

 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Like her j a face as woman! fh as hers ; 
 Bat with a fpirit that hath much out-grown 
 The number of his years. 
 
 Enter Amintor. 
 
 Cle. My lord, the bridegroom ! 
 
 Mel. I might run fiercely, not more haftily, 
 Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor ; 
 My mouth is much too narrow for my heart 5 
 I joy to look upon thofe eyes of thine - 9 
 Thou art my friend, but my diforder'd fpeechf 
 Cuts off my love. 
 
 Amin. Thou art Melantius ; 
 All love is fpoke in that. A facrifice, 
 To thank the gods Melantius is return'd 
 In fafety ! Vidtory fits on his fword, 
 As me was wont : May fhe build there arid dwell - r 
 And may thy armour be, as it hath been, 
 Only thy valour and thy innocence ! 
 What endlefs treafures would our enemies give, 
 That I might hold thee ftill thus ! 
 
 upon the audience or readers. Thefe preparatives, therefore, muff 
 feem by chance to the fpedlators, though they are always defigncdly 
 thrown in by the poet. " la mul.'is ceconomia comicorum poetarum 
 " it a fe habet t ut cafu putet fpeQator veniffe quod confilio fcripto- 
 " rum fattum fit :" fays Donatus upop Terence. This is the moft 
 artful preparation, that I remember in all Beaumont and Fletcher's 
 plays, for an incident which is in no kind fufpected, Melantius fays, 
 lie has a brother of Afpatia under his command, moft like her in 
 the foftnefs of face and feature. This brother never appears in any 
 fcene through the play : But when Afpatia comes in boy's cloaths to 
 fight with Amintor, to obtain her death from his hand, and tells him, 
 
 ' For till the chance of war mark'd this fmooth face 
 * With thefe few blemimes, people would call me 
 ' My filler's pidure ; and her, mine ; fn ftiort, 
 ' 1 am the brother to the wrong'd Afpatia ;' 
 
 this fore-mention of the brother, here, makes die incident the 
 more probable, and (hiking ; as Amintor mult have heard of fuch a 
 brother, and could have no fufpicion that he was going to draw his 
 fword agatnit Afpatia. The audience are equally amufed with the 
 fallacy. Mr. TbecbalJ. 
 
 Met.
 
 lo fHE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mel. I'm but poor 
 
 In words-, but credit me, young man, thy mother 
 Could do no more but weep for joy to fee thee 
 After long abfence: All the wounds I have 
 Fetch'd not fo much away, nor all the cries 
 Of widowed mothers. But this is peace, 
 And that was war. 
 
 Amin. Pardon, thou holy god 
 Of marriage-bed, and frowYi not, I am forc'd, 
 In anfwer of fuch noble tears as thofe, 
 To weep upon my wedding-day. 
 
 Mel. I fear thou'rt grown too fickle-, for I hear 
 A lady mourns for thee ; men fay, to death ; 
 Forfaken of thee ; on what terms, I know not. 
 
 Amin. She had my promife i but the king forbad it, 
 And made me make this worthy change, thy filler, 
 Accompanied with graces far above her ; 
 With whom I long to lofe my lufty youth, 
 And grow old in her arms. 
 Be proiperous ! 
 
 Enter Meffenger. 
 
 Mejf. My lord, the mafquers rage for you. 
 Lyf. We are gone. Cleon, Strato, Diphilus ' 
 Amin. We'll all attend you *. We mall trouble you 
 With our folemnities. 
 
 __,__ Mel ' 
 
 3 Mr. Theobald's edition fays here, 
 
 Exeunt Ly/ippus, Cleon, Strato, and Diphilus ', 
 but as we find no authority for this note of direftion, we have not 
 ventured, to infert it, though we believe our Authors intended thofe 
 per fons to depart at this place. 
 
 4 Well all attend jeu. We Jhall , & c J\ An explanation of this 
 
 arid Mehuii'js's ipeech feems requifite. News being brought that the 
 mafquers wait, Lyfippus is calling on the company, and Amintor fays, 
 ' V/c'ii al! attend you.' They depart, and Amfntor, turning to Me- 
 Ir.htius, continue;, ' We fliall trouble you with [beg you to partake 
 4 cf ] .our folemnities.' ' No, replies Melantius ; though you may 
 * laugh at my being fo uncourtly, you muft excufe me : But \ have a 
 ' rciiirefi' to brirg to your diveifions." He then enters into a di- 
 
 grefiion
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. u 
 
 Mel. Not fo,' Amintor : 
 But if you laugh at my rude carriage 
 In peace, I'll do as much for you in war, 
 When you come thither. Yet I have a miftrefs 
 To bring to your delights -, rough tho' I am, 
 I have a miftrefs, and me has a heart, 
 She ?hys , but, truft me, it is ftone, na better -, 
 There is no place that I can challenge in't s . 
 But you ftand ftill, and here my way lies 6 . 
 
 Enter Calianax with Diagoras. 
 
 CaL Diagoras, look to the doors better for fliame ; 
 you let in all the world, and anon the king will rail 
 at me why, very well faid by Jove, the king will 
 have the mow i'th' court. 
 
 Diag. Why do you fwear fo, my lord ? You know> 
 he'll Have it here. 
 
 CaL By this light, if he be wife, he v/ill not. 
 
 Diag And if he will not be wife, you are forfworn.. 
 
 CaL One may wear out his heart with fwearins:, and 
 get thanks on no fide. I'll be gone look to't, who 
 will. 
 
 Diag. My lord, I fliall never keep them out. Pray,. 
 flay ; your looks will terrify them. 
 
 CaL My. looks .terrify them, you coxcombly afs, 
 you ! I'll be judged by all the company, whether thou 
 haft not a worfe face than I. 
 
 greffion about this miftrefs ; till recollefting that it was neceffitry for 
 Amintor to attend the exhibition, and (or hku to fetch the lady r ha 
 interrupts hirr.feif with ' But I dfiaili you, and negled my o>vn 
 ' engagement.' 
 
 5 There is no place that I tan clallev.ge, gentlemen.] Thu:- the 
 firft edition read, ; Mr. Theobald':, 
 
 There's no place I can chaUtnae .gentle irft ; 
 All the intermediate copies exhibit the reading of the prefect text. 
 : 
 
 6 At the end of this fcene, die old editions fay. exit ; that of 1 7 1 1-, 
 exeunt; Mr. Theobald';, eXcunt/Jevera?farW&Khi \vc 
 
 \: the proper reading.
 
 12 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 tiiag. I mean, becaufe they know you and your* 
 office. 
 
 Cal. Office! I would I could put it off: I am 
 lure I fweat quite through my office. I might have 
 made room at my daughter's wedding : they have 
 near kilPd her among them , and now I muft do 
 fervice for him that hath forfaken her. Serve, that 
 will. [Exit. 
 
 Diag. He's fo humourous fince his daughter was 
 forfaken. Hark, hark ! there, there ! fo, fo! Codes, 
 Codes ! [Knock 'within.'] What now ? 
 
 Mel. [within] Open the door. 
 
 Diag. Who's there ? 
 
 Mel. [within] Melantius. 
 
 Diag. I hope your lordfhip brings no troop with 
 you i forj if you do, I muft return them. 
 
 Enter Melantius and a Lady. 
 
 Mel. None but this lady, Sir. 
 
 Diag. The ladies are all plac'd above, fave thofe 
 that come in the king's troop : The beft of Rhodes fit 
 there, and there's room. 
 
 Mel. I thank you, Sir. When I have feen you plac'd, 
 madam, I muft attend the king j but, the mafque 
 done, I'll wait on you again. 
 
 Diag. Stand back there room for my lord Melan- 
 tius pray, bear back this is no place for fuch 
 youths and their trulls let the doors fhut again. 
 No ! do your heads itch ? I'll fcratch them for you. 
 So, now thruft and hang. Again ! who is't now ? 
 I cannot blame my lord Calianax for going away : 
 'Would he were here ! he would run raging among 
 them, and break a dozen wifer heads than his own, in 
 the twinkling of an eye. What's the news now ? 
 
 Within.] I pray you, can you help me to the fpeech 
 of the mailer-cook ? 
 
 Diag. If I open the door, I'll cook fome of your 
 calves-heads. Peace, rogues ! Again ! who is't ? 
 
 Mel. [uitkiv.] Melantius. 
 
 Enter
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. ?j 
 
 Enter Calianax. 
 
 Cal. Let him not in. 
 
 Diag. O, my lord, I muft. Make room there fojr 
 jny lord. 
 
 Enter Mclantius. 
 Is your lady plac'd ? [To Mfl. 
 
 Mel. Yes, Sir, 
 
 I thank you. My lord Calianax, well met. 
 Your caufelefs hate to me, I hope, is buried. 
 
 Cal. Yes, I do fervice for your fifter here, 
 That brings my own poor child to timelefs death: 
 She loves your friend Amintor -, fuch another 
 Falfe-hearted lord as you. 
 
 Mel. You do me wrong, 
 A moft unmanly one, and I am flow 
 In taking vengeance ! But be well advis'd. 
 
 Cal. It may be fo. Who plac'd the lady there, 
 So near the prefence of the king ? 
 
 Mel. I did. 
 
 Cal. My lord, me muft not fit there. 
 
 Mel. Why? 
 
 Cal. The place is kept for women of more worth. 
 
 Mel. More worth than me ? It mif- becomes your age, 
 And place, to be thus womanim. Forbear ! 
 What you have fpoke, I am content to think 
 The palfy ihook your tongue to. 
 
 Cal. Why, 'tis well if I ftand here to place mens* 
 wenches. 
 
 Mel. I fhall forget this place, thy age, my fafety, 
 And, thorough all, cut that poor fickly week, 
 Thou haft to live, away from thee. 
 
 Cal. Nay, I know you can fight for your whore. 
 
 Mel. Bate the king, and be he flefh and blood, 
 He lyes, that fays it ! Thy mother at fifteen 
 \Vas black and fmful to her. 
 
 Diag. Good my lord ! 
 
 Mel. Some god pluck threefcore years from that 
 fond man, 
 
 That
 
 14 THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 
 
 That I may kill him, and not ftain mine honour. 
 It is the curfe of foldiers, that in peace 
 They (hail be brav'd by fuch ignoble men, 
 As, if the land were troubled, would with tears 
 And knees beg fuccour from 'em. 'Would, that blood, 
 That fea of blood, that I have loft in fight, 
 Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee 
 Apt to fay leis, or able to maintain, 
 Should'fb thou lay more ! This Rhodes, I fee, is nought 
 But a place privileg'd to do men wrong. 
 Cal. Ay, you may fay your pleafure, 
 
 Enter Amintor. 
 
 Amin. What vile injury 
 f-Ias ftirr'd my worthy friend, who is as flow 
 To fight with words as he is quick of hand ? 
 
 Mel. That heap of age, which I mould reverence 
 If it were temperate , but telly years 
 Are moll contemptible. 
 
 Amin. Good Sir, forbear. 
 
 Cal. There is juft fuch another as yourfelf, 
 
 Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man, 
 And talk as if he had no life to lofe, 
 Since this our match. The king is coming in : 
 I would not for more wealth than I enjoy, 
 He mould perceive you raging. He did hear 
 You were at difference now, which haft'ned him. 
 
 Cal. Make room there ! {Hautboys play within. 
 
 Enter King, Evadne, Afpatia, lords and ladies. 
 
 King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love- 
 Is with thee flill : But this is not a place 
 To brabble in. Calianax, join hands. 
 
 Cal. He mall not have my hand. 
 
 King. This is no time 
 To force you to it. I do love you both : 
 Calianax, you look well to your office ; 
 And you, Melantius, are welcome home. 
 Begin the mafque ! 
 
 Md.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 Mel' Sifter, I joy to fee you, and your choice. 
 YO\I look'd with my eyes when you took that man : 
 BL u; .ppy in him ! [Recorders play. 
 
 Evad. O, my deareft brother ! 
 Your prefence is more joyful, than this xiay 
 Can be unto me. 
 
 THE MASQ^UE, 
 N%bt rifes in mijis. 
 
 U R reign is come ; for in the raging fea 
 The fun is drown'd, and with him fell the day. 
 Bright Cinthia, hear my voice ; I am the Night, 
 For whom thou bear'ft about thy borrow'd light. 
 Appear-, no longer thy pale vifage fhroud, 
 But ftrike thy filver horns quite 7 through a cloud, 
 And fend a beam upon my fwarthy face j 
 By which I may difcover all the place 
 And perfons ? and how many longing eyes 
 Are come to wait on our folemnities. 
 
 Enter Cintbia. 
 
 How dull and black am I ! I could not find 
 This beauty without thee, I am fo blind. 
 Methinks, they fhew like to thofe eailern ftreaks 
 That warn us hence, before the morning breaks ? 
 Back, my pale fervant, for thefe eyes know how 
 To moot far more and quicker rays than thou. 
 
 Cinth. Great queen, they be a troop for whom alone 
 One of my cleared moons I have put on ; 
 A troop, that looks as if thyfelf and 1 
 Had pluck' d our reins in, and our whips laid by, 
 To gaze upon tfrefe mortals, that appear 
 Brighter than we. 
 
 Night. Then let us keep 'em here ; 
 
 ' Quite thro" a cloud.'] This is the reading of all the copies ; but 
 we tliink quick would be a much better word, and therefore more 
 likely to have been ufed by our Authors. 
 
 And
 
 i$ THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 And never more our chariots drive away, 
 But hold our places, and out-fhine the day. 
 
 Cintb. Great queen of lhadows, you are pleas'd t< 
 
 fpeak 
 
 Of more than may be done : We may not break 
 The gods' decrees ; but, when our time is come, 
 jMufl drive away, and give the day our room 8 . 
 
 Night. Then ftjine at full, fair queen, and by thy 
 
 pow'r 
 
 Produce a birth, to crown this happy hour, 
 Of nymphs and mepherds : Let their fongs difcover, 
 liafy and fweet, who is a happy lover. 
 Or, if thon woo't, then call thine own Endymion, 
 From the fweet flow'ry bed he lies upon, 
 On Latmus' top, thy pale beams drawn away ; 
 And of this long night let him make a day. 
 
 Cintb. Thou dream'fl, dark queen j that fair boy 
 
 was not mine, 
 
 Nor went I down to kifs him. Eafe and wine 
 Have bred thefe bold tales: Poets> when they rage, 
 Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age. 
 
 8 To this fpeech of Cinthia the ten following lines are firft added 
 in the edition of 1630, fifteen years after the death of Beaumont, 
 five after that of Fletcher. They have maintained their fitaation in 
 the text ever fince ; but as we apprehend they contain not the leaft 
 poetic fire, nor ingenious imagery, which can entitle them to a place 
 with the other parts of this m^fque, or induce us to believe they came 
 from either Beaumont's or Fletcher's pen, we have ventored to re- 
 move them to this place ; and apprehend, if any apology is lieceffary, 
 it muft be for not totally cutting off their afibciation with the writings 
 of fuch defervedly-admired poets. 
 
 * Yet, while our reign lafts, let us ftretch our pow'r 
 4 To give our fervants one contented hour, 
 
 * With fuch unwonted folemn grace and ftate, 
 ' As may for ever after force them hate . 
 
 ' Oar brother's glorious beams ; and wim the night 
 
 * Crown'd with a thoufand ftars, and our cold light : 
 ' For almoft all the world their fcrvice bend 
 
 ; To Phoebus, and in vain my light J lend ; 
 ' Gaz'd on unto my ferting from my rife 
 ' Almofi of none, but of unquiet eyes.' 
 
 But,
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 But I will give a greater ftate and glory, 
 And raife to time a noble memory 
 Of what thefe lovers are. Rife, rife, I fay, 
 Thou pow'r of deeps , thy furges lade away 9 , 
 Neptune, great king of waters, and by me 
 Be proud to be commanded. 
 
 Neptune rifes* 
 
 Nept. Cinthia, fee, 
 
 Thy word hath fetch'd me hither : Let me know, 
 Whylafccnd? 
 
 Cinlh. Doth this majeftic mow 
 Give thee no knowledge yet ? 
 
 Nept. Yes, now I fee 
 
 Something intended, Cinthia, worthy thee. 
 Go on j I'll be a helper. 
 
 Cintb. Hie thee then, 
 
 And charge the wind fly from his rocky den. 
 Let loofe thy fubjects -, only Boreas, 
 Too foul for cur intention, aS he was, 
 Still keep him faft chain'd : We muft have none here 
 But vernal blafts, and gentle winds appear ; 
 Such as blow flow'rs, and thro 5 the glad boughs fmg 
 Many loft welcomes to the lufty fpring : 
 Thefe are our mufic. Next, thy watry race 
 Bring on in couples (we are pleas'd to grace 
 This noble night), each in their richeft things 
 Your own deeps, or the broken veflel, brings 10 . 
 
 Be 
 
 9 Thy furges laid a*vay.~\ The printed word hitherto has been 
 laid ; but 1 think it fcarce lenfe. Neptune in leaving the ocean is 
 never fuppofed either to bring his furges with him, or lay them afide, 
 but barely to leave them. The word lade will figr.ify his parting 
 the waves with bis trident to give him a tree pafluge; which is an 
 image quite poetical ! Mr. Snvard. 
 
 10 Jt has been fuggefted to us, by a gentleman whole judgment we 
 have the greateft reuton to rely on, and whole afiiitance we are happy 
 te enjoy, that this pafluge wants explanation. We apprehend it 
 means, * Bring on in cpuple.? your watry race, nauds, triton?, &c. 
 
 VOL. I, B f adorjied
 
 i8 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY, 
 Be prodigal, and I mall be as kind, 
 And Ihine at full upon you. 
 
 Nept. Ho ! the " wind- 
 Commanding ^olus ! 
 
 Enter Molus out of a Rock. 
 jEol. Great Neptune ? 
 
 Nept. He. 
 ALol. What is thy will ? 
 
 Nept. We do command thee free 
 Favonius, and thy milder winds, to wait 
 Upon our Cinthia ; but tie Boreas ftraight j 
 He's too rebellious. 
 
 JEol I mall do it. 
 
 Nept. Do 72 . 
 
 Mol. Great mailer of the flood, and all below, 
 
 ---- Thy 
 
 * adorned with the richeft ornaments your waters naturally produce, 
 ' or which wrecked veffels can furnifh them with. 1 So afterwards, 
 in Neptune's charge to JSolus, he fays, ' Tell them to put on their 
 ' grefeteft pearls, and the molt fparkling ftone the beaten rock 
 ' breeds." 
 
 11 Ho! tbenuinJ 
 
 Commanding jEoIus /] AH the editions have miftaken the intention 
 of the authors here, "fis well known yEolus, in poetic fable, was 
 the mailer and controuler of the winds ; which he was fuppofed to 
 keep bound in a cave, and to let loole upon the ocean as he was 
 commanded by Neptune. He is therefore called here the wind- 
 commanding JEolas ; a compound adjeclive which muft be wrote 
 with an hyphen, as I have reform'd the text. The editors were led 
 into a miftake by the word beirg divided, and put into two lines for 
 the prefervation of the rhyme. I ought to take notice, for two 
 reafons, that both Mr. Seward and Mr. Sympfon join'd with me in 
 ftarting this corrcftion : Becaufe it is doing juitice to the fagacity of 
 my friends ; and, beiides, it is certainly a great confirmation of the 
 truth of an emendation, where three perfons, all diftant from one 
 another, Itrike out the fame oblervation. Mr. Theobald, 
 
 11 In the firfl edition of this play we read, 
 
 Nept. Da, - ' majicr of t'je flwd and all below ; 
 ^ by full command bas taken. JLol. HJ ! the main ; 
 Kfptune. Nept. Here. 
 
 In all the others, the blank between do and tnafter is filled up with 
 
 the
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 19 
 
 Thy full command has taken. Ho ! the Main ! 
 
 Neptune ! 
 
 Nept. Here. 
 
 jEol. Boreas has broke his chain, 
 And, ftruggling, with the reft has got away. 
 
 JNept. Let him alone, I'll take him up at fea ; 
 He will not long be thence. Go once again, 
 And call out of the bottoms of the main 
 Blue Proteus, and the reft , charge them put on 
 Their greateft pearls, and the moft fparkling ftonc 
 The beaten rock breeds IJ ; 'till this night is done 
 By me a folemn honour to the Moon. 
 Fly, like a full fail. 
 
 JEol. I am gone. 
 
 Cintb. Dark Night, 
 
 Strike a full filence -, do a thorough right 
 To this great chorus -, that our mufic may 
 Touch high as Heav'n, and make the Eaft break day 
 At mid-night. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Cinthia, to thy power ar.d thee, 
 
 We obey. 
 Joy to this great company ! 
 
 And no day 
 
 the word great. Mr. Seward would fill it up with Wire, and givfc 
 
 the fpeech to Neptune ; thus, 
 
 Nept. Do. 
 
 We're majler of the flood, antf ail below 
 Thy full command kas taken. JEol. Ho f the main! 
 Neptune! Nept. Here. 
 
 We have followed Mr. Theobald's edition ; thinking his mode, 
 however aukward and haily the departures and re-entrances ofJEolus 
 may be, preferable to Mr. Reward's conjecture ; and alfo to the older 
 editions, which cannot be followed ; for our Authors could not mean 
 to make Neptune call yolus * mailer of the flood. * 
 
 n The beaten rock breeds ] The old quarto's read, beating ; the 
 edition of 1 7 ( i , bearing ; Mr. Theobald's, beaten j which we fup- 
 pofe to be the true reading. 
 
 JB a. Come
 
 2'p THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Come to fteal this night away, 
 'Till the rites -of love are ended -, 
 
 Arid the lufty bridegroom fay, 
 
 Welcome, light, of all befriended. 
 
 Pace out, you watry pow'rs below ; 
 
 Let your ftet, 
 Like the gallies when they row, 
 
 Even beat. 
 
 Let your unknown meafures, fet 
 To the ftill winds, tell to all, 
 That gods are come, immortal, great, 
 To honour this great nuptial. 
 
 \he meafure, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done : 
 
 The day will come too foon j 
 Young maids will curfe thee if thou fteal'ft away, 
 And leav'ft their lofTes open to the day : 
 
 Stay, ftay, and hide 
 
 The bluilies of the bride. 
 Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darknefs cover 
 
 The kifles of her lover. 
 
 Stay, and confound her tears, and her mrill cryings, 
 Her weak denials, vows, and often dyings ; 
 
 Stay, and hide all 
 
 But help not, tho' flie call. 
 
 Nept. Great queen of us and Heav'n, hear what I 
 
 bring 
 
 To make this hour a full one, 
 If not d'ermeafure 14 . 
 
 Cintb. Speak, fea's king. 
 
 '^ If not her meufurt.'} This is the reading of the old quarto's. 
 Mr. Theobald, not comprehending the pr.iT.ige, arbitrarily expunges 
 it. The eafy alteration admitted i,to the ;cxt is the emendation of 
 Mr. Seward ; which certainly (as he fnys) by a very flight change, 
 ' jeftores good fcnfc to the words.' 
 
 Nept. 

 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 21 
 
 Nept. The l$ tunes my Amphitrite joys to have, 
 When they will dance upon the rifmg wave, 
 And court me as the fails. . My Tritons, play 
 JVIufic to lead a ftorm -, I'll lead the way. 
 
 \Meafure. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 To bed, to bed j come, Hymen, lead the bride, 
 And lay her by her hufband's fide : 
 
 Bring in the virgins every one, 
 
 That grieve to lie alone ; 
 
 That they may kifs while they may fay, a maid ; 
 To-morrow, 'twill be other, kifs'd, and faid. 
 
 Hefperus be long a-mining, 
 
 Whilft thefe lovers are a-twining. 
 
 MoL Ho ! Neptune ! 
 Nept. 
 
 ' JEol. The feas go high, 
 
 Boreas hath rais'd a ftorm : Go and apply 
 Thy trident -, elfe, I prophefy, ere day 
 Many a tall ihip will be caft away. 
 Defcend with all the gods, and all their power l6 , 
 To ftrike a calm. 
 
 
 15 The tunes my dmpbitrite joys, <oV.] The old editions read, 
 THY tunes, which is plainly an error of the prefs. The meaning of 
 the paffage is briefly this : Neptune tells Cynthia, that in order to 
 add to the celebrity of the prefent hour, he has brought thofe airs, 
 with which Amphitrite was wont to be delighted, as the prelude to 
 a ftorm ; and which, accordingly, he orders his tritons to play. 
 
 1(5 Mr. Theobald remarks, ' As the rhymes are here interrupted, 
 fomething mujt be loft ; a defeft which is not to be fupplied by 
 conjecture.' However, in that gentleman's edition we find this 
 defeci partly fupplied ; for he reads, 
 
 Defcend with all thy Gods, and all their power, 
 
 To jlrike a calm. Cintb. We thank you for this hour : 
 
 My favour to you all. To gratulate 
 
 So great afervice, &c. 
 
 We have followed the old copies ; from which vfc never chu/e to 
 
 depart, as Mr. Theobald often does, without any authority, without 
 
 improving the poetry, or adding to the fenfc. 
 
 B 3
 
 22 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Cinth. A thanks to ev'ry one, and to gratulatc 
 So great a fervice, done at my defire, 
 Ye mall have many floods, fuller and higher 
 Than you have wifhed for ; no ebb {hall dare 
 To let the day fee where your dwellings are. 
 Now back unto your government in hafte, 
 Left your proud charge mould fwell above the waftc, 
 And win upon the ifland. 
 
 Nept. We obey. 
 
 [Neptune defcends, and thefea-gods^. 
 
 Cinth. Hold up thy head, dead Night , feeft thou, 
 
 not Day ? 
 
 The Eaft begins to lighten : I muft down, 
 And g>ve my brother place. 
 
 Night. Oh, I could frown 
 To fee the Day, the Day that flings his light 
 Upon my kingdom, and contemns old Night? 
 Let him go on and flame ! I hope to feo 
 Another wild-fire in his axletree , 
 And all fall drench'd. But I forgot ; fpeak, queen. 
 The day grows on ; I muft no more be feen. 
 
 Cinth. Heave up thy drowfy head again, and fee 
 A greater light, a greater majefty. 
 Between our fed and us l ~ ! Whip up thy team ! 
 The day-break's here, and yon fun- flaring beam 
 
 '" Between our f e& and us ;] This is nonfenfe. The Night and 
 Cinthia both talk of the morning's approach, and that they muft go 
 down ; till the latter finds out, that they are only the rays of light 
 fliot from the king and court, which they miilook for the day b;t .k. 
 Hence it's plain, it fhould be wrote Bftnveen our fet and us; i. e. 
 our letting, or, going down. Mr. Seward. 
 
 We admit the juftice of Mr. Seward's explanation of the fenfe of 
 this paffage ; but do not fee the neceffity for any alteration. We 
 have therefore followed the old copies ; which only imply, by an 
 extravagant compliment, that the brightnefs of the court tranfcends 
 that of the Sun, and is more repugnant to Night and her attendants 
 than even the fplendor of the Day. 
 
 Shot
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 23 
 
 ,Shot from the South. Say, w 'Mch way wilt thou go ? 
 Night. I'll vanilh into mifts. 
 
 Cinth. I into day. 
 THE MASQUE ENDS, 
 
 King. Take lights there. Ladies, get the bridp 
 
 to bed. , 
 
 We will not fee you laid. Good-night, Amintor; 
 We'll eafe you of that tedious ceremony. 
 Were it my cafe, I mould think time run flow. 
 If thou be'ft noble, youth, get me a boy, 
 That may defend my kingdom from my foes. 
 
 Amin. All happinefs to you. 
 
 King. Good-night, Melantius, [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II, 
 
 Enter Evadne, Afpatia, Dula, and other ladies. 
 
 Dula. TV >T ADAM, fhall we undrefs you for this 
 
 iVl fight? 
 
 The wars are naked, you mufl make to-night. 
 Evad. You are very merry, Dula. 
 
 Dula. I mould be merrier far, if 'twere 
 With me as 'tis with you. 
 
 Evad. How's that ? 
 
 Dula. That I might go to bed with him 
 Wi' th' credit that you do 1H , 
 
 Evad. Why, how now, wench ? 
 Dula. Come, ladies, will you help ? 
 
 18 Mr. Theobald apprehends (we think with reafon) that thefe 
 and Dula's two preceding lines form a ftaaza of fomc old known 
 Ballad.
 
 24 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Evad. I am foon undone. 
 
 Dula. And as foon done : 
 Good ftore of clothes will trouble you at both. 
 
 Evad. Art thou drunk, Dula ? 
 
 Dula. Why, here's none but we. 
 
 Evad. Thou think'ft, belik, there is no modefty 
 When we are alone. 
 
 Dula. Ay, by my troth, you hit my thoughts aright. 
 
 Evad. You prick me, lady. 
 
 Dula. 'Tis againft my will. 
 Anon you muft endure more, and lie ftill : 
 You're beft to practife. 
 
 Evad. Sure, this wench is mad. 
 
 Dula. No, faith, this is a trick that I have had 
 Since I was fourteen. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis high time to leave it. 
 
 Dula. Nay, now I'll keep it, 'till the trick leave me. 
 A dozen wanton words, put in your head, 
 Will make you livelier in your hufband's bed. 
 
 Evad. Nay, faith, then take it. 
 
 Dula. Take it, madam ? where ? 
 We all, I hope, will take it, that are here. 
 
 Evad. Nay, then, I'll give you o'er. 
 
 Dula. So will I make 
 The ableft man in Rhodes, or his heart ake. 
 
 Evad. Wilt take my place to-night ? 
 
 Dula. I'll hold your cards 'gainit any two I know. 
 
 Evad. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Dula. Madam, we'll do't, and make 'em leave 
 play too. 
 
 Evad. Afpatia, take her part. 
 
 Dula. I will refufe it. 
 She will pluck down afide ; fhe does not ufe it. 
 
 Evad. Why, do. 
 
 Dula. You will find the play 
 Quickly, becaufe your head lies well that way. 
 
 Evad. I thank thee, Dula, 'Would, thou coulq'ft 
 
 inftil 
 Some of thy mirth into Afpatia ! 
 
 Nothing
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 25 
 
 Nothing but fad thoughts in her breaft do dwell : 
 Methinks, a mean betwixt you would do well. 
 
 Dula. She is in love : Hang me, if I were fo, 
 But I could rim my country. I love, too. 
 To do thofe things that people in love do. 
 
 Afp. It were a timelels fmile mould prove my cheek : 
 It were a fitter hour for me to laugh y 
 When at the altar the religious prieft 
 Were pacifying the offended powers 
 With facrifice, than now. This mould have been 
 My night ; and all your hands have been employ'd 
 In giving me a fpotlefs offering 
 To young Amintor's bed, as we are now 
 For you. Pardon, Evadne ; 'would, my worth 
 Were great as yours, or that the king, or he, 
 Or both, thought fo ! Perhaps, he found me worfhlefs: 
 But, till he did fo, in thefe ears of mine, 
 Thefe credulous 1 ears, he pour'd the fweeteft words 
 That art or love could frame. If he were falfe, 
 Pardon it, Heaven ! and if I did want 
 Virtue, you fafely may forgive that too -, 
 For I have loft none that I had from you. 
 
 Evad. Nay, leave this fad talk, madam. 
 
 Afy. 'Would, I could ! then mould 1 leave the caufc. 
 
 Evad. See, if you have not fpoil'd all Dula's mirth. 
 
 dfp. Thou think'ft thy heart hard ; but if thou 
 
 be'ft caught, 
 
 Remember me ; thou malt perceive a fire 
 Shot fuddenly into thee. 
 
 Dula. That's not fo good -, let 'em moot any thing 
 but fire, I fear 'em not. 
 
 Afp. Well, wench, thou may'ft be taken. 
 
 Evad. Ladies, good-night : I'll do the reft myfelfL 
 
 Dula. Nay, let your lord do fome. 
 
 Afp. Lay a garland on my hearfe, 
 Of the difmal yew. 
 
 Ev ad. That's one of your fad fongs, madam. 
 Slfp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.
 
 2 6 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Evad. How is it, madam? 
 
 SONG. 
 
 4fp. Lay a garland on my hearfe, 
 
 Of the difmal yew ; 
 Maidens, willow branches bear j 
 
 Say, I died true : 
 My love was falfe, but I was firm 
 
 From my hour of birth. 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 
 Lightly, gentle earth J 
 
 Evad. Fie on't, madam ! the words arc fo ftrange. 
 they are able to make one dream of hobgoblins. ' I 
 could never have the pow'r :' Sing that, Dula. 
 
 "Dula. I could never have the pow'r 
 To love one above an hour> 
 But my heart would prompt mine eye 
 On fome other man to fly : 
 Venus, fix thou mine eyes faft, 
 Or if not, give me all that I mall fee at laft. 
 
 Evad. So, leave me now. 
 
 Dula. Nay, we muft fee you laid. 
 
 Afy. Madam, good- night. May all the marriage- 
 joys 
 
 That longing maids imagine in their beds, 
 Prove fo unto you. May no difcontent 
 Grow 'twixt your love and you ! But, if there do. 
 Enquire of me, and I will guide your moan ; 
 Teach you an artificial way to grieve, 
 To keep your forrow waking. Love your lord 
 No worfe than I , but if you love fo well, 
 Alas, you may difpleafe him^ fo did I. 
 This is the laft time you mail look on me. 
 Ladies, farewell. As foon as I am dead, 
 Come all, and watch one night about my hearfe ; 
 Bring each a mournful ftory, and a tear, 
 To offer at it when I go to earth. 
 
 \Yith
 
 THE MAID'$ TRAGEDY. 27 
 
 With flatt'ring ivy clafp my coffin round j 
 Write on my brow my fortune , let my bier 
 Be borne by virgins that mail fing, by courfe. 
 The truth of maids, and perjuries of men. 
 
 Evad. Alas, I pity thee. [Exit Evad. 
 
 Omnes. Madam, good-night. 
 
 i Lady. Come, we'll let in the bridegroom, 
 . Where's my lord ? 
 
 Enter Ammtor. 
 
 i Lady. Here, take this light. 
 
 Dula. You'll find her in the dark. 
 
 i Lady. Your lady's fcarce a- bed yet ; you muft 
 help her. 
 
 Afp. Go, and be happy in your lady's love. 
 May all the wrongs, that you have done to me, 
 Be utterly forgotten in my death ! 
 I'll trouble you no more , yet I will take 
 A parting kifs, and will not be deny'd. 
 You'll come, my lord, and fee the virgins weep 
 When I am laid in earth, though you yourfelf 
 Can know no pity. Thus I wind myfelf 
 Into this willow garland, and am prouder 
 That I was once your love, though now refus'd, 
 Than to have had another true to me. 
 So with my prayers I leave you, and muft try 
 Some yet-unpractis'd way to grieve and die. [Exit. 
 
 Dula. Come, ladies, will you go ? 
 
 Omnes. Good-night, my lord. 
 
 Amin. Much happinefs unto you all ! [Exeunt ladies. 
 I did that lady wrong : Methinks, I feel 
 Her grief moot fuddenly through all my veins. 
 Mine eyes run : This is ftrange at fuch a time. 
 It was the king firft mov'd me to't , but he 
 Has not my will in keeping. Why do I 
 Perplex myfelf thus ? Something whifpers me, 
 ' Go not to bed.' My guilt is not fo great 
 As my own confcience, too fenfible, 
 Would make me think : I only brake a promife, 
 
 And
 
 2& THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 And 'twas the king that forc'd me. Tim'rous fleflr, 
 
 Why fhak'ft thou ib ? Away, my idle tears ! 
 
 Jr Enter Evadne. 
 
 Yonder fhe is, the luftre of whofe eye 
 Can blot away the lad remembrance 
 Of all thde things. Oh, my Evadne, fpare 
 That tender body ; let it not take cold. 
 The vapours of the night will not fall here : 
 To bed, my love. Hymen will puniih us 
 For being flack performers, of his rites, 
 Cam'ft thou to call me ? 
 
 Evad. No. 
 
 Anon. Come, come, my love,. 
 And let us loole ourfelves to one another. 
 Why art thou up fo long ? 
 
 Evad. I am not well. 
 
 Amin. To bed then -, let me wind dice in diefe arms, 
 'Till I have baniih'd ficknefs. 
 
 Evad. Good my lord, 
 I cannot fleep. 
 
 Amin. Evadne, we will watch ; 
 I mean no fleeping. 
 
 Evad. I'll not go to bed. 
 
 Amin. I prithee, do. 
 
 Evad. I will not for the world. 
 
 Amin. Why, my dear love ? 
 
 Evad. Why ? I have fworn I will not, 
 
 Amin. Sworn ! 
 
 Evad. Ay. 
 
 Amin. How ! fworn, Evadne ? 
 
 Evad. Yes, fworn, Amintor , 
 And will iwear again, if you will wiih to hear me. 
 
 Amin. To whom have you fworn this ? 
 
 Evad. If I mould name him, the matter were not 
 great. 
 
 Amin. Come, this is but the coynefs of a bride. 
 
 Evad. The coynefs of a bride ? 
 
 Amin. How prettily that frown becomes thee. 

 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 Evad. Do you like it fo ? 
 
 Amin. Thou canft not drefs thy face in fuch a look, 
 But I (hall like it. 
 
 Evad. What look likes you beft ? 
 
 Amin. Why do you afk r 
 
 Evad. That I may mew you one lefs pleafing to you. 
 
 Amin. How's that ? 
 
 Evad. That I may mew you one lefs pleafing to you. 
 
 Amin. I prithee, put thy jefts in milder looks. 
 It mews as thou wert angry. 
 
 Evad. So, perhaps, 
 I am indeed. 
 
 Amin. Why, who has done thee wrong? 
 Name me the man, and by thyfelf I fwear, 
 Thy yet-unconquer'd felf, I will revenge thee. 
 
 Evad. Now I mall try thy truth. If thou doift 
 
 love me, 
 
 Thou weigh'ft not any thing compar'd with me: 
 Life, honour, joys eternal, all delights 
 This world can yield, or hopeful people feign, 
 Or in the life to come, are light as air 
 To a true lover when his lady frowns, 
 And bids him do this. Wilt thou kill this man ? 
 Swear, my Amintor, and I'll kifs the fin 
 Off from thy lips. 
 
 Amin. I will not fwear, fweet love, 
 Till I do know the cauie. 
 
 Evad. I would, thou would'ft. 
 Why, it is thou that wrong'ft me , I hate thee ; 
 Thou fhould'ft have kill'd thyfelf. 
 
 Amin. If I mould know that, I mould quickly kill 
 The man you hated. 
 
 Evad. Know it then, and do't. 
 
 Amin. Oh, no ; what look foe'er thou malt put on 
 To try my faith, I fhall not think thee falfe : 
 I cannot find one blemifh in thy face, 
 Where falfliood mould abide. Leave, and to bed. 
 If you have fworn to any of the virgins, 
 That were your old companions, to prefervc 
 
 Your
 
 30 THE MAID's TRAGEDY; 
 
 Yonr maidenhead a night, it may be done 
 Without this means. 
 
 Evad. A maidenhead, Amintdr^ 
 At my years ' 9 ? 
 
 Amin. Sure, me raves. This cannot be 
 Thy natural temper. Shall I call thy maids ? 
 Either thy healthful fleep hath left thee long, 
 Or elfe fome fever rages in thy blood. 
 
 Evad. Neither, Amintor : Think you I am 
 Becaufe I fpeak the truth ? 
 
 Amir.. Will you not lie with me to-night ? 
 
 Evad. To-night ! you talk as if I would hereaften 
 
 Amin. Hereafter ! yeSj I do; 
 
 Evad. You are deceiv'd. 
 Put off amazement, and with patience mark 
 What I mail utter ; for the oracle 
 
 '9 .. . A maidenhead, Amintor, 
 
 At my years?"} Mr. Rhymer, (in his Tragedies of the laft age 
 tor.fiderd and examind by the praftice of the ancients] not without 
 juflice exclaims againft the effrontery and impudence of Evadne's 
 character. But as the colouring of his critical reflections is generally 
 fogrofs and glaring, I fhall refer thofe readers, who have curiofity 
 enough, to his book, without quoting from him on this fubjedl. 
 
 Mr. Ueobald. 
 
 Mr. Theobald allows the juftice of Mr. Rhymer's exclamation a6 
 the effrontery and impudence of Evadne's character ; as if the poets 
 were not as fenfible of it as Mr. Rhymer, and had not fufficiently 
 punifhed her for it. The anger of thefe gentlemen at the cbaraier t 
 is the very paffion defigned to be raifed by it ; but they miftook the 
 otjefi of their anger, and were as much in the wrong as an audience 
 would be, who were violently angry with a good player for repre 
 fenting Macbeth, lago, or Richard, as fuch confummate villains. 
 The qvieftions which a critic mould afk are, whether the charaaer 
 is natural? and whether proper for the jlage or not? As to the firft ; 
 Nature, we fear, gives but too many fad examples of fuch effrontery 
 in women, who, when abandoned to their vices, are obferved to be 
 fometimes more rebrobate in them than the worft of men. Befide 
 this, there is a remarkable beauty in the effrontery and haughrinefs 
 of Evadne's character ; fhe has a family likenefs to her brother j me 
 is a female Melantius depraved by vicious love. Ar/d if there are 
 any of her expreffions which fcem now too grofs for the ftage, it is 
 ftifficient to fay, they were far from being thought grofs in the age 
 fhey were wrote. ' Mr. Seaward. 
 
 Much in fuppqrt of fchis obfervation may be feen in Mr. Seward's 
 Jj-eface. 
 
 Knows
 
 MAID's TRAGEDY. 3* 
 
 Knows nothing truer : 'tis not for a night, 
 Or two, that I forbear thy bed, but for even 
 
 Amin. I dream ! Awake, Amintor! 
 
 Evad. You hear right. 
 I fooner will find out the beds of fnakes, 
 And with my youthful blood warm their cold flefh, 
 Letting them curl themfelves about my limbs, 
 Than deep one night with thee. This is not feign'd/ 
 Nor founds it like the coynefs of a bride. 
 
 Amn. Is flefh fo earthly to endure all this ? 
 Are thefe the joys, of marriage? Hymen, keep 
 This ftory (that will make fucceeding youth 
 Neglect thy ceremonies) from all ears ; 
 Let it not rife up, for thy fhame and mine, 
 To after-ages : We will fcorn thy laws, 
 If thou no better t^efs them. Touch the heart 
 Of her .that thou haft fent me, or the world 
 Shall know : There's not an altar that will fmoke 
 In praife of thee ; we will adopt us fons ; 
 Then virtue mall inherit, and not blood. 
 If we do luft, we'll take the next we meet,- 
 Serving ourfelves as other creatures do -, 
 And never take note of the female more, 
 Nor of her i/Tue. I do rage in vain j 
 She can but jeft. O, pardon me, my love ! 
 So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee, 
 That I muft break forth. Satisfy my fear j 
 It is a pain, beyond the hand of death, 
 To be in doubt : Confirm it with an oath, 
 If this be true. 
 
 Evad. Do you invent tJie form : 
 Let there be in it all the binding word* 
 Devils and conjurers can put together, 
 And I will take it. I have fworn before. 
 And here, by all things holy, do again, 
 Never to be acquainted with thy bed. 
 Is your doubt over now ? 
 
 Amin. I know too much. 'Would I had doubted 
 ftijl ! 
 
 Was
 
 32 THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 
 
 Was ever fuch a marriage-night as this ! 
 
 Ye pow.'rs above, if you did ever mean 
 
 Man fhould be us'd thus, you have thought a way 
 
 How he may bear himfelf, and fave his honour. 
 
 Inftruc~b me in it ; for to my dull eyes 
 
 There is no mean, no moderate courfe to run : 
 
 I muft live fcorn'd, or be a murderer. 
 
 is there a third ? Why is this night fo calm " ? 
 
 Why does not Heaven fpeak in thunder to us, 
 
 And drown her voice ? 
 
 Evad. This rage will do no good. 
 
 Amin. Evadne, hear me : Thou haft ta'en an oath, 
 But fuch a rafh one, that, to keep it, were 
 Worfe than to fwear it : Call it back to thee ; 
 Such vows as thofe never afcend the Heav'n ; 
 A tear or two will warn it quite away. 
 Have mercy on my youth, my hopeful youth, 
 If thou be pitiful , for, without boaft, 
 This land was proud of me. What lady was there, 
 That men call'd fair and virtuous in this ifle, 
 That would have fhun'd my love ? It is in thee 
 To make me hold this worth. Oh ! we vain men, 
 That truft out all our reputation, 
 To reft upon the weak and yielding hand 
 Of feeble woman ! But thou art not ftone , 
 Thy fleih is foft, and in thine eyes doth dwell 
 The fpirit of love , thy heart cannot be hard. 
 Come, lead me from the bottom of defpair, 
 To all the joys thou haft ; I know, thou wilt ; 
 And make me careful, left the fudden change 
 O'ercome my fpirits. 
 
 Evad. When I call back this oath, 
 
 * Why is this night fo calm? 
 
 Why does not Heaven fpeak in thunder to us?~\ The Poets feem 
 manifeilly to have had in their eye this paffage of Seneca, in his 
 Hippolytus. 
 
 Magne regnator Detim, 
 
 Tarn lent us audis fcchra ? tarn lent us <uides? 
 
 Ecquando f<e<va fulmen emittes manu, 
 
 Si nunc ferenum eft ? Mr, Theobald. 
 
 The
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 33 
 The pains of hell environ me ! 
 
 Amin. I fleep, and am too temp' rate ! Come to bed ! 
 Or by thofe hairs, which, if thou hadft a foul 
 Like to thy locks, were threads for kings to wear 
 About their arms 
 
 Evad. Why, fo, perhaps, they are. 
 
 Amin. I'll drag thee to my bed, and make thy 
 
 tongue 
 
 Undo this wicked oath, or on thy flefh 
 I'll print a thoufand wounds to let out life ! 
 
 Evad. I fear thee not. Do what thou dar'ft to me ! 
 fev'ry ill-founding word, or threat'ning look, 
 Thou fhew'ft to me, will be reveng'd at full. 
 
 Amin. It will not fure, Evadne ? 
 
 Evad. Do not you hazard that. 
 
 Amin. Have you your champions ? 
 
 Evad. Alas, Amintor, think'ft thou I forbear 
 To deep with thee, becaufe I have put on 
 A maiden's (Irictnefs ? Look upon thefe cheeks, 
 And thou fhalt find the hot and rifmg blood 
 Unapt for fuch a vow. No ; in this heart 
 There dwells as much defire, and as much will 
 7'o put that wifh'd act in practice, as ever yet 
 Was known to woman ; and they have been fhewn, 
 Both. But it was the folly of thy youth 
 To think this beauty, to what land foe'er 
 It mall be call'd, (hall (loop to any fccond* 
 I do enjoy the beft, and in that height 
 Have fworn to (land or die : You guefs the man. 
 
 Amin. No; let me know the man that wrongs me fo, 
 That I may cut his body into motes, 
 And fcatter it before the northern wind. 
 
 Evad. You dare not ftrike him. 
 
 Amin. Do not wrong me fo. 
 Yes, if his body were a pois'nous plant, 
 That it were death to touch, I have a fowl 
 Will throw me on him. 
 
 Evad. Why, it is the king, 
 
 Amin. The king ! 
 'Vox,. I. C
 
 3 * THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Evad. What will you do now ? 
 
 Amin. 'Tis not the king ! 
 
 Evad. What did he make this match for^ dull 
 Am in tor ? 
 
 Amin. Oh, thou haft nam'd a word, that wipes away 
 All thoughts revengeful ! In that facred name, 
 * The kins:,' there lies a terror. What frail man 
 Dares lift his hand againft it ? Let the gods 
 Speak to him when they pleafe ; 'till when, let us 
 Suffer, and wait. 
 
 Evad. Why mould you fill yourfelf fo full of heat, 
 And hafte fo to my bed ? I am no virgin. 
 
 Amin. What devil put it in thy fancy, then, 
 To marry me? 
 
 Evad. Alas, I muft have one 
 To father children, and to bear the name 
 Of hufband to me, that my fin may be 
 More honourable. 
 
 Amin. What a ftrange thing am I ! 
 
 Evad. A miferable one , one that myfelf 
 Am forry for. 
 
 Amin. Why, mew it then in this : 
 If thou haft pity, though thy love be none, 
 Kill me ; and all true lovers > that mall live 
 In after-ages crofs'd in their defires, 
 Shall blefs thy memory, and call thee good - 9 
 t>ecaufe fuch mercy in thy heart was found, 
 To rid a ling'ring wretch. 
 
 Evad. I muft have one 
 To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead 
 Elfe, by this night, I would : I pity thee. 
 
 Amin. Thefe ftrange and fudden injuries have fall' A 
 So thick upon me, that I lofe all fenfe 
 Of what they are. Methinks, I am not wrong'd ; 
 Nor is it aught, if from the cenfuring world 
 I can but hide it. Reputation ! 
 Thou art a word, no more. But thou haft Ihewn 
 An impudence fo high, that to the world, 
 I fear thou wilt betray or fhame thyfelf. 
 
 Evad.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 35 
 
 Evad. To cover fhame, I took thee ; never fear 
 That I would blaze myfelf. 
 
 Amin. Nor let the king 
 
 Know I conceive he wrongs me ; then mine honour 
 Will thruft me into aftion, tho' *' my flefh 
 Could bear with patience. And it is fome eafe 
 To me in thefe extremes, that I knew this 
 Before I touch'd thee \ elfe, had all the fins 
 Of mankind flood betwixt me and the king, 
 I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine. 
 I have loft one defire " : 'Tis not his crown 
 Shall buy me to thy bed now, I refolve, 
 He has difhonour'd thee. Give me thy hand ; 
 Be careful of thy credit, and fin clofe ; 
 
 11 That myflfjb, &V.] The fenfe plainly requires tho' . ' Tho' 
 ' my nature, lays Amintor, could brook the injury, my honour would 
 ' oblige me to revenge it.' 
 
 " 1 have left one dtjire \ ('tis not his crotvn 
 
 Shall buy me to thy bed, nonv I refolve, 
 
 He has dijhonour'd thee;) give me thy hand, 
 
 Be careful, djfr.] Thus Mr. Theobald prints thefe lines, pre- 
 ferring the word left (which he found in no edition but the firft) 
 to loft. He has, as appears by his note, mifunderftood the whole 
 paffage } the obvious meaning of which is, ' I have fo totally given 
 4 up the defire of confummating our nuptials, that, I refolve, even 
 4 the regal power fhould not induce me to partake your bed no<u/, 
 ' as the king has dilhonoured you.' Either word will make fenfe, 
 have left meaning have departed from, got rid of. 
 
 Mr. Theobald's explanation is, * I have one defire /eft; for it is 
 
 * not his crown mould buy me to thy bed, now I refolve, (i. e. am 
 ' refolved, afcertained,) that he has difhonoured thee. The defire 
 
 * is, to be careful of her credit, and On clofe.' Had this been our 
 Authors' meaning, they furely would not have fo glaringly bid de- 
 fiance to grammar, as thus wantonly to ufe an aftive verb paffively ; 
 we fay wantonly, becaufe, while the ufe of it embarrafles the fenfe, 
 it does not in the leaf! affiit the poetry ; to which fm refold would 
 have been fully as agreeabl* > and, befides, it is moll prob'able they 
 would have faid, 
 
 'TV; not his cro-jjn 
 
 Shall buy me to thy bed, now I'm convinc'd 
 He has dijhonour d thee. 
 
 We have followed the majority of the editions ; to which our 
 principal inducement was, that, as tho word loft appear! fo earty as 
 1622, it vyas probably a correction by Mr. Fletcher. 
 
 C 2 'Tis
 
 36 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 'Tis all I wifh. Upon thy chamber-floor 
 I'll reft to-night, that morning-vifitors 
 May think we did as married people ufe. 
 And, prithee, fmile upon me wlidn they come, 
 And feem to toy, as if thou hadft been pleas'd 
 With what we did. 
 
 Ei} ad. Fear not , I will do this. 
 
 Amin. Come, let us pra&ife , and, as wantonly 
 As ever loving bride and bridegroom met, 
 Let's laugh and enter here. 
 
 Evad. I am content. 
 
 Amin. Down all the fwellings of my troubled heart! 
 When we walk thus intwin'd, let all eyes fee 
 If ever lovers better did agree. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Afpatia, Antiphila and Olympian z \ 
 Afp. Away, you are not fad , force it no further 
 Good gods, how well you look ! Such a full colour 
 Voung bamful brides put on. Sure, you are new 
 
 married! 
 
 Ant. Yes, madam, to your grief. 
 Afp. Alas, poor wenches ! 
 Go learn to love firft , learn to iofe yourfelves , 
 Learn to be fiatter'd, and believe, and blefs 
 The double tongue that did it i4 . Make a faith 
 Out of the miracles of antient lovers, 
 
 * J Mr. Seward, in his Preface, propofes feveral alterations in the 
 fcene which is now coming on ; all of which we .intended mention- 
 ing, and giving our reafons for diffenting from, as the pafLges oc- 
 curred. But as a gentleman, to whofe opinion and abilities the 
 greateft refpeft is due, has remarked to us, that thereby the pnges 
 would be fo much occupied by notes as would be difagreeable to 
 many readers, when the fame observations might appear, with even 
 more propriety, in our Preface, for that we (hall referve them. 
 14 The double tongue that did it. 
 
 Make a faith out of the miracles of ancient lovers. 
 
 Did you ne'er love yet, wenches ? fpeak Olytnpias, 
 
 Such as fpeak truth and dy* d /'/, 
 
 And, like me, believe all faithful, and be tniferable ; 
 
 Tbeu tafl an eafy temper, fit for Jlamp."] The tranfpofuion in 
 fe lines is preferibed (with great propriety) by Mr, Theobald. 
 
 Such
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 37 
 
 Such as fpake truth, and dy'd in't j and, like me, 
 Believe all faithful, and be miferable. 
 Did you ne'er love yet, wenches ? Speak, Olympias : 
 Thou haft an eafy temper, fit for ftamp. 
 
 Olym. Never. 
 
 4fp. Nor you, Antiphila? 
 
 4nt. Nor I. 
 
 4fp. Then, my good girls, be more than women, 
 
 wife : 
 
 At leaft, be more than I was ; and be fure 
 You credit any thing the light gives light to, 
 Before a man. Rather believe the fea 
 Weeps for the ruin'd merchant, when he roars -, 
 Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant fails, 
 When the ftrong cordage cracks ; rather, the fun 
 Comes but to kifs the fruit in wealthy Autumn, 
 When all falls blafted. If you needs muft love, 
 (Forc'd by ill fate) take to your maiden boibms 
 Two dead-cold afpicks 25 , and of them make lovers : 
 They cannot flatter,, nor forfwear ; one kifs 
 Makes a long peace for all. But man, 
 Oh, that beaft man ! Come, let's be fad, my girls ! 
 That down-caft of thine eye, Olympias, 
 Shews a fine forrow. Mark, Antiphila ; 
 Juft fuch another was the nymph QEnone, 
 When Paris brought home Helen. Now, a tear j 
 And then thou art a piece expreffing fully 
 The Carthage queen, when, from a cold lea-rock, 
 Full with her forrow, me ty'd faft her eyes 
 To the fair Trojan mips ; and, having loft them, 
 Juft as thine eyes do, down ftole a tear. Antiphila, 
 What would tfiis wench do, if me were Afpatia ? 
 Here fhe would ftand, till fome more pitying god 
 Turn'd her to marble ! 'Tis enough, my wench ! 
 Shew me the piece of needlework you wrought. 
 
 15 Tivo dead cold ajpisk}.] iitle mull not be two diilinft epi- 
 thets, but one compound acjeclive with a hyphen, dead cold, i.e. 
 cold as death : tor if the afpicks were dead, how could the kiO of 
 *hem do any hurt ? Mr. lievbaid. 
 
 C 3 Ant. 
 
 48389
 
 38 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Ant. Of Ariadne, madam ? 
 
 Afp. Yes, that piece. 
 
 This mould be Thefeus ; h' as a coz'ning face r 
 You meant him for a man ? 
 
 y^/. He was fo, madam. 
 
 Afp. Why, then, 'tis well enough. Never look back \ 
 You have a full wind, and a falie heart, Thefeus ! 
 Does not the ftory fay, his keel was fplit, 
 Or his mafts fpent, or fome kind rock or other 
 Met with his veffel ? 
 
 Ant. Not as I remember. 
 
 Afp. It mould have been fo. Could the gods kno\$r 
 
 this, 
 
 And not, of all their number, raife a ftorm ? 
 But they are all as ill ! This falfe fmile was 
 Well exprefs'd \ juft fuch another caught me ! 
 You mall not go on fo l6 , Antiphila ; 
 In this place work a quickfand, 
 And over it a mallow fmiling water, 
 And his fnip ploughing it j and then a Fear; 
 Do that Fear to the life, wench. , 
 
 Ant. 'Twill wrong the ftory. 
 
 Afp. 'Twill make the ftory ,wrong'd by wanton poets^ 
 Live long, and be believ'd. But where's the lady 
 
 Ant. There, madam. 
 
 Afp. Fie ! you have mifs'd it here, Antiphila ^ 
 You are much miftaken, wench : 
 Thefe colours are not dull and pale enough 
 To mew a foul fo full of mifery 
 As this fad lady's was. Do it by me j 
 Do it again, by me, the loft Afpatia, 
 And you mall find all true, bv|t the wild ifland v . 
 
 Suppofe 
 
 4(5 Youjball not go fo.'] Mr. Seward here reftores the verfe, by in- 
 troducing the particle on. 
 
 2 " And you fiall find all true lut the wild ifland.] Ariadne, the 
 daughter of Minos, king of Crete, it is well known, w^s defperately 
 in love with Thefeus. She by the help of a clue extricated him from 
 the labyrinth to which he was confined ; and embark'd with him on 
 his return for Athens ; But he ungeneroufly gave her the drop on the
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 39 
 
 Suppofe I ftand upon the fea-beach now ? ' 8 , 
 
 Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, 
 
 Wild as that defart i and let all about me. 
 
 Tell that I am foriaken * 9 . Do my face 
 
 (If thou hadlt ever feeling of a forrow) 
 
 Thus, thus, Antiphila : Strive to make me look 
 
 Like Sorrow's monument ! And the trees about me, 
 
 Let them be dry and leaflefs ; let the rocks 
 
 Groan with continual furges -, and, behind me, 
 
 Make all a defolation. Look, look, wenches ! 
 
 A miferable life of this poor picture ! 
 
 Olym. Dear madam ! 
 
 Afy. I have done. Sit down ; and let us 
 Upon that point fix all our eyes ; that point there. 
 Make a dull filence, till you feel a fudden fadnefs 
 Give us new fouls. 
 
 Enter Calianax. 
 
 Cat. The king may do this, and he may not do it: 
 My child is ^wrong'd, difgrac'd. Well, how now, 
 
 hufwives ! 
 What, at your eafe ? Is this a time to fit dill ? 
 
 fhore of the ifland Naxos. Afpatia fays, her cafe is in every par- 
 ticular fimilar, except as to the wild ifland. Mr. 'Theobald. 
 
 18 Snppofe s I fland~\ This is one of thofe paflages, where the 
 poets, rapt into a glorious enthufiafm, foar on the rapid wings of 
 fancy. Enthr.fufm I would call the very eflence of poetry, fince, 
 without it, neither the happy condu-l of the fable, the juftnefs of 
 characters or fentiments, nor the utmoft harmony of metre, can al- 
 together form the poet. It is the frequency of fuch noble flights as 
 thtie, and their amazing rapidity, that fets the immortal Shakefpeaie 
 above all ocher dramatick poets ; and fuffers none of our own nation 
 in any degtee to approach him, but Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 Mr. Scward. 
 
 -V And let all about me 
 
 Be teares of my Jhry.~\ Thus reads the oldeft copy ; from which 
 Mr. Theobald alters the paffage to ' be teachers ofmyftory? The 
 fccond edition, printed in Fletcher's time, and every other till Mr. 
 Theobald's, exhibit the reading we have adopted. 
 
 Mr. Theobald's reading, however, coming fo near that of the 
 oldetl copy, and refembling the mariner of our Authors, is extremely 
 pLuf;ble. 
 
 C 4 Up,
 
 40 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Up, you young lazy whores, up, or I'll fwinge you \- 
 
 Olym. Nay, good my lord. 
 
 Cal. You'll lie down fhortly. Get you in, and work ! 
 What, are you grown fo refty you want heats ?0 ? 
 We mall have fome of the court-boys heat you fhortly. 
 
 Ant, My lord, we do no rnore than we are charg'd. 
 It is the lady's pleafure we be thus in grief: 
 She is forfaken. 
 
 Cal. There's a rogue too ; 
 A young diflembling {lave ! Well, get you in ! 
 I'll have a bout with that boy. 'Tis high time 
 Now to be valiant : I confefs my youth 
 Was never prone that way. What, made an afs ? 
 A court-ftale ? Well, I will be valiant, 
 And beat fome dozen of thefe whelps ; I will ! 
 And there's another of 'em, a trim cheating foldier; 
 I'll maul that rafcal , h'as out-brav'd me twice : 
 But now, I thank the gods, I am valiant. 
 Go, get you in ! I'll take a conrfe with all. [Exeutif, 
 
 ACT III, 
 
 Enter Clean* Strata, an 
 Cle. T7- OUR fitter is not up yet. 
 
 A Dipb. Oh, brides muft take their morn- 
 ing's reft ; the night is troublefome. 
 
 Stra. But not tedious. 
 
 Dipb. What odds, he has not my filter's maidenhead 
 to-night ? 
 
 Stra. No , it's odds, againft any bridegroom living, 
 he ne'er gets it while he lives. 
 
 Dipb. You're merry with my fifter ; you'll pleafe 
 to allow me the fame freedom with your mother. 
 
 * What, are' you grown fo rejly, &c.~\ The old man, in this allu- 
 COB, compares thefe young wenches to lazy, rejly mares, that want 
 to be rid fo many heats. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Stra.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 41 
 
 $tra. She's at your fervice. 
 
 Diph. Then, me's merry enough of herfelf ; me 
 needs no tickling. Knock at the door. 
 
 Stra. We fhall interrupt them. 
 
 Diph. No matter ; they have the year before them. 
 Good-morrow, fifter ! Spare yourielf to-day ; the 
 night will come again. 
 
 Enter Amintor. 
 
 Amm. Who's there ? my brother ! I'm no readier yet. 
 Your fifter is but now up. 
 
 Diph. You look as you had loft your eyes to-night; 
 I think you have not flept. 
 
 Amm. I'faith I have not. 
 
 Diph. You have done better, then. 
 
 Amm. We ventur'd for a boy : When he is twelve^ 
 Jie mail command againft the foes of Rhodes, 
 Shall we be merry ? 
 
 Stra. You cannot , you want deep. 
 
 Amm. 'Tis true. But me, 
 As if me had drank Lethe, or had made 
 Even with Heav'n, did fetch fo ftill a fleep, 
 3o fweet and found [Afidt. 
 
 Diph. W r hat's that ? 
 
 Amin. Your fifter frets 
 
 This morning-, and does turn her eyes upon me, 
 As people on their headfman. She does chafe, 
 And kifs, and chafe again, and clap my cheeks ; 
 She's in another world. 
 
 Diph. Then I had loft : I was about to lay 
 You had not got her maidenhead to night. 
 
 Amin. Ha ! he does not mock me ? You had loft, 
 
 indeed; 
 J do not ufe to bungle. 
 
 Cleo. You do deferve her. 
 
 Amin. I laid my lips to hers, and that wild breath, 
 That was fo rude and rough to me laft night, 
 Was fweet as April. I'll be guilty too, 
 If thefe be the effeds. [Afide. 
 
 Enter.
 
 4 2 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Enter Melantius. 
 
 Mel. Good day, Amintor t for, to me, the name 
 Of brother is too diftant : We are friends, 
 And that is nearer. 
 
 Amin. Dear Melantius ! 
 Let me behold thee. Is it poflible ? 
 
 Mel. What fudden gaze is this ? 
 
 Amin. 'Tis wond'rous ftrange ! 
 
 Mel. Why does thine eye defire fo ftri<5l a view 
 Of that it knows fo well ? There's nothing here 
 That is not thine. 
 
 Amin. I wonder much, Melantius, 
 To fee thofe noble looks, that make me think 
 How virtuous thou art : And, on the fudden, 
 'Tis ftrange to me, thou fhouldft have worth and 
 
 honour; 
 
 Or not be bafe, and falfe, and treacherous, 
 And every ill. But . 
 
 Mtl. Stay, flay, my friend ; 
 I fear this found will not become our loves. 
 No more , embrace me. 
 
 Amin. Oh, miftake me not : 
 I know thee to be full of all thofe deeds 
 That we frail men call good ; but, by the courfe 
 Of nature, thou fhouldft be as quickly chang'd 
 As are the winds , difiembling as the fea, 
 That now wears brows as fmooth as virgins' be, 
 Tempting the merchant to invade his face. 
 And in an hour calls his billows up, 
 And moots 'em at the fun, deftroying all 
 He carries on him. Oh, how near am I 
 To utter my fick thoughts ! [Afide. 
 
 Mel. But why, my friend, fhould I be fo by nature ? 
 
 Amin. I've wed thy filler, who hath virtuous 
 
 thoughts 
 
 Enough for one whole family -, and it is ftrange 
 That you ft\ould feel no want. 
 
 Mel. Believe me, this compliment's too cunning 
 for me.
 
 THE MAID'S TRAGEITY. 4* 
 
 Dipb. What fhould I be then, "by the courfe of 
 
 nature, 
 They having both robb'd me of fo much virtue? 
 
 Stra. Oh, call the bride, my lord Amintor, 
 That we may fee her blufb, and turnjier eyes <}own: 
 *Tis the prettied fport ! 
 
 Amin. Evadne ! 
 
 Evad. [within.] My lord ! 
 
 Amin. Come forth, my love ! 
 Your brothers do attend to wifh you joy. 
 
 Evad. I am not ready yet. 
 
 Amin. Enough, enough. 
 
 Evad. They'll mock me. 
 
 Faith, thoi) malt come in. 
 
 Enter Evadne. 
 
 Mel. Goocl -morrow, fifter ! He that underftancU 
 "Whom you have wed, need not to wim you joy -, 
 have enough : Take heed you be not proud. 
 Dipb. Oh, fifter, what have you done ? 
 JLvad. I done ! why, what have I. done ? 
 Stra. My lord Amintor fwears you are no maid now. 
 Evad. Pirn! 
 Stra. I'faith, he does. 
 
 I knew I fhould be mock'cL 
 With a truth. 
 Evad. If 'twere to do again, in faith, I would not 
 tnarry. 
 
 Amin. Nor I, by Heav'n. [Afidf. 
 
 J)ipb. Sifter, Dula fwears me heard you cry two 
 poms off. 
 
 Evad. Fie, how you talk ! 
 
 Dipfy. J^et's fee you walk, Evadne. By my troth, 
 you're fpoil'd Jl . 
 
 *' Diph. ict"$fee you <wa!L 
 
 Evad. By my troth, you re fpoil'd.^ This is the reading of all 
 fclie editions, even Mr. Theobald's. As it is impofTibic the words 
 thus given to Evadne ftiould be fpoken by her, we have varied from 
 the Copies, by giving them to her brother. 
 
 Mel.
 
 44 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mel. Amintor! 
 
 Amin. Ha? 
 
 Mel. Thou art fad. 
 
 Amin. Who, J ? I thank you for that. Shall DI- 
 philus, thou, and I, fing a catch ? 
 - Mel How! 
 
 Amin. Prithee, let's. 
 
 Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way. 
 
 Amin. I am fo light'ned with my happinefs ! 
 HOW doft thou, love ? kifs me. 
 
 Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me. 
 
 4mm. Nothing but what become us. Gentlemen, 
 ?Wouid you had all fuch v/ives, and all the world, 
 That I might be no wonder ! You're all fad : 
 What, do you envy me ? I walk, methinks, 
 On water, and ne'er fink, I am fo light. 
 
 Mel. 'Tis well you are fo. 
 
 Amin. Well ? how can I be other, when me looks 
 
 thus. 
 Is there no mufic there ? let's dance. 
 
 Mel. Why, this is ftrange, Amintor ! 
 
 Amin. I do not know myfelf -, 
 Yet I could wiih my joy were lefs. 
 
 Dipb. I'll marry too, if it will make one thus. ., 
 
 Evad. Amintor, hark. 
 
 Amin. What fays my love ? I muft obey. 
 
 Eva& You do it fcurvily, 'twill be perceiv'd. 
 
 /#>. My lord, the king is here. 
 
 Enter King and Lyjippus, 
 
 Amin. Where ? 
 
 Stra. And his brother, . 
 
 King. Good morrow, all ! 
 Amintor, joy on joy fall thick upon thee ! 
 And, madam, you are alter'd fmce I faw you 5 
 1 muft falute you ; you are now another's. 
 How lik'd you your night's reft ? 
 
 Evad. Ill, Sir. 
 
 Amin. Ay, 'deed, 
 She took but little. 
 
 Lyf.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 4$ 
 
 Lyf. You'll let her take more, 
 And thank her too, mortly. 
 
 King. Amintor, wert 
 Thou truly honeft 'till thou wert married ? 
 
 Amin. Yes, Sir. 
 
 King. Tell me, then, how mews the fport unto thecl 
 
 Amin. Why, well. 
 
 King. What did you do ? 
 
 Amin. No more, nor lefs, than other couples ufe; 
 You know, what 'tis , it has b\jf. a coarfe name. 
 
 King. But, prithee, ?I J mould think, by her black 
 
 eye, 
 
 And her red cheek, me mould be quick and ftirring 
 In this fame bufmefs , ha ? 
 
 Amin. I cannot tell ; I ne'er try'd other, Sir ; 
 But I perceive me is as quick as you deliver'd. 
 
 King. Well, you will truft me then, Amintor, 
 To chufe a wife for you again ? 
 
 Amin. No, never, Sir. 
 
 King. Why ? like you this fo ill ? 
 
 * z But, prithee, I Jbould think, &c.] This king is a very vicioos 
 character throughout ; firft, in debauching the fitter of his brave and 
 victorious general ; and then in marrying her to a young nobleman of 
 great hopes, his general's darling friend ; and forcing him to break 
 a contract made with the daughter of his conftable, or keeper, of his 
 citadel. But why is his character fo monftroufly overcharged, that 
 he mould, to the impeachment of common decency, queition the ' 
 abufed hufband about his wife's complexion and vigour in conjugal 
 careffes ; and then withdraw her, out of the hi/band's hearing, to 
 iift whether (he had not fubmitted to let him pay the rites of aa 
 hufband ? This is a piece of conduct fo flagrantly impudent, that, 
 abandon'das we may be in private enormities, even oar woift rakes 
 would (hev/ fo much deference to the fair fex, as not to let it pafs 
 without a rebuke. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Mr. Theobald is much miftaken in his impeachment of the king's 
 character. He fays, it is monftroufly overcharged with vices. But 
 does not hiftory afford us a hundred i n {lances of fuch royaj monfters? 
 Indeed, when a vicious king is once perfuaded that he has a divinity 
 about him, that protects his vices and exalts him above the reach of 
 luworjullice, there is no wonder that he mould abandon himfdf to 
 all manner of enormities. Mr. Sevuard. 
 
 Mr. Theobald's remark is fenfible and natural.
 
 46 THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 
 
 Amin. So well I like her. . 
 For this I bow my knee in thanks to you. 
 And unto Heav'n will pay my grateful tribute 
 Hourly ; and do hope we fhall draw out 
 A long contented life together here, 
 And die both, full of grey hairs, in one day : 
 For which the thanks are yoiirs. But if the pow'fs- 
 That rule ws pleafe to call her firft away, 
 Without pride fpoke, this world holds not a wife 
 Worthy to take her room. 
 
 King. I do not like this. 
 All forbear the room, but you, Ammtor, 
 And your lady. I have fome fpeech with you, 
 That may concern your after living well. 
 
 Amin. He will not tell me that he lies with her ? 
 If he do, fomething heav'nly flay my heart. 
 For I fhall be apt to thruft this arm of mine 
 To a6ls unlawful ! 
 
 King. You will fu-ffer me to talk 
 With her, Amirrtor, and not have a jealou's pang ? 
 
 Amin. Sir, I dare truft my wife with whom me dares 
 To talk, and not be jealous. 
 
 King. How do you like 
 Amintor ? 
 
 Evad. As I did, Sir. 
 
 King. How is that ? 
 
 Evad. As one that, to fulfil your will and pleafure, 
 I have given leave to call me wife and love. 
 
 King. I fee there is no lading faith in fin ; 
 They, that break word with Heav'n, will break agaia 
 W r ith all the world, and fo doft thoti with ms. 
 
 Evad. How, Sir? 
 
 King.. This fubtle woman's ignorance 
 Will not excufe you : thou haft taken oaths, 
 So great, methought, they did not well become 
 A woman's mouth, that thou wouldft ne'er enjoy 
 A man but me. 
 
 Evad. I never did fwear fo -, you do me wrong. 
 
 King, Day and night have heard it. 
 
 EvaJ.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 47 
 
 Evad. I fwore, indeed, that I would never love 
 A man of lower place ; but, if your fortune 
 Should throw you from this height, I bad you truft 
 J would forfake you, and would bend to him 
 That won your throne : I love with my ambition, 
 Not with my eyes. But, if I ever yet 
 Touch'd any other, leprofy light here 
 Upon my face -, which for your royalty 
 I would not_ftain ! 
 
 King. Why, thou dirTembleft, and it is in me 
 To punifh thee. 
 
 Evad. Why, it is in me, then, 
 Not to love you, which will more afflict your body^ 
 Than your punimment can mine. 
 
 King. But thou haft let Amintor lie with thee, 
 
 Evad. I have not. 
 
 King. Impudence ! he fays himfelf fo 
 
 Evad. He lyes. 
 
 King. He does not. 
 
 Evad. By this light he does, ftrangely and bafely ! 
 And I'll prove it fo. I did not Ihun him 
 For a night ; but told him, I would never clofe 
 With him. 
 
 King. Speak lower ; 'tis falfe. 
 
 Evad. I am no man 
 To anfwer with a blow -, or, if I were, 
 You are the king! But urge me not; it is moft true. 
 
 King. Do not I know the uncontrouled thoughts 
 That youth brings with him, when his blood is high 
 With expectation, and defire of that 
 He long hath waited for ? Is not his fpirit, 
 Though he be temperate, of a valiant ftrain 
 As this our age hath known ? What could he do, 
 If fuch a fudden fpeech had met his blood, 
 But ruin thee for ever ? If he had not kilPd thee, 
 He could not bear it thus (he is as we) 
 Or any other wrong'd man 33 . 
 
 M He could not bear it thus ; he is as ice. 
 
 Or aaj other wrong d man.~\ Thus all the editions r^ad , but 
 
 M
 
 4* THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Evad. It is difiembling. 
 
 King. Take him ! farewel ! henceforth I am thy foe j 
 And what difgraces I can blot thee, look for, 
 
 Evad. Stay, Sir ! Amintor ! You mall hear.- 
 Amintor ! 
 
 Amin. What, my love ? 
 
 Evad. Amintor, thou haft art ingenuous look, 
 And fhouldft be virtuous : It amazeth me, 
 That thou canft make fuch bafe malicious lys t. 
 
 Amin. What, my dear wife ! 
 
 Evad. Dear wife ! I do defpife thee. 
 Why, nothing can be bafer than to fow 
 Diflention amongft lovers. 
 
 Amin. Lovers ! who ? 
 
 Evad. The king and me. 
 
 Amin. O, Heav'n ! 
 
 Evad. Who mould live long, and love without 
 
 diftafle, 
 
 Were it not for fuch pickthanks as thyfelf ! 
 Did you lie with me ? Swear now, and be punifh'd 
 In hell for this ! 
 
 Amin. The faithlefs fin I made 
 To fair Afpatia, is not yet reveng'd ; 
 It follows me. I will not lofe a word 
 To this vile woman 34 : But to you, my king, 
 The anguim of my foul thrufts out this truth, 
 You are a tyrant ! 
 
 And not fo much to wrong an honeft man thus, 
 As' to take a pride in talking with him of it. 
 
 Evad. Now, Sir, fee how loud this fellow ly'd. 
 
 Amin. You that can know to wrong, mould know 
 
 how men 
 
 Muft right themfelves : What punifhment is due 
 From me to him that mall abuie my bed ? 
 Is it not death ? Nor can that fatisfy, 
 
 as there is no making fenfe of the p;>.ffage fo, we have ventured at x 
 flight alteration, which, we think, rellojres the Authors' meaning. 
 
 J4 - To this wild woman.] Thus all the editions read. We have 
 no doubt ofi<i/e being'the original word, 
 
 Unlefs
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 49 
 
 Unlefs I fend your Lives through all the land 5 % 
 To mew how nobly I have freed myfelf. 
 
 King. Draw not thy fword-, thou know'ft I c< mot 
 
 fear 
 
 A fubject's hand ; but thou flialt feel the weight 
 Of this, if thou doft rage. 
 
 Amin. The weight of that ! 
 If you have any worth, for Heav'n's fake, think 
 I fear not fwords ; for as you are mere man, 
 I dare as eafily kill you for this deed, 
 As you dare think to do it. But there is i<5 _ 
 Divinity about you, that ftrikes dead 
 My rifing paffions : As you are my king, 
 I fall before you, and prefent my fwora 
 To cut mine own flefh, if it be your will. 
 Alas ! I'm nothing but a multitude 
 Of walking griefs ! Yet, fhould I murder you, 
 I might before the world take the excufe 
 Of madnefs : For, compare my injuries, 
 And they will well appear too fad a weight 
 For reaibn to endure ! But, fall"! firft 
 Amongft my forrows, ere my treacherous hand 
 
 3J Unlefs I fend your Lives through all the land.~\ To fend 
 people's Li-vet through all the land is certainly a very odd and 
 unprecedented exprefiion. The poets, doubtlefs, muft have wrote 
 limbs, i. e. Unlefs I hew you to pieces, and fend your quarters, 
 (as is done by malefactors) through the kingdom, to let your 
 fubjecls know my injuries, and the juftice of my revenge : Your 
 bare deaths cannot fatisfy me. Mr. Sympfon. 
 
 We muft differ from Mr. Sympfon, even in the firft obfervation 
 of his we meet with. To fend their Lives 'through all the land, 
 means, to fend an account through the land of their viuous mode 
 of life, and criminal connection. 
 36 Jj ut th cr e is 
 
 Divinity about you, that Jirikes dead 
 
 My rijtng pajfftons ;] So Shakefpeare faid, btfore our 
 Poets, in his Hamlet : 
 
 Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our perfon : 
 
 There's luch divinity doth hedge a king, 
 
 That treafon can but peep to ivhat it would ; 
 
 43t little of it: av:V/. AiV. Theolnld. 
 
 VOL I. D Touch
 
 50 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Touch holy things ! But why (I know not what 
 
 I have to fay) why did you chufe out me 
 
 To make thus wretched ? There were thoufand foots 
 
 Eafy to work on, and of ftate enough, 
 
 Within the ifland. 
 
 Evad. I would not have a fool ; 
 It were no credit for me. 
 
 Amin. Worfe and worfe ! 
 Thou, that dar'il talk unto thy hufband thus, 
 Profefs thyfelf a whore,, and, more than fo, 
 Refolve to be fo dill It is my fate 
 To bear and bow beneath a thoufand griefs, 
 To keep that little credit with the world ! 
 But there were wife ones too j you might have ta,'ert 
 Another. 
 
 Kitfg. No ; for I believe thee honeft, 
 As thou wert valiant. 
 
 Amin. All the happinefs 
 Beilow'd upon rne, turns into difgrace. 
 Gods, take your honefty again, for I 
 Am loaden with it ! Good my lord the king^ 
 Be private in it. 
 
 Kmg. Thou may'ft live, Amintor, 
 JFree as thy king, if thou wilt wink at this, 
 And be a means that we may meet in fecret 
 
 Amin. A bawd ! Hold, hold, my breaft ! A bitter 
 
 curfe 
 
 Seize me, if I forget not all refpects 
 That are religious, on another word 
 Sounded like that ; and, through a fea of fins, 
 Will wade to my revenge, though I mould call 
 Pains here, and, after life, upon my foul! 
 
 King. Well, I am reiblute you lie not with her ; 
 And fo I leave you. [Exit King. 
 
 Evad. You muft needs be prating ; 
 And fee what follows. 
 
 Amin. Prithee, vex me not ! 
 Leave me : I am afraid Ibme fudden ilart 
 Will pull a murder on me.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 51 
 
 Evad. I am gone , 
 I love my life well. [Exit Evadne. 
 
 Amin. I hate mine as much. 
 This 'tis to break a troth ! I mould be glad, 
 If all this tide of grief would make me mad. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Melantius. 
 
 Mel. I'll know the caufe of all Amintor's griefs, 
 Or friendlhip {hall be idle. 
 
 Enter Calianax. 
 
 CaL O Melantius, my daughter will die. 
 
 Mel. Truft me, I am forry. 
 'Would thou hadft ta'en her room ! 
 
 CaL Thou art a Qave, 
 A cut-throat flave, "a bloody treacherous flave ! 
 
 Mel. Take heed, old man ; thou wilt be heard to- rave, 
 And lofe thine offices. 
 
 CaL I am valiant grown, 
 At all thefe years, and thou art but a flave ! 
 
 Mel. Leave ! Some company will come, and I refpe<5 
 Thy years, not thee, fo much, that I could wim 
 To laugh at thee alone. 
 
 CaL I'll fpoil your mirth: I mean to fight with thee. 
 There lie, my cloak ! This was my father's fword, 
 And he durft fight. Are you prepar'd ? 
 
 Mel. Why wilt thou doat thyfelf out gf thy life-? 
 Hence, get thee to- bed ! have careful look ing- to, 
 And eat warm things, and trouble not me : 
 My head is full of thoughts, more weighty 
 Than thy life or death can be. 
 
 CaL You have a name in war, where you (land fafo 
 Amongft a multitude but I will try 
 What you dare do unto a weak old man, 
 In fingle fight. You will give ground, I fear. 
 Come, draw. 
 
 Mel. I will not draw, unlefs thou pull'ft thy dcatji 
 Upon thee with a ftroke. There's no one blow, 
 
 D 2 That
 
 52 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 That thou canft give, hath ftrength enough to kill me. 
 Tempt me not fo far then : The pow'r of earth 
 Shall not redeem thee. 
 
 Cat. I muft let him alone ; 
 He's ftout and able ; and, to fay the truth, 
 However I may fet a face, and talk, 
 I am not valiant. When I was a youth, 
 I kept my credit with a tefly trick I had, 
 Amongft cowards, but durft never fight. 
 
 Mel. I will not promife to preferve your life, 
 If you do ftay. 
 
 Cal. I would give half my land 
 That I durft fight with that proud man a little. 
 If I had men to hold him, I would beat him 
 Till he afk'd me mercy. 
 
 Mel. Sir, will you be gone ? 
 
 Cal. I dare not ftay ; but I'll go home, and beat 
 My fervants all over for this. [Exit Calianax. 
 
 Mel, This old fellow haunts me ! 
 But the diftracted carriage of my Amintor 
 Takes deeply on me : I will find the caufe. 
 I fear his confcience cries, he wrong'd Afpatia. 
 
 Enter Amintor. 
 
 Amin. Mens' eyes are not fo fubtle to perceive 
 My inward mifery : I bear my grief 
 Hid from the world. How art thou wretched then ? 
 For aught J^know, all hufbands are like me 5 
 And every one I talk with of his wife, 
 Is but a well diflembler of his woes, 
 As I am. 'Would I knew it , for the rarenefs 
 Afflicts me now. 
 
 Mel. Amintor, we have not enjoy'd our friendfhip 
 of late, for we were wont to change our fouls in talk 57 . 
 
 * 7 For -we were ivont to charge our fouls in talk.'] This is flat 
 nonfenfe, by the miltake of a fingle letter. The flight alteration I 
 have made, [inferring change for charge'] gives us the tiue meaning. 
 So, in A King and no King,
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 53 
 
 Amin. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jeft of Strato 
 and a lady the lad day. 
 
 Mel. How was't ? 
 
 Amin. Why, fuch an odd one ! 
 
 Mel. I have long'd to fpeak with you -, not of an 
 idle jeft, that's forc'd, but of matter you are bouncl 
 to utter to me. 
 
 Amin. What is that, my friend ? 
 
 Mel. I have obferv'd your words 
 Fall from your tongue wildly ; and all your carriage 
 Like one that ftrove to mew his merry mood, 
 When he were ill difpos'd : You were not wont 
 To put fuch fcorn into your fpeech, or wear 
 Upon your face ridiculous jollity. 
 Some fadnefs (its here, which your cunning would 
 Cover o'er with fmiles, and 'twill not be. 
 What is it? 
 
 Amin. A fadnefs here ! what caufe 
 Can fate provide for me, to make me fo ? 
 Am I not lov'd through all this iQe ? The king 
 Rains greatnefs on me. Have I not receiv'd 
 A lady to my bed, that in her eye 
 Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks * 8 
 
 Immutable 
 
 or for bonejly to interchange my bofom with. Sec. 
 
 And, again, 
 
 And then bow dare you offer to change words with her? 
 Mr. Seward and Mr. Sympfon, concurred with me in ftarting this 
 emendation. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 38 * and on her tender cheeks 
 
 Inevitable Co/our,] This epithet, I know, fignifies, not 
 to be avoided ', not to be efchenued ; but I don't remember that it 
 takes in the idea of not to be rejifled; which is the ienfe required 
 here. The old quarto of 1619 has it, Immutable colour, But 
 metre and emphafis prove that to be a corrupted reading; out of 
 which, I dare be confident, I have extracted the genuine ledion : 
 Inimitable colour ; /. e. a completion not to be paragon'd by 
 nature, nor imitated by art. We may eafily account tor the depra- 
 vation at prefs. The hand-writing in thofe times was almoft univer- 
 fally what we call fecretary : And their i's were wrote without tittles 
 over them. Let us then fee how minute is the diftercncc betwixt 
 D 3 the
 
 54 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Immutable colour, in her heart 
 A prifon for all virtue ? Are not you, 
 Which is above all joys, my conilant friend ? 
 What fadnefs can I have ? No ; I am light, 
 And feel the courfes of my blood more warm 
 And flirring than they were. Faith, marry too j 
 And you will feel fo unexprefs'd a joy 
 In chafte embraces, that you will indeed 
 Appear another. 
 
 Mel. You may mape, Amintor, 
 Caufes to cozen the whole world withal, 
 And yourfelf too , but 'tis not like a friend, 
 To hide your foul from me. 'Tis not your naturq 
 To be thus idle : I have feen you (land 
 As you were blafted, 'midft of all your mirth j 
 Call thrice aloud, and then flart, feigning joy 
 So coldly ! World, what do I here ? a friend 
 Is nothing. Heav'n, I would have told that man 
 My fecret fins ! I'll fearch an unknown land, 
 And there plant friendfhip , all is wither'd here. 
 Come with a compliment ! I would have fought, 
 Or told my friend ' he ly'd,' ere footh'd him fo. 
 Out of my bofom ! 
 
 jfmin. But there is nothing 
 
 Mel. Worfe and worfe ! farewel ! 
 From this time have acquaintance, but no friend. 
 
 Amin. Melantius, flay: You mall know what it is. 
 
 Mel. See 39 , how you play'd with friendfhip ! Be 
 advis'd 
 
 How 
 
 the two words, and how liable they might be to be miftaken one for 
 the other : 
 
 Inimitable, 
 
 Immutable. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 We have inferted Mr. Theobald's note, becaufe we think his con- 
 jefture ingenious ; but have not ventured to difturb the text. 
 
 3? Mel. See, bo-M jcu play d with friend/hip.'] The quarrelling 
 fcene, which is now coming on, has been the fubjeft of much 
 criticifm and controversy. Some have cry'd it up above that cele- 
 brated quarrel in Euripides' s Iphigenia at Aulis, betwixt Agamemnon 
 
 and
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 55 
 How you give caufe unto yourfelf to fay, 
 You have loft a friend. 
 
 Amin. Forgive what I have done ; 
 For I am fo.o'ergone with injuries 
 Unheard-of, that I lofe confideration 
 Of what I ought to do. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Mel. Do not weep. 
 
 What is it ? May I once but know the man 
 Hath turn'd my friend thus ! 
 
 Amin. I had fpoke at firft, 
 But that 
 
 Mel. But what ? 
 
 Amin. I held it moil unfit 
 For you to know. Faith, do not know it yet. 
 
 Mel. Thou feeft my love, that will keep company 
 With thee in tears , hide nothing then from me - y 
 For when I know the caufe of thy diftemper, 
 With mine old armour I'll adorn myfelf, 
 My refolution, and cut through thy foes, 
 Unto thy quiet-, till I place thy heart 
 As peaceable as fpotlefs innocence. 
 What is it ? 
 
 Amin. Why, 'tis this r.Tt is too big 
 
 To get out Let my tears make way awhile. 
 
 Mel. Punifh me ftrangeiy, Heav'n, if he efcape 
 Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this ! 
 
 Amin. Your fifter 
 
 Mel. Well faid. 
 
 Amin. You will wifh't unknown, 
 When you have heard it. 
 
 Mel No. 
 
 Amin. Is much to blame, 
 And to the king has given her honour up, 
 And lives in whoredom with him. 
 
 and his brother Menelfflis : And ctners n vs. d< .-gregioufly 
 
 fauhy in the motives, ajd progre^ ; the working up, iuu ccc'niation 
 of the paflions. For my own part, I will venture tc : 
 an umpire in the c>fe, ihan in pronouncing that I h-.ve alv n 
 
 it received wiih vehement applauie ; and that I ihii <r \oiy 
 affecting on each fide. Mr. 'fbeo'-ai ' 
 
 D 4
 
 56 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mel. How is this ? 
 
 Thou art run mad with injury, indeed ; 
 Thou couldft not utter this elfe. Speak again ; 
 For I forgive it freely , tell thy griefs. 
 
 Amin. She's wanton : I am loth to fay, c a whore,' 
 Though it be true. 
 
 Mel. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow 
 Up, beyond throwing down : What are thy griefs ? 
 
 Amin. By all our friendfhip, thefe. 
 
 Mel. What, am I tame ? 
 After mine aftions, mail the name of Friend 
 Blot all our family, and ilick the brand 
 Of whore upon my fifter, unreveng'd ? 
 My making flefh, be thou a witnels for me, 
 With what unwillingnefs I go to fcourge 
 This railer, whom my folly hath call'd Friend ! 
 I will not take thee bafely ; thy fword 
 Hangs near thy hand j draw it, that I may whip 
 Thy ramnejfs to repentance. Draw thy fword ! 
 
 Amin. Not on thee, did thine anger fwell as high 
 As the wild furges. Thou mouldit do me eafe 
 Here, and eternally, if thy noble hand 
 Would cut me from my forrows. 
 
 Mel. This is bafe 
 
 And fearful. They that ufe to utter lies 
 Provide not blows, but words, to qualify 
 The men they wrong'd. Thou haft a guilty caufe. 
 
 Amin. Thou pleafeft me ; for ib much more like this 
 Will raife my anger up above my griefs, 
 (Which is a paflion eafier to be borne) 
 And I mail then be happy, 
 
 Mel. Take then more 
 To raife thine anger : 'Tis mere cowardice 
 Makes thee not draw ; and I will leave thee dead, 
 However. But if thou art fo much prefs'd 
 With guilt and fear, as not to dare to fight, 
 I'll make thy memory loath'd, and fix a fcandal 
 Upon thy name for ever. 
 
 Amin. Then 1 draw ?
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 AS juftly as our magiftrates their fwords 
 To cut offenders orK I knew before, 
 'Twould grate your ears ; but it was bafe in you 
 To urge a weighty fecret from your friend, 
 And then rage at it. I fhall be at eafe, 
 Jf I be kill'd ; and if you fall by me, 
 I fh ii not long out-live you, 
 
 Mel. Stay awhile. 
 
 The name of Friend is more than family, 
 Or all the world befides : I was a fool ! 
 Thou iearching human nature, that didft wake 
 To do me wrong, thou art inquifitive, 
 And thruft'ft me upon queftions that will take 
 My fleep away ! 'Would I had dy'd, ere known 
 This fad diihonour ! Pardon me, my friend ! 
 Jf thou wilt ftrike, here is a faithful heart ; 
 Pierce it, for I will never heave my hand 
 To thine. Behold the power thou haft in me ! 
 J do believe my fifter is a whore, 
 A leprous one ! Put up thy fword, young man, 
 
 Amin. How fhould I bear it then, me being fo 
 J fear, my friend, that you will lofe me fhortly j 
 And I mail do a foul ac~t on myfelf, 
 Through thefe diforaces. 
 
 Mel Better half the land 
 Were buried quick together. No, Amintor ; 
 Thou ftialt have eafe. Oh, this adult'rous king, 
 That drew her to it J Where got he the fpirit 
 TO wrong me fo ? 
 
 Amin. What is it then to me, 
 Jf it be wrong to you ? 
 
 Mel. Why, not fo much : 
 The credit of our houfe is thrown away, 
 But from his iron den I'll waken Death, 
 And hurl him on this king ! My honefty 
 Shall fteel my fword , and on its horrid point 
 I'll wear my caufe, that fhall aiiiaze the eyes 
 Of this proud man, and be too glittering 
 for him to look on.
 
 58 THE MAJD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Amin. I have quite undone my fame. 
 
 Mel Dry up thy watry eyes, 
 And caft a manly look upon my face ; 
 For nothing is fo wild as I, thy friend, 
 Till I have freed thee. Still this- fwelling breaft ! 
 I go thus from thee, and will never ceafe 
 Jvly vengeance, till I find thy heart at peace. 
 
 Amin. It mull not be fo. Stay ! Mine eyes would tell 
 How loth I am to this -, but, love and tears^ 
 Leave me awhile ; for I have hazarded 
 All that this world calls happy. Thou jbaft wrought 
 A fecret from me, under name of Friend, 
 Which art could ne'er have found, nor torture wrung 
 From out my bofom : Give it me again ; 
 For I will find it, wherefoe'er it lies, 
 Hid in the mortal'ft part 1 Invent a way 
 To give it back. 
 
 Mel. Why would you have it b&ck ? 
 X will to death purfue him with revenge. 
 
 Amin. Therefore I call it back from thee-, for I know 
 Thy blood fo high, that thou wilt ftir in this, 
 And ftiame me to pofterity. Take to thy weapon ! 
 
 Mel. Hear thy friend, that bears more years than 
 thou. 
 
 Amin. I will not hear ! but draw, or I 
 
 3&1. Amintor ! 
 
 Amin. Draw then ; for I am full as refolute 
 As fame and honour can inforce me be \ 
 I cannot linger. Draw ! 
 
 Mel. I do. But is not 
 My mare of credit equal with thine, 
 If I do ftir ? 
 
 Amin. No , for it will be calFd 
 Honour in thee to fpill thy filler's blood, 
 If ihe her birth abufe ; and, on the king, 
 A brave revenge : But on me, that have walk'd 
 With patience in it, it will fix the name 
 Of fearful cuckold. Oh, that word ! Be quick. 
 
 Mel. Then join with me.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 59 
 in. I dare not do a fin, or elfe I would. 
 Be fpeedy. 
 
 Mel. Then dare not fight with me-, for that's a fin. 
 His grief diffracts him : Call thy thoughts again, 
 And to thyfelf pronounce the name of Friend, 
 And fee what that will work. I will not fight. 
 
 Amin. You muft. 
 
 Mel, I will be kilPd firft. Though my pafTiQnjs- 
 Offer'd the like to you, 'tis not this earth 
 3hall buy my reafon to it. Think awhile, 
 For you are (I muft weep, when I fpeak that) 
 Almoft befides yourfelf. 
 
 Amin. Oh, my fort temper ! 
 So many fweet words from thy filter's mouth, 
 I am afraid, would make me take her 
 To embrace, and pardon her. I am mad, indeed, 
 And know not what I do. Yet, haye a care 
 Of me in what thou doft. 
 
 Mel. Why, thinks my friend 
 I will forget his honour? or, to fave 
 The brav'ry of our houfe, will loie his fame, 
 And fear to touch the throne of majefty ? 
 
 Amin. A curfe will follow that , but rather live 
 And fuffer with me. 
 
 Mel. I'll do what worth mall bid me, and no more. 
 
 Amin. 'Faith, I am fick, and defp'rately, I hope 
 Yet, leaning thus, I feel a kind of eafe. 
 
 Mel. Come, take again your mirth about you. 
 
 Amin. I mail never do't. 
 
 Mel. I warrant you ; look up-, we'll walk together; 
 Put thine arm here -, all mall be well again. 
 
 Amin. Thy love (oh, wretched!) ay, thy love, 
 
 Melantius ! 
 Why I have nothing elfe. 
 
 Mel. Be merry then. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Melantius again. 
 
 Mel. This worthy young man rnay do violence - 
 Upon himielf ; but I have cheriih'd him 
 
 To
 
 60 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 To my beft pow'r, and fent him fouling from me, 
 To counterfeit again. Sword, hold thine edge - % 
 My heart will never fail me. Diphilus ! 
 Thou com'il as fent 4 . 
 
 Enter Diphilus. 
 
 Dipb. Yonder has been fuch laughing. 
 
 MeL Betwixt whom ? 
 
 Dipb. Why, our filter and the king ; I thought 
 their fpleens would break; they laugh'd us all out of 
 the room. 
 
 Mel. They mufl weep, Diphilus. 
 
 Dipb. Miift they ? 
 
 MeL They muft. 
 
 Thou art my brother -, and if I did believe 
 Thou hadft a bale thought, I would rip it out, 
 Lie where it durft. 
 
 Diph. You mould not ; I would firft mangle myfelf, 
 and find it. 
 
 MeL That was fpoke according to our ftrain. 
 Come, join thy hands to mine, 
 And fwear a firmnefs to what project I 
 Shall lay before thee. 
 
 Diph. You do wrong us both : 
 People hereafter mail not fay, there pafs'd 
 A bond, more than our loves, to tie our lives 
 And deaths together. 
 
 Mel. It is as nobly faid as I would wilh. 
 Anon I'll tell you wonders : We are wrong'd. 
 
 Dipb. But I will tell you now, we'll right our- 
 felves. 
 
 Mel. Stay not : Prepare the armour in my houfe -, 
 And what friends you can draw unto our fide, 
 
 * Thou corn ft as fent ] This is, as Horace fays of himfelf, 
 Bre<uis e^'e laboro, obfcurus fio. The meaning is, thou com'ft as 
 critically, as if I had fent for thee. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Melantius means, you come at fuch a jundlure, it feems as if 
 Heaven had fent you to aid my fcheme of vengeance. 
 
 Not
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 Not knowing of the caufe, make ready too. 
 Hafte, Diphilus, the time requires it, hafte ! 
 
 [Exit 
 
 I hope my caufe is juft j I know my blood 
 Tells me it is ; and I will credit it. 
 To take revenge, and lofe myfelf withal, 
 Were idle ; and to 'fcape impofiible, i 
 Without I had the fort, which (mifery!) 
 Remaining in the hands of my old enemy 
 Calianax But I muft have it. See, 
 
 Enter Calianax, 
 
 Where he comes making by me. Good my lord, 
 Forget your fpleen to me ; I never wrong'd you, 
 But would have peace with ev'ry man. 
 
 Cal. 'Tis well -, 
 If I durft fight, your tongue would lie at quiet, 
 
 Mel. You're touchy without all caufe. 
 
 Cal. Do, mock me. 
 
 Mel. By mine honour I fpeak truth. 
 
 Cal. Honour ? where is't ? 
 
 Mel. See, what ftarts you make into your hatred, 
 to my love and freedom to you. I come with 
 refolution to obtain a fuit of you. 
 
 Cal. A fuit of me ! 'Tis very like it mould be 
 granted, Sir. 
 
 Mel. Nay, go not hence : 
 'Tis this , you have the keeping of the fort, 
 And I would wifh you, by the love you ought 
 To bear unto me, to deliver it 
 Into my hands. 
 
 Cal. I am in hope thou'rt mad, 
 To talk to me thus. 
 
 Mel. But there is a reafon 
 To move you to it : 1 would kill the king, 
 That wrong'd you and your daughter. 
 
 Cal. Out, traitor ! 
 
 Mel. Nay, but ftay : I cannot 'fcape, the deed 
 once done 
 
 Without
 
 62 THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 
 
 Without I have this fort. 
 
 Cal And mould I help thee ? 
 Now thy treacherous mind betrays itfelf. 
 
 Md. Come, delay me not , 
 Give me a fudden anfwer, or already 
 Thy laft is fpoke ! refufe not offer'd love, 
 When it comes clad in fetrets. 
 
 Cal If I fay 
 
 I will not, he will kill me ; I do fee't 
 Writ in his looks ; and fhould I fay I will, 
 He'll run and tell the king. I do not Ihun 
 Your friendfhip, dear Melantius, but this caufe 
 Is weighty , give me but an hour to think. 
 
 Mel. Take it. I know this goes unto the king ; 
 But I am arm'd. [Exit Melantius. 
 
 Cal Methinks I feel myfelf 
 But twenty now again ! this fighting fool 
 Wants policy : I mall revenge my girl, 
 And make her red again. I pray, my legs 
 Will laft that pace that I will carry them : 
 I fhall want breath,, before I find the king* 
 
 AC T
 
 THE MAlD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Melantius^ Evadne, and a lady* 
 
 Mel. Q AV E you ! 
 
 j^ Evad. Save you, fweej: brother ! 
 
 Mel. In my blunt eye, 
 Methinks, you look, Evadne 
 
 Evad. Come, you would make me blufh.- 
 
 Mel. I would, Evadne : I fhall difpleafe my ends elle. 
 
 Evad. You mail, if you commend me 4I ; I ana 
 
 bamful. 
 Come, Sir, how do I look ? 
 
 Mel. I would not have your women hear me 
 Break into commendation of you ; 'tis not feemly. 
 
 Evad. Go, wait me in the gallery. Now fpeak. 
 
 [Exeunt ladies* 
 
 Mel. I'll lock the door firft. 
 
 Evad. Why? 
 
 Mel. I will not have your gilded things,, that dance 
 In vifitation with their Milan fkins, 
 Choke up my bufmefs. 
 
 Evad. You are ftrangely difpofed, Sir. 
 
 Mel. Good madam, not to make you merry. 
 
 Evad. No; if you praife me, it will make me fad*. 
 
 Mel. Such a fad commendation I have for you. 
 
 Evad. Brother, the court hath made you witty, 
 And learn to riddle. 
 
 Mel. I praife the court for't : Has it learnt you 
 nothing ? 
 
 Evad, Me? 
 
 *' You Jhall, if you command me\\ Thus all the editions: t. e. 
 If you bid me bluih, I fhall. Evadoe is very obfequious in this 
 condefcention : but this, I dare fay, was not the Poets' intention?. 
 They meant fhe fhould fay ; ' Nay. if you commend me, I am 
 4 balhful, and (hall blulh at your praifes :' And. this is confirmed 
 by what Mclantuis idiaediately fubjoins co it. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Mel,
 
 64 THE MAID's TRAGfeDY. 
 
 Mel. Ay, Evadne; thou art young and handfome, 
 A lady of a fweet compaction, 
 And fuch a flowing carriage, tfyat it cannot 
 Chufe but inflame a kingdom. 
 
 Evad. Gentle brother ! 
 
 Mel. 'Tis yet in thy repentance, foolim woman, 
 To make me gentle. 
 
 Evad. Ho 4 w is this ? 
 
 Mel. 'Tis bafe ; 
 
 And I could blum, at thefe years, thorough all 
 My honour'd fears, to come to fuch a parly. 
 
 Evad. I underftand you not. 
 
 Mel. You dare not, fool ! 
 They, that commit thy faults, fly the remembrance. 
 
 Evad. My faults, Sir ! I would have you know, 
 
 I care not 
 If they were written here, here in my forehead. 
 
 JV'el. Thy body is too little*for the ftory 4a ; 
 The lufts of which would fill another woman, 
 Though me had twins within her. 
 
 Evad. This is fancy : 
 Look you intrude no more ! There lies your way. 
 
 Mel. Thou art my way, and I will tread upon thee, 
 'Till I find truth out. 
 
 41 Thy body is too little ftr the ftory, 
 
 "The lufts of -which would fill another woman, 
 Though Jhe. bad twins within her.] This is mock-reafoning, 
 and prima facie (hews its abfurdity. Surely, if a woman has twins 
 within her, (he can want very little more to fill her up. I dare be 
 confident, I have reftored the Poets' genuine reading. The propriety 
 of the reafoning is a conviction of the certainty of the emendation. 
 
 Mr. TbeobaM. 
 Mr. Theobald reads, 
 
 would fill another woman, 
 
 As though Jh'ad twins within her ; 
 
 from which it is evident, he has mifur.deritood our Authors : They 
 do not mean an internal, but an external filling. Your whole body, 
 fays Melantius, is fo far from being large enough to contain an 
 account of your lufts, that, if it was wrote all over, there would 
 Hill remain enough of the ftory to cover the body of another woman, 
 even though ftie were fwelled with twins. Either way, however, it 
 muft be allowed, the thought and expreffion are rather uncouth. 
 
 Evad.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY 65 
 
 Evad. Vv hat truth is that you look for ? 
 
 Mel. Thy long-loft honour. 'Would the gods had 
 
 fet me 
 
 Rather to grapple with the plague, or ftand 
 One of their loudeft bolts ! Come, tell me quickly, 
 Do it without enforcement, and take heed 
 You fwell me not above my temper. 
 
 Evad. How, Sir ! where got you this report ? 
 
 Mel. Where there were people, in every place. 
 
 Evad. They and the feconds of it are bafe people : 
 Believe them not, they ly'd. 
 
 Mel. Do not play with mine anger, do not, wretch ! 
 I come to know that defperate fool that drew thee 
 From thy fair life : Be wife, and lay him open. 
 
 Evad. Unhand me, and learn manners ! Such another 
 Forgetfulnefs forfeits your life. 
 
 Mel. Quench me this mighty humour, and then 
 
 tell me 
 
 Whofe whore you are ; for you are one, I know it. 
 Let all mine honours perim, but I'll find him. 
 Though he lie lock'd up in thy blood ! Be fudden ; 
 There is no facing it, and be not fiatter'd ! 
 The burnt air, when the Dog reigns, is not fouler 
 Than thy contagious name, 'till thy repentance 
 (If the gods grant thee any) purge thy ficknefs. 
 
 Evad. Be gone! You are my brother; that's your 
 fafety. 
 
 Mel. I'll be a wolf firft ! 'Tis, to be thy brother, 
 An infamy below the fin of coward. 
 I am as far from being part of thee, 
 As thou art from thy virtue : Seek a kindred 
 'Mongft fenfual beafts, and make a goat thy brother; 
 A goat is cooler. Will you tell me yet ? 
 
 Evad. If you itay here and rail thus, I mall tell you, 
 I'll have you whipp'd! Get you to your command, 
 And there preach to your centinels, and tell them 
 What a brave man you are : I mall laugh at you. 
 
 Mel. You're grown a glorious whore ! Where be 
 your fighters ? 
 
 VOL I. K What
 
 66 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 What mortal fool durft raife thee to this daring, 
 And I alive ? By my juft fword, h' ad fafer 
 Beftrid a billow when the angry North 
 Plows up the fea, or made Heav'n's fire his food ! 
 Work me no higher. Will you difcover yet ? 
 
 Euad. The fellow's mad : Sleep, and fpeak fenfe. 
 
 MeL Force my fwoll'n heart no further: I would 
 
 fave thee. 
 
 Your great maintainers are not here, they dare not : 
 'Would they were all, and arm'd! I would fpeak loud; 
 Here's one mould thunder to'em ! will you tell me ? 
 Thou hail no hope to 'fcape : He that dares moft, 
 And damns away his foul to do thee fervice, 
 Will fooner fetch meat from a hungry lion, 
 Than come to refcue thee^ thou'ft death about thee 45 . 
 Who has undone thine honour, poifon'd thy virtue, ' 
 And, of a lovely rofe, left thee a canker ? 
 
 Evad. Let me confider. 
 
 Mel. Do, whofe child thou wert, 
 Whofe honour thou haft murder'd, whofe grave 
 
 open'd, 
 
 And fo pull'd on the gods, that in their juftice 
 They muft reftore him flem again, and life, 
 And raife his dry bones to revenge this fcandal. 
 
 Evad. The gods are not of my mind j they had 
 
 better 
 Let 'em lie fweet ftill in the earth-, they'll ftink here. 
 
 Mel. Do you raife mirth out of my eafmeis ? 
 Forfake me, then, all weaknefTes of nature, 
 That make men women ! Speak, you whore, fpeak 
 
 truth i 
 
 Or, by the dear foul of thy deeping father, 
 This fword (hall be thy lover! Tell, or I'll kill theej 
 And, when thou haft told all, thou wilt deferve it. " 
 
 43 ^houft dsath about tbee : 
 
 Has undone thine honour.] The latter editions read, * he has 
 ' undone ;' that it fhould be who, and that Melantius is ftill queftion- 
 ing Evadne about the defiroyer of her innocence, is not, we think, to 
 be doubted. 
 
 EvU
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 7 
 
 Evad. You will not murder me ? 
 
 MeL No ; 'tis a juftice, and a noble one, 
 To put the light out of fuch bafe offenders. 
 
 Evad. Help ! 
 
 Mel. By thy foul felf, no human help mail help 
 
 thee, 
 
 If thou crieft ! When I have kill'd thee, as I have 
 Vow'd to do if thou confefs not, naked, 
 As thou haft left thine honour, will I leave thee ; 
 That on thy branded flefh the world may read 
 Thy black fhame, and my juftice. Wilt thou bend 
 yet ? 
 
 Evad. Yes. 
 
 Mel. Up, and begin your ftory. 
 
 Evad. Oh, I am miferable ! 
 
 Mel. J Tis true, thou art. Speak truth ftilj. 
 
 Evad. I have offended : 
 Noble Sir, forgive me. 
 
 Mel. With what fecure (lave ? 
 
 Evad. Do not afk me, Sir : 
 Mine own remembrance is a mtfery 
 Too mighty for me. 
 
 Mel. Do not fall back again : 
 My fword's unfheathed yet. 
 
 Evad. What mail I do ? 
 
 Mel. Be true, and make your fault lefs^ 
 
 Evad. I dare not tell. 
 
 Mel. Tell, or I'll be this day a-killing thee. 
 
 Evad. Will you forgive me then ? 
 
 Mel. Stay ; I muft afk 
 
 Mine honour tirft. I've too much foolifh nature 
 In me : Speak. 
 
 Evad. Is there none elfe here ? 
 
 Mel. None but a fearful conlcience; that's too many, 
 Who is't ? 
 
 Evad. Oh, hear me gently. It was the king, 
 
 Mel. No more. My worthy father's and my fervices 
 Are lib'rally rewarded. Kins;, I thank thee j 
 
 E 2 ~ For
 
 68 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 For all my dangers and my wounds, thou haft paid me 
 In my own metal : Thefe are foldiers' thanks ! 
 How long have you liv'd thus, Evadne ? 
 Evad. Too long. 
 
 Mel. Too late you find it. Can you be forry ? 
 
 Evad. 'Would I were half as blamelefs. 
 
 Mel. Evadne, thou wilt to thy trade again ! 
 
 Evad'. Firft to my grave. 
 
 Mel 'Would gods th' hadft been fo bleft. 
 Doft thou not hate this king now ? prithee hate him. 
 Couldft thou not curfe him f I command thee, 
 
 curfe him. 
 
 Curfe till the gods hear, and deliver him 
 To thy juft wifnes ! Yet, I fear, Evadne, 
 You had rather play your game out. 
 
 Evad. No ; I feel 
 
 Too many fad confufions here, to let in 
 Any loofe flame hereafter. 
 
 Mel. Doft thou not feel, 'mong all thofe, one 
 
 brave anger 
 
 That breaks out nobly, and directs thine arm 
 To kill this bafe king ? 
 
 Evad. All the gods forbid it ! 
 
 Mel. No -, all the gods require it, they are dif- 
 honour'd in him. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis too fearful. 
 
 Mel. You're valiant in his bed, and bold enough 
 To be a ftale whore, and have your madam's name 
 Difcourfe for grooms and pages , and, hereafter, 
 When his cool majefty hath laid you by, 
 To be at penfion with fome needy Sir, 
 For meat and coarfer cloaths : Thus far you know 
 
 no fear. 
 Come, you (hall kill him. 
 
 Evad. Good Sir! 
 
 Mel. An 'twere to kifs him dead, thou'dft fmother 
 
 him. 
 
 Be wife, and kill him. Canft thou live, and know 
 
 What
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 69 
 
 What noble minds fliall make thee, fee thyfelf 
 Found out with ev'ry finger, made the fhame 
 Of all fucceflions, and in this great ruin 
 Thy brother and thy noble hufband broken ? 
 Thou malt not live thus. Kneel, and fwear to help me, 
 When I mall call thee to it ; or, by all 
 Holy in Heav'n and earth, thou malt not live 
 To breathe a full hour longer ; not a thought ! 
 Come, 'tis a righteous oath. Give me thy hands **, 
 And, both to Heav'n held up, fwear, by that wealth 
 This luilful thief dole from thee, when I fay it, 
 To let his foul foul out. 
 
 Evad. Here I fwear it , 
 And, all you fpirits of abufed ladies, 
 Help me in this performance ! 
 
 Mel. Enough. This muft be known to none 
 But you and I, Evadne ; not to your lord, 
 Though he be wife and noble, and a fellow 
 Dares Hep as far into a worthy action 
 As the moft daring -, ay, as far as juftice. 
 Afk me not why. Farewel. [Exit Mel. 
 
 Evad. 'Would I could fay fo to my black difgrace ! 
 Oh, where have I been all this time ? how 'friended, 
 That I mould lofe myfelf thus defp'rately, 
 And none for pity mew me how I wand'red ? 
 There is not in the compafs of the light 
 A more unhappy creature : Sure, I am monftrous ! 
 For I have done thofe follies, thofe mad mifchiefs, 
 Would dare a woman * J . Oh, my loaden foul, 
 Be not fo cruel to me ; choke not up 
 
 Enter Amintor. 
 The way to my repentance ! Oh, my lord ! 
 
 +* Give me thy hand ] Thus fay ali the editions ; but the fenfe of 
 the following lines requires us to read bands, in the plural ' both to 
 ' Heaven held up.' 
 
 4> Voa/^dare a iomnn,~\ i. t. would fcare, would fright her oat 
 of her wits to commit. />//-. Theobald. 
 
 E 3 Amin.
 
 70 THE MAlD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Amin. How now ? 
 
 Evad. My much-abufed lord ! [Kneels. 
 
 Amin. This cannot be ! 
 
 Evad. I do not kneel to live ; I dare not hope it ; 
 The wrongs I did are greater. Look upon me, 
 Though I appear with ail my faults. 
 
 Amin. Stand up. 
 
 This is a new way to beget more forrow * 6 : 
 Heav'n knows I have too many ! Do not mock me : 
 Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, 
 Which are my fofter-bro triers, I may leap, 
 Like a hand-wolf, into my natural wildnefs, 
 And do an outrage. Prithee, do not mock me. 
 
 Evad. My whole life is fo leprous, it infects 
 All my repentance. I would buy your pardon, 
 Though at the higheft let ; even with my life. 
 That flight contrition, that's no facrifice 
 For what I have committed. 
 
 Atoin. Sure I dazzle : 
 
 There cannot be a faith in that foul woman 
 That knows no god more mighty than her mifchiefs. 
 Thou doit flill worfe, ftill number on thy faults, 
 To prefs my poor heart thus. Can I believe 
 There's any feed of virtue in that woman 
 Left to moot up, that dares go on in fin, 
 Known, and fo known as thine is ? Oh, Evadne ! 
 'Would there were any fafety in thy fex 47 , 
 That I might put a thoufand forrows off, 
 And credit thy repentance ! But I muft not : 
 Thou haft brought me to that dull calamity, 
 To that ftrange mifbelief of all the world, 
 .And all things that are in it, that I fear 
 
 *' T// is no ncvj way, &c.~\ This is the reading of the majority 
 of the copies. It is undoubtedly fenfe; but that which we have 
 followed is rr.cre elegant. 
 
 *~ Would tk ere <ixert any fafety in tky fex,~\ i. e. any fecurity, any 
 trull, or belief, to be repofed in them". M^. Theobald. 
 
 I mail
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 7* 
 
 I mall fall like a tree, and find my grave, 
 Only rememb'ring that I grieve. 
 
 Evad. My lord, 
 
 Give me your griefs : You are an innocent, 
 A foul as white as Heav'n ; let not my fins 
 Perifh your noble youth. I do not fall here 
 To fliadow, by diffembling with my tears, 
 (As, all fay, women can) or to make lefs, 
 What my hot will hath done, which Heav'n and you 
 Know to be tougher than the hand of time 
 Can cut from man's remembrance. No, I do not : 
 I do appear the fame, the lame Evadne, 
 Dreft in the ihames I liv'd in ; the fame monfter ! 
 But thefe are names of honour, to what I am : 
 I do prefent myfelf the fouleil creature, 
 Moft pois'nous, dang'rous, and defpis'd of men, 
 Lerna e'er bred, or Nilus ! I am hell, 
 'Till you, my dear lord, moot your light into me, 
 The beams of your forgivenefs. I am foul-fick, 
 And wither with the fear of one condemn'd, 
 *Till I have got your pardon, 
 
 Amin. Rife, Evadne. 
 
 Thofe heav'nly powers that put this good into thee. 
 Grant a continuance of it ! I forgive thee : 
 Make thyfelf worthy of it ; and take heed, 
 Take heed, Evadne, this be ferious. 
 Mock not the pow'rs above, that can and dare 
 Give thee a great example of their juftice 
 To all enfuing eyes, if thou playeft 
 With thy repentance, the beft facrifice. 
 
 Evad. I have done nothing; good to win belief, 
 My life hath been fo faithlefs. All the creatures, 
 Made for Heav'n's honours, have their ends, and 
 
 good ones, 
 
 All but the coz'ning crocodiles, falfe women ! 
 They reign here like thofe plagues, thole killing fores, 
 Men pray againil ; and when they die, like tales 
 111 told and unbcliev'd, they pafs away, 
 
 E And
 
 72 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 And go to duft forgotten ! But, my lord, 
 Thofe fhort days I mall number to my reft 
 (As many muft not fee me) fhall, though too late, 
 Though in my evening, yet perceive a will ; 
 Since I can do no good, becaufe a woman, 
 Reach conftantly at ibmething that is near it : 
 I will redeem one minute of my age, 
 Or, like another Niobe, I'll weep 
 .'Till I am water. 
 
 Amin. I am now difiblv'd : 
 My frozen foul melts. May each fin thou haft, 
 Find a new mercy ! Rife \ I am at peace. 
 Hadft thou been thus, thus excellently good, 
 Before that devil king tempted thy frailty, 
 Sure thou hadft made a,ftar ! Give me thy hand* 
 From this time I will know thee ; and, as far 
 As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor. 
 When we meet next, I will falute thee fairly. 
 And pray the gods to give thee happy days. 
 My charity fhall go along with thee, 
 Though my embraces muft be far from thee. 
 I mould have kill'd thee, but this fweet repentance 
 Locks up my vengeance , for which thus I kifs thee 
 The laft kifs we muft take ! And 'would to Heav'n 
 The holy prieft, that gave our hands together, 
 Had giv'n us equal virtues ! Go, Evadne ; 
 The gods thus part our bodies. Have a care 
 My honour falls no farther : I am well then. 
 
 Evad. All the dear joys here, and, above, hereafter, 
 Crown thy fair foul ! Thus I take leave, my lord ; 
 And never fhall you fee the foul Evadne, 
 'Till me have try'd all honour'd means, that may 
 Set her in reft, and wafh her ftains away. [Exeunt. 
 
 B A N QJJ E T. Enter King and Calianax. 
 
 Hautboys flay 'within. 
 
 King. I cannot tell how I mould credit this 
 From you, that are his enemy. 
 
 Cat.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 73 
 
 Cal. I'm lure - 
 
 He faid it to me; and I'll juftify it 
 What way he dares oppofe but with my fword. 
 
 King. But did he break, without all circumftance, 
 To you, his foe, that he would have the fort, 
 To kill me, and then 'fcape ? 
 . Cal. If he deny it, 
 I'll make him blufh. 
 
 King. It founds incredibly. 
 
 Cal. Ay, fo does ev'ry thing I fay of late. 
 
 King. Not fo, Calianax. 
 
 Cal. Yes, I mould fit 
 
 Mute, whilft a rogue with ftrong arms cuts your 
 throat. 
 
 King. Well, I will try him -, and, if this be true, 
 I'll pawn my life I'll find it. If 't be falfe, 
 And that you clothe your hate in fuch a lye, 
 You fnall hereafter dote in your own houfe, 
 Not in the court. 
 
 Cal. Why, if it be a lye, 
 
 Mine ears are falfe j for, I'll be fworn, I heard it, 
 Old men are good for nothing : You were beft 
 Put me to death for hearing, and free him 
 For meaning it. You would have trufted me 
 Once, but the time is alter'd. 
 
 King. And will ftill, 
 
 Where I may do with juftice to the world : 
 You have no witnefs. 
 
 Cal. Yes, myfelf. 
 
 King. No more, 
 I mean, there were that heard it. 
 
 Cal. How ! no more ? 
 
 Would you have more ? why, am not J enough 
 To hang a thoufand rogues ? 
 
 King. But, fo, you may 
 Hang honeft men too, if you pleafe. 
 
 Cal. I may ! 
 
 'Tis like I will do fo : There are a hundred 
 Will fwear it for a need too, if I fay it r 
 
 Etg.
 
 74 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 King. Such witneffes we need not: 
 Cal And 'tis hard 
 
 If my word cannot hang a boift'rous knave. 
 King. Enough. Where's Strato ? 
 
 Enter Strato. 
 
 Stra. Sir! 
 
 King. Why, where is all the company ? Call 
 
 Amintor in ; 
 
 Evadne. Where's my brother, and Melantius ? 
 Bid him come too; and Diphilus. Call all [Exit Strato. 
 That are without there. If he mould defire 
 The combat of you, 'tis not in the pow'r 
 Of all our laws to hinder it, unlefs 
 We mean to quit 'em. 
 
 Cal. Why, if you do think 
 'Tis fit an old man, and a counfellor, 
 Do fight for what he fays, then you may grant it. 
 
 Enter Amintor^ Evadne, Melantius^ Diphilus, Lyjippus, 
 Cleen, Strato. 
 
 King. Come, Sirs ! Amintor, thou art yet a 
 
 bridegroom, 
 
 And I will ufe thee fo : Thou malt fit down. 
 Evadne, fit ; and you, Amintor, too : 
 This banquet is for you, Sir. Who has brought 
 A merry tale about him, to raife laughter 
 Amongft our wine ?' Why, Strato, where art thou ? 
 Thou wilt chop out with them unfeafonably, 
 When I defire them not. 
 
 Stra. 'Tis my ill luck, Sir, fo to fpend them then. 
 
 King. Reach me a bowl of wine. Melantius, thou 
 Art lad* 8 . 
 
 Mel 
 
 + 8 King. Reach me a bo-jjl of nvine : Melantius t thou art fad. 
 
 Amin. Ijbouldbc, Sir, &c.] I have adjufted the metre, which 
 was confufed ; and , by the afiiitance of the old quarto in '619, i-ffi^ed 
 the reply to the right character. The king .iddreffed himfelf to Me- 
 lantia? ; and what impertinence it is in Amintor to take his friend's 
 anfwer out of liis mouth. Mr. Tkcolald. 
 
 We
 
 THE MAPD's TRAGEDY. 75 
 
 Mel. I fhould be, Sir, the merrieft here, 
 But I have ne'er a ftory of my own 
 Worth telling at this .time. 
 
 King. Give me the wine. 
 Melantius, I am now confidering 
 How eafy 'twere, for any man we truft, 
 To poifon one of us in fuch a bowl. 
 
 Mel. I think it were not hard, Sir, for a knave, 
 
 Cat. Such as you are. 
 
 King. I'faith, 'twere eafy : It becomes us well 
 To get plain-dealing men about ourfelves ; 
 Such as you all are here. Amintor, to thee ; 
 And to thy fair Evadne. 
 
 Mel. Have you thought of this, Calianax ? [dparf. 
 
 Cat. Yes, marry, have I. 
 
 Mel. And what's your refolution ? 
 
 Cal. You lhall have it, foundly, I warrant you. 
 
 King. Reach to Amintor, Strato. 
 
 Amin. Here, my love, 
 This wine will do thee wrong, for it will fet 
 Bluihes upon thy cheeks v and, 'till thou doft 
 A fault, 'twere pity. 
 
 King. Yet, I wonder much 
 At the ftrange defperation of thefe men, 
 That dare attempt fuch acts here in our ftatc : 
 He could not 'fcape, that did it. 
 
 Mel. Were he known, 
 Impomblc. 
 
 King. It would be known, Melantius. 
 
 Mel. It ought to be : If he got then away, 
 He muft wear all our lives upon his fword. 
 He need not fly the iiland j he muft leave 
 No one alive. 
 
 We have no doubt but the anfwer belongs to Melantius ; rot only 
 for the reafon Mr. Theobald gives, which has Come force, but be- 
 caufe the king has juft told Amintor, that ' the banquet was for him.' 
 and afks, ' who has brought a merry tale about him?' and then im- 
 mediately addrcfles Mclantius. telling him ' he is fad ;' to which it is 
 natural for Melantios to reply. 
 
 King.
 
 76 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 King. No; I mould think no man 
 Could kill me, and 'fcape clear, but that old man. 
 
 Cal. But I! heaven blefs me ! I! ihoaldl, my liege? 
 
 King. I do not think thou would'ft j but yet thou 
 
 might'ft ; 
 
 For thou haft in thy hands the means to 'fcape, 
 By keeping of the fort. He has, Meiantius, 
 And he has kept it well. 
 
 Mel. From cobwebs, Sir, 
 Tis clean fwept : I can find no other art 
 In keeping of it now : 'Twas ne'er befieg'd 
 Since he commanded it. 
 
 Cal. I mall be fure 
 
 Of your good word : But I have kept it fafe 
 From fuch as you. 
 
 Mel. Keep your ill temper in : 
 I fpeak no malice. Had my brother kept it, 
 I mould have faid as much. 
 
 King. You are not merry. 
 
 Brother, drink wine. Sit you all ftill ! Calianax, 
 I cannot truft thus : I have thrown out words, 
 That would have fetch'd warm blood upon the cheeks 
 Of guilty men, and he is never mov'd : 
 He knows no fuch thing. [Apart* 
 
 Cal. Impudence may 'fcape, 
 When feeble virtue is accus'd. 
 
 King. He muft, 
 
 If he were guilty, feel an alteration 
 At this our whifper, whilft we point at him : 
 You fee he does not. 
 
 Cal. Let him hang himfelf : 
 What care I what he does ? This he did fay. 
 
 King. Meiantius, you can eafily conceive 
 What I have meant , for men that are in fault 
 Can fubtly apprehend, when others aim 
 At what they do amifs : But I forgive 
 Freely, before this man. Heav'n do fo too ! 
 I will not touch thee, fo much as with fhame 
 Of telling it. Let it be fo no more. 
 
 Cal.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 77 
 
 Cal. Why, this is very fine. 
 
 MeL I cannot tell 
 
 What 'tis you mean ; but I am apt enough 
 Ruaely to thruft into an ignorant fault. 
 But let me know it : Happily, 'tis nought 
 But mifconft:: Action-, and, where I am clear, 
 I will not take forgivenefs of the gods, 
 Much lefs of you. 
 
 King. Nay, if you ftand fo ft iff, 
 I mall call back my m.rcy. 
 
 Mel. I want fmoothnefs 
 To thank a man for pardoning of a crime 
 I never knew, 
 
 King. Not to inflruct your knowledge, but to 
 
 Ihew you 
 
 My ears are wery where, you meant to kill me s 
 And get the fort to 'fcape. 
 
 Mel. Pardon me, Sir; 
 
 My bluntnefs will be pardoned : You preferve 
 A race of idle people here about you, 
 Facers and talkers **, to defame the worth 
 Of thole that do things worthy. The man that 
 
 utter'd this 
 
 Had perifh'd without food, be't who it will, 
 But for this arm, that fenc'd him from the foe. 
 And if I thought you gave a faith to this, 
 The plainnefs of my nature would fpeak more. 
 Give me a pardon (for you ought to do't) 
 To kill him that ipake this. 
 
 Cal. Ay, that will be 
 The end of all : Then I am fairly paid 
 For all my care and fervice. 
 
 Mel. That old man, 
 Who calls me enemy, and of whom I 
 (Though I will never match my hate fo low) 
 
 4 ? Eaters and talkers. ,] Moft of the latter editions concur in this 
 reading ; which is evidently corrupt. Facers, and facing, are words 
 pfed by our Authors to exprefs jhamelefs people and effrontery. 
 
 Have
 
 78 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 Have no good thought, would yet, I think, excufe me,, 
 And fwear he thought me wrong'd in this. 
 
 Cal. Who, I? 
 
 Thou fhamelefs fellow ! Didft thou not fpeak to me 
 Of it thyfelf. 
 
 Mel. Oh, then it came from him ? 
 
 Cal. From me ! who mould it come from, but 
 from me ? 
 
 Mel. Nay, I believe your malice is enough : 
 But I have loft my anger. Sir, I hope 
 You are well fatisfied. 
 
 King. Lyfippus, chear 
 Amintor and his lady , there's no found 
 Comes from you ; I' will come and do't myfelf. 
 
 Amin. You have done already, Sir, for me, I 
 thank you. 
 
 King. Melantius, I do credit this from him, 
 How flight foe'er you make't. 
 
 Mel. 'Tis ftrange you mould. 
 
 Cal. 'Tis ftrange he mould believe an old man's 
 
 word, 
 That never ly'd in's life. 
 
 Mel. I talk not to thee ! 
 Shall the wild words of this diftemper'd man, 
 Frantic with age and forrow, make a breach 
 Betwixt your majefty and me ? 'Twas wrong 
 To hearken to him ; but to credit him, 
 As much, at leaft, as I have pow'r to bear. 
 But pardon me whiift I fpeak only truth, 
 I may commend myfelf I have beftow'd 
 My carelefs blood with you, and mould be loth 
 To think an action that would make me lofe 
 That, and my thanks too. When I was a boy, 
 I thruft myfelf into my country's catife, 
 And did a deed that pluck'd five years from time, 
 And ftyl'd me man then. And for you, my king, 
 Your fubjefts all have fed by virtue of 
 My arm. This fword of mine hath plow'd the 
 ground, 
 
 And
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 79 
 
 And reapt the fruit in peace J0 ; 
 
 And you yourfelf have liv'd at home in eafe. 
 
 So terrible I grew, that, without fwords, 
 
 My name hath fetch'd you conqueft : And my heart 
 
 And limbs are ftill the fame , my will as great 
 
 To do you fervice. Let me not be paid 
 
 With fuch a ftrange diilruft. 
 
 King. Melantius, 
 I held it great injuftice to believe 
 Thine enemy, and did not ; if I did, 
 I do net , let that fatisfy. What, {truck 
 With fadneis all ? More wine ! 
 
 Cal. A few fine words 
 Have overthrown my truth. Ah, th'art a villain. 1 
 
 Mel. Why, thou wert better let me have the fort, 
 Dotard ! I will difgrace thee thus for ever : 
 There mail no credit lie upon thy words. 
 Think better, and deliver it. [Apart. 
 
 Cal. My liege, 
 
 He's at me now again to do it. Speak - 9 
 Deny it, if thou canft. Examine him 
 While he is hot -, for if he cool again, 
 He will forfwear it. 
 
 King. This is lunacy, 
 I hope, Melantius. 
 
 Mel. He hath loft himfelf 
 Much, fmce his daughter mifs'd the happinefs 
 My fifter gain'd j and, though he call me foe, 
 I pity him. 
 
 Cal. Pity ? a pox upon you ! 
 
 Mel. Mark his diibrder'd words! And, at the 
 
 Mafque, 
 
 Diagoras knows, he rag'd, and rail'd at me, 
 And call'd a lady whore, fo innocent 
 She underftood him not. But it becomes 
 
 * And they have re apt the fruit of it in peace. ] Thus Mr. Seward 
 prints this line. We think the alteration judicious ; but do notchufe 
 to depart fo far from the old copies. 
 
 Both
 
 So THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Both you and me too to forgive diftradtion : 
 Pardon him, as I do. 
 
 Cal. I'll not fpeak for thee, 
 For all thy cunning. If you will be fafe, 
 Chop off his head ; for there was never known 
 So impudent a rafcal. 
 
 King. Some, that love him, 
 Get him to-bed. Why, pity mould not let 
 Age make itfelf contemptible ; we muft be 
 All old j have him away. 
 
 Mel. Calianax, 
 
 The king believes you -, come, you mall go home, 
 And reft ; you have done well. You'll give it up 
 When I have us'd you thus a month, I hope, [dpart. 
 
 Cal. Now, now, 'tis plain, Sir -, he does move me 
 
 ftill. 
 
 He fays, he knows I'll give him up the fort, 
 When he has us'd me thus a month. I am mad, 
 Am I not, ftill ? 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Cal. I mall be mad indeed, if you do thus ! 
 Why mould you truft a fturdy fellow there 
 (That has no virtue in him ; all's in his fword) 
 Before me ? Do but take his weapons from him, 
 And he's an afs , and I'm a very fool, 
 Both with him, and without him, as you ufe me. 
 
 Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 King. 'Tis well, Calianax. But if you ufe 
 This once again, I mail entreat fome other 
 To fee your offices be well difcharg'd. 
 Be merry, gentlemen ; it grows fomewhat late. 
 Aminror, thou wouldft be a-bed again. 
 
 Amin. Yes, Sir. 
 
 King. And you, Evadne. Let me take 
 Thee in my arms, Melantius, and believe 
 Thou art, as thou deferv'il to be, my friend 
 Still, and for ever. Good Calianax, 
 Sleep foundly , it will bring thee. to thyfelf. [Exeunt.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 Manent Melantius and Catianax. 
 
 Cat. Sleep foundly ! I fleep foundly now, I hope j 
 I could not be thus elfe. How dar'ft thou flay 
 Alone with me, knowing how thou haft us'd me ? 
 
 Mel. You cannot blaft me with your tongue, and 
 
 that's 
 The ftrongeft part you have about you. 
 
 Cal. Ay, 
 
 Do look for forrie great ptmimment for this : 
 For I begin to forget all my hate, 
 And take 't unkindly that mine enemy 
 Should ufe me ib extr'ordinarily fcurvily. 
 
 Mel. I mall melt too, if you begin to take 
 Unkindnefies : I never meant you hurt. 
 
 Cal. Thou 'It anger me again. Thou wretched rogue, 
 Meant me no hurt ! Difgrace me with the king j 
 Lofe all my offices ! This is no hurt, 
 Is it ? I prithee^ what doft thou call hurt ? 
 
 Mel. To poifon men, becaufe they love me not ; 
 To call the credit of mens' wives in queftion ; 
 To murder children betwixt me and land ; 
 This is all hurt. 
 
 Cal. All this^ thou think'ft, is fport -, 
 For mine is worfe : But ufe thy will with me ; 
 For, betwixt grief and anger, I could cry. 
 
 Mel. Be wife then, and be fafe-, thou may'ft revenge. 
 
 Cal. Ay, o' the King ? I would revenge o' thee. 
 
 Mel. That- you muil plot yourfelf. 
 
 Cal. I'm a fine plotter. 
 
 Mel. The mort is, I will hold thee with the king 
 In this perplexity, till peevifhnefs 
 And thy difgrace have laid thee in thy grave. 
 But if thou wilt deliver up the fort, 
 I'll take thy trembling body in my arms, 
 And bear thee over dangers : Thou (halt hold 
 Thy wonted (late. 
 
 Cal. If I fhould tell the king, 
 Canit thou deny 't again ? 
 
 VOL. I. F Mtl
 
 82 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mel. Try, and believe. 
 
 Cat. Nay then, thou canft bring any thing about, 
 Thou malt have the fort. 
 
 Mel. Why, well ; here let our hate be buried ; and 
 This hand {hall right us both. Give me thy aged breaft 
 To compafs. 
 
 Cal. Nay, I do not love thee yet -, 
 I cannot well endure to look on thee : 
 And, if I thought it were a courtefy, 
 Thou fhould'ft not have it. But I am difgrac*d ; 
 My offices are to be ta'en away ; 
 And, if I did but hold this fort a day, 
 I do believe, the King would take it from me, 
 And give it thee, things are fo ftrangely carried. 
 Ne'er thank me for't , but yet the King mall know 
 There was fome fuch thing in't I told him of; 
 And that I was an honeft man. 
 
 Mel. He'll buy 
 That knowledge very dearly. Diphilus, 
 
 Enter Diphilus. 
 What news with thee ? 
 
 Dipb. This were a night indeed 
 To do it in : The King hath fent for her. 
 
 Mel. She mall perform it then. Go, Diphilus, 
 And take from this good man, my worthy friend, 
 The fort , he'll give it thee. 
 
 Dipb. Have you got that ? 
 
 Cal. Art thou 'of the fame breed ? Canft thou deny 
 This to the king too ? 
 
 Dipb. With a confidence 
 As great as his. 
 
 Cal. Faith, like enough. 
 
 Mel. Away, and ufe him kindly, 
 
 Cal. Touch not me , 
 
 I hate the whole ftrain. If thou follow me, 
 A great way off, I'll give thee up the fort ; 
 A nd hang yotfrfelves. 
 
 Mel. Be gone, 
 
 Dipb.
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 83 
 D'tpb. He's finely wrought. [Exeunt Cat. and Dipb. 
 Mel. This is a night, 'fpite of aftronomers, 
 To do the deed in. I will wafti the ftain, 
 That refts upon our houfe, off with his blood. 
 
 Enter Amintor. 
 
 Amin. Melantius, now aflift me : If thou be'ft 
 That which thou fay'ft, aflift me. I have loft 
 All my diftempers, and have found a rage 
 So pleafing ! Help me. 
 
 Mel. Who can fee him thus, 
 And not fwear vengeance ? What's the matter, friend ? 
 
 Amin. Out with thy fword , and, hand in hand 
 
 with me, 
 
 Rufli to the chamber of this hated king ; 
 And fink him, with the weight of all his fins, 
 To hell for ever. 
 
 Md. 'Twere a ram attempt, 
 Not to be done with fafety. Let your reafon 
 Plot your revenge, and not your paffion. 
 
 Amin. If thou refufeft me in thefe extremes, ' 
 Thou art no friend : He fent for her to me , 
 By Heav'n, to me, myfelf ! And, I muft tell you, 
 I love her, as a ftranger ; there is worth 
 In that vile woman, worthy things, Melantius-, 
 And me repents. I'll do't myfelf alone, 
 Though I be flain. Farewel. 
 
 Mel. He'll overthrow 
 My whole defign with madnefs. Amintor, 
 Think what thou doft : I dare as much as Valour j 
 But 'tis the king, the king, the king, Amintor, 
 With whom thou fighteft ! I know he's honeft, 
 And this will work with him. [Ajlde. 
 
 Amin. I cannot tell 
 
 What thou haft laid i but thou haft charm'd my fword 
 Out of my hand, and left me ihaking here, 
 Defencelefs. 
 
 Mel. I will take it up for thce. 
 
 Amin, What a wild beail is uncollecTied man ! 
 
 F i The
 
 84 THE MAIDVTRAGEDY. 
 
 The thing, that we call honour, bears us all 
 Headlong unto fin, and yet itfelf is nothing. 
 
 Mel. Alas, how variable are thy thoughts ! 
 
 Ami*. Juft like my fortunes : I was run to that 
 I purpos'd to have chid thee for. Some plot, 
 I did diftruft, thou hadft agatnft the king, 
 By that old fellow's carriage. But take heed ; 
 There's not the leaft limb growing to a king, 
 But carries thunder in it. 
 
 Mel. I have none againft him. 
 
 Amin. Why, come then ; and ftiil remember, 
 We may not think revenge. 
 . Mtl. I will remember. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter Evadne, and a gentleman. 
 Evad. O I R, is the king a-bed ? 
 
 j^5 Gent. Madam, an hour ago. 
 
 Evad. Give me the key then, and let none be near; 
 'Tis the king's pleafure. 
 
 Gent. I underftand you, madam ; 'would 'twere mine. 
 I muft not wim good reft unto your ladymip. 
 
 Evad. You talk, you talk. 
 
 Gent. 'Tis all I dare do, madam j but the king 
 Will wake, and then 
 
 Evad. Saving your imagination, pray, good night, 
 Sir. 
 
 Gent. A good night be it then, and a long one, 
 madam. I am gone. [Exit. 
 
 [King a-bed. 
 
 Evad. The night grows horrible , and all about me 
 Like my black purpofe. Oh, the confcience 
 Of a loft virgin ! whither wilt thou pull me ? 
 To what things, difrnal as the depth of hell, 
 Wilt thou provoke me ? Let no woman dare 
 
 From
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 85 
 From this hour be diiloyal, if her heart be flefh, 
 Jf fhe have blood, and can fear : 'Tis a daring 
 Above that defperate fool's that left his peace, 
 And went to fea to fight. 'Tis fo many fins, 
 An age cannot repent 'em SI , and fo great, 
 The Gods want mercy for ! Yet, I mull through 'em. 
 J have begun a (laughter on my honour, 
 And I muft end it there. He tleeps. Good Heav'ns ! 
 Why give you peace to this untemperate beaft, 
 That hath fo long tranfgrefs'd you ? I mull kill him, 
 And I will do it bravely : The mere joy 
 Tells me, 1 merit in it. Yet I muft not 
 Thus tamely do it, as he deeps ; that were 
 To rock him to another world : My vengeance 
 Shall take him waking, and then lay before him 
 The number of his wrongs and punifhments. 
 I'll make his fins like furies, till I waken 
 His evil angel, his fick conicience , 
 And then I'll ftrike him dead. King by your leave: 
 [Ties bis arms to the bed. 
 
 I dare not truft your ftrength. Your grace and I 
 Muft grapple upon even terms no more. 
 So : If he rail me not from my refolution, 
 I mail be ftrong enough. My lord the king ! 
 My lord ! He Qeeps, as if he meant to wake 
 No more. My lord ! Is he not dead already ? 
 Sir ! My lord ! 
 
 King. Who's that ? 
 
 Evad. Oh, you fleep foundly, Sir ! 
 
 King. My dear Evadne, 
 I have been dreaming of thee. Come to-bed. 
 
 Evad. I am come at length, Sir ; but how welcome ? 
 
 King. What pretty new device is this, Evadne ? 
 What, do you tie me to you ? By my love, 
 This is a quaint one. Come, my dear, and kifs me ; 
 
 V/j fo many fins, 
 
 An age cannot prevent 'em ;] Mr. Theobald, we think judi- 
 cioufiy,, makes the alteration we have followed.
 
 86 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 I'll be thy Mars 5i ; to-bed, my queen of love : 
 Let us be caught together, that the gods 
 May fee, and envy our embraces. 
 
 Evad. Stay, Sir, (lay ; 
 
 You are too hot, and I have brought you phyfic 
 To temper your high veins. 
 
 King. Prithee, to-bed then ; let me take it warm j 
 There thou malt know the ftate of my body better^ 
 
 Evad. I know you have a furfeited foul body , 
 And you mud bleed. 
 
 King. Bleed! 
 
 Evad. Ay, you mall bleed! Lie ftill , and, if 
 
 the devil, 
 
 Your luft, will give you leave, repent. This fleel 
 Comes to redeem the honour that you ftole, 
 King, my fair name ; which nothing but thy death 
 Can anfwer to the world. 
 
 King. How's this, Evadne ? 
 
 Evad. I am not me -, nor bear I in this breaft 
 So much cold fpirit to be call'd a woman. 
 I em a tyger ; I am any thing 
 That knows not pity. Stir not ! If thou doft, 
 I'll take thee unprepar'd , thy fears upon thee, 
 That make thy fins look double ; and fo fend thee 
 (By my revenge, I will) to look thofe torments 5$ 
 Prepar'd for iuch black fouls. 
 
 King. Thou doit not mean this ; 'tis impoflible ; 
 Thou art too fweet and gentle. 
 
 Evad. No, I am not. 
 
 I am 
 
 yl /'// be thy Mars ;] The allufion here is to the words of Ovid in 
 the fourth book of his Metamorphofes, where Mars and Venus arc 
 caught in conjunction by a fubtle net which her hufband Vulcan had 
 bound over them, and expcfed them to the view of the Gods. 
 
 Turpes jacuere ligati 
 
 Turpiter, atque eliquif de Diis nan trijlibus optat 
 
 Sic feri turpis. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 *3 -I i i A? look tbofe torments 
 
 Prepaid for fucb black fcuh.~\ Look occurs in the line immedi- 
 ately preceding ; and the repetition of it is no manner of elegance. 
 
 Befides
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 87 
 I am as foul as thou art, and can number 
 As many fuch hells here. I was once fair, 
 Once I was lovely ; not a blowing rofe 
 More chaflely fweet, till thou, thou, thou foul canker, 
 (Stir not) didft poilbn me. I was a world of virtue, 
 Till your curft court and you (Hell blefs you for't !) 
 With your temptations on temptations, 
 Made me give up mine honour - t for which, ICing ? 
 I'm come to kill trjee. 
 
 King. No ! 
 
 Evad. I am. 
 
 King. Thou art not ! 
 
 I prithee fpeak not thefe things : Thou art gentle, 
 And wert not meant thus rugged. 
 
 Evad. Peace, and hear me. 
 Stir nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy 
 To thofe above us ; by whofe lights I vow, 
 Thofe blefied fires that mot to fee our fin, 
 If thy hot foul had fubftance with thy blood, 
 I would kill that too ; which, being paft my fteel y4 f 
 My tongue mail reach. Thou art a lhamelefs villain f 
 A thing out of the overcharge of nature ; 
 Sent, like a thick cloud, to difperfe a plague 
 Upon weak catching women ! fuch a tyrant, 
 That for his luft would fell away his fu ejects j 
 Ay, all his Heav'n hereafter ! 
 
 King. Hear, Evadne, 
 Thou foul of fweetnefs, hear ! I am thy King. 
 
 Befides, to look thofe torments, is no Englifh expreffion : It mutt 
 either be, feek or brook. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Look, from the days of our Authors down to ourown^has frequently 
 been ufed for look FOR, or feek. With refpeft to the elegance, it if 
 our province to give our Authors' own words, not ^fuppofmg we could) 
 to fubflitute better. 
 
 <wbicb, being paft my Jl eel, 
 
 My tongue Jball teach.] 'Ti$ evident Jrom common-fenfc, 
 that I have retrieved the true reading here. A corruption, exaftly 
 the fame, had poflefled a paffage in Shakefpear's Corioianus, till I 
 corrected it. Mr. Seward likewife flarted this emendation here. 
 
 Mr. TheobalJ. 
 
 F 4 Evad.
 
 88 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Evad. Thou art my fhame ! Lie ftill, there's none 
 
 about you, 
 
 Within your cries : All promifes of fafety 
 Are but deluding dreams. Thus, thus, thou foul man, 
 Thus I begin my vengeance) [Stabs him. 
 
 King. Hold, Evadne ! 
 I do command thee hold. 
 
 Evad. I do not mean, Sir, 
 To part fo fairly with you ; we muft change 
 More of thefe love-tricks yet. 
 
 King. What bloody villain 
 Provok'd thee to this murder ? 
 
 Evad. Thou, thou monfter. 
 
 King. Oh! 
 
 Evad. Thoukept'ft me brave at court, andwhor'd'ft 
 
 me, King ; 
 
 Then married me to a young noble gentleman, 
 And whor'd'fl me ftill. 
 
 King. Evadne, pity me, 
 
 Evad. Hell take me then! This for my lord 
 
 Amintor ! 
 
 This for my noble brother ! and this ftroke 
 For the moft wrong'd of women ! [Kills him. 
 
 King: Oh ! I die. 
 
 Evad. Die all our faults together ! I forgive thee. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter two of the bedchamber. 
 
 1 . Come, now me's gone, let's enter \ the King 
 expects it, and will be angry. 
 
 2. 'Tis a fine wench j we'll have a fnap at her one 
 of thefe nights, as me goes from him. 
 
 1. Content. How quickly he had done with her ! 
 I fee, kings can do no more that way than other 
 mortal people. 
 
 2. How faft he is ! I cannot hear him breathe. 
 i . Either the tapers give a feeble light, 
 
 pr he looks very pale. 
 2. And fo he does : 
 
 Pray
 
 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 89 
 
 Pray Heaven he be well ; let's look. Alas ! 
 He's ftiff, wounded and dead : Treafon, treafon ! 
 
 1. Run forth and call. 
 
 2. Treafon, treafon ! [x/Y. 
 i. This will be laid on us : Who can believe 
 
 A woman could do this ? 
 
 Enter Ckon and Lyfippus. 
 
 Clean. How now ! Where's the traitor ? 
 
 i . Fled, fled away , but there her woful a6l lies ftill. 
 
 Cleon. Her a6t ! a woman ! 
 
 Lyf. Where's the body ? 
 
 j. There, 
 
 Lyf. farewell, thou worthy man ! There were 
 
 two bonds 
 
 That tied our loves, a brother and a king ; 
 The leaft of which might fetch a flood of tears : 
 But fuch the mifery of greatnefs is, 
 They have no time to mourn ; then pardon me. 
 Sirs, which way went fhe ? 
 
 Enter Strato. 
 
 Stra. Never follow her , 
 For Ihe, alas ! was but the inftrument. 
 News is now brought in, that Melantius 
 Has got the fort, and ftands upon the wall ; 
 And with a loud voice calls thofe few, that pafs 
 At this dead time of night, delivering 
 The innocence of this a6b. 
 
 Lyf. Gentlemen, I am your king. 
 
 Stra. We do acknowledge it. 
 
 Lyf. I would I were not ! Follow, all j for this 
 Mult have a fudden flop. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Melantius^ Diphilus, and Calianax^ fin the walls. 
 
 Mel. If the dull people can believe I am arm'd, 
 (Be conftant, Diphilus !) now we have time, 
 Either to bring our baniih'd honours home, 
 pr create new ones in our ends.
 
 9 o THE MAID's TRAGEDY, 
 
 J)ipb. I fear not -, 
 My ipirit lies not that way. Courage, Calianax. 
 
 CaL 'Would I had any ! you fhould quickly 
 know it. 
 
 Mel. Speak to the people : Tliou art eloquent, 
 
 CaL 'Tis a fine eloquence to come to the gallows ! 
 You were born to be my end. The devil take you ! 
 Now muft I hang for company. 'Tis ftrange, 
 I fhould be old, and neither wife nor valiant. 
 
 Enter Lyfippus, Diagoras, Cleon, Strata, and guard, 
 
 Lyf. See where he ftands, as boldly confident 
 As if he had his full command about him. 
 
 Stra. He looks as if he had the better caufe, Sir j 
 Under your gracious pardon, let me fpeak it ! 
 Though he be mighty-fpirited, and forward 
 To all great things ; to all things of that danger 
 Worfe men make at the telling of ; yet, certainly, 
 I do believe him noble ; and this action 
 Rather pull'd on, than fought : His mind was ever 
 As worthy as his hand. 
 
 Lyf. 'Tis my fear, too. 
 Heaven forgive all ! Summon him, lord Cleon. 
 
 Clean. Ho,, from the walls there. 
 
 Mel. Worthy Cleon, welcome. 
 We could have wifh'd you here, lord : You are honeft. 
 
 CaL Well, thou art as flattering a knave, though 
 I dare not tell thee fo- - [Afide. 
 
 Lyf. Melantius ! 
 
 Mel. Sir. 
 
 Lyf. I am forry that we meet thus , our old love 
 Never requir'd fuch diftance. Pray Heaven, 
 You have not left yourfelf, and fought this fafety 
 More out of fear than honour ! You have loft 
 A noble mafter ; which your faith, Melantius, 
 Some think, might have preferv'd: Yet you know beft. 
 
 CaL When time was, I was mad ; fome, that dares 
 
 . 
 I hope will pay this rafcal. 
 
 MeL
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 Mel Royal young man, whofe tears look lovely 
 
 on thee ; 
 
 Had they been fhed for a deferving one, 
 They had been lafting monuments ! Thy brother, 
 While he was good, I call'd him king; and ferv'd him 
 With that ftrong faith, that moft unwearied valour, 
 Pull'd people from the fartheft fun to feek him, 
 And buy his friendfhip ". I was then his foldier. 
 But fmce his hot pride drew him to difgrace me, 
 And brand my noble actions with his luft 
 (That nevcr-cur'd difhonour of my filter, 
 Bafe ftain of whore ! and, which is worfe, 
 The joy to make it ftill fo) like myfelf, 
 Thus I have flung him off with my allegiance -, 
 And ftand here mine own juftice, to revenge 
 What I have fuffer'd in him - } and this old man, 
 Wronged almoft to lunacy, 
 
 Cat. Who I? 
 
 You would draw me in. I have had no wrong, 
 I do ai/claim ye all. 
 
 Mel. The fhort is this : 
 *Tis no ambition to lift up myfelf 
 Urgeth me thus ; I do defire again 
 To be a fubjedt, fo I may be free. 
 If not, I know my ftrength, and will unbui|4 
 This goodly town. Be fpeedy, and be wife^ 
 In a reply. 
 
 Stra. Be fudden, Sir, to tie 
 All up again : What's done is paft recall, 
 And paft you to revenge ; and there are thbufands, 
 That wait for fuch a troubled hour as this. 
 Throw him the blank. 
 
 Lyf. Melantius, write in that 
 Thy choice : My feal is at it. 
 
 Mel. It was our honours drew us to this aft, 
 Not gain ; and we will only work our pardons. 
 
 Cat. Put my name in too. 
 
 ss And brg hisfriendjhip.\ Tnis ib the reading of the edition of 
 : That of 1630 fays, buy ; which we think better. 
 
 Dipt,
 
 9* THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Dipk. You difclaim'd us all but now, Calianax. 
 
 Cat. That is all one j 
 I'll not be hang'd hereafter by a trick : 
 I'll have it in. 
 
 Mel. You n^all, you fhall. 
 Come to the back gate, and we'll call you king, 
 And give you up the fort. 
 
 Lyf. Away, away. [Exeunt omnes, 
 
 Enter Afpatia in marts apparel. 
 Afp. This is my fatal hour. Heav'n may forgive 
 My ram attempt, that caufelefly hath laid 
 Griefs on me that will never let me reft ; 
 And put a woman's heart into my bread. 
 It is more honour for you, that I die j 
 For me, that can endure the mifery 
 That I have on me, and be patient too, 
 May live and laugh at all that you can do. 
 God fave you, Sir ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. And you, Sir. What's your bufmefs ? 
 
 Afp. With you, Sir, now ; to do me the fair office 
 To help me to your lord. 
 
 Ser. What, would you ferve him ? 
 
 Afp. I'll do him any fervice -, but, to hafte. 
 For my affairs are earnefl, I defire 
 To fpeak with him. 
 
 Ser. Sir, becaufe you're in fuch hafte, I would be 
 loth delay you any longer : You cannot. 
 
 Afy. It fhall become you, though, to tell your lord. 
 
 Ser. Sir, he will fpeak with nobody ; but, in parti- 
 cular, I have in charge, about no weighty matters s6 . 
 
 Afp. This is moft ftrange. Art thou gold-proof? 
 There's for thee , help me to him. 
 
 Ser. Pray be not angry, Sir. I'll do my beft. [Exit. 
 
 * 6 But in particular 1 have in charge, about no weighty matters ] 
 Thefe words, which (hew an impertinence fo common in al! fervants, 
 2nd a defire of fifting into every body's bufinefs, are only to be found 
 in thefirft quarto, in 1619. Mr. Theobald*
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 93. 
 
 Afp. How ftubbornly this fellow anfwer'd me ! 
 There is a vile difhoneft trick in man, 
 More than in women : All the men I meet 
 Appear thus to me, are all harfh and rude ; 
 And have a fubtilty in every thing, 
 Which love could never know. But we fond women 
 Harbour the eafieft and the fmootheft thoughts, 
 And think, all mail go fo ! It is unjuft, 
 That men and women mould be match'd together. 
 
 Enter Amintor and his man. 
 
 Amin. Where is he ? 
 
 Ser. There, my lord. 
 
 Amin. What would you, Sir ? 
 
 Afp. Pleafe it your lordihip to command your mart 
 Out of the room, I mall deliver things 
 Worthy your hearing. 
 
 Amin. Leave us. [Exit fervant* 
 
 Afp. Oh, that that fhape mould 
 Bury falfhood in it ! [Afide. 
 
 Amin. Now your will, Sir. 
 
 Afp. When you know me, my lord, you needs 
 
 muft guefs 
 
 My bufmefs -, and I am not hard to know ; 
 For till the chance of war mark'd this fmooth face 
 W T ith thefe few blemifhes, people would call me 
 My filter's piclure, and her mine. In mort, 
 I am the brother to the wrong'd Afpatia. 
 
 Amin. The wrong'd Afpatia ! 'Would thou wert 
 
 fo too 
 
 Unto the wrong'd Amintor ! Let me kifs 
 That hand of thine, in honour that I bear 
 Unto the wrong'd Afpatia. Here I (land, 
 That did it : 'Would he could not ! Gentle youth, 
 Leave me j for there is fomething in thy looks, 
 That calls my fins, in a moft hideous form, 
 Into my mind ; and I have grief enough 
 Without thy help. 
 
 Afp. I would I could with credit.. 
 
 Since
 
 94 THE MAlD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Since I was twelve years old, I had not feen 
 
 My fifter till this hour ; I now arriv'd : 
 
 She fent for me to fee her marriage ; 
 
 A woful one ! But they, that are above,_ 
 
 Have ends in every thing 57 . She us'd few words j 
 
 But yet enough to make me Underftand 
 
 The bafenefs of the injuries you did her. 
 
 That little training I have had, is war ; 
 
 I may behave myfelf rudely in peace ; 
 
 I would not, though. I mail not need to tell you, 
 
 I am but young, and Would be loth to lofe 
 
 Honour, that is not eafily gain'd again. 
 
 Fairly I mean to deal : The age is ftrict 
 
 For fingle combats j and we fhall be ftopp'd, 
 
 If it be publifh'd. If you like you fword, 
 
 Ufe it , if mine appear a better to you, 
 
 Change ; for the ground is this, and this the time, 
 
 To end our difference. 
 
 Amin. Charitable youth, 
 
 (If thou be'il fuch) think not I will maintain 
 So ftrange a wrong : And, for thy fitter's fake, 
 Know, that I could not think that defperate thing 
 I durft not do , yet, to enjoy this world, 
 I would not fee her ; for, beholding thee, 
 I am I know not what. If I have aught, 
 That may content thee, take it, and be gone , 
 For death is not fo terrible as thou. 
 Thine eyes moot guilt into me. 
 
 Afp. Thus, (he fwore, 
 
 Thou wouldfl behave thyfelf ; and give me words 
 That would fetch tears into my eyes ; and fo 
 Thau dofc, indeed. But yet me bad me watch, 
 
 *~ But they that are above, 
 
 Have ends ig every thing.'] How i;ob!y, and to what advantage, 
 has SHAKESPEARE exprefs'ri this feniiment, in his Hamlet! 
 
 4 n d that Jbould teach us, 
 
 ' There*! a divinity that Jhapet our ends t 
 Rough- ke<u> tbrto bvw <we -it*//. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Left
 
 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 Left I were cozen'd ; and be fure to fight, 
 Ere I return'd. 
 
 Amin. That muft riot be with me. 
 For her I'll die dire&ly ; but againft her 
 Will never hazard it. 
 
 Afp. You muft be urg'd. 
 I do not deal uncivilly with thofe 
 That dare to fight ; but fuch a one as you 
 Muft be us'd thus. [Sbejlrikes him. 
 
 Amin. I prithee, youth, take heed. 
 Thy fifter is a thing to me fo much 
 Above mine honour, that I can endure 
 All this. Good gods ! a blow I can endure ! 
 But flay not, left thou draw a timelefs death 
 Upon thyfelf. 
 
 Afp. Thou art fome prating fellow ; 
 One, that hath ftudied out a trick to talk, 
 And move foft-hearted people; to be kick'd 
 
 [She kicks him. 
 
 Thus, to be kick'd !- Why mould he be fo flow 
 In giving me my death ? [Afide* 
 
 Amin. A man can bear 
 
 No more, and keep his flefh. Forgive me, then I 
 I would endure yet, if I could. Now mew 
 The fpirit thou pretend'ft, and underftand, 
 
 Thou haft no hour to live. [Theyfgbt. 
 
 What doft thou mean ? Thou can'ft not fight : 
 The blows thou mak'ft at me are quite befides ; 
 And thofe I offer at thee, thou fpread'ft thine arms, ; 
 And tak'ft upon thy breaft, alas ! defenceldV. 
 
 Afp. I have got enough, 
 And my defire. There is no place fo fit 
 For me to die as here. 
 
 Enter Evadne, her hands bloody, with a kniff. 
 Evad. Amintor, I am loaden with events, 
 That fly to make thee happy. I have joys, > 
 That in a moment can call back thy wrongs, 
 And fettle thee in thy free ftate again.
 
 9# THE MAID's TRAGEDY^ 
 
 It is Evadne ftill that follows thee, 
 But not her mifchiefs. 
 
 Amin. Thou canft not fool me to believe again 5 
 But thou haft looks and things fo full of news, 
 That I am ftay'd. 
 
 Evad. Noble Amintor, put off thy amaze, 
 Let thine eyes loofe, and fpeak : Am I not fair ? 
 Looks not Evadne beauteous, with thefe rites now ? 
 Were thofe hours half fo lovely in thine eyes, 
 When our hands met before the holy man ? 
 I was too foiil within to look fair then : 
 Since I knew ill, I was not free till now. 
 
 Amin. There is prefage of fome important thing 
 About thee, which, it feems, thy tongue hath loft. 
 Thy hands are bloody, and thou haft a knife ! 
 
 Ev ad. In this confifts thy happinefs and mine. 
 Joy to Amintor ! for the king is dead. 
 
 Amin. Thofe have moft pow'r to hurt us, that wtf 
 
 love ; 
 
 We lay our deeping lives within their arms ! 
 Why, thou haft rais'd up Mifchief to his height) 
 And found one, to out-name thy other faults. 
 Thou haft no intermiflion of thy fins, 
 But all thy life is a continued ill. 
 Black is thy colour now, difeafe thy nature.- 
 Joy to Amintor ! Thou haft touch'd a life, 
 The very name of which had pow'r to chain 
 Up all my rage, and calm my wildeft wrongs. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis done -, and fmce I could not find a way 
 To meet thy love fo clear as through his life, 
 I cannot now repent it. 
 Amin. Couldft thou procure the gods to fpeak 
 
 to me, 
 
 To bid me love this woman, and forgive, 
 I thiak I mould fall out with them. Behold^ 
 Here lies a youth whofe wounds bleed in my breaft, 
 Sent by his violent fate, to fetch his death 
 From my flow hand : And, to augment my woe, 
 You now are prefent, ftain'd with a king's blood, 
 
 Violently
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 Violently fhed. This keeps night here, 
 
 And throws an unknown wildernefs about me s *. 
 
 Afp. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Amin. No more ; purfue me not. 
 
 Evad. Forgive me then, and take me to thy bed. 
 We may not part. 
 
 Amin. Forbear ! Be wife, and let my rage 
 Go this way. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis you that I would flay, not it. 
 
 Amin. Take heed ; it v/ill return with me. 
 
 Evad. If it muft be,, I mall not fear to meet it : 
 Take me home. 
 
 Amin. Thou monfter of cruelty, forbear ! 
 
 Evad. For Heaven's fake, look more calm : 
 Thine eyes are fharper than thou canft make thy fword. 
 
 Amin. Away, away ! 
 Thy knees are more to me than violence. 
 I'm worfe than fick to fee knees follow me, 
 For that I muft not grant. For Heaven's fake, fland. 
 
 Evad. Receive me, then. 
 
 Amin. I dare not flay thy language : 
 In midil of all my anger and my grief, 
 Thou doft awake fomething that troubles me, 
 And fays, c I lov'd thee once.' I dare not ftay ; 
 There is no end of woman's reafoning. [Leaves her. 
 
 Evad. Amintor, thou malt love me now again : 
 Go ; I am calm. Farewel, and peace for ever ! 
 Evadne, whom thou hat'ft, will die for thee. 
 
 [Kills herfelf. 
 
 Amin. I have a little human nature yet, 
 That's left for thee, thut bids me flay thy hand. [Returns. 
 
 Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late. 
 Oh, I am loil ! the heavy fleep makes hafle. [She dies. 
 
 & an unknown wildernefs.] This is a word here 
 
 appropriated by the Poets to fignify ivlldnefs ; from the verb bptxiUtr. 
 MiltQQ fcerns to have been pleafed with the liberty of uiai^ it in 
 this fenfe, as he has copied it in his Paradife Left; B. ix. v. 245. 
 The paths and bowers doubt not but our joint bands 
 Will keep from wilderncLs -Mith cafe* Mr. Theobald*. 
 
 VOL. I. G Aft.
 
 98 THE MAlD's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Afp. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Amin. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feeS 
 A flark affrighted motion in my blood : 
 My foul grows weary of her houfe, and I 
 All over am a trouble to myfelf. 
 There is fome hidden pow'r in thefe dead things, 
 That calls my flefli unto 'em : I am cold ! 
 Be refolute, and bear 'em company. 
 There's fomething, yet, which I am loth to leave. 
 There's man enough in me to meet the fears 
 That death can bring ; and yet, 'would it were done I 
 I can find nothing in the whole difcourfe 
 Of death, I durft not meet the boldeft way ; 
 Yet ftill, betwixt the reafon and the act, 
 The wrong I to Afpatia did ftands up : 
 I have not fuch another fault to anfwer. 
 Though me may juftly arm herfelf with fcorn 
 And hate of me,, my foul will part lefs troubled, 
 When I have paid to her in tears my forrow. 
 I will not leave this act unfatisfied, 
 If all that's left in me, can anfwer it. 
 
 Afp. Was it a dream ? There ftands Amintor ftill ; 
 Or I dream ftill. 
 
 Amin. How doft thou ? Speak j receive my love 
 
 and help. 
 
 Thy blood climbs up to his old place again : 
 There's hope of thy recovery. 
 
 Afp. Did you not name Afpatia ? 
 
 Amin. I did. 
 
 Afp. And talk'd of tears and forrow unto her ? 
 
 Amin. 'Tis true , and 'till thefe happy figns in thec 
 Did ftay my courfe, 'twas thither I was going. 
 
 Afp. Thou'rt there already, and thefe wounds arc 
 
 hers : 
 
 Thofe threats, I brought with me, fought not revenge ; 
 But came to fetch this blefling from thy hand. 
 I am Afpatia yet. 
 
 Amin. Dare my foul ever look abroad again ? 
 
 Afp. I mall furely live, Amintor -, I am well : 
 
 A kind
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 A kind of healthful joy wanders within me. 
 
 Amin. The world wants lives to expiaie :hy lofs * 9 : 
 Come, let me bear thec to fome place of help. 
 
 Afy. Amintor, thou muft ftay -, I mufl rcil here ; 
 My ilrength begins to difobey my will. 
 How dpft thou, my bell foul ? I would fain live 
 Now, if I could : Wouldft thou have lov'd me, then- ? 
 
 Amin. Alas ! 
 All that I am's not worth a hair from thee. 
 
 Afy. Give me thy hand ; my hands grope up and 
 
 down, 
 
 And cannot find thee : I am wondrous fick : 
 Have I thy hand, Amintor ? 
 
 Amin. Thougreateft bleffing of the world, thou haft. 
 
 Afp. I do believe thee better than my fenfe. 
 Oh ! I mult go. Farewell ! [Dies. 
 
 Amin. She iwoons ! Afpatia ! Help ! For Heav'n's 
 
 fake, water ! 
 
 Such as may chain life ever to this frame. 
 Afpatia, fpeak ! What, no help yet ? I fool ! 
 I'll chafe her temples : Yet there's nothing ftirs : 
 Some hidden pow'r tell her, Amintor calls, 
 And let her anfwer me ! Aipatia, fpeak ! 
 
 --wants lines to excufe tby loft :] The fenfe and verfe 
 are both fpoil'u ; I hope, I have reftored both. My emendation 
 gives this meaning. All the lives of all the women in the world 
 cannot to me atone for the Jofs of thine. I guefs that fome tranfcri- 
 ber, creditor, had firft b mere accident changed fives to lines', and 
 the word, expiate, not making the leait fenfe with that, occalioned 
 fome future editor, without regard to the metre, to fubttitute excufe 
 inftead of it ; which does carry fome fhadovv of fenfe, though but 
 an empty one. - This is the emendation and comment of the 
 ingenious Mr. Seward. - Long before I received his thoughts upon 
 this pafTage, I had fubitituted with Jefs variation from the text : 
 The world ivants limits to excufe thy lofs. 
 
 i. e Were the world ever fo wide and large, the lofs of thee is fo 
 great, that its whole validity, as Shakefpeare fays, would not be 
 lufficient to excufe, or compenjate for it. I have adopted my friend's 
 conjecture into the text, becaufe I would be always willing to fhew 
 a diffidence of my own poor efforts. The readers will have the 
 benefit of both our conjeduief. ' Mr. Theobald. 
 
 G 2 I've
 
 too .THE MAID's TRAGEDY* 
 
 I've heard, if there be any life, but bow 
 
 The body thus, and it will fhew itfelf. 
 
 Oh, fhe is gone ! - 1 will not leave her yet. 
 
 Since out of juftice we muft challenge nothing, 
 
 I'll call it mercy if you'll pity me, 
 
 Ye heav'nly powers ! and lend, for fome few years y 
 
 The bleiTed foul to this fair feat again. 
 
 No comfort comes -, the gods deny me too ! 
 
 I'll bow the body once again. Afpatia ! 
 
 The foul is fled for ever ; and I wrong 
 
 Myfelf, fo long to lofe her company. 
 
 Muil I talk now ? Here's to be with thee, love. 
 
 [Kills himfelf. 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. This is a great grace to my lord, to have the 
 new king come to him : I muft teli him he is entering. 
 Oh, Heav'n! Help, help! 
 
 Enter Lyfippus, Melantius, Calianax, Cleon, 
 and Strato. 
 
 Ljf. Where's Amintor ? 
 
 Stra. O there, there. 
 
 Lyf. How ftrange is this ! 
 
 Cat. What mould we do here ? 
 
 Mel. Thefe deaths are fuch acquainted things with 
 
 me, 
 
 That yet my heart difiblves not. May I ftand 
 Stiff here for ever ! Eyes, call up your tears. 
 This is Amintor : Heart ! he was my friend ; 
 Melt ; now it flows. Amintor, give a word 
 To call me to thee. 
 
 Amin. Oh! 
 
 Mel. Melantius calls his friend Amintor. Oh 
 
 thy arms 
 
 Are kinder to me than thy tongue ! Speak, fpeak* 
 Amin. What? 
 
 Mel. That little word was worth all the founds 
 That ever I fhall hear again. 
 Dipb. Oh, brother ! 
 
 Here
 
 THE MAID's TRAGEDY. ioj 
 
 Here lies your fifter (lain ; you lofe yourfelf 
 In Ibrrow there. 
 
 Mel. Why, Diphilus, it is 
 A thing to laugh at, in refpect of this : 
 Here was my fifter, father, brother, fon ; 
 All that I had ! Speak once again : What youth 
 Lies flain there by thee ? 
 
 Amin. 'Tis Afpatia. 
 
 My lafc is faid 60 . Let me give up my foul 
 Into thy bofom. [Dies. 
 
 Cal. What's that? what's that ? Afpatia ! 
 
 Mel. I never did 
 
 Repent the greatnefs of my heart till now : 
 It will not burft at need. 
 
 Cal. My daughter dead here too ! And you have 
 all fine new tricks to grieve ; but I ne'er knew any 
 but direct crying. 
 
 Mel. I am a prattler , but no more. 
 
 [Offers to kiU himfelf. 
 
 Diph. Hold, brother. 
 
 Lyf. Stop him. 
 
 Dipb. Fie ! how unmanly was this offer in you ! 
 Docs this become our (train ? 
 
 Cal. I know not what the matter is, but I am grown 
 very kind, and am friends with you. You Have given 
 me that among you will kill me quickly ; but I'll go 
 home, and live as long as I can. 
 
 Mel. His fpirit is but poor, that can be kept 
 From death for want of weapons. 
 Is not my hands a weapon (harp enough 
 To (lop my breath ? or, if you tie down thofe, 
 I vow, Amintor, I will never eat, 
 Or drink, or fleep, or have to do with that 
 That may preferve life ! This I fwear to keep. 
 
 60 My lajl isfaiJ.] It feems to me, in Amintor's death, that our 
 Poets had a defire of imitating that of Hamlet in Shakefpeare. 
 
 He has my d-;ing voice, 
 
 So tell him, <witb tb" occurrents more and left 
 Which have jdliciled The rcll is fiicnce.
 
 102 THE MAID's TRAGEDJ. 
 
 Lyf. Look to him tho% and bear thofe bodies in. 
 May this a fair example be to me, 
 To rule with temper : For, on luftful kings 6l 
 Unlook'd-for, fudden deaths from Heav'n are fent ; 
 But curlb is he that is their inftrument. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes, 
 
 61 i. ' For on Ifjlful kingi.~\ iVlr. Rhymer has very juft'y 
 remaiked : ;.ii diticiiYus on "fnigedy, that as the moral is a leffon 
 on the dangers attending incontinence, the play ought to take its 
 name from the King : Whereas the whole diftrefs of the flory lying 
 on Afpatia being abandoned, and the grofs injury done to Amintor, 
 the moral, that we have, is in no kind to the purpofe. Amintor is 
 every where, indeed, condemning himfelf for his perfidy to his 
 betrothed miftrefs ; and inculcating, that the Heavens are Uriel in' 
 punifhing him for that crime j and fo we have another moral in the 
 body of thefa&fe. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Mr. Rhymer and Mr. Theobald concur again in blaming our 
 Authors for making the title of the play relate to the dillrefs of 
 Afpatia, and the moral at the clofe only to the ill confequences of 
 vice in kins. But thefe gentlemen did not remember, that good 
 writers have frequently avoided giving their plays a name \vhich; 
 rcight foreilail the event, and open too much of the main plot : Thus 
 Venice Preferv'd, or The Plot Difcover'd, has been blamed for dif- 
 covering the plot too foon. Whereas many of Shckefpeare's and our 
 Authors' plays take their names from fome character or incident that 
 gives not the leaft infight into the main defign. Mr. Seward. 
 
 We cannot help owning, that, in our opinion, there is more 
 juitice in the remark of Rhymer and Theobald, than in that of 
 Mr. Sevvard. 
 
 PHILASTERi
 
 PHILASTER; 
 
 O R, 
 
 LOVE LIES A-BLEEDING. 
 
 The Commendatory Ferfes by Lovelace, Stanley, and Herrick, fpeak of 
 Fletcher as the fole author of this Play ; thofe by Earle, of Beaumont. 
 It is fuppofed, however, to have been wrote conjunflively. The 
 firjt edition we find, was printed in 1628. This was one of the 
 plays performed at the Old Theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, when 
 the women acted alone ; a prologue for it was then wrote by Mr. 
 Drydea. In .the reign of Charles II. fame alterations were made 
 in this Play, by George Villiers, fyke of Buckingham ; when it 
 was entitled, " The Reparation, or Ri?bt will take Place ;" but, 
 fame writers fay, it was never brought on the ft age. In l6gj, 
 Mr. Settle wrote a new fourth and fifth aft to it, ivitb which it 
 was then performed. In 1766, Philafter, after having been fujfered 
 to lie many yean dormant, was again introduced to the ft age, with 
 fame few alterations, by George Co/man, Efq. when that excellent 
 performer, Mr. William Powell, made hisfrjl appear ante, in the 
 char after of Philajler. 
 
 G 4 DRAMATIC
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS, 
 
 M E N. 
 
 King. 
 
 Phil after, heir to the crown. 
 Pharamond, prince of Spain. 
 Dion, a lord. 
 
 Cleremont, ~) ..... 
 
 _. rr f noble gentlemen, his officiates. 
 Thrafilme, ) 
 
 An old captain, 
 five citizens. 
 A country fellow* 
 
 "woodmen. 
 
 ings guard and train. 
 
 W O M E N. 
 
 Arethufa, the king's daughter. 
 Galatea, a wife modeft lady, attending the princefs. 
 Megra, a lafcivious lady. 
 An old wanton lady, or crony' 1 . 
 Another lady attending the princefs. 
 Euphrafia, daughter of Dion, lut difguifed like a page, 
 and called Bellario. 
 
 SCENE, SICILY. 
 
 * dn old wanton lady, or croane.] We find this character in all 
 the editions, but Mr. Theobald's. 
 
 PHI-
 
 PHILASTER, 
 
 ACT I, 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont^ and 'fhrafilins. 
 
 fUerentont. TT IT E R E 's nor lords nor ladies. 
 
 8 1 Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I 
 
 JL JL wonder at it. They received drift 
 charge from the king to attend here. Befides, it was 
 boldly publifhed % that no officer mould forbid any 
 gentlemen that defire to attend and hear. 
 
 Cle. Can you guefs the caufe ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanifh prince, 
 that's come to marry our kingdom's heir, and be our 
 fovereign. 
 
 <Thra. Many, that will feem to know much, fay, 
 {he looks not on him like a maid in love. 
 
 Dion. Oh, Sir, the multitude (that feldom know 
 any thing but their own opinions) fpeak that they 
 would have ; but the prince, before his own approach, 
 receiv'd fo many confident mefiages from the ftate, 
 that I think me's refolv'd to be rul'd. 
 
 * // was boldly pubUjfrd ] This adverb can have no fort of pro- 
 priety here. What boidnefs is there in publifhing an order from the 
 Icing, that no gentleman or lady fhould be refufed admittance ? I 
 make no doubt but it is an error of the prefs, and that the original 
 word was what I have fubllituted for it. Mr. Seaward. 
 
 Mr. Seward, therefore, reads loudly ; but as we fee not the leaft 
 feafon for fuch an alteration, we have followed the old copies. 
 
 Cle.
 
 so* P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 CU. Sir, it is thought, with her he fhall enjoy both 
 thefe kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria. 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is, without controverfy, fo meant. 
 But 'twill be a troublefome labour for him to enjoy 
 both thefe kingdoms, with fafety, the right heir to 
 one of them living, and living fo virtuoufly ; efpe- 
 cially, the people admiring the bravery of his mind, 
 and lamenting his injuries. 
 ' Cle. Who ? Philafter ? 
 
 Dion. Yes , whofe father, we all know, was by our 
 late king of Calabria unrighteoufly depos'd from his 
 fruitful Sicily. Myfelf drew fome blood in thofe 
 wars, which I would give my hand to be walh'd from. 
 
 Cle. Sir, my ignorance in ftate-policy will not let 
 me know why, Philafter being heir to one of thefe 
 kingdoms, the king mould fuffer him to walk abroad 
 with fuch free liberty. 
 
 Dion. Sir, it feems your nature is more conftant 
 than to enquire after itate news. But the king, of 
 late, made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily 
 and his own, with offering but to imprifon Philafter. 
 At which the city was in arms, not to be charm'd 
 down by any ftate-order or proclamation, till they faw 
 Philafter ride through the ftreets pleas'd, and without 
 a guard ^ at which they threw their hats, and their 
 arms from them , fome to make bonfires, fome to 
 drink, all for his deliverance. Which, wife men fay, 
 is the caufe the king labours to bring in the power of 
 a foreign nation, to awe his own with. 
 
 Enter Galatea, Megra, and a lady. 
 <Tbra. See, the ladies. What's the firft ? 
 Dion. A wife and modeft gentlewoman that attends, 
 
 the princefs. 
 Cle. The fecond ? 
 
 Ditn. She is one that may ftand ftill difcreetly 
 enough, and ill-favour'dly dance her meafure ; fimper 
 when me is courted by her friend, and flight her 
 hufband. 
 
 Cle.
 
 PHILASTER. 107 
 
 Cle. The laft ? 
 
 Dion. Marry, I think Ihe is one whom the (late 
 keeps for the agents of our confederate princes. She'll 
 cog and lye with a whole army, before the league fhall 
 break : Her name is common through the kingdom, 
 and the trophies of her dimonour advanc'd beyon^ 
 Hercules pillars. She loves to try the feveral conftitu- 
 tions of mens' bodies , and, indeed, has deftroyed the 
 worth of her own body, by making experiment upon 
 it, for the good of the commonwealth. 
 
 Cle. She's a profitable member. 
 
 La. Peace, if you love me J ! You mall fee thefe 
 gentlemen fland their ground, arid not court us. 
 
 Gal. What if they mould ? 
 
 Meg. What if they mould ? 
 
 La. Nay/ let her alone. What if they mould? 
 Why, if they mould, I fay they were never abroad. 
 What foreigner would do fo ? It writes them directly 
 untravelled. 
 
 ? Peace, if you love me."] I have made a tranfpofition in the 
 fpeakers here, from the following accurate criticifm of Mr. Sevvard. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 * The character given of the laft of thefe three ladies fo exaftly 
 fuits Megra, and all the fpeeches which the anonymous lady fpeaks, 
 her exceffive fondnefs for the courtfhip of men, and of foreigners 
 in particular, are fo entirely in her ftrain ; that I am perfuaded, 
 (he has been unjuftly deprived of them. It is not the cuftom of 
 any good writer to give a long and diftinguiming character of, and 
 to make a peribn the chief fpeaker in any fcene, who is a mere 
 cypher in the whole play befides : Particularly, when there is 
 another in the fame fcene, to whom both the character and the 
 fpeeches exactly correfpond. I mould guefs it to have been fome 
 jumble of the players ; me, who afted Megra, having given up fo 
 much of her part to initiate fome younger aftrefs. The entrance 
 mould have been thus regulated : 
 
 ' Enter Galatea, a lady, and Megra. 
 And all the fpeeches of the two latter tranfpofed.' Mr.SewarJ. 
 
 Had Mr. Seward been altering this play for reprefentation, his 
 right to make this tranfpofition would certainly be allowable, but is 
 not as an editor. It was, however, necefikry to mention his conjecture. 
 The perfon here fpeaking is doubtlefs the old wanton lady, or crone ', 
 wh'ofe character is left out of the drama in Mr. Theobald's edition. 
 
 Gal.
 
 jo8 pHILASTER, 
 
 Gal, Why, what if they be ? 
 
 Meg. What if they be ? 
 
 La. Good madam, let her go on. What if they be ? 
 Why, if they be, I will juftify, they cannot maintain 
 difcourfe with a judicious lady, nor make a leg, nor 
 fay ' exciife me.' 
 
 Gal. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 La. Do you laugh, madam ? 
 
 Dion. Your defires upon you, ladies. 
 
 La. Then you muft fit befide us. 
 
 Dion. I mail fit near you then, lady. 
 
 La. Near me, perhaps : But there's a lady indures 
 no ftranger-, and to me you appear a very ftrange 
 fellow. 
 
 Meg. Methinks, he's not fo ftrange; he would 
 quickly be acquainted. 
 
 I'hra. Peace, the king. 
 
 Enter King^ Pbaramond, Aretkufa^ and train. 
 King. To give a ftroner teftimony of love 
 Than fickly promifes (which commonly 
 In princes find both birth and burial 
 In one breath) -we have drawn you, worthy Sir, 
 fo make your fair endearments to our daughter. 
 And worthy fervices known to our fubje&s, 
 Now lov'd and wonder'd at. Next, our intent, 
 To plant you deeply, our immediate heir, 
 Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady, 
 (The belt part of your life, as you confirm me, 
 And I believe) though her few years and fex 
 Yet teach her nothing but her fears and bluihes, 
 Defires without defire, difcourfe and knowledge 
 Only of what herfelf is to herfelf, 
 Make her feel moderate health j and when me deeps, 
 In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams. 
 Think not, dear Sir, thefe undivided parts, 
 That muft mould up a virgin, are put on 
 To mew her fo, as borrow'd ornaments, 
 
 To
 
 P H I L A S T E R 4 109 
 
 To fpeak her perfect love to you, or add 
 
 Arj artificial fhadow to her nature : 
 
 No, Sir ; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet 
 
 No woman. But woo her (till, and think her modefty 
 
 A fweeter miftreis than the offer'd language 
 
 Of any dame, were (he a queen, whole eye 
 
 Speaks common loves and comforts to her fervants. 
 
 Laft, noble ion (for fo I now mult call you) 
 
 What I have done thus public, is not only 
 
 To add a comfort in particular 
 
 To you or me, but all , and to confirm 
 
 The nobles, and the gentry of thefe kingdoms, 
 
 By oath to your fucceffion, which mail be 
 
 Within this month at moil. 
 
 Thra. This will be hardly done. 
 
 Cle. It muil be ill done, if it be done. 
 
 Dion. When 'tis at beft, 'twill be but half done, 
 
 whilft 
 So brave a gentleman's wrong'd and flung off. 
 
 Thra. I fear. 
 
 Cle. Who does not ? 
 
 Dion. I fear not for myfelf, and yet I fear too. 
 Well, we mall fee, we mall fee. No more. 
 
 Pha. Kimng your white hand, miftrefs, I take leava 
 To thank your royal father , and thus far, 
 To be my own free trumpet. Underftand, 
 Great king, and thefe your fubjefts, mine that muft be, 
 (For fo deferving you have fpoke me, Sir, 
 And fo deferving 1 dare fpeak myfelf) 
 To what a perfon, of what eminence, 
 Ripe expectation, of what faculties, 
 Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms : 
 You in me have your wifhes. Oh, this country ! 
 By more than all my hopes I hold it happy ; 
 Happy, in their dear memories that have been 
 Kings great and good , happy in yours, that is j 
 And from you (as a chronicle to keep 
 Your noble name from eating age) do I 
 
 Opine
 
 iro PHILASTER; 
 
 Open myfelf moft happy 4 . Gentlemen, 
 
 Believe me in a word, a prince's word, 
 
 There ihall be nothing to make up a kingdom' 
 
 Mighty, and flouriming, defenced, fear'd, 
 
 Equal to be commanded and obey'd, 
 
 But through the travels of my life I'll find it, 
 
 And tie it to this country. And I vow 
 
 My reign mall be fo ealy to the fubje6t T 
 
 That ev'ry man mail be his prince himfelf, 
 
 And his own law (yet I his prince and law). 
 
 And, deareft lady, to your dcareft felf 
 
 (Dear, in the choice of him whofe name and luftre 
 
 Muft make you more and mightier) let me fay, 
 
 You are the blefled'ft living , for, fweet princefs, 
 
 You mail enjoy a man of men, to be 
 
 Your fervant ; you mall make him yours, for whom 
 
 Great queens mud die. 
 
 Tbra. Miraculous ! 
 
 Cte. This fpeech calls him Spaniard, being no- 
 thing but a large inventory of his own commenda- 
 tions. 
 
 Enter Pbilafter. 
 
 Dion. I wonder what's his price ? For certainly 
 He'll fell himfelf, he has fo prais'd his fhape. 
 But here comes one more worthy thofe large fpeeches. 
 Than the large fpeaker of them. 
 Let me be fwallow'd quick, if I can find, 
 In all th f anatomy of yon man's virtues, 
 One finew found enough to promife for him, 
 He mall be conflable. 
 By this fun, he'll ne'er make king 
 Unlefs it be for trifles, in my poor judgment. 
 
 Phi. Right noble Sir, as low as my obedience, 
 And with a heart as loyal as my knee, 
 I beg your favour. 
 
 King. Rife ; you have it, Sir. 
 
 4 Open myfelf ir.oft happy."] Mr. Seward reads, Do I opinn it 
 [this country] in myfelf mo/l happy. 
 
 Dion.
 
 PHILASTER. in 
 
 Dion. Mark but the king, how pale he looks with 
 
 fear! 
 Oh ! this fame whorfon confcience 5 , how it jades us! 
 
 King. Speak your intents, Sir. 
 
 Phi. Shall I fpeak 'em freely ? 
 Be ftill my royal fovereign. 
 
 King. As a fubject, 
 We give you freedom. 
 
 Dion. Now it heats. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I turn 
 
 My language to you, Prince , you, foreign man i 
 Ne'er flare, nor put on wonder, for you muft 
 Indure me, and you mail. This earth you tread upon * 
 (A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princefs) 
 By my dead father (oh, I had a father, 
 Whofe memory I bow to ! ) was not left 
 To your inheritance, and I up and living ', 
 Having myfelf about me, and my fword, 
 The fouls of all my name, and memories, 
 Thefe arms, and fome few friends befides the gods ; 
 To part fo calmly with it, and fit ftili, 
 And fay, ' I might have been/ I tell thee, Pharamond, 
 When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten, 
 And my name afh.es : For, hear me, Pharamond ! 
 This very ground thou goeft on, this fat earth, 
 My father's friends made fertile with their faiths, 
 Before that day of fhame, fhall gape and fwallow 
 Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, 
 Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it fhall j 
 ByNemefis,itfhall! 
 
 5 Oh I this fame luhorfon confcience, bow it jades ui !"] This fen- 
 timent Shakefpeare has finely, and as concifely expreii'd in his 
 Hamlet. 
 
 'Tis confcience, that makes cowards of us all. Mr. Theobald. 
 * 'This earth you tread on 
 
 f A dowry, as you hope, nvith this fair princefs, 
 Whofe memory I bo-w to) <was not left 
 By my dead father (Oh, I had a father) 
 To your inheritance, &c.] This tranfpofition was re&ified by 
 Mr, Seward. 
 
 Pl>*.
 
 ii2 H I L A S t E R. 
 
 Pha. He's mad-, beyond cure, mad. 
 
 Dion. Here is a fellow has fome fire in's veins : 
 Th' outlandifh prince looks like a tooth-drawer. 
 
 Phi. Si r , prince of popping] ays, I'll make it well 
 
 appear 
 To you, I am not mad. 
 
 King. You difpleafe us : 
 You are too bold. 
 
 Phi. No, Sir, I am too tame, 
 Too much a turtle, a thing born without pam"ori, 
 A faint fhadow, that every drunken cloud fails over, 
 And makes nothing. 
 
 King. I do not fancy this. 
 Call our phyficians : Sure he is fomewhat tainted. 
 
 Thra. I do not think 'twill prove fo. 
 
 Dion. H'as giv'n him a general purge already, for 
 all the right he has ; and now he means to let him blood. 
 Be conftant, gentlemen : By thefe hilts, I'll run his 
 hazard, although I run my name out of the kingdom. 
 
 Cle. Peace, we are all one foul. 
 
 Pha. What you have feen in me, to ftir offence, 
 I cannot find ; unlefs it be this lady^ 
 Offer'd into mine arms, with the fucceflion ; 
 Which I muft keep, though it hath pleas'd your fury 
 To mutiny within you ; without dilputing 
 Your genealogies, or taking knowledge 
 Whofe branch you are. The king will leave it me ; 
 And I dare make it mine. You have your anfwer, 
 
 Phi. If thou wert fole inheritor to him 7 
 That made the world his, and couldft fee no fun 
 Shine upon any thing but thine -, were Pharamond 
 As truly valiant as I feel him cold, 
 
 " If tbou <vocrt fole inheritor to him 
 
 Who made tbs <wwld bis.] i. e. Alexander the Great. So Mr. 
 Lee in his Tragedy of the Rival Queens. 
 
 But ffc, the m after of the world approaches. 
 
 This is as fine an introdudion, as pofiibly can be, to the firft entrance 
 of that great conqueror ; and raiies the expectation of the audience 
 to give a due attention to every line he fpeaks. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 And
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 113 
 
 And ring'd among the choiceft of his friends 
 (Such as would blulh to talk luch ferious follies, 
 Or back fuch bellied commendations) 
 And from this prefence, fpite of all thefe bugs, 
 You mould hear further from me. 
 
 King. Sir, you wrong the prince : 
 I gave you not this freedom to brave our beft friends. 
 You deferve our frown. Go to ; be better temper'd. 
 
 Phi. It muft be, Sir, when I am nobler us'd. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, 
 
 This would have been a pattern of fucceffion s , 
 Had he ne'er met this miichief. By my life, 
 He is the worthieft the true name of man 
 This day within my knowledge. 
 
 Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your know- 
 ledge , 
 
 But th' other is the man fet in my eye. 
 Oh, 'tis a prince of wax ! 
 
 Qal. A dog it is. 
 
 King, Philafter, tell me 
 The injuries you aim at, in your riddles. 
 
 Phi. If you had my eyes, Sir, and fufferance^ 
 My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes, 
 My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears, 
 My wrongs wo'uld make ill riddles to be laugh'd at. 
 Dare you be ftill my king, and right me not ? 
 
 King. Give me your wrongs in private. [Tbtywhifper.. 
 
 Phi. Take them, 
 And eafe me of a load would bow ftrong Atlas. 
 
 8 This <v:ouldba<ve been a pattern of fucceflion, 
 
 Had he ne'er nut this mi/chief.] Mr. Sympfon chufes to fubfli- 
 Wz fubmijjlon for JucccJJion. \ fubmit his conjecture to the readers, 
 though I Jiave not ventured to diiiurb the text ; becaufe the Poeta, 
 perhaps, might mean, that Philafter might have been a pattern to 
 JHcceedlng kings, had not he fallen under the misfortune of having 
 his right to the kingdom ufurped upon. Mr. Iheobald. 
 
 There can be no doubt, if we conlider the two following fpeeches, 
 as well as the prefer, t, but that Mr. Theobald's explanation, though 
 fo doubtfully delivered, gives the true fenfc of the paffagc, and cou- 
 iiims the old reading. 
 
 VOL. I. H Ch.
 
 ii* PHILASTER. 
 
 Cle. He dares not (land the fhock. 
 
 Dion. I cannot blame him : there's danger m f t, 
 Every man in this age has not a foul of cryllal, for 
 all men to 'read their actions through : Mens' hearts 
 and faces are fo far afunder, that they hold no intelli- 
 gence. Do but view yon ftranger well, and you mall 
 fee a fever thro' all his bravery, and feel him (hake like 
 a true recreant 9 . If he give not back his crown again r 
 upon the report of an eider gun, I have no augury. 
 
 King. Go to ! 
 
 Be more yourfelf, as you reflect our favour ; 
 You'll ftir us elfe. Sir, I muft have you know, 
 That you 're, and (hall be, at our pleafure, what 
 
 fafhion we 
 
 Will put upon you. Smooth your brow, or by the 
 gods ^ 
 
 PH. I am dead, Sir , you 're my fate. It was not I 
 Said, I was wrong'd : I carry all about me 
 My weak ftars lead me to, all my weak fortunes. 
 Who dares in all this preience fpeak (that is 
 But man of flefh, and may be mortal) tell me, 
 I do not moft entirely love this prince, 
 And honour his full virtues I 
 
 King. Sure, he's pofiefs'd. 
 
 Phi. Yes, with my father's fpirit : It's here, O king ! 
 A dangerous fpirit. Now he tells me, king, 
 I was a king's heir, bids me be a king , 
 And whifpers to me, thefe are all my fubjects. 
 'Tis ftrange he will not let me fleep, but dives 
 Into my fancy, and there gives me fhapes 
 That kneel, and do me fervice, cry me ' king :' 
 But I'll fupprefs him ; he's a factious fpirit, 
 And will undo me. Noble Sir, your hand: 
 I am your fervant. 
 
 King. Away, I do not like this : 
 
 9 And feel bim Jbake like a true tenant.] This is the reading of 
 the old copier; Mr. Theobald alters tenant to recreant ; i. e. a peribn 
 remarkable for roeanncis aud cowardice. 
 
 rn
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 115 
 
 I'll make you tamer, or I'll difpoffefs you 
 
 Both of life and fpirit : For this time 
 
 I pardon your wild fpeech, without fo much 
 
 As your imprifonment. [Ex. King, Pba. and Are. 
 
 Dion. I thank you, Sir-, you dare not for the people. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave 
 fellow ? 
 
 Meg. A pretty talking fellow ; hot at hand. But 
 eye yon ilranger : Is he not a fine complete gentleman ? 
 Oh, thefe ftrangers, I do affect them ftrangely : They 
 do the rareft home things, and pleafe the fullelt ! As 
 I live, I could love all the nation over and over for 
 his fake. 
 
 Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece, lady ! 
 'Tis a weak one, and had need of a night-cap. 
 
 Dion. See, how his fancy labours ! Has he not 1 
 Spoke home, and bravely ? What a dang'rous train 
 Did he give fire to ! How he Ihook the king, 
 Made his foul melt within him, and his blood 
 Run into whey ! It ftood upon his brow, 
 Like a cold winter dew. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, 
 
 You have no fuit to me ? I am no minion I0 : 
 You Hand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers, 
 If you could well be flatter'd at a price, 
 Not to undo your children. You 're all honeft : 
 Go, get you home again, and make your country 
 A virtuous court ; to which your great ones may, 
 In their difeafed age, retire, and live reclufe. 
 
 Cle. How do you, worthy Sir ? 
 
 Phi. WelJ, very well ; 
 And fo well, that, if the king pleafe, I find. 
 I may live many years. 
 
 Dion. The ri.ng mufl pleale, 
 Whilft we know what you are, and who you are v 
 Your wrongs and injuries. Shrink not, worthy Sir, 
 
 10 I am no minion J /'. e . No favourite of influence enough to carry 
 any fuits at court. The \vo;d is frequently ufed by Shakclpeare. 
 
 Mr. Ibtolald. 
 
 H 2 But
 
 n6 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 But add your father to you : In whofe name", 
 We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up 
 The rods of vengeance, the abufed people ; 
 Who, like to raging torrents, mall fwell high, 
 And fo begirt the dens of thefe male-dragons, 
 That, through the ftrongeft fafety, they mall beg 
 For mercy at your fword's point. 
 
 Phi. Friends, no more , 
 Cur ears may be corrupted r 'Tis an age 
 We dare not truft our wills to. Do you love me ? 
 
 Thra. Do we lerve Heav'n and honour ? 
 
 Phi. My lord Dion, 
 
 You had a virtuous gentlewoman calPd you father j 
 Js {he yet alive ? 
 
 Dion. Moil honour'd Sir, flie is : 
 And, for the penance but of an idle dream, 
 Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage, 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Phi. Is it to me, or any of thefe gentlemen you come ? 
 Lady. To you, brave -lord : The princefs would 
 entreat your prefent company. 
 
 Phi. The princefs fend for me ! You are miftaken. 
 
 Lady. If you be call'd Philafter, 'tis to you. 
 
 Phi. Kifs her fair hand, and fay I will attend her. 
 
 Dion. Do you know what you do ? 
 
 Phi. Yes ; go to fee a woman. 
 
 Ck. But do you weigh the danger you are in ? 
 
 IVe '// nuaken all the gcds, and conjure up 
 
 The rods of 'vengeance, the abufed people."] This puts me in 
 mind of a paflage in Hefiod, in his'E^yo, KM 'Hpef2l> v. 260. 
 
 This has been generally understood, as if the people fhould fufFer for 
 tne faults of their prince ; and Horace is quoted in fupport of this 
 opinion 
 
 tgtuapijjdctinnt regcs> pleduntur achivi. 
 
 But would it not be better to underftand it in Fletcher's words, for 
 the people to be raii'd up to punifh the criaiet and mifdemeanors of 
 the prince? Mr. Sjmpfon. 
 
 Phi.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. IT; 
 
 Phi. Danger in a fweet face ! 
 By Jupiter, I muft not fear a woman. 
 
 Thra. But are you fure it was the princefs fent ? 
 It may be lome foul train to catch your life. 
 
 Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen ; fhe's noble ; 
 Her eye may moot me dead, or thofe true red 
 And white friends in her face may fteal my foul out: 
 There's all the danger in't. But, be what may, 
 Her fingle name hath armed me. [Exit Phi. 
 
 Dion. Go on : 
 
 And be as truly happy as thou'rt fearlefs. 
 Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted, 
 Left the king prove falfe. [Exeunt gentlemen. 
 
 Enter Arethufa and a lady. 
 
 Are. Comes he not ? 
 
 Lady. Madam ? 
 
 Are. Will Philafter come ? 
 
 Lady. Dear madam, you were wont 
 Tocreditmeatfirft. 
 
 Are. But didft thou tell me fo ? 
 I am forgetful, and my woman's ftrength 
 Is fo o'ercharg'd with dangers like to grow 
 About my marriage, that thefe under things 
 Dare not abide in luch a troubled fea. 
 How look'd he, when he told thee he would come ? 
 
 Lady. Why, well. 
 
 Are. And not a little fearful ? 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam ? fure, he knows not what it is* 
 
 Are. Ye are all of his faction j the whole court 
 Is bold in praife of him ; whilft I 
 May live neglected, and do noble things, 
 As fools in ftrife throw gold into the fea, 
 Drown'd in the doing. But, 1 know he fears. 
 
 Lady. Fear ? Madam, methought, his looks hid more 
 Of love than fear, 
 
 Are. Of love ? to whom ? to you ? 
 Did you deliver thofe plain words I lent, 
 With fuch a winning geilure, and quick look, 
 That you have caught him ? 
 
 H 3 Lady.
 
 ii* P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Lady. Madam, I mean to you. 
 
 Are. Of love to me ? alas ! thy ignorance 
 Lets thee not fee the croffes of our births. 
 Nature, that loves not to be queftioned 
 Why me did this, or that, but has her ends, 
 And knows me does well, never gave the world 
 Two things fo oppofite, fo contrary, 
 As he and I am : If a bowl of blood, 
 Drawn from this arm of mine, would poifon thee, 
 A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me ? 
 
 Lady. Madam, I think I hear him. 
 
 Are. Bring him in. 
 
 Ye gods, that would not have your dooms withftood, 
 Whofe holy wifdoms at this time it is, 
 To make the paffion of a feeble maid 
 The way unto your juftice, I obey. 
 
 Enter Pbilajler. 
 
 Lndy. Here is my lord Philafter. 
 
 Are. Oh ! 'tis well. 
 Withdraw yourfelf. 
 
 Phi. Madam, your meffenger 
 Made me believe you wifh'd to fpeak with me. 
 
 Are. 'Tis true, Philafter; but the words are fuch 
 I have to fay, and do fo ill beleem 
 The mouth of woman, that I wifh them faid, 
 And yet am loth to fpeak them. Have you known. 
 Thai: I have ought detracted from your worth ? 
 Have I in perfon wrong'd you ? Or have fet 
 My bafer inilruments to throw difgrace 
 Upon your virtues ? 
 
 Phi. Never, madam, you. 
 
 Are. Why, then, mould you, in fuch a public place, 
 Injure a princefs, and a fcandal lay 
 Upon my fortunes, fam'd to be fo great ; 
 Calling a great part of my dowry in queftion ? 
 
 Pbi. Madam, this truth which I (hall fpeak, will be 
 Foolifh : But, for your fair and virtuous felf, 
 I could afford myfelf to have no right 
 To any thing you wifh'd. 
 
 Are.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. n 9 
 
 Are. Philafter, know, 
 1 muft enjoy thefe kingdoms. 
 
 Phi. Madam ! Both ? 
 
 Are. Both, or I die : By fate, I die, Philafter, 
 If I not calmly may enjoy them both. 
 
 Phi. I would do much tp fave that noble life : 
 Yet would be loth to have pofterity 
 Find in our ftories, that Philafter gave 
 His right unto a fceptre, and a crown, 
 To fave a lady's longing. 
 
 Are. Nay then, hear ! 
 I muft and will have them, and more 
 
 Phi. What more ? 
 
 Are. Or lofe that little life the gods prepar'd, 
 To trouble this poor piece of earth withaL 
 
 Phi. Madam, what more ? 
 
 Are. Turn, then, away thy face. 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 'Are. Do. 
 
 Phi. I can't endure it. Turn away my face ? 
 I never yet faw enemy that look'd 
 So dreadfully, but that I thought myfelf 
 As great a bafilifk as he ; or fpake 
 So horribly, but that I thought my tongue 
 Bore thunder underneath, as much as his ; 
 Nor beaft that I could turn from : Shall I then 
 Begin to fear fweet founds ? a lady's voice, 
 Whom I do love ? Say, you would have my life ^ 
 Why, I will give it you ; for it is of me 
 A thing fo loath'd, and unto you that afk 
 Of fo poor ufe, that I (hall make no price : 
 If you entreat, I will unmov'diy hear. 
 
 Are. Yet, for my fake, a little bend thy looks. 
 
 Phi. I do. 
 
 Are. Then know, I muft have them, and thee. 
 
 Phi. And me ? 
 
 Are. Thy love-, without which, all the land 
 Difcover'd yet, will ferve me for no uie, 
 But to be buried in. 
 
 H 4 Phi.
 
 izo P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Pbi. Is't poffible? 
 
 Are. With it, it were too little to beftow 
 On thee. Now, though thy breath do flrike me dead, 
 (Which, know, it may) I have unript my breaft. 
 
 Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts, 
 To lay a train for this contemned life, 
 Which you may have for afking : To fufpedt 
 Were bafe, where I deferve no ill. Love you, 
 By all my hopes, I do, above my life : 
 But how this pailion mould proceed from you 
 So violently, would amaze a man 
 That would be jealous. 
 
 Are. Another foul, into my body mot, 
 Could not have fill'd me with more ftrength and fpirit, 
 Than this thy breath. But fpend not hafty time, 
 In feeking how I came thus : 'Tis the gods, 
 The gods, that make me fo ; and, fure, our love 
 Will be the nobler, and the better bleft, 
 In that the lecret juftice of the gods 
 Is mingled with.it. Let us leave, and kils ; 
 Left ibme unwelcome gueft mould fall betwixt us, 
 And we mould part without it. 
 
 Phi. 'Twill be ill 
 I fhould abide here long. 
 
 Are. 'Tis true ; and worfe 
 You mould come often. How mail we deviie 
 To hold intelligence, that our true loves, 
 On any new occafion, may agree 
 What path is beft to tread ? 
 
 Phi. I have a boy, 
 
 Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, 
 Not-yet feen in the court. Hunting the buck, 
 I found him fitting by a fountain-fide, 
 Of which he borrow'd fome to quench his thirft, 
 And paid the nymph again as much in tears. 
 A garland lay him by ", made by himfelf, 
 
 11 A garland lay him by.] Thus read the old copies. Mr. 
 Theobald, with more freedom, and peihaps as much elegance, lays, 
 A garland lay by him. 
 
 Of
 
 PHILASTER. 121 
 
 Of many feveral flowers, bred in the bay, 
 
 Stuck in that myftic order, that the rarenefs 
 
 Delighted me : But ever when he turn'd 
 
 His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, 
 
 As if he meant to make 'em grow again. 
 
 Seeing fuch pretty helplefs innocence , 
 
 Dwell in his face, I afk'd him all his ftory. 
 
 He told me, that his parents gentle dy'd, 
 
 Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, 
 
 Which gave him roots , and of the cryftal fprings, 
 
 Which did not flop their courfes -, and the fun, 
 
 Which Hill, he thank'd him, yielded him his light. 
 
 Then took he up his garland, and did mew 
 
 What every flower, as country people hold, 
 
 Did fignify , and how all, order'd thus, 
 
 Exprels'd his grief: And, to my thoughts, did read 
 
 The prettied lecture of his country art 
 
 That could be wifh'd -, fo that, methought, I could 
 
 Have fludy'd it. I gladly entertain'd him, 
 
 Who was as glad to follow ; and have got , 
 
 The truftieft, loving'ft, and the gentlell boy, 
 
 That ever mailer kept. Him will I fend 
 
 To wait on you, and bear our hidden love, 
 
 Enter Lady. 
 
 Are. 'Tis well ; no more. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his fervice. 
 
 Are. What will you do, Philafler, with yourfelf ? 
 
 Phi. Why, that which all the gods have appointed 
 out for me. 
 
 Are. Dear, hide thyfelf. Bring in the prince. 
 
 Phi. Hide me from Pharamond ! 
 When thunder fpeaks, which is the voice of Jove, 
 Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not ; 
 And fhall a ftranger prince have leave to brag 
 Unto a foreign nation, that he made 
 Philafterhidehimfelf? 
 
 Are. He cannot know it. 
 
 Phi. Though it ihould deep for ever to the world, 
 
 It
 
 122 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 It is a fimple fin to hide myfelf, 
 
 Which will for ever on my confcience lie. 
 
 Are. Then, good Philafter, give him fcope and way 
 In what he fays , for he is apt to fpeak 
 What you are loth to hear : For my fake, do. 
 
 Phi, I will. 
 
 Enter Pharamond. 
 
 Pha. My princely miftrefs, as true lovers ought, 
 I come to kils thefe fair hands ; and to fhew, 
 In outward ceremonies, the dear love 
 Writ in my heart. 
 
 Phi. If 1 fhall have an anfwer no directlier, 
 I am gone. 
 
 Pha. To what would he have anfwer ? 
 
 Are. To his claim unto the kingdom. 
 
 Pha. Sirrah, I forbare you before the king. 
 
 Phi. Good Sir, do fo ft ill : I would not talk with 
 you. 
 
 Pha. But now the time is fitter : Do but offer 
 To make mention of your right to any kingdom, 
 Though it be fcarce habitable 
 
 Phi. Good Sir, let me go. 
 
 Pha. And by my fword 
 
 Phi. Peace, Pharamond ! If thou 
 
 Jre. Leave us, Philafter. 
 
 Phi. I have done. 
 
 Pha. You are gone : By Heav'n, I'll fetch you back, 
 
 Phi. You mall not need. 
 
 Pfra. What now ? 
 
 Phi. Know, Pharamond, 
 I loath to brawl with fuch a blaft as thou,, 
 Who art nought but a valiant voice : But if 
 Thou malt provoke me further, men fhall fay 
 * Thou wert, 1 and not lament it. 
 
 Pha. Do you flight 
 My greatnefs fo, and in the chamber of the princefs ? 
 
 Phi. It is a place, to which, I muft confefs, 
 J owe a reverence : But were't die church, 
 
 Ay,
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 123 
 
 Ay, at the altar, there's no place fo fafe, 
 Where thou dar'ft injure me, but I dare kill thee. 
 And for your greatnefs, know, Sir, I can graip 
 You, and your greatnefs thus, thus into nothing. 
 Give not a word, not a word back ! Farewell. 
 
 Exit Philaftep. 
 
 Pba. 'Tis an odd fellow, madam : We muft (lop 
 His mouth with fome office, when we are married. 
 
 Are. You were beft make him your controller. 
 
 Pba. I think he would dilcharge it well. But, 
 
 madam, 
 
 I hope our hearts are knit , and yet, fo (low 
 The ceremonies of (late are, that 'twill be long 
 Before our hands be fo. If then you pleafe, 
 Being agreed in heart, let us not wait 
 For dreaming form, but take a little ftol'n 
 Delights, and fo prevent our joys to come. 
 
 Are. If you dare fpeak fuch thoughts, 
 J muft withdraw in honour. [Exit. 
 
 fba. The conftitution of my body will never hold 
 put till the wedding. I muft feck elfewhere. [Exif. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Pbilafter and Bellario. 
 
 Pbi. \ N D thou malt find her honourable, boy -, 
 
 J~ Full of regard unto thy tender youth, 
 For thine own modefty j and, for my fake, 
 Apter to give than thou wilt be to afk, 
 Ay, or defer ve. 
 
 Bel. Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing ; 
 And only yet am fomething, by being yours. 
 You trufted me unknown j and that which you were 
 apt 
 
 To
 
 124 PHILASTER, 
 
 To conftrue a fimple innocence in me, 
 
 Perhaps, might have been craft , the cunning of a boy 
 
 Hard'ned in lies and theft : Yet ventur'd you 
 
 To part my miferies and me ; for which, 
 
 I never can expect to ferve a lady 
 
 That bears more honour in her breaft than you. 
 
 Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee. Thou art young, 
 And bear'fl a childifh overflowing love 
 To them that clap thy cheeks, and fpeak thee fair yet. 
 But when thy judgment comes to rule thofe paflions, 
 Thou wilt remember beft thofe careful friends, 
 That plac'd thee in the nobleft way of life. 
 She is a princeis I prefer thee to. 
 
 Bel. In that fmall time that I have feen the world, 
 I never knew a man hafty to part 
 With a fervant he thought trufty : I remember, 
 My father would prefer the boys he kept 
 To greater men than he , but did it not 
 Till they were grown too faucy for himfelf. 
 
 Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all 
 Jn thy behaviour. 
 
 Bel. Sir, if I have made 
 A fault of ignorance, inftruft my youth : 
 I mail be willing, if not apt, to learn ; 
 Age and experience will adorn my mind 
 With larger knowledge : And if I have done 
 A wilful fault, think me not pail all hope, 
 For once. What mafter holds fo ftricl: a hand 
 Over his boy, that he will part with him 
 Without one warning ? Let me be corrected, 
 To break my ftubbornnefs, if it be fo, 
 Rather than turn me off; and I mall mend, 
 
 Phi. Thy love doth plead fo prettily to flay, 
 That, truil me, I could weep to part with thee. 
 Alas ! I do not turn thee off; thou know'ft 
 It is my bufmefs that doth call thee hence -, 
 And, when thou art with her, thou dweil'ft with me. 
 Think fo, and 'tis fo. And when time is full, 
 That thou haft well difcharg'd this heavy truft, 
 
 Laid
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 125 
 
 Laid on fo weak a one, I will again 
 
 With joy receive thee ; as I live, I will. 
 
 Nay, weep not, gentle boy ! 'Tis more than time 
 
 Thou didit attend the princefs. 
 
 Bel. I am gone. 
 
 But fince t am to part with you, my lord, 
 And none knows whether I mail live to do 
 More fervice for you, take this little prayer : 
 Heav'n blefs your loves, your fights, all your de* 
 
 figns ! 
 
 May fick men, if they have your wilh, be well , 
 And Heav'n hate thofe you curfe, though I be one ! 
 
 [*//. 
 
 Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is ftrange -, 
 I have read wonders of it : Yet this boy, 
 For my fake (if a man may judge by looks 
 And fpeech) would out-do itory. I may fee 
 A day to pay him for his loyalty. [Exit Phi. 
 
 Enter Pharamond. 
 
 Pha. Why mould thefe ladies flay fo long ? They 
 mult come this way : I know the queen employs 'em 
 not ; for the reverend mother lent me word, they 
 would all be for the garden. If they mould all prove 
 honeft now, I were in a fair taking. I was never fo 
 long without fport in my life ; and, in my confcience, 
 'tis not my fault. Oh, for our country ladies ! Here's 
 one bolted ; I'll hound at her. 
 
 Enter Galatea. 
 
 Gal. Your grace ! 
 
 Pha. Shall I not be a trouble ? 
 
 Gal. Not to me, Sir. 
 
 Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this fweet 
 hand 
 
 Gal. You'll be forfworn, Sir , 'tis but an old glove. 
 If you will talk at diftance, I am for you : But, good 
 prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag ; thefe two I 
 bar; And then, I think, I ihall have lenfe enough to 
 
 anfwer
 
 126 PHILASTER. 
 
 anfwer all the weighty apothegms your royal blood 
 fhall manage IJ . 
 
 Pha. Dear lady, can you love ? 
 
 GaL Dear, prince ! how dear ? I ne'er coft you a 
 coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a ban- 
 quet. Here's no fcarlet, Sir, to blufh the fin out it 
 was given for. This wire mine own hair covers - y 
 and this face has been fo far from being dear to any, 
 that it ne'er coft penny painting : And, for the reft 
 of my poor wardrobe, fuch as you fee, it leaves no 
 hand behind it, to make the jealous mercer's wife 
 curfe our good doings. 
 
 Pha. You miftake me, lady. 
 
 GaL Lord, I do fo: 'Would you, or I, could 
 help it ! 
 
 Pha. Do ladies of this country ufe to give no more 
 refpect to men of my full being ? 
 
 GaL Full being ! I underftand you not, unlefs your 
 grace means growing to fatnefs ; and then your only 
 remedy (upon my knowledge, prince) is, in a morn- 
 ing, a cup of neat white-wine, brew'd with carduus ; 
 then faft till fupper ; about eight you may eat , ufe 
 exercife, and keep a fparrow-hawk ; you can moot 
 in a tiller 1+ : But, of all, your grace muft fly phle- 
 botomy, frefh pork, conger, and clarified whey : 
 They are all dullers of the vital fpirits. 
 
 Pba. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. 
 
 GaL 'Tis very true, Sir ; I talk of you. 
 
 Pha. This is a crafty wench , I like her wit well ; 
 'twill be rare to ftir up a leaden appetite. She's a 
 Daaa'e, and muft be courted in a mower of gold. 
 Madam, look here : All thefe, and more than 
 
 IJ Tour royal blood fi all manage.] This word is ufed as the French 
 do their mefnager ; and the Italians, mantggiare. So we likevvife, 
 have adopted it, and lay, manage (or, handle) a difpute or argument. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 '4- Ton can Jhoot in a tiller ;] j. e. a (land ; a fmall tree left in a 
 wood for growth, till it is feilable : Or it may mean rather, in a 
 Heel bow; quafe dicas, a flttler : i. e. Arcus cbalybeatus, as Skinner 
 fays in his EfttKohgicwm. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 GaL
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 127 
 
 Gal. What have you there, my lord ? Gold ! Now, 
 as I live, 'tis fair gold ! You would have filver for 
 it, to play with the pages : You could not have taken 
 me in a worfe time ; but, if you have prefent ufe, my 
 lord, I'll fend my man with filver, and keep your 
 gold for you. 
 
 Pba. Lady, lady ! 
 
 Gal. She's coming, Sir, behind, will take white 
 money. Yet, for all this I'll match you. 
 
 Exit Gal. behind the hangings. 
 
 Pba. If there be but two fuch more in this kingdom, 
 and near the court, we may even hang up our harps. 
 'I 'en fuch camphire conftitutions as this, would call 
 the golden age again in queftion, and teach the old 
 way for every ill-fac'd hulband to get his own children ; 
 and what a mifchief that will breed, let all confider ! 
 
 Enter Megra. 
 
 Here's another : If me be of the fame laft, the devil 
 ihall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, lady. 
 
 Meg. As many mornings bring as many days, 
 Fair, fweet, and hopeful to your grace. 
 
 Pba. She gives good words yet j fure, this wench 
 
 is free. 
 
 If your more ferious bufmefs do not call you, 
 Let me hold quarter with you ; we'll talk an hour 
 Out quickly. 
 
 Meg. What would your grace talk of? 
 
 Pba. Of fome fuch pretty fubject as yourfelf. 
 I'll go no further than your eye, or lip ; 
 There's theme enough for one man for an age. 
 
 Meg. Sir, they ftand right, and my lips are yet even, 
 Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, 
 Or my glafs wrongs me. 
 
 Pba. Oh, they are two twinn'd cherries, dy'd in 
 
 bin flies, 
 
 Which thofe fair funs above, with their bright beams, 
 Reflect upon and ripen. Sweeteft beauty, 
 Bow down thofe branches, that the longing tafte 
 
 Of
 
 128 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Of the faint looker-on may meet thofe bleffings, 
 And tafte and live. 
 
 Meg. Oh, delicate fweet prince ! 
 She that hath fnow enough about her heart, 
 To take the wanton fpring of ten fuch lines off, 
 May be a nun without probation. Sir, 
 You have, in fuch neat poetry, gather'd a kifs, 
 That if I had but five lines of that number, 
 Such pretty begging blanks, 1 mould commend 
 Your forehead, or your cheeks, and kifs you too. 
 
 Pha. Do it in profe , you cannot mifs it, madam. 
 
 Meg. I mail, I mall. 
 
 Pha. By my life, you mail not. 
 I'll prompt you firll : Can you do it now ? 
 
 Meg. Methinks 'tis eafy, now 1 ha' don't before - 9 
 But yet I mould flick at it. 
 
 Pha. Stick till to-morrow , 
 I'll ne'er part you, fweeteft. But we lofe time. 
 Can you love me ? 
 
 Meg. Love you, my lord ? How would you have 
 me love you ? 
 
 Pha. I'll teach you in a fhort fentence, 'caufe I 
 will not load your memory : This is all j love me, and 
 lie with me. 
 
 Meg. Was it lie with you, that you faid ? 'Tis 
 impoffible. 
 
 Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour : 
 If I do not teach you to do it as eafily, in one night, 
 as you'll go to bed, 1*11 lofe my royal blood for't. 
 
 Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own, 
 that yet wants teaching. 
 
 Pha. I'll fooner teach a mare the old meafu;es, 
 than teach her any thing belonging to the function. 
 She's afraid to lie with herfelf, if me have but any 
 mafculine imaginations about her. I know, when 
 we are married, I muft ravifh her. 
 
 Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault, indeed ; 
 but time and your good help will wear it out, Sir. 
 
 Pha. And for any other I fee, excepting your dear 
 
 felf,
 
 P H I L A S T E R, 129 
 
 felf, cleared lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the fchool- 
 mafter, and leap a dairy-maid. 
 
 Meg. Has your grace feen the court-ftar, Galatea ? 
 Pba. Out upon her ! She's as cold of her favour 
 as an apoplex : She fail'd by but now. 
 
 Meg. And how do you hold her wit, Sir ? 
 
 Pba. I hold her wit? The ftrength of all the 
 guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it ; me 
 would blow 'em out of the kingdom. They talk of 
 Juniter; he's but a fquib-cracker to her : Look well 
 about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But 
 ipeak, fweet lady, mail I be freely welcome ? 
 
 Meg. Whither? 
 
 Pba. To your bed. If you miftruft my faith, you 
 do me the unnobleft wrong. 
 
 Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not. 
 
 Pba. Make your own conditions, my purfe mail 
 feal 'em ; and what you dare imagine you can want, 
 I'll furnifh you withal : Give two hours to your 
 thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you 
 are balhful ; fpeak in my ear, will you be mine ? 
 Keep this, and with it me : Soon I will vifit you. 
 
 Meg. My lord, my chamber's moft unfafe ; but 
 when 'tis night, I'll find fome means to flip into your 
 lodging , till when 
 
 Pba. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee ! 
 
 [ Exeunt feveral ways. 
 
 Enter Galatea from behind the hangings. 
 
 Gal. Oh, thou pernicious petticoat-prince! are 
 
 theie your virtues ? Well, if I do not lay a train to 
 
 blow your fport up, I am no woman : And, lady 
 
 Dowfabel ", I'll fit -you for't. [Exit. 
 
 f J And, ladj TowfabcJ, I'll fit you fort ] There's no fuch word 
 as Towiabel, that I know, or tfut is acknowledged by any of the 
 JJicuunarie*. 1 think, by the charge of a f.iigic letter, I have je- 
 triev'd the genuine word of our poets, Dowlabel. This is of French 
 extraction, douce et belle ; i. e. fvveet and fair : But it is here in- 
 tended ironically, and in derifion, Mr. Tbtobald. 
 VOL. I. I Enter
 
 130 P H I L A S T E R, 
 
 Enter Arethufa and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Where's the boy ? 
 
 Lady. Within, madam. 
 
 Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths ? 
 
 Lady. I did. 
 
 Are. And has he don't ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, madam. 
 
 ' Are. 'Tis a pretty fad-talking boy, is it not ? 
 Afk'd you his name ? 
 
 Lady. No madam. 
 
 Enter Galatea. 
 
 Are. Oh, you arc welcome. What good news ? 
 
 Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace, 
 That fays, me has done that you would have wim'd. 
 
 Are. Haft thou difcover'd ? 
 
 Gal. I have ftrain'd a point of modefty for you. 
 
 Are. I prithee, how ? 
 
 Gal. In lift'ning after bawdry. I fee, let a lady live 
 never fo modeftly, me mail be fure to find a lawful 
 time to hearken after bawdry. Your prince, brave 
 Pharamond, was fo hot on't ! 
 
 Are. With whom ? 
 
 Gal Why, with the lady I fufpefted : I can tell 
 the time and place* 
 
 Are. Oh, when, and where ? 
 
 Gal. To-night, his lodging. 
 
 Are. Run thy ielf into the prefence; mingle there 
 
 again 
 
 With other ladies j leave the reft to me. 
 If Deftiny (to whom we dare not fay, 
 ' Why, thou did'ft this') have not decreed it fo 
 In lafting leaves (whofe fmalleft characters 
 Were never altered) yet, this match mail break. 
 Where's the boy ? 
 
 Lady. Here, madam. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Are. Sir, you are fad to change your fervice ; is't 
 not fo ? 
 
 Ed.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 131 
 
 Bel. Madam, I have not chang'd j I wait on you, 
 To do him fervice- 
 
 Are. Thou diiclaim'ft in me. 
 Tell me thy name. 
 
 Eel Bellario. 
 
 Are. Thou canft fing, and play ? 
 
 Eel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. 
 
 Are. Alas ! what kind of grief can thy years know ? 
 Hadit thou a curft mafter when thou went'ft to fchool ? 
 Thou art not capable of other grief. 
 Thy brows and cheeks are fmooth as waters be, 
 When no breath troubles them : Believe me, boy, 
 Care feeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, 
 And builds himfelf caves, to abide in them. 
 Come, Sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me ? 
 
 Eel. Love, madam ? I know not what it is. 
 
 Are. Canft thou know grief, and never yet knew'ft 
 
 love ? 
 
 Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Docs he fpeak of me, 
 As if he wifhM me well ? 
 
 Bel. If it be love, 
 
 To forget all refpect of his own friends, 
 In thinking of your face -, if it be love, 
 To fit crofs-arm'd, and figh away the day, 
 Mingled with fcarts, crying your name as loud 
 And haftily as mi?n i' th' ftreeta do fire ; 
 If it be love, to weep himielf away, 
 When he but hears of any lady dead, 
 Or kiil'd, becuufe it might have been your chance ; 
 If, when he goes to reft (which will not be) 
 'Twixt ev'ry prayer he fays, N to name you once, 
 As others drop a bead ; L>e to be in love, 
 Then, madai;;, I dare fwear he loves you. 
 
 Are. Oh, you're a cunning boy, and taught to lie, 
 For your .! rd's credit , but thou know'ft a lie, 
 That bears this found, is welcome;- to me 
 Than iiny'ti .ith, that fays he loves me not. 
 Lead the way, !?oy. Do you attend me too. 
 'Tis thy lord s buunefs haftes me thus. Away. [Exeunt. 
 I 2 Enter
 
 132 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, tfbrafiline, Megra, and Galatea. 
 
 Dion, Come, ladies, fliall we talk a round ? As men, 
 f)o walk a mile, women mould talk an hour, 
 After fupper : 'Tis their exercife. 
 
 Gal. 'Tis late. 
 
 Meg. 'Tis all 
 My eyes will do to lead me to my bed. 
 
 Gal. I fear, they are fo heavy, you'll fcarce find 
 The way to your lodging with 'em to night. 
 
 Enter Pbaramond. 
 'fbra. The prince ! 
 
 Pha. Not a-bed, ladies ? You're good fitters-up. 
 What think you of a pleafant dream, to laft 
 Till morning ? 
 
 Meg. I mould chufe, my lord, a pleafing wake 
 before it. 
 
 Enter Aretbufa and Bellario. 
 
 Are. J Tis well, my lord ; you're courting of ladies. 
 Is't not late, gentlemen ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. Wart you there. [Exit. 
 
 Meg. She's jealous, as I live. Look you, my lord, 
 The princefs has a Hilas, an Adonis. 
 
 Pba. His form is angel-like. 
 
 Meg. Why, this is he muft, when you are wed, 
 Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with 
 His hand and voice, binding your thoughts in fleep : 
 The princefs does provide him for you, and for 
 herfelf. 
 
 Pba. I find no mufic in thefe boys. 
 
 Meg. Nor I : 
 
 They can do little, and that fmall they do, 
 They have not wit to hide. 
 
 Dion. Serves he the princefs ? 
 
 Ihra. Yes. 
 
 Dion. 'Tis a fweet bey -, h>v\ brave me keeps him. 
 
 Pba.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 133 
 
 Pba. Ladies all, good reft ; I mean to kill a buck 
 To-morrow morning, ere you've done your dreams. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Meg. All happinefs attend your grace ! Gentlemen, 
 
 good reft. 
 Come, mall we to-bed ? 
 
 Gal. Yes ; all good night. [Ex. Gal. and Meg. 
 
 Dion. May your dreams be true to you. 
 What mall we do, gallants ? 'tis late. The king 
 Is up ft ill ; fee, he comes ; a guard along 
 With him. 
 
 Enter King, Arethufa, and guard. 
 
 King. Look your intelligence be true. 
 
 Are. Upon my life, it is : And I do hope, 
 Your highnefs will not tie me to a man, 
 That, in fhe heat of wooing, throws me off, 
 And takes another. 
 
 Dion. What mould this mean ? 
 
 King. If it be true, 
 
 That lady had much better have embrac'd 
 Curelefs (difeafes : Get you to your reft. 
 
 [Exeunt Are. and Eel. 
 
 You mail be righted. Gentlemen, draw near , 
 We mall employ you. Is young Pharamond 
 Come to his lodging ? 
 
 Dion. I faw him enter there. 
 
 King. Hafte, fome of you, and cunningly difcover 
 If Megra be in her lodging. 
 
 Cle. Sir, 
 She parted hence but now, with other ladies. 
 
 King. If fhe be there, we (hall not need to make 
 A vain difcovery of our fufpicion. 
 Ye gods, 1 fee, that who unrighteoufly 
 Holds wealth, or ftate, from others, mall be curft 
 In that which meaner men are bleft withall. 
 Ages to come (hall know no male of him 
 Left to inherit -, and his name mail be 
 Blotted from earth. If he have any child, 
 
 I 3 It
 
 .i3f P H I L A S T E R.- 
 
 It mall be crofsly inatch'd ; the gods themfelves 
 Shall fow wild ilrife betwixt her lord and her. 
 Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the fin 
 I have committed ; let it not fall 
 Upon this under-ftanding child of mine ; 
 She has not broke your laws. But how can I l6 
 Look to be heard of gods, that muft be juft, 
 Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong ? 
 
 Enter Dion* 
 
 Dion. Sir, I have afked, and her women fwear flie 
 is within , but they, I think, are bawds : I told 'em, 
 I muft fpeak with her ; they laugh'd, and faid, their 
 lady lay fpeechlefs. I faid, my bufmefs was impor- 
 tant ; they faid, their lady was about it : I grew hot, 
 and cried, my bufmefs was a matter that concerned 
 life and death they anfwer'd, fo was deeping, at 
 which their lady was, I urg'd again, fhe had fcarce 
 time to be fo fince laft I faw her -, they fmil'd again, and 
 feem'd to inftrucT: me, that deeping was nothing but 
 lying down and winking. Anfwers more direct I 
 could not get : In fhort, Sir, I think me is not there. 
 
 King. 'Tis then no time to dally. You o'th' guard, 
 Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging, 
 And fee that none pafs thence, upon your lives. 
 Knock, gentlemen ! Knock loud ! Louder yet ! 
 What, has their pleafurc taken off their hearing ? 
 I'll break your meditations. Knock again ! 
 Not yet ? I do not think he deeps, having this 
 Larum by him. Once more. Pharamond! prince' 
 
 but bo-~a> can I 
 
 Lank to be beard of Gods, that muft be juj?, 
 
 Prayixg upon the ground I bold by wrong r ] In this fentiment 
 our Authors feern to be copying Shakefpeare, in a noble paffage of 
 hi* Hamlet. v 
 
 Forgive me my foul murther ! 
 
 'That cannot be, fence I am ftill poj/efi d 
 
 Oftbofe ejf'etfs for ivbicb 1 did the murtber j , 
 
 My ci'oiun, my o-"von ambition, and my queen. 
 
 May one be far dan d, and retain tV offence ? &c. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Pharamond
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 135 
 
 Pharamond above. 
 
 Pha. What faucy groom knocks at this dead of 
 
 night ? 
 
 Where be our waiters ? By my vexed foul, 
 He meets his death, that meets me, for this boldnefs. 
 
 King. Prince, you wrong your thoughts -, we are 
 
 your friends. 
 Come down. 
 
 Pba. The king? 
 
 King. The fame, Sir ; come down. 
 We have caufe of prefent counfel with you. 
 
 Pha. If your grace pleafe to ufe me, I'll attend you 
 To your chamber. [Pba. below. 
 
 King. No, 'tis too late, prince j I'll make bold 
 with yours. 
 
 Pha. I have fome private reafons to myfelf, 
 Make me unmannerly, and fay, ' you cannot.' 
 Nay, prefs not forward, gentlemen ; he muft 
 Come through my life, that comes here. [Enters. 
 
 King. Sir, be refolv'd. 
 I mult and will come. 
 
 Pba. I'll not be difhonour'd. 
 He that enters, enters upon his death. 
 Sir, 'tis a fign you make no ftranger of me ? 
 To bring thefe renegadoes to my chamber, 
 At thefe unfeafon'd hours. 
 
 King. Why do you 
 
 Chafe yourfelf fo ? You are not wrong'd, nor {hall be j 
 Only I'll fearch your lodging, for fome caufe 
 To ourfelf known : Enter, I fay. 
 
 Pba. I fay, no. [Meg. above. 
 
 Meg. Let 'em enter, prince ; let 'em enter -, 
 I am up, and ready ; I know their bufmefs : 
 'Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honour, 
 Thty hunt fo hotly after ; let 'em enjoy it. 
 You have your bufmefs, gentlemen ; I lay here. 
 Oh, my lord the king, this is not noble in you 
 To make publick the weaknefs of a woman. 
 
 I 4 King.
 
 136 P H I L A S T E R; 
 
 King. Come down. 
 
 Meg. I dare, my lord. Your whootings and your 
 
 clamors, 
 
 Your private whifpers, and your broad fleerings I7 , 
 Can no more vex my foul, than this bafe carriage. 
 But I have vengeance yet in ftore for fome, 
 Shall, in the mod contempt you can have of me, 
 Be joy and nourimment. 
 
 King. Will you come down ? 
 
 Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worft: But I mall 
 
 wring you, 
 If my fkill fail me not. 
 
 King. Sir, I muil dearly chide you for this loofenefs, 
 You have wrong'd a worthy lady j but, no more. 
 Condudl him to my lodging, and to-bed. 
 
 Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him 
 to-bed indeed. 
 
 Dion. 'Tis ftrange a man cannot ride a flage 
 Or two IS , to breathe himfelf, without a warrant. 
 Ir this geer hold, That lodgings be fearch'd thus, 
 Pray Heav'n, we may lie with our own wives in fafety, 
 That they be not by fome trick of ilate miftaken. 
 
 Enter Megra. 
 King. Now, lady of honour, where's your honour 
 
 now? 
 
 No man can fit your palate, but the prince. 
 Thou moil ill-fhrowded rottennefs - y thou piece 
 Made by a painter and a 'pothecary , 
 Thou troubled fea of luft , thou wiidernefs, 
 Inhabited by wild thoughts ; thou fwol'n cloud 
 
 17 Tour private ivhifpers and your broad fleering:, \ This is no 
 vejfe, however it has currently paiVd the ears o. all the editors. 
 The addition, which I have made, of a fir.gie fyllable, both improves 
 the fenfe and retrieves the metre. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Mr. Theobnld for broad reads broader ; but as we are not of his 
 opinion, with Telpedt to the improvement of the ienfe, we liave 
 followed the old copies. 
 
 18 1o ride a ftagge.] This is the reading of the old copies. Stagge 
 was, afte, icrr.e editions, corrupted into flag. The authors un- 
 doubtedly meant^fagft 
 
 Of
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 137 
 
 Of infedtion , thou ripe mine of all difeafes ; 
 
 Thou all fin, all hell, and laft, all devils, tell me, 
 
 Had you none to pull on with your courtefies, 
 
 But he that mud be mine, and wrong my daughter ? 
 
 By all the gods, all thefe, and all the pages, 
 
 And all the court, mail hoot thee through the court ; 
 
 Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes, 
 
 And fear thy name with candles upon walls, 
 
 Do you laugh, lady Venus ? 
 
 Meg. 'Faith, Sir, you mud pardon me -, 
 I cannot chufe but laugh to fee you merry. 
 If you do this, oh, king 1 nay, if you dare do it, 
 By all thofe gods you fwore by, and as many 
 More of mine own ; I will have fellows, and 
 Such fellows in it, as mall make noble mirth. 
 The princefs, your dear daughter, mall ftand by ni 
 On walls, and fung-in ballads, any thing. 
 Urge me 'no more ; I know her and her haunts, 
 Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will difcover all ; 
 Nay, will dimonotir her. I know the boy 
 She keeps , a handfcme boy, about eighteen -, 
 Know whan me does with him, where, and when. 
 Come, Sir, you put me to a woman's madnefs, 
 The glory of a fury ; and if I do not 
 Do it to the height 
 
 King. What, boy is this me raves at ? 
 
 Meg. Alas ! good-minded prince, you know not 
 
 thefe things ? 
 
 I am loth to reveal 'em. Keep this fault, 
 As you would keep your health, from the hot air 
 Of the corrupted people, or, by Heav'n, 
 7. will not fall alone. What I have known, 
 Shall be as public as a print j all tongues 
 Shall fpeAk it, as they do the language they 
 Are born in, as free and commonly , 111 fet it, 
 Like a prodigious ftar, for all to gaze at j 
 And fo high and glowing, that other kingdoms, 
 Far and foreign, 
 
 Shall read it there, nay, travel with it, 'till they find 
 
 No
 
 138 PHILASTER. 
 
 ^lo tongue to make it more, nor no more people j 
 And then behold the fall of your fair princefe. 
 
 King. Has me a boy ? 
 
 Cle. So pleafe your grace, I have feen a boy wait 
 On her , a fair boy. 
 
 King. Go, get you to your quarter : 
 For this time I'll ftudy to forget you. 
 
 Meg. Do you ftudy to forget me, and I'll ftudy 
 To forget you. [Ex. King y Meg. and guard. 
 
 Cle. Why, here's a male fpirit for Hercules. If 
 ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench 
 frail ride aftride, and be their captain. 
 
 Dion. Sure lhe has a garriibn of devils in her 
 tongue, fhe uttereth iuch balls of wild-fire. She has 
 fo nettled the king, that all the doctors in the country 
 will fcarce cure him. That boy .was a ftrange-found- 
 out antidote to cure her infection : That boy ; that 
 princefs' boy ; that brave, chafte, virtuous lady's 
 boy ; and a fair boy, a well-fpoken boy : All thefe 
 confidered, can make nothing elfe. But there I leave 
 you, gentlemen. 
 ' Ibra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter Ckremont, Dion, and Tbrafilins. 
 
 Cle. TV T AY, doubtlefs, 'tis true. 
 
 jj%! Dion. Ay ; and 'tis the gods 
 That rais'd this punimment, to fcourge the king 
 With his own iffue. Is it not a mame 
 For us, that fhould write noble in the land, 
 For us, that mould be freemen, to behold 
 A man, that is the bravery of his age, 
 Phifcifter," prefs'd down from his royal right, 
 By this regardlels king ? and only look 
 And fee the fceptre ready to be caft 
 
 Into
 
 PHILASTER. 159 
 
 Into the hands of that lafcivious lady, 
 
 That lives in luft with a fmooth boy, now to be 
 
 Married to yon ftrange prince, who, but that people 
 
 Pleafe to let him be a prince, is born a flave 
 
 In that which fhould be his moft noble part, 
 
 Jiis mind ? 
 
 T'hra. That man, that would not ftir with you. 
 To aid Philafter, let the gods forget 
 That fuch a creature walks upon the earth. 
 
 Cle. Philafter is too backward in't himfelf. 
 The gentry do await it, and the people 19 , 
 Againft their nature, are all bent for him, 
 And like a field of ftanding corn, that's mov'd 
 With a ftiff gale, their heads bow all one way. 
 
 Dion. The only caufe, that draws Philafter back 
 From this attempt, is the fair princefs' love, 
 Which he admires, and we can now confute. 
 
 Thra. Perhaps, he'll not believe it. 
 
 Dion. Why, gentlemen, 
 'Tis without queftion fo. 
 
 Cle. Ay, 'tis paft fpeech, 
 She lives difhoneftly : But how fliall we, 
 If he be curious, work upon his faith ? 
 
 Thra. We all are fatisfied within ourfelves. 
 
 Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good. 
 I'll make this new report to be my knowledge : 
 I'll fay I know it j nay, I'll fwear I faw it. 
 
 Cle. It will be beft. 
 
 fyra. 'Twill move him. 
 
 '9 and the people, 
 
 Againft their nature* are all bent for him .] This iecms, at firft 
 view, an odd paflage. How are the people agninft their natures for 
 Phi latter? What, was there never any people unanimous in their 
 choice of a governor? I take- it, hemuftte underftood, as meaning, 
 the people (vvhofe nature for the moft part is unconiiant, giddy, and 
 wavering) are now fo well aflared of Phihjller's worth, and right to 
 the crown, joined to his prefent ill ufage, that they are refolved and 
 fteady to do him juitice. This is properly ftyied, agai>:ft their na- 
 ture, or cuilom. Mr/Symf'on. 
 
 Enter
 
 140 P H I L A S T E R r 
 
 Enter Philafter. 
 
 Dion. Here he comes. 
 
 Good-morrow to your honour j we have fpen 
 Some time in feeking you. 
 
 Phil. My worthy friends, 
 You that can keep your memories to know 
 Your friend in miferies, and cannot frown 
 On men difgrac'd for virtue, a good day 
 Attend you all ! What fervice may I do 
 Worthy your acceptation ? 
 
 Dion. My good lord, 
 
 W r e come to urge that virtue, which we know 
 Lives in your breaft, forth ! Rife, and make a head, 
 The nobles and the people are all dulj'd 
 With this ufurping king ; and not a man, 
 That ever heard the word, or knew fuch a thing 
 As virtue, but will fecond your attempts. 
 
 Phi. How honourable is this love in you 
 To me, that have deferv'd none ? Know, my friends, 
 (You, that were born to fhame your poor Philafter 
 With too much courtefy) I could afford 
 To melt myfelf in thanks : But my defigns 
 Are not yet ripe ; fuffice it, that ere long 
 I mall employ your loves ; but yet the time 
 Is mart of what I would. 
 
 Dion. The time is fuller, Sir, than you expect : 
 That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reach'd 
 By violence, may now be caught. As for the king, 
 You know the people have long hated him , 
 But now the princefs, whom they lov'd 
 
 Phi. Why, what of her ? 
 
 Dion. Is loath'd as much as he. 
 
 Phi. By what ftrange means ? 
 
 Dion. She's known a whore. 
 
 Phi. Thy ly'ft. 
 
 Dion. My lord 
 
 Phi. Thou ly'ft, [Offers to draw and is held. 
 
 And thou fhak feel it. I had thought, thy mind 
 
 Had
 
 PHILASTER. 141 
 
 Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady 
 Of her good name, is an infectious fin, 
 Not to be pardon'd : Be it falfe as hell, 
 'Twill never be redeem'd, if it be fown 
 Amongft the people, fruitful to increafe 
 All evil they fhall hear. Let me alone, 
 That I may cut off falfhood, whilft it fprings ! 
 Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man 
 That utters this, and I will fcale them all, 
 And from the utmoft top fall on his neck, 
 L.ike thunder from a cloud. 
 
 Dion. This is moft ftrange : 
 Sure he does love her. 
 
 Phi. I do love fair truth : 
 She is my miftrefs, and who injures her, 
 Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms. 
 
 Tbra. Nay, good my lord, be patient. 
 
 Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour'd friend, 
 That comes to do his fervice, and will fliew 
 You why he utter'd this. 
 
 Phi. I aflv you pardon, Sir , 
 My zeal to truth made me unmannerly : 
 Should I have heard difhonour fpoke of you, 
 Behind your back untruly, I had been 
 As much diftemper'd and enraged as now. 
 
 Dion. But this, my lord, is truth. 
 
 Phi. Oh, fay not fo ! good Sir, forbear to fay fo* 
 'Tis then truth, that all womankind is falfe ! 
 Urge it no more ; it is impoflible. 
 Why mould you think the princefs light ? 
 
 Dion. Why, fhe was taken at it. 
 
 Phi. 'Tis falfe! Oh, Heav'n! 'tis falfe! it cannot be! 
 Can it ? Speak, gentlemen ^ for love of truth, fpeak i 
 Is't pofTible ? Can women all be damn'd ? 
 
 Dion. Why, no, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Why, then, it cannot be. 
 
 Dion. And me was taken with her boy. 
 
 Phi. What boy? 
 
 Dion. A page, a boy that fcrves hen 
 
 Pki.
 
 1 4 2 P H t L A S T E k, 
 
 Phi. Oh, good gods ! 
 A little boy ? 
 
 Dion. Ay ; know you him, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Hell and fin know him 1 Sir, you are 
 
 deceiv'd -, 
 
 I'll reafon it a little coldly with you : 
 If me were luftful, would me take a boy, 
 That knows not yet defire ? She would have one 
 Should meet her thoughts, and know the fin he ads, 
 Which is the great delight of wickednefs. 
 You are abus'd, and fo is me, and I. 
 
 Dicn. How you, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Why, all the world's abus'd 
 In an unjuft report. 
 
 Dion. Oh, noble Sir, your virtues 
 Cannot look into the fubtle thoughts of woman.. 
 In fhort, my lord, I took them , I myftlf. 
 
 Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didil ! Fly from 
 
 . my rage ! 
 
 'Would thou hadfl ta'en devils engend'ring plagues, 
 When thou didft take them ! Hide thee from my eyes \ 
 'Would thou hadft taken thunder on thy breaft, 
 When thou didft take them , or been ftrucken dumb 
 For ever j that this foul deed might have flept 
 In filence ! 
 
 Tbra. Have you known him fo ill-temper* d ? 
 
 Cle. Never before. 
 
 Phi. The winds, that are let loofe 
 From the four fev'ral corners of the earth, 
 And fpread themfelves all over fea and land, 
 Kifs not a chaite one. What friend bears a fword 
 To run me through ? 
 
 Dion. Why, my lord, are you fo mov'd at this ? 
 
 Phi. When any falls from virtue, I'm diftradt -, 
 I have an int'reft in't. 
 
 Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourfelf, 
 And think what's beft to be done. 
 
 Phi. I thank you ; I will do it. 
 Pleafe you to leave me : I'll confider of it. 
 
 To-
 
 PHILASTER. 143 
 
 To-morrow I will find your lodging forth, 
 And give you anfwer. 
 
 Dion. All the gods direft you 
 The readieft way ! 
 
 <Thra. He was extreme impatient. 
 
 Cte. It was his virtue, and his noble mind. 
 
 [Exeunt Dion, Ck. and Thra. 
 
 Phi. I had forgot to a(k him where he took them* 
 I'll follow him. Oh, that I had a fea 
 Within my breaft, to quench the fire I feel ! 
 More circumftances will but fan this fire. 
 It more affli&s me now, to know by whom 
 This deed is done, than fimply that 'tis done ; 
 And he, that tells me this, is honourable, 
 As far from lies as me is far from truth. 
 Oh, that, like beails, we could not grieve ourfelvcs* 
 With that we fee not ! Bulls and rams will fight 
 To keep their females, (landing in their fight -, 
 But take 'em from them, and you take at once 
 Their fpleens away -, and they will fall again 
 Unto their paftures, growing frefh and tat ; 
 And tafte the waters of the fprings as fweet 
 As 'twas before, finding no Hart in fleep. 
 But miferable man -See, fee, you gods, 
 
 Enter BdlariQ. 
 
 He walks ftill -, and the face, you let him wear 
 When he was innocent, is ftill the fame, 
 Not blafted ! Is this juftice ? Do you mean 
 To intrap mortality, that you allow 
 Treafon fo fmooth a brow ? I cannot now 
 Think he is guilty. 
 
 Bel. Health to you, my lord ! 
 The princels doth commend her love, her life t 
 And this, unto you. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Bellario! 
 
 Now I perceive me loves me , me does (hew it 
 In loving thee, my boy : Sh'as made thee brave. 
 
 Bel Mv lord, ihe has attir'd me paft my wilh, 
 
 Paft
 
 H4- P H I L A S T E R, 
 
 Paft my defer t j more fit for her attendant, 
 Though far unfit for me, who do attend. 
 
 Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. Oh, let all 
 
 women, 
 
 That love black deeds, learn to diflemble here, 
 Here, by this paper ! She does write to me, 
 As if her heart were mines of adamant 
 To all the world befides ; but, unto me, 
 A maiden-fnow that melted with my looks. 
 Tell me, my boy, how doth the princefs ufe thee ? 
 For I ihall guefs her love to me by that. 
 
 Bel. Scarce like her lervant, but as if I were 
 Something ally'd to her ; or had preierv'd 
 Her life three times by my fidelity. 
 As mothers fond do ufe their only fons ; 
 As I'd ufe one, that's left unto my truft 
 For whom my life fhould pay, if he met harm, 
 So me does ufe me. 
 
 Phi. Why, this is wondrous well : 
 But what kind language does me feed thee with ? 
 
 Bel. Why, me does tell me, me will truft my youth. 
 With all her loving fecrets - y and does call me 
 Her pretty fervant -, bids me weep no more 
 For leaving you , me'll fee my fervices 
 Regarded j and fuch words of that foft ftrain, 
 That I am nearer weeping when me ends 
 Than ere me fpake. 
 
 Phi. This is much better ftill. 
 
 Bel. Are you not ill, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. 111? No, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Methinks, your words 
 Fall not from off your tongue fo evenly, 
 Nor is there in your looks that quictneis, 
 That I was wont to fee. 
 
 Phi. Thou art deceiv'd, boy : 
 And me ftrokes thy head ? 
 
 Bel. Yes. 
 
 Phi. And me does clap thy cheeks? 
 
 Bel. She does, my lord. 
 
 Phi.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 145 
 
 Phi. And me does kifs thee, boy ? ha ! 
 
 Bel. How, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. She kiffes thee ? 
 
 Bel. Not fo, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Come, come, I know fhe does, 
 
 Bel. No, by my life. 
 
 Phi. Why then me does not love me. Come, fhe does. 
 I bad her do it ; I charg'd her, by all charms 
 Of love between us, by the hope of peace 
 We mould enjoy, to yield thee all delights 
 Naked, as to 'her bed : I took her oath 
 Thou fhould'ft enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy, 
 Is fhe not parallelefs ? Is not her breath 
 Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe ? 
 Are not her breafls two liquid ivory balls ? 
 
 Is fhe not all a kfting mine of joy ? 
 
 Bel. Ay, now I fee why my difturbed thoughts 
 Were fo perplex'd : When firft I went to her, 
 My heart held augury. Yon are abus'd i 
 Some villain has abus'd you ! I do fee 
 Whereto you tend : Fall rocks upon his head, 
 That put this to you : 'Tis fome lubtle train, 
 To bring that noble frame of yours to nought. 
 
 Phi. Thou think'ft I. will be angry with thee. -Come, 
 Thou malt know all my drift : 1 hate her more 
 Than I love happineis, and plac'd thee there, 
 To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds. 
 Haft thou difcover'd?' Is me fall'n to luft, 
 As I would wifh her ? Speak fome comfort to me. 
 
 Bel. My lord, you did miftake the boy you fent : 
 Had fhe the luft of fparrows, or of goats ; 
 Had fhe a fin that way,, hid from the world, 
 Beyond the name of luft, I would not aid 
 Her bafe defires ; but what I came to know 
 As fervant to her,. I would not reveal, 
 TO rrtake mylifelaft ages. 
 
 Phi. Oh, my heart! 
 
 This is a falve worle than the main difeafe. 
 Tell me thy thoughts j for I will know the leaft 
 
 VOL. I. ' K That
 
 146 P, H I L A S T E R. 
 
 That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart 
 To know it : I will fee thy thoughts as plain 
 As I do now thy face. 
 
 Bel. Why, fo you do. 
 She is (for ought I know) by all the gods, 
 As chaile as ice : But were (he foul as hell, 
 And I did know it thus, the breath of kings, 
 The points of fwords, tortures, nor bulls of brafs 4 % 
 Should draw it from me. 
 
 Phi. Then it is no time 
 To dally with thee , I will take thy life, 
 For I do hate thee : I could curfe thee now. 
 
 Bel. If you do hate, you could not curfe me worle : 
 The gods have not a punimment in ftore 
 Greater for me, than is your hate. 
 
 Phi. Fie, fie, fo young and fo diflembling ! 
 Tell me when and where thou diclft enjoy her, 
 Or let plagues fall on me, if I deftroy thee not. 
 
 Bel. Heay'n knows I never did ; and when I lie 
 To fave my life, may I live long and loath'd. 
 Hew me afunder, and, whilft I can think, 
 I'll love thofe pieces you have cut away, 
 Better than thofe that grow ^ and kifs thofc limbs 
 Becaufe you made 'em fo. 
 
 Phi. Fear'ft thou not death ? 
 Can boys contemn that ? 
 
 Bel. Oh, what boy is he 
 Can be content to live to be a man, 
 That fees the bed of men thus paflionate, 
 Thus without reafon ? 
 
 Phi. Oh, but thou doft not know 
 What 'tis to die. 
 
 Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord : 
 'Tis lefs than to be born v a lading fleep, 
 A quiet refting from all jealoufy ; 
 A thing we all purfue. I know befides, 
 It is but giving over of a game that muft be loft. 
 
 20 Bulls of brafe .'] Ari explanation of this will be found in A King 
 and NQ King. 
 
 Phi.
 
 PHI-LASTER. 147 
 
 Phi. But there are pains, falfe boy, 
 For per] ur'd fouls: Think but on thefe, and then 
 Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all. 
 
 Bel. May they fall all upon me whilit I live, 
 If I be perjur'd, or have ever thought 
 Of that you charge me with. If I be falfe, 
 Send me to fuffer in thofe punifhments 
 Youfpeakof; kill me. 
 
 Phi. Oh, what mould I do ? 
 Why, who can but believe him ? He does fwear 
 So earneftlyj that if it were not true, 
 The gods would not endure him. Rife, Bellario ! 
 Thy protcftations are fo deep, and thou 
 Doft look fo truly, when thou utter'ft them, 
 That though I know 'em falfe, as were my hopes, 
 I cannot urge thee further. But thou wert 
 To blame to injure me, for I muft love 
 Thy honeft looks, and take no revenge upon 
 Thy tender youth : A love from me to thee 
 Is firm, whate'er thou doft. It troubles me 
 That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks, 
 That did fo well become thee. But, good boy, 
 Let me not fee thee more : Something is done, 
 That will diftract me, that will make me mad, 
 If I behold thee. If thou tender'ft me, 
 Let me not fee thee. 
 
 Bel I will fly as far 
 As there is morning, ere I give diftafte 
 To that moft honour'd mind. But through thefe tears, 
 Shed at my hopeldfs parting, I can fee 
 A world of treafon praftis'd upon you, 
 And her, and me. Farewell, for evermore ! 
 If you mall hear that forrow (truck me dead, 
 And after rind me loyal, let there be 
 A tear med from you in my memory, 
 And I (hall reft at peace. [Exit. 
 
 Phi. Bleffing be with r:ee, 
 Whatever thou deferv'lt ! Oh, where mall I 
 Go bathe this body ? Nature, too unkind, 
 That made no mect'cine for a troubled mind ! [Exit. 
 K 2 Enter
 
 I 4 8 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Enter Arethufa. 
 
 Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again :' 
 But that I know my love will queftion him 
 Over and over^ how I flept, wak'd, talk'd ; 
 How I rememb'red him when his dear name 
 Was laft fpoke, and how, when I figh'd, wept, fung, 
 And ten thoufand fuch ; I mould be angry at his flay. 
 
 Enter King. 
 
 King. What, at your meditations ? Who attends 
 you ? 
 
 Are. None but my fingle felf. I need no guard ^ 
 I do no wrong, nor. fear none. 
 
 King. Tell me, have you not a boy ? 
 
 Are. Yes, Sir. 
 
 King. What kind of boy ? 
 
 Are. A page, a waiting-boy. 
 
 King. A handfome boy ? 
 
 Are. I think he be not ugly : 
 Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him j 
 I took him not for beauty. 
 
 King. He fpeaks, and fings, and plays ? 
 
 Are. Yes, Sir. 
 
 King. About eighteen ? 
 
 Are. I never ask'd his age. 
 
 King. Is he full of fervice ? 
 
 Are. By your pardon, why do you afk ? 
 
 King. Put him away. 
 
 Are. Sir ! 
 
 King. Put him away, h' as done you that good 
 
 fervice, 
 Shames me to fpeak of. 
 
 Are. Good Sir, let me nnderftand you. 
 
 King. If you fear me, 
 Shew it in duty : Put away that boy. 
 
 Are. Let me have reafon for it, Sir, and then 
 Your will is my command. 
 
 King. Do not you blufh. to alk it ? Caft him off, 
 Or I mail do the fame to you. You're one 
 
 Shame
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 149 
 
 Shame with me, and fo near unto myfelf, 
 That, by my life, I dare not tell myfelf, 
 What you, myfelf, have done. 
 
 Are. What have I done, my lord ? 
 
 King. 'Tis a new language, that all love to learn : 
 The common people fpeak it well already ; 
 They need no grammar. Underftand me well j 
 There be foul whifpers ftirring. Caft him off, 
 And fuddenly: Doit! Farewell. [Exit King. 
 
 Are. Where may a maiden live fecureiy free, 
 Keeping her honour fafe ? . Not with the living ; 
 They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, 
 And make 'em truths ; they draw a nourifhment 
 Out of defamings, grow upon difgraces - y 
 And, when they fee a virtue fortify'd 
 Strongly above the batt'ry of their tongues, 
 Oh, how they caft to fink it , and, defeated, 
 (Soul-fick with poifon) ftrike the monuments 
 Where noble names lie fleeping ; till they fweat, 
 And the cold marble melt. 
 
 Enter Philafter. 
 
 Phi. Peace to your faireft thoughts, deareft miftrefs. 
 
 Are. Qh, my deareft fervant, I have a war within me. 
 
 Pbi. He muft be more than man, that makes thefe 
 
 cryftals 
 
 Run into rivers. Sweetefl fair, the caufe ? 
 And, as I am your Have, tied to your goodnefs, 
 Your .creature, made again from what I was, 
 And newly-fpirited, I'll right your honour. 
 
 Are. Oh, my beft love, that boy ! 
 
 Phi. What boy ? 
 
 Are. The pretty boy you gave me 
 
 Pbi. What of him ? 
 
 Are. Muft be no more mine. 
 
 Pbi. Why ? 
 
 Are. They are jealous of him. 
 
 Phi. Jealous ! who ? 
 
 Are. The king. 
 
 K 3 W-
 
 i 5 o P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Phi. Oh, my fortune ! 
 Then 'tis no idle jealouly. Let him go. 
 
 Are. Oh, cruel ! are you hard-hearted too ? 
 \Vho mall now tell you, how much I lov'd you ? 
 "Who fhall fwsar it to you, and weep the tears I lend ? 
 Who fhall now bring you letters, rings, bracelets ? 
 Lofe his health in fervice ? Wake tedious nights 
 In (lories of your praife ? Who fhall fmg 
 Your crying elegies ? And ftrike a fad foul 
 Into fenfelels pictures, and make them mourn ? 
 Who fhail take up his lute, and touch it, till 
 He crown a filent fleep upon my eye-lid, 
 Making me dream, and cry, ' Oh, my dear, dear 
 4 Philafter!' 
 
 Phi. Oh, my heart ! 
 
 Would he had broken thee, that made thee know 
 Tins lady was not loyal. Miilrcis, forget 
 The boy : I'll get thee a far better. 
 
 Are. Oh, never, never fuch a boy again, as my 
 Bellario ! 
 
 Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection. 
 
 Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever 
 All fecrecy in fervants ! Farewell faith ! 
 And all defire to do well for itfelf ! 
 Let all that mail fucceed thee, for thy wrongs, 
 Sell ana betray chaite love ! 
 
 Phi. And all this paffion for a boy ? 
 
 Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, 
 And the lofs of fuch muft have a mourning for. 
 
 Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman ! 
 
 Are. How, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Falfe Arethufa ! 
 Haft thou a med'cine to reftore my wits, 
 When I have loft 'em ? If not, leave to talk^ 
 And do thus. 
 
 Are. Do what, Sir ? Would you deep ? 
 
 Phi. For ever, Arethufa. Oh, ye gods, 
 -Give me a worthy patience ! Have I ttood 
 Naked, alone, the mock of many fortunes ? 
 
 Have
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 151 
 
 Have I feen mifchiefs numberlefs, and mighty^ 
 Grow like a fea upon me ? Have I taken 
 Danger as ftern as death into my bofom, 
 And laugh'd upon it, made it but a mirth, 
 And flung it by ? Do I live now like him, 
 Under mf tyrant king, that languiming 
 Hears his fad bell, and fees his mourners ? Do I 
 Bear all this bravely, and mud fink at length 
 Under a woman's falmood ? Oh, that boy, 
 That curfed boy ! None but a villain boy 
 To eafe your luft ? 
 
 Are. Nay, then I am betray'd : 
 I feel the plot call for my overthrow. 
 Oh, I am wretched ! 
 
 Phi. Now you may take that little right I have 
 To this poor kingdom : Give it to your joy j 
 For I have no joy in it. Some far place, 
 Where never womankind duril fet her foot, 
 For burfting with her poifons, muft I feek, 
 And live to curfe you : 
 
 There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beafts, 
 What woman is, and help to faye them from you : 
 How Heav'n is in your eyes, but, in your hearts, 
 More hell than hell has : How your tongues, like 
 
 fcorpions, 
 
 Both heal and poifon : How your thoughts are woven 
 With thoufand changes in one fubtle web, 
 And worn fo by you : How that foolifh man 
 That reads the ftory of a woman's face, 
 And dies believing it, is loft for ever : 
 How all the good you have is but a fhadow, 
 I'th' morning with you, and at night behind you, 
 Paft and forgotten : How your vows are frclts, 
 Faft for a night, and with the next fun gone : 
 How you are, being taken all together, 
 A mere confufion, and fo dead a chaos, 
 That love cannot diftinguifh. Thefe fad texts, 
 Till my laft hour, I am bound to utter of you. 
 So, farewell all my woe, all my delight ! [Exit Phi. 
 K 4 Are.
 
 15.2 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and flrike me dead ! 
 What way have I deferv'd this ? Make my breaft 
 Tranfparent as pure cryftal, that the world, 
 Jealous of me, may fee the fouled thought 
 My heart holds. Where mall a woman turn her eyes, 
 To find out conftancy ? Save me, how black 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now 2I ! 
 Oh, thou diffembler, that, before thou fpak'ft, 
 Wert in thy cradle falfe, fent to make lyes, 
 And betray innocents ! Thy lord and thou 
 May glory in the afhes of a maid 
 Fool'd by her pafiion , but the conqueft is 
 Nothing fo great as wicked. Fly away ! 
 Let my command force thee to that, which fhame 
 Would do without it. If thou underftood'ft 
 The loathed office thou haft undergone, 
 Why, thou wouldfl hide thee under heaps of hills, 
 Left men mould dig and find thee. 
 
 Bel. Oh, what god, 
 
 Angry with men, hath fent this flrange difeafe 
 Into the nobleil minds ? Madam, this grief 
 You add unto me is no more than drops 
 To feas, for which they are not feen to fwell : 
 My lord hath ftruek his anger through my heart, 
 And let out all the hope of future joys. 
 You need not bid me fly j I came to part, 
 To take my lateft leave. Farewell for ever ! 
 I durft not run away, in honefty, 
 From fuch a lady, like a boy that ftole, 
 Or made fome grievous fault. The pow'r of gods 
 AlTift you in your fufPrings ! Hafty time 
 Reveal the truth to your abufed lord 
 
 a i ___ Save me, how black 
 
 And guilty, methinks, that boy looks now /] Nothing betrays a 
 corruption ib evidently at the firit glance, as a lamenefs in the metre. 
 The epithet here mult neceflarily be turned into an adverb, and that 
 fupports the verfmcaiion. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 And
 
 PHILASTER. 153 
 
 And mine, that he may know your worth ; whilft I 
 
 Go feek out fome forgotten place to die ! [Exit Bel. 
 
 Are. Peace guide thee ! Thou haft overthrown me 
 
 once; 
 
 Yet, if I hacl another Troy to lofe, 
 Thou, or another villain, with thy looks, 
 Might taJk me one of it, and fend me naked, 
 My hair dimevel'd, through the fiery ftreets. 
 
 Enter a lady. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the king would hunt, and calls 
 
 for you 
 With earneilnefs. 
 
 Are. I am in tune to hunt ! 
 Diana, if thou canft rage with a maid 
 As with a man, let me difcover thee 
 Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind, 
 That I may die purfu'd by cruel hounds, 
 And have my ftory written in my wounds. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter King, Pharamond, Arethufa, Galatea, Mtgra, 
 Dion, Cleremont, fhrafiline, and attendants. 
 
 King. YT THAT, are the hounds before, and all 
 
 V V tne woodmen ; 
 Our horfes ready, and our bows bent ? 
 Dtcn. All, Sir. 
 
 King. You're cloudy, Sir : Come, we have for- 
 gotten 
 
 Your venial trefpafs ; let not that fit heavy 
 Upon your fpirit ; none dare utter it. 
 
 Dion. He looks like on old furfeited ftallion after 
 his leaping, dull as a dormoufe. See how he finks ! 
 The wench has mot him between wind and water, and, 
 J hope, fprung a leak. 
 
 Vbra.
 
 I 5 4 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 I'bra. He needs no teaching, he ftrikes fure enough ; 
 his greateft fault is, he hunts too much in the purlieus. 
 'Would, he would leave off poaching ! 
 
 Dion. And for his horn, h'as left it at the lodge 
 where he lay late. Oh, he's a precious lime-hound ! 
 Turn him loofe upon the purfuit of a lady, and if he 
 lofe her, hang him up i'th' flip. When my fox-bitcl^ 
 Beauty grows proud, 1*11 borrow him, 
 
 King. Is your boy turn'd away ? 
 
 Are. You did command, Sir, and I obey*d you. 
 
 King. 'Tis well done. Hark ye further. 
 
 Cle. Is't poffible this fellow mould repent ? me- 
 thinks, that were not noble in him ; and yet he looks 
 like a mortified member, as if he had a fick man's 
 falve in's mouth ". If a worfe man had done this 
 fault now, fome phyfical juftice or other would 
 prefently (without the help of an almanack) have 
 opened the obftruclions of his liver, and let him 
 blood with a dog-whip. 
 
 Dion. See, fee, how modeftly yon lady looks, as if 
 jfhe came from churching with her neighbour. Why, 
 what a devil can a man lee in her face, but that Ihe's 
 honeft ? 
 
 fbra. Troth, no great matter to fpeak of * J ; q. 
 
 44 And yet h^ looks like a mortifed member, as if he lad a fick man's - 
 flave in his mouth,] We mail, furely, read fla*ver. Every body 
 rauft, I think, afleat to this ; and therefore it needs no note Tn 
 confirmation. Mr. Smart?. 
 
 We beg our readers forgivenefs for prefenting them with this 
 fyecitnen of Mr. Seward's delicate ideas ; but it is a juftice he could 
 not be denied ; as we are determined to rob him of no part of the 
 honour due to his ingenuity. A fmall portion, however, of trial 
 attention to the old copies, which is fo largely boailed of by the 
 editors of 1750, would have fpared him this conjectural labour, and 
 induced him to reftorey2z/w to the text. 
 
 ^ Pha. Troth, no great matter to /peak of, &c.] How comes 
 PbaranotuftQ interpole in this argument, and reply to what Dion, 
 _ Cleremont, and thofe whom he knew to be cfPhihfter's party, are 
 talking of, and that under the rofe, as we fay ? The fpeech muft ( 
 certainly be placed to Thrafiline. Pba. and Thru. (The abbreviation 
 of the tharaclsrs fpeaking) might eafily be miilaken at prefs. 
 
 Mr. TbeobaU. 
 
 foolifli
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 155 
 
 fbolifh twinkling with the eye, that fpoils her coat ; 
 but he muft be a cunning herald that finds it. 
 
 Dien. See how they mufter one another ! Oh, 
 there's a rank regiment where the devil carries the 
 colours, and his dam drum-major ! Now the world 
 and the flefh come behind with the carriage. 
 
 Cle. Sure, this lady has a good turn done her againft 
 her will : Before, me was common talk ; now, none 
 dare fay, cantharides can ftir her. Her face looks 
 like a warrant, willing and commanding all tongues, 
 as they will anfwer it, to be tied up and bolted when 
 this lady means to let herfelf loofe. As I live, me 
 has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious ; and 
 may ufe her body difcretely, for her health's fake, 
 once a week, excepting Lent and Dog-days. Oh, if 
 they were to be got for money, what a great fum 
 would come out of the city for thefe licences ! 
 
 King. To horfe, to horfe ! we lofe the morning, 
 gentlemen, [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter two Woodmen. 
 
 1 Wood. What, have you lodg'd the deer ? 
 
 2 Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow. 
 j Wood. Who moots? 
 
 2 Wood. The princefs. 
 
 1 Wood. No, (he'll hunt. 
 
 2 Wood. She'll take a ftand, I fay. 
 
 1 Wood. Who elfe ? 
 
 2 Wood. Why, the young ftranger prince. 
 
 i Wood. He mall moot in a ftone bow for me. 
 I never lov'd his beyond-fea-fhip, fmce he forfook the 
 fay, for paying ten millings *': He was there at the 
 fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightinefs) 
 
 4} 1 never lo^fd his beyond fea Jhip, fince he forfook the fay, for 
 paying ten fallings :] When a deer is hunted down, and to be cut up, 
 it is a ceremony lor the keeper to offer his knife to a man of the firll 
 diitind::on in the field, that he may rip up the belly, and take an 
 affay of the plight and fatnefs of the game. But this, as the Woodman 
 fays, Pharamond declined, to fave tne cuftomary fee often millings. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 give
 
 156 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 give ten groats for the dowcets ; marry, the fteward 
 would have the velvet-head into the bargain, to. 
 tuft his hat withal ~ 4 . I think he mould love venery ; 
 he is an old Sir Triftram ; for, if you be remember'd, 
 he forfook the flag once, to ftrike a rafcal mitching 
 in a meadow, and her he kill'd in the eye l \ Who 
 Jhoots elfe ? 
 
 2 Wood. The lady Galatea. 
 
 1 Wood. That's a good wench, an me would not 
 chide us for tumbling of her women in the brakes. 
 She's liberal, and, by my bow, they fay, (lie's honeft ; 
 and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to. do. 
 There's all ? 
 
 2 Wood. No, one more ; Megra. 
 
 j Wood. That's a firker, i'faith, boy, there's a 
 wench will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel 
 of hounds, as a hunting-faddle ; and when me comes 
 home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. I have 
 known her lofe herfelf three times in one afternoon 
 (if the woods have been anfwerable) and it has been 
 work enough for one man to find her ; and he has 
 fweat for it. She rides well, and me pays well. 
 Hark ! let's go. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter 'Philafter. 
 
 Phi. Oh, that I had been 1<s nourifh'd in thefe woods, 
 
 With 
 
 1 4 Marry, the ftevaard would have the 'velvet-bead into tie 
 bargain, to turf ' /. is hat withal ;] What confonancy is there betwixt 
 <vtket and turf? The original word muft certainly have been, tuft ; 
 which correfponds with the loft pile of the velvet. Feloute, tufted, as 
 the French dictionaries explain it to us. Mr. Theobald, 
 
 He forfook the flag once to flrike a rafcal milking in a meadoiu, 
 e kilTd in the eye."] A rafcal is a lean deer, or doe ; but 
 what fenfe is there in a deer milking in a meadow ? I hope I have 
 rctriev'd the true reading, witching ; t. e. creeping, folitary, and 
 withdrawn from the herd. To kill her in the eye, is a farcafm on 
 Pharamond as a bad fhooter ; for all good ones level at the heart. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 16 Oh, that 1 had been nourij/Sd, &c ] Mr. Lee, in his Theodoflus, 
 has given Varanes a fpeech lo very firmlar to this, that we muft look 
 
 on
 
 PHILAS-tER. 157 
 
 With milk of goats, and acorns, and not known 
 The right of crowns, nor the diflembling trains 
 Of womens 1 looks ; but digg'd myfelf a cave, 
 Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed, 
 Might haye been fliut together in one med ; 
 And then had taken me ibme mountain girl, 
 Beaten with winds, chafte as the harden'd rocks 
 Whereon fhe dwells ; that might have ftrew'd my bed 
 With leaves, and reeds, and with the fkins of beafts, 
 Our neighbours-, and have borne at her big breafts 
 My large coarfe iflfue. This had been a life 
 Free from vexation. 
 
 Enter Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Oh, wicked men ! 
 An innocent may walk fafe among beafts ; 
 Nothing afiaults me here. See, my griev'd lord 
 Sits as his foul were fearching out a way 
 To leave his body. Pardon me, that muft 
 Break thy laft commandment , for I muft fpeak. 
 You, that are griev'd, can pity : Hear, my lord ! 
 
 Phi. Is there a creature yet fo miferablc, 
 That I can pity ? 
 
 Bel. Oh, my noble lord ! 
 View my ftrange fortune , and beftow on me, 
 According to your bounty (if my fervice 
 Can merit nothing) fo much as may ferve 
 To keep that little piece I hold of life 
 From cold and hunger. 
 
 on it as a mere copy. Lee, however, in Come par;s has been more 
 refined in his expreflion. 
 
 4 Oh, that I had been born fome happy (Wain, 
 
 ' And never known a life fo gimt, fo vain ! 
 
 ' Where I extremes might not be forc'J to choofe, 
 
 * And, bleft with fome mean wife, no crown could lofe ; 
 
 * Where the dear partner of my little ft tte, 1 
 ' With all her fmiling offspring at the gate, > 
 ' Blefling my labours, might my coming u'ait: j 
 ' Where in our humble beds all fafe might lie, 
 
 And not ui curfed courts for glory die. 
 
 Phi.
 
 J5 S P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Phi. Is it thou ? Begone ! 
 Go, fell thofe miibefeeming cloaths thou wear'ft, 
 And feed thy felf with them. 
 
 Eel. Alas ! my lord, I can get nothing for them ;, 
 The filly country people think 'tis treaion 
 To touch fuch gay things. 
 
 Phi. Now, by my life, this is 
 Unkindly done, to vex me with thy fight. 
 Thou'rt fall'n again to thy diflembling trade : 
 How ihouldft thou think to cozen me again ? 
 Remains there yet a plague untry'd for me ? 
 Ev'n fo thou wept'it, and look'd'ft, and fpok'fr,, 
 
 when firft 
 
 I took thee up : Curie on the time \ If thy 
 Commanding tears can work on any other, 
 Ufe thy art j I'll not betray it. Which way 
 Wilt thou take, that I may fhun thee ? 
 For thine eyes are poiibn to mine ; and I 
 Am loth to grow m rage. This way, or that way ? 
 
 Bel. Any will ferve. But I will chufe to have 
 That path in chace that leads unto my grave. 
 
 [Exeunt Pbi. and Bel federally. 
 
 Enter Dion and the Woodmen. 
 Dion. This is the ftrangeft fudden chance ! You, 
 Woodman ! 
 
 1 Wood. My lord Dion ! 
 
 Dion. Saw you a lady come this way, on a fable 
 horle ftudded with flars of white ? 
 
 2 Wood. Was fne not young and tall ? 
 
 Dion. Yes. Rode me to the wood or to the plain ? 
 2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we faw none. 
 
 [Exeunt Wood. 
 
 Enter Cleremont. 
 
 Dion. Pox of your queftions then ! What, is fhe 
 found ? 
 
 Cle. Nor will be, I think. 
 
 Dion. Let him f$ek his daughter hirafelf. She cannot 
 
 ft ray
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 159 
 
 ftray about a little neceflary natural bufinefs, . but the 
 whole court muft be in arms : When Ihe has done, we 
 fhall have peace. 
 
 Cle. There's already a thoufand fatherlefs tales 
 amongft us : Some fay, her horfe run away with her-, 
 fomc, a wolf purfued her ; others, it was a plot to 
 kill her, and that armed men were feen in the wood : 
 But, queftionlefs, fhe rode away willingly. 
 
 Enter King and Tbrafilinc. 
 
 King. Where is fhe ? 
 
 Cle. Sir, I cannot tell. 
 
 King. How is that ? Anfwer me fo a^ain ! 
 
 Cle. Sir, fhall I lye ? 
 
 King. Yes, lye and damn, rather than tell me that. 
 I fay again, where is me ? Mutter not ! 
 Sir, fpeak you -, where is me ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, I do not know. 
 
 King. Speak that again fo boldly, and, by Heav'n, 
 It is thy laft. You, fellows, anfwer me ; 
 Where is fhe ? Mark me, all -, I am your king -, 
 I wifh to fee my daughter ; fhew her me ; 
 I do command you all, as you are fubje6ts, 
 To mew her me ! W 7 hat, am I not your king ? 
 If ' ay, J then am I not to be obey'd ? 
 
 Dion. Yes, if you command things pofiible and 
 honeft. 
 
 King. Things poffible and honeft ! Hear me, thou, 
 Thou traitor ! that dar'it confine thy king to things 
 Poflible and honeft ; fhew her me, 
 Or, let me perifh, if I cover not 
 All Sicily with blood ! 
 
 Dion. Indeed I cannot, unleis you tell me where 
 fhe is. 
 
 King. You have betray'd me ; y'have let me lofe- 
 The jewel of my life : Go, bring her me. 
 And fet her here, before me : 'Tis the king 
 Will have it fo ; whofe breath can ftill the winds, 
 Uncloud the fun, charm down the fwelling fea, 
 And ftop the floods of Heav'n. Speak, can it not
 
 i6o PHILASTER. 
 
 Dion. No. 
 
 King. No ! cannot the breath of kings do this ? 
 
 Dion. No ; nor fmell fweet itielf, if once the lungs 
 Be but corrupted. 
 
 King. Is it fo ? Take heed ! 
 
 Dion. Sir, take you heed, how you dare the pow'rs 
 That muft be juft. 
 
 King. Alas ! what are we kings ? 
 Why do you, gods, place us above the reft, 
 To be ferv'd, flattefM, and ador'd, till we 
 Believe we hold within our hands your thunder ; 
 And, when we come to try the pow'r we have, 
 There's not a leaf fhakes at our threat'nings. 
 I have fmn'd, 'tis true, and here ftand to be punim'd-, 
 Yet would not thus be punim'd. Let me chufe 
 My way, and lay it on. 
 
 Dion. He articles with the gods : 'Would fomebody 
 would draw bonds, for the performance of covenants 
 betwixt them ! 
 
 Enter Pbaramond, Galatea, and Megra. 
 
 King. What, is me found ? 
 
 Pba. No ; we have ta'en her horfe : 
 He gallop'd empty by. There's fome treafon. 
 You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood : 
 Why left you her ? 
 
 Gal. She did command me. 
 
 King. Command ! You mould not. 
 
 Gal. 'Twould ill become my fortunes and my birth, 
 To difobey the daughter of my king. 
 
 King. You're all cunning to obey us, for our hurt ; 
 But I will have her. 
 
 Pba. If I have her not, ( 
 By this hand, there mall be no more Sicily. 
 
 Dion. What, will he carry it to Spain in's pocket ? 
 
 Pba. I will not leave one man alive, but the king, 
 A cook, and a tailor. 
 
 Dion. Yet you may do well 
 To fpare your lady- bedfellow ; and her 
 You may keep for a fpawner. 
 
 King.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 161 
 
 King. I fee the injuries I have done muft be 
 reveng'd. 
 
 Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out. 
 
 King. Run all ; difperfe yourfelves ! The man that 
 
 finds her, 
 Or, (if fhe be kill'd) the traitor, I'll make him great. 
 
 Dion. I know fome would give five thoufand pounds 
 to find her. 
 
 Pha. Come, let us feek, 
 
 King. Each man a feveral way ; here I myfelf. 
 
 Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here. 
 
 Cle. Lady, you muft go fcarch too. 
 
 Meg. I had rather be fearch'd myfelf. [Ex. omnes. 
 
 Enter Aretbufa. 
 
 Are. Where am I now ? Feet, find me out a way, 
 Without the counfel of my troubled head : 
 I'll follow you, boldly, about thefe woods, 
 O'er mountains, thorough brambks, pits, and floods. 
 Heaven, I hope, will eafe me. I am fick. 
 
 Enter Eellario. 
 
 Bel. Tender's my lady : Heav'n knows I want 
 
 nothing, 
 
 Becaufe I do not \vifh to live ; yet I 
 Will try her charity. Oh, hear, you that have plenty \ 
 From that flowing ftore, drop fome on dry ground. 
 
 See, 
 
 The lively red is gone to guard her heart ! 
 I fear fhe faints. Madam, look up ! She breathes not. 
 Open once more thofe rofy twins, and fend 
 Unto my lord your lateft farewell. Oh, fhe ftirs : 
 How is it, madam ? Speak comfort. 
 
 Are. 'Tis not gently done, 
 To put me in a miferable life, 
 And hold me there : I prithee, let me go ; 
 I fhall do beft without thee ; I am well. 
 
 Enter Philafler. 
 
 Phi. I am to blame to be fo much in rage : 
 I'll tell her cooly, when and where I heard 
 
 VOL. I. L This
 
 1 62 PHILASTER; 
 
 This killing truth. I will be temperate 
 
 In fpeaking, and as juft in hearing. 
 
 Oh, monftrous ! Tempt me not, ye gods ! good gods, 
 
 Tempt not a frail man ! What's he, that has a heart, 
 
 But he muft eafe it here ? 
 
 Bel. My lord, help the princefs. 
 
 Are. I am well : Forbear. 
 
 Phi. Let me love light'ning, let me be embrac'd 
 And kifs'd by fcorpions, or adore the eyes 
 Of bafilifks, rather than truft the tongues 
 Of hell-bred women ! Some good gods look down, 
 And fhrink thefe veins up -, ftick me here a ftone, 
 Lailing to ages, in the memory 
 Of this damn'd aft ! Hear me, you wicked ones ! 
 You have put hills of fire into this breaft, 
 Not to be quench'd with tears , for which may guik 
 Sit on your bofoms ! at your meals, and beds, 
 Dcfpair await you I What, before my face ? 
 Poiibn of afps between your lips ! Difeafes 
 Be your btft ifTues ! Nature make a curfe, 
 And throw it on you ! 
 
 Are. Dear Philafter, leave 
 To be enrag'd, and hear me. 
 
 Phi. I have done ; 
 
 Forgive my paffion. Not the calmed fea, 
 When jEolus locks up his windy brood, 
 Is lefs diflurb'd than I : I'll make you know it. 
 Dear Arethufa, do but take this fword, 
 And fearch how temperate a heart I have , 
 Then you, and this your boy, may live and reign 
 In luft, without controul. Wilt thou, Bellario ? 
 I prithee, kill me : Thou art poor, and may'ft 
 Nourifh ambitious thoughts, when I am dead : 
 This way were freer. Am I raging now ? 
 If I were mad, I mould defire to live. 
 Sirs, feel my pulfe : Whether have you known 
 A man in a more equal tune to die ? 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulfe keeps madman's time, 
 So does your tongue* 
 
 Pit.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 163 
 
 Phi. You will not kill me, then ? 
 
 Are. Kill you ? 
 
 Eel. Not for a world. 
 
 Phi. I blame not thee, 
 
 Bellario : Thou hail done but that, which gods 
 Would have transform'd themfelves to do. Be gone j 
 Leave me without reply -, this is the laft 
 Of all our meeting. Kill me with this fword ; 
 Be wife, or worfe will follow : We are two 
 Earth cannot bear at once. Refolve to do, or 
 differ. 
 
 Are. If my fortune be fo good to let me fall 
 Upon thy hand, I fhall have peace in death. 
 Yet tell me this, will there be no (landers, 
 No jealoufy, in the other world ; no ill there ? 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 Are. Shew me, then, the way. 
 
 Phi. Then guide 
 
 My feeble hand, you that have pow'r to do it, 
 For I muft perform a piece of juftice. If your youth 
 Have any way offended Heav'n, let pray'rs 
 Short and effectual reconcile you to it. 
 
 Are. I am prepar'd. 
 
 Enter a country fellow. 
 
 Coun. I'll fee the king, if he be in the foreft ; I 
 have hunted him thefe two hours i if I mould come 
 home and not fee him, my fitters would laugh at me. 
 I can fee nothing but people better hors'd than myfelf, 
 that out-ride me ; I can hear nothing but fhouting. 
 Thefe kings had need of good brains -, this whooping 
 is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There's 
 a courtier with his fword drawn j by this hand, upon 
 a woman, I think. 
 
 Phi. Are you at peace ? 
 
 Are. With Heav'n and earth. 
 
 Phi. May they divide thy foul and body ! 
 
 Coun. Hold, daftard, ftrikea woman ! Thou'rt a 
 
 craven, I warrant thee : Thou would'ft be loth to 
 
 L 2 play
 
 164. P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 play half a dozen of venics at wallers 2y with a good 
 
 fellow for a broken head. 
 
 Phi. Leave us, good friend. 
 
 Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyfelf 
 Upon our private fports, our recreations ? 
 
 Coun. God uds, I underftand you not ; but, I 
 know, the rogue has hurt you. 
 
 Phi. Purfue thy own affairs : It will be ill 
 To multiply blood upon my head ; 
 Which thou wilt force me to. 
 
 Coun. I know not your rhetorick j but I can lay 
 it on, if you touch the woman. [They fighf. 
 
 Phi. Slave, take what thou deferv'ft. 
 
 Are. Heav'ns guard my lord ! 
 
 Coun. Oh, do you breathe ? 
 
 Phi. I hear the tread of people. I am hurt : 
 The gods take part againft me : Could this boor 
 Have held me thus elfe ?-! muft mift for life, 
 Though I do loath it. I would find a courfe 
 To loie it rather by my will, than force. [Exit Phi. 
 
 Coun. 1 cannot follow the rogue. I prithee, wench, 
 come and kifs me now. 
 
 Enter Pbaramond, Dion, Cleremont^ Thro/iline, and 
 
 Woodmen. 
 
 Pba. What art thou ? 
 
 Coun. Almoft kill'd I am for a foolifh woman ; a 
 knave has hurt her. 
 
 Z 7 Thou ivoultfft be loth to play half a dozen of <venies at 
 wafters.] /". e. cudgels. Minmew, in his Dictionary of Eleven 
 Languages, has given us a moft ridiculous reafon for the etymology 
 of this word : That cudgels were call'd ivaflers, becaufe, in fre- 
 tjuently clafhing againft each other, they fplinter'd and ivafled. I'll 
 venture to advance a more probable conjecture. We find in our old 
 law-books, that the ftatute of Weitminfter ( tp Edwardi tertii, cap. 14) 
 was made againft nighc-walkcrs, and fu/pecled perfons called ro- 
 berdefmen, ivaftours, and draw- latches. Theie ivaftcurs, or plun- 
 derers, derived their name from the Latin term, vajlatores ; and 
 thence the mifchievous weapons, or bludgeons, with which they went 
 armed, were cail'd wafers ; i. e. deftroyers. Mr. Theobald.
 
 PHILASTER. 165 
 
 Pha. The princefs, gentlemen ! Where's the wound, 
 
 madam ? 
 Is it dangerous ? 
 
 Are. He has not hurt me. 
 
 Coun. Ffaith, Ihe lyes ; h'as hurt her in the bread j 
 look elie. 
 
 Pba. Oh, facred fpring of innocent blood ! 
 
 Dion. 'Tis above wonder ! Who fliould dare this ? 
 
 Are. I felt it not. 
 
 Pha. Speak, villain, who has hurt the princefs ? 
 
 Coun. Is it the princefs ? 
 
 Dion. Ay. 
 
 Coun. Then I have feen fomething yet. 
 
 Pha. But who has hurt her ? 
 
 Coun. 1 told you, a rogue; I ne'er faw him 
 before, I. 
 
 Pha. Madam, who did it ? t 
 
 Are. Some difhoneft wretch , 
 Alas ! I know him not, and do forgive him. 
 
 Coun. He's hurt too ; ' he cannot go far; I made 
 my father's old fox fly about his ears. 
 
 Pha. How will you have me kill him ? 
 
 Are. Not at all , 
 'Tis fome diffracted fellow. 
 
 Pha. By this hand, 
 
 I'll leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a nut, 
 And bring him all in my hat. 
 
 Are. Nay, good Sir, 
 
 Jf you do take him, bring him quick to me ? 
 And I will ftudy for a punifhment, 
 Great as his fault. 
 
 Pha. I will. 
 
 Are* But fwear, 
 
 Pha. By all my love, I will. Woodmen, conduct 
 the princefs to the king, and bear that wounded 
 fellow to drefllng. Come, gentlemen, we'll follow 
 the chafe clofe. 
 
 [Exeunt Are. Pha. Dion, Cle. T^hra, and i Woodman. 
 L 3 Coun.
 
 166 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Coun, I pray you, friend, let me fee the king. 
 2 Wood. That you fhall, and receive thanks. 
 Coun. If I get clear with this, I'll go to fee no more 
 gay fights. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Bellarto. 
 
 Bel. A heavinefs near death fits on my brow, 
 And I muft deep. Bear me, thou gentle bank, 
 For ever, if thou wilt. You fweet ones all, 
 Let me unworthy prefs you : I could wifh, 
 I rather were a corie ftrew'd o'er with you, 
 Than quick above you. Dulnefs fhuts mine eyes, 
 And I am giddy. Oh, that I could take 
 So found a ileep, that I might never wake ! 
 
 Enter Philafter. 
 
 Phi. I have done ill , my confcience calls me falfe, 
 To ftrike at her, that would not ftrike at me. 
 When I did fight, methought I heard her pray 
 The gods to guard me. She may be abus'd, 
 And I a loathed villain : If me be, 
 She will conceal who hurt her. He has wounds, 
 And cannot follow ; neither knows he me. 
 Who's this ? Bellario fleeping ? If thou be'fl 
 Guilty, there is no juftice that thy deep 
 Should be fo found ; and mine, whom thou haft 
 wrong'd, [Cry within. 
 
 So broken. Hark ! I am purfued. Ye gods, 
 I'll take this offer'd means of my efcape ; 
 *They have no mark to know me, but my wounds, 
 If fhe be true ; if falfe, let mifchief light 
 On all the world at once ! Sword, print my wounds 
 Upon this fleeping boy ! I have none, I think, 
 Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. 
 
 [Wounds him. 
 Bel. Oh ! Death, I hope, is come : Bleft be that; 
 
 hand! 
 It meant me well. Again, for pity's fake ! 
 
 Phi.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 167 
 
 Phi, I have caught myfelf : [Phi. falls. 
 
 The lofs of blood hath ftay'd my flight. Here, here, 
 Is he that ftruck thee : Take thy full revenge ; 
 Ufe me, as I did mean thee, worfe than death : 
 I'll teach thee to revenge. This lucklefs hand 
 Wounded the princefs ; tell my followers, 
 Thou didft receive thefe hurts in Haying me, 
 And I will fecond thee : Get a reward. 
 
 Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and fave yourfelf. 
 
 Phi. How's this ? 
 'Wouldft thou I mould be fafe ? 
 
 Bel. Elfe were it vain 
 
 For me to live. Thefe little wounds I have 
 Have not bled much ; reach me that noble hand -, 
 I'll help to cover you. 
 
 Pbi. Art thou true to me ? 
 
 Bel. Or let me perifh loath'd ! Come, my good 
 
 lord, 
 
 Creep in among thofe bufhes : Who does know, 
 But that the gods may fave your much-lov'd breath ? 
 
 Phi. Then I mail die for grief, if not for this, 
 That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Bel. Shift for myfelf well. Peace ! I hear 'em come. 
 
 Within. Follow, follow, follow ! that way they 
 went. 
 
 Bel. With my own wounds I'll bloody my own 
 
 fword. 
 
 I need not counterfeit to fall ; Heav'n knows 
 That I can Hand no longer. 
 
 Enter Pharamond, Dion, Cleremont and fhraftline. 
 
 Pha. To this place we have track'd him by his 
 blood. 
 
 Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away. 
 
 Dion. Stay, Sir ! what are you ? 
 
 Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in thefe woods 
 By beafts : Relieve me, if your names be men, 
 Or I mall perifh. 
 
 Dion. This is he, my lord, 
 
 L 4 Upon
 
 i68 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Upon my foul, that hurt her : 'Tis the boy, 
 That wicked boy, that ferv'd her. 
 
 Pba. Oh, thou damn'd in thy creation ! 
 What caufe could'ft thou fhape to hurt the princefs? 
 
 Bel. Then I am betray'd. 
 
 Dion. Betray'd ! no, apprehended. 
 
 Bel. I confeis, 
 
 Urge it no more, that, big with evil thoughts, 
 I fet upon her, and did take my aim, 
 Her death. For charity, let fall at once 
 The punimment you mean, and do not load 
 This weary flem with tortures. 
 
 Pba. 1 will know 
 Who hir'd thee to this deed. 
 
 Bel. Mine own revenge. 
 
 Pba. Revenge ! for what ? 
 
 Bel It pleas'd her to receive 
 Me as her page, and, when my fortunes ebb*d, 
 That men find o'er them carelefs, fhe did mower. 
 Her welcome graces on me, and did fwell 
 My fortunes, 'till they overflow'd their banks, 
 Threat'ning the men that croft 'em j when, as fwift 
 As ftorms arife at fea, me turn'd her eyes 
 To burning funs upon me, and did dry 
 The dreams me had beftow'd , leaving me worle, 
 And more contemn'd, than other little brooks, 
 Becaufe I had been great. In mort, I knew 
 I could not live, and therefore did delire 
 To die reveng'd. 
 
 Pba. If tortures can be found, 
 Long as thy natural life, refolve to feel 
 The utmoft rigour. [Pbilafter creeps out of a bujh. 
 
 Cle. Help to lead him hence. 
 
 Phi. Turn back, you raviihers of innocence ! 
 Know ye the price of that you bear away 
 So rudely ? 
 
 Pba. Who's that ? 
 
 Dion. 'Tis the lord Philafter. 
 
 Phi. 'Tis not the treafure of all kiugs in one, 
 
 The
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 169 
 
 The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl 
 That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down 
 That virtue ! It was I that hurt the princefs. 
 Place me, fome god, upon a Piramis, 
 Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice 
 Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence 
 I may difcourfe to all the under- work}. 
 The worth that dwells in him ! 
 
 Pba. How's this ? 
 
 Bel. My lord, fome man 
 Weary of life, that would be glad to die. 
 
 Phi. Leave thefe untimely courtefies, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Alas, he's mad ! Come, will you lead me on ? 
 
 Phi. By all the oaths that men ought raoft to keep. 
 And gods to punifh moft when men do break, 
 He touch'd her not. Take heed, Bellario, 
 How thou dofl drown the virtues thou haft mown, 
 With perjury By all that's good, 'twas I ! 
 You know, me flood betwixt me and my right. 
 
 Pba. Thy own tongue be thy judge. 
 
 Cle. It was Philaiter. 
 
 Dion. Is't not a brave boy ? 
 Well, Sirs, I fear me, we were all deceiv'd. 
 
 Phi. Have I no friend here ? 
 
 Dion. Yes. 
 
 Phi. Then mew it : 
 
 Some good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. ^ , 
 Would you have tears flied for you when you die ? 
 Then lay me gently on his neck, that there 
 I may weep floods, and breathe out my fpirit. 
 *Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold 
 Lock'd in the heart of earth, can buy away 
 This arm-full from me : This had been a ranfom 
 To have redeem'd the great Auguftus Caefar, 
 Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men, 
 More ftony than thefe mountains, can you fee 
 Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flefh 
 To flop his life ? To bind whole bitter wounds, 
 Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears 
 ^ Bathe
 
 iyo P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Bathe 'em. Forgive me, thou that art the wealth 
 Of poor Philafter. 
 
 Enter King, Aretbufa, and a guard. 
 
 King. Is the villain ta'en ? 
 
 Pba. Sir, here be two confefs the deed ; but, fay 
 -it was Philafter ? 
 
 Phi. Queftion it no more -, it was. 
 
 King. The fellow, that did fight with him, will 
 tell us that. 
 
 Are. Ah me ! I know he will. 
 
 King. Did not you know him ? 
 
 Are. Sir, if it was he, he was difguifed. 
 
 Phi. I was fo. Oh, my ftars ! that I mould live 
 ftill. 
 
 King. Thou ambitious fool ! 
 Thou, that haft laid a train for thy own life ! 
 Now I do mean to do, Pll leave to talk. 
 Bear him to priibn. 
 
 Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence 
 This harmlefs life ; mould it pafs unreveng'd, 
 I mould to earth go weeping : Grant me, then, 
 (By all the love a father bears his child) 
 Their cuftodies, and that I may appoint 
 Their tortures, andjheir death. 
 
 Dion. Death ? Soft ! our law 
 Will not reach that, for this fault. 
 
 King. 'Tis granted-, take 'em to you, with a guard, 
 Come, princely Pharamond, this bufmefs paft, 
 We may with more fecurity go on 
 To your intended match. 
 
 Cle. I pray, that this action lofe not Philafter the 
 hearts of the people. 
 
 Dion. Fear it not , their over- wife heads will think 
 it but a trick. , [Exeunf, 
 
 ACT
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 171 
 
 ACT V, 
 
 Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thra/tline. 
 
 Tkra. T TAS the king fent for him, to death ? 
 
 XJL Dion. Yes; but the king muft know, 
 'tis not in his power to war with Heav'n. 
 
 Cle. We linger time -, the king fent for Philafter 
 and the headfman an hour ago. 
 
 'Thra. Are all his wounds well ? 
 
 Dion. All -, they were but fcratches ; but the lofs 
 of blood made him faint. 
 
 Cle. We dally, gentlemen, 
 
 tyra. Away ! 
 
 Dion. We'll fcuffle hard, before he perifh. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Philafter, Arethufa, and Bellario. 
 
 Are. Nay, dear Philafter, grieve not ; we are well. 
 
 Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear ^ we are wondrous 
 well. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Arethufa! oh, Bellario! leave to be kind: 
 I mall be mot from Heav'n, as now from earth, 
 If you continue fo. I am a man, 
 Falfe to a pair of the moft trufty ones 
 That ever earth bore : Can it bear us all ? 
 Forgive, and leave -me ! But the king hath lent 
 To call me to my death : Oh, mew it me, 
 And then forget me ! And for thee, my boy, 
 I mall deliver words will mollify 
 The hearts of beafts, to fpare thy innocence. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing 
 Worthy your noble thoughts : 'Tis not a life ; 
 'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away. 
 Should I out-live you, I mould then out-live 
 Virtue and honour , and, when that day comes, 
 If ever I fhall clofe thefe eyes but once, 
 
 May
 
 172 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 May I live fpotted for my perjury, 
 And wafte my limbs to nothing ! 
 
 Are. And 1 (the woful'ft maid that ever was, 
 Forc'd with my hands to bring my lord to death) 
 jDo, by the honour of a virgin, fwear, 
 To tell no hours beyond it. 
 
 Phi. Make me not hated fo. 
 
 Are. Come from this prifon, all joyful to our deaths. 
 
 Phi. People will tear me, when they find ye true 
 To fuch a wretch as I ; I mall die loath'd. 
 Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilft I 
 For ever deep forgotten with my faults ! 
 Ev'ry juft fervant, ev'ry maid in love, 
 Will have a piece of me, if ye be true. 
 
 Are. My dear lord, fay not fo. 
 
 Bel. A piece of you ? 
 He was not born of women that can cut 
 It and look on. 
 
 Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you 28 , 
 For elie my heart will break with mame and forrow. 
 
 Are. Why, 'tis well. 
 
 Bel. Lament no more. 
 
 Phi. What would you have done 
 If you had wrong'd me bafely, and had found 
 My life no price, compar'd to yours ? For love, Sirs, 
 peal with me truly. 
 
 Bel. 'Twas miftaken, Sir. 
 
 Phi. W T hy, if it were ? 
 
 Bel. Then, Sir, we would have afk'd you pardon. 
 
 Phi. And have hope to enjoy it ? 
 
 Are. Enjoy it ? ay. 
 
 take me in tears betiuixt you, 
 
 For tny heart ivii/ break <witb JJoame and forronv. 
 
 Are. WbyStis well] The reader will fee, that the fecond line 
 is no verfe; and how abfurd is it for the tender Arethufa to anfwer, 
 Jhat it is well that his heart will break. Befide, a flood of tears eafes 
 the heart overcharged with grief, and hinders it from breaking. By 
 rcfloring the particle elfe, we (hall recover both meafure and fenfe. 
 The tears are to prevent the buriiing of his heart ; and this is what 
 jArethufa fays is 'well. Mr. Seward. 
 
 Phi.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 173 
 
 Phi. Would you, indeed ? Be plain. 
 
 Bel. We would, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Forgive me, then. 
 
 Are. So, fo. 
 
 Eel. 'Tis as it mould be now, 
 
 Pbi. Lead to my death. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enttr King, Dion, Cleremont, and Tbrafiline. 
 
 King. Gentlemen, who faw the prince ? 
 
 Cle. So pleafe you, Sir, he's gone to fee the city, 
 And the new platform, with fome gentlemen 
 Attending on him. 
 
 King. Is the princefs ready 
 To bring her prifoner out ? 
 
 Tbra. She waits your grace. 
 
 King. Tell her we ftay. 
 
 Dion. King, you may be deceiv'd yet : 
 The head, you aim at, coft more fetting on 
 Than to be loft fo lightly. If it muft off, 
 Like a wild overflow, that fwoops before him 
 A golden flack, and with it makes down bridges. 
 Cracks the ftrong hearts of pines, whofe cable roots 
 Held out a thouland ftorms, a thoufand thunders, 
 And, fo made mightier, takes whole villages 
 Upon his back, and in that heat of pride, 
 Charges ftrong towns, tow'rs, caftles, palaces, 
 And lays them defolate ; fo mail thy head, 
 Thy noble head, bury the lives of thoufands, 
 That muft bleed with thee like a facrifice, 
 In thy red ruins. 
 
 Enter Philafter, Aret'hufa, and Beltario in a role and 
 garland. 
 
 King. How now! what mafque is this ? 
 
 Bel. Right royal Sir, I mould 
 Sing you an epithalamium of thefe lovers, 
 But, having loft my beft airs with my fortunes, 
 And wanting a celeftial harp to ftrike 
 This blefled union on, thus in glad ftory 
 
 I give
 
 174 PHILASTER; 
 
 I give you all. Thefe two fair cedar-branches, 
 The nobleft of the mountain, where they grew 
 Straiteft and talleft, under whofe ftill fhades 
 The worthier beafts have made their layers, and flept 
 Free from the Sirian ftar, and the fell thunder-ftroke, 
 Free from the clouds, when they were big with humour, 
 And deliver'd, in thoufand fpouts, their ifTues to the 
 
 earth : 
 
 Oh, there was none but filent quiet there ! 
 'Till never-pleafed Fortune mot up fhrubs, 
 Bafe under-brambles, to divorce thefe branches ; 
 And for a while they did fo ; and did reign 
 Over the mountain, and choak up his beauty 
 With brakes, rude thorns and thirties, till the fun 
 Scorch'd them ev'n to the roots, and dry'd them there ; 
 And now a gentle gale hath blown again, 
 That made thefe branches meet, and twine together, 
 Never to be divided. The god, that fings 
 His holy numbers over marriage-beds, 
 Hath knit their noble hearts, and here they ftand 
 Your children, mighty king j and I have done. 
 
 King. Hov/, how? 
 
 Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, 
 (For there's no mafquing 1? in't) this gentleman, 
 The prifoner that you gave me, is become 
 My keeper, and through all the bitter throes 
 Your jealoufies and his ill fate have wrought him, 
 Thus nobly hath he ftruggled, and at length 
 Arriv'd here my dear hufband. 
 
 King.. Your dear hufband ! Call in 
 The captain of the citadel ; there you mall keep 
 Your wedding. I'll provide a mafque mail make 
 
 -9 For now there is no mafquing int.~\ Here Mr. Theobald, whofe 
 paffiorr for interpolating mifchievous monofyllables exceeds not only 
 example but credibility, puzzles us with the word now. Arethufa 
 does not mean to fay there had been any mafquing, which now 
 implies, but to reply to the king's queftion at the beginning of the 
 fcene, What tnafque is this f ' Sir, if BeHario is too florid, under- 
 ' ftand, in plain truth (for there is no mafquing in it), that my pri- 
 f foner is become my keeper.' 
 
 Your
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 175 
 
 Your Hymen turn his faffron into a fullen coat, 
 And fing fad requiems to your departing fouls : 
 Blood fhall put out your torches -, and, inftead 
 Of gaudy flow'rs about your wanton necks, 
 An axe fhall hang like a prodigious meteor, 
 Ready to crop your loves' fweets. Hear, ye gods J 
 From this time do I make all title off 
 Of father to this woman, this bafe woman y 
 And what there is of vengeance, in a lion 
 Cafl among dogs, or robb'd of his dear young, 
 The fame, enforc'd more terrible, more mighty, 
 Expect from me ! 
 
 Are. Sir, by that little life I have left to fwear by, 
 There's nothing that can ftir me from myfelf. 
 What I have done, I've done without repentance ; 
 For death can be no bugbear unto me, 
 So long as Pharamond is not my headfman. 
 
 Dion. Sweet peace upon thy foul, thou worthy maid, 
 Whene'er thou dieft ! For this time I'll excufe thee, 
 Or be thy prologue. 
 
 Phi. Sir, let me fpeak next -, 
 And let my dying words be better with you 
 Than my dull living actions. If you aim 
 At the dear life of this fweet innocent, 
 You are a tyrant and a favage monfter ; 
 Your memory fhall be as foul behind you, 
 As you are. living ; all your better deeds }0 
 Shall be in water writ, but this in marble -, 
 No chronicle fhall fpeak you, though your own, 
 But for the mame of men. Np monument 
 
 - all your better deeds 
 
 Shall be in water ivn't. but this, in marble :] This fentimcnt 
 frems to have been fliadow'J oat fiom Shakefpe.ire in his King 
 Henry the Eighth. 
 
 AJens evil manner/ live in brafs, their virtues 
 
 We write in water. 
 Tho* peihaps, our fevcrul poets might have had Catullus for their 
 
 la vtntt fcf rapidd fcribcie ifortet aqua. Mr. TltobaU. 
 
 (Though
 
 176 P H I L A $ T E R. 
 
 (Though high and big as Pelion 3I ) fnall be able 
 To cover this bafe murder ; Make it rich 
 With brafs, with pureft gold, and fhining jafper, 
 Like the Pyramids , lay on epitaphs, 
 Such as make great men gods ; my little marble 
 (That only clothes my afhes, not my faults) 
 Shall far out-fhine it. And, for after iffues, 
 Think not fo madly of the heav'nly wifdoms, 
 That they will give you more for your mad rage 
 To cut offj 'lels it be fome make, or fomething 
 Like yourfelf, that in his birth mail ftrangle youj 
 Remember my father, king ! There was a faulty 
 But I forgive it. Let that fin periuade you 
 'to love this lady : If you have a foul, 
 Think, fave her, and be faved. For myfelf, 
 1 have fo long expected this glad hour, 
 So languim'd under you, and daily wither'd^ 
 That, Heaven knows, it is my joy to die : 
 I find a recreation in't. 
 
 Enter a Meffmger. 
 
 Mef. Where's the king ? 
 
 King. Here. 
 
 Mef. Get you to your ftrengthj 
 And refcue the prince Pharamond from danger : 
 He's taken prifoner by the citizens, 
 Fearing the lord Philaften 
 
 Dion. Oh, brave followers ! 
 Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny ! 
 Now, my brave valiant foremen, mew your weapons 
 In honour of your miftreffes. 
 
 3* (The? high andbig as Pelion), ffr.] Some of the old quarto's 
 Tidiculoi:fi;' have it Pelican ; (as, I remember, fome of the old 
 editions of' Shakefpetre read Politician inflead of Pelican.] The true 
 reading, undoubtedly, is Pelicn, a mountain very amply celebrated- 
 by the clafficks ; and mentioned by our own choicefl clafiick in his 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Now pile your duft upon the quick and dead. 
 
 Till of this fat a mountain you ba-je made 
 
 T 1 o'er -top old Pelion, or the Jkyifi) head 
 
 Of blue Ofymfus.- Mr. Ibeolald. 
 
 f Enter
 
 PHILASTER, 
 
 "77 
 
 Enter another Me/enger. 
 
 Mef. Arm, arm, arm ! 
 
 King. A thoufand devils take 'em ! 
 
 Dion. A thoufand bleffings on *em ! 
 
 Mef. Arm, oh, king ! The city is in mutiny, 
 Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on 
 In refcue of the lord Philafter. 
 
 [Exit with Are. Phi. Bel. 
 
 King. Away to th' citadel : Pil fee them fafc, 
 And then cope with thefe burghers. Let the guard 
 And all the gentlemen give ftrong attendance. [Exit. 
 
 Manent Dion, Cleremont, ttrafiline. 
 
 Ck. The city up ! this was above our wimes. 
 
 Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life, 
 This noble lady has deceiv'd us all. 
 A plague ijpon myfelf, a thoufand plagues, 
 For having fuch unworthy thoughts of her dear 
 
 honour ! 
 
 Oh, I could beat myfelf ! or, do you beat me, 
 And I'll beat you ; for \ve had all one thought, 
 
 Cle. No, no, 'twill but lofe time. 
 
 Dion. You lay true. Are your fwords marp ? 
 Well, my dear countrymen What-ye-lack r ~, if you 
 continue, and fall not back upon the firft broken 
 fliin, I'll have you chronicled and chronicled, and 
 .cut and chronicled, and fung in all-to-be-praifed 
 fonnets, and grav'd in new brave ballads, that all 
 tongues mall troule you in facula faculorum, my kind 
 can-carriers r \ 
 
 Thra. 
 
 ** Wtll, my dear countrymen, what ye lack,] We apprehend What 
 $e lack to be a name given tc, or epithet intenced todepift, the lower 
 clafs of people ; fuch as hawk things in the Itreets, &c. 
 
 3* f II have you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled, 
 <z</all-to-be-prais'd, and fun? in fonnets, and bath'd in nc<w brave 
 hallcds, that all tongues Jhall trouble you in f<ecula J^culorum, my 
 .kind can-car fieri.] I thought this for a long time to be luch dcfperato 
 nonfenfe, that the meaning of the Poets would be quite irretrievable, 
 
 VOL. I. M a
 
 178 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Thra. What if a toy take 'em i' th* heels now, 
 and they run al) away, and cry, ' the devil take the 
 'hindmoft 34 ?' 
 
 Dion. Then the fame devil take the foremoft too, 
 and foufe him for his breakfaft ! If they all prove 
 cowards, my curfes fly amongft them, and be fpelS- 
 ing ! May they have murrains rain to keep the gen- 
 tlemen at home, unbound in eafy frieze ! May the 
 moths branch their velvets, and their filks only be 
 worn before fore eyes ! May their falfe lights undo 
 'em, and difcover prefies, holes, ftains, and oldnefs 
 in their fturTs, and make them fhop-rid ! May they 
 keep whores and horfes, and break ; and live mewed 
 up with necks of beef and turnips ! May they have 
 many children, and none like the father ! May they 
 know no language but that gibberim they prattle 
 to their parcels 35 ; unlefs it be the ^ Gothick Latin 
 they write in their bonds ; and may they write that 
 falfe, and tofe their debts ! 
 
 Enter the King. 
 
 King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound 
 
 a no one of the editions give die le?.ft glimpfe of light or affiilance. 
 But (thanks to plodding induilry \) 1 hope, I have fcur.d the certain 
 Cure. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 ** And cry, the devil take the hir.drnoft.] Occupet txtremum fea- 
 lies, fays Ho. ace: To which execration, no doubt, our Authors had 
 an eye. A/V. c li:tiba.ld. 
 
 We rather imagine, cur Authors looked doivn to the mob, than 
 up to Horace, for this long ufed vulgar phrafe. 
 
 35 They prattle to their parcels.] Shakefpeare, as well ts cur Au- 
 thors, ufes the word parcels as a contemptuous mode of expreffing 
 tzmpaniim, Jamiiies, or fometimes auditors. 
 
 > 6 Unlefs it be the goarifh Letting Thus the folio edition in 1679; 
 but rlu;re is no fuch word in E; g:;lh, ar.d, conlequeiitfy, it is ilark 
 nonfer.fe. The quarto of 1628 iu:s it, goatijh ; but there is nothing 
 vvanton, or lafcivious, in a bond ; therefore, this reading isasuumean- 
 ir,g as tlie other. I dare \vnrrr.nt, that J hp.ve retrieved the Authois 1 
 genuine text, in the word Gotbick ; i.e. barbarous: No greater bar- 
 barij'mt than in Law Latin. So, in Wit without Money, 
 jVs more Jettfi fpdiff all t !:ings Goth and Vandal. 
 
 Mr. TAeo&atl/. 
 
 them,
 
 PHILASTER. 179 
 
 them, how they fwarm together ! What a hum they 
 raife ! Devils choke your wild throats! If a man had 
 need to ufe their valours, he muft pay a brokage for 
 it, and then bring 'em on, and they will fight like 
 fheep. 'Tis Philafter, none but Philafter, muft allay 
 this heat : They will not hear me fpeak, but fling 
 dirt at me, and call me tyrant. Oh, run, dear friend, 
 and bring the lord Philafter : Speak him fair ; call 
 him prince ; do him all the courtefy you can -, com- 
 mend me to him ! Oh, my wits, my wits ! [Exit Cle. 
 
 Dion. Oh, my brave countrymen ! as I live, I will 
 not buy a pin out of your walls for this : Nay, you 
 mall cozen me, and I'll thank you ; and fend you 
 brawn and bacon, and foil you every long vacation a 
 brace of foremen, that at Michaelmas mail come up 
 fat and kicking. 
 
 King. What they v/ill do with this poor prince, the 
 gods know, and I fear. 
 
 Dion. Why, Sir; they'll flea him, and make church- 
 buckets on's fkin, to quench rebellion , then clap a 
 rivet in's fconce, and hang him up for a lign. 
 
 Enter Gkremont with Philafer. 
 
 King. Oh, worthy Sir, forgive me ! Do not make 
 Your miieries and my faults meet together, 
 To bring a greater danger. Be yourfelf, 
 Still found amongft difeales. I have wrong'd you, 
 And though I find it laft, and beaten to it, 
 Let firft your goodnefs knew it. Calm the people, 
 And be what you were born to : Take your love, 
 And with her my repentance, and my wifhes, 
 And ail my pray'rs. By th' gods, my heart fpeaks 
 
 this.; 
 
 And if the leaft fall from me not perforrn'd, 
 May I be ftruck with thunder ! 
 
 Phi. Mighty Sir, 
 
 I will not do your greatnefs fo much wrong, 
 As not to make your word truth. Free the princefs, 
 And the poor boy, and let me ft and the mock 
 
 M 2 Of
 
 i8o P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Of this mad fea-breach ; which I'll either turn, 
 Or perifh with it. 
 
 King. Let your own word free them. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I take my leave, killing your hand,, 
 And hanging on your royal word. Be kingly, 
 And be not mov'd, Sir : I fhall bring you peace 
 Or never bring myfelf back. 
 
 King. All the gods go with thee ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter an old captain and citizens^ with Pharamond. 
 
 Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let's fall on ! 
 let our caps fwarm, my boys, and your nimble tongues 
 forget your mothers gibberim, of what do you lack, 
 and fet your mouths up, children, till your palates 
 fall frighted, half a fathom paft the cure of bay-falt 
 and grofs pepper. And then cry Philafter, brave 
 Philafter ! I.et Philafter be deeper in requeft, my 
 ding-dongs, my pairs of dear indentures, kings of 
 clubs, than your cold water camlets, or your paint- 
 ings fpotted with copper 7 . Let not your hafty filks 1 
 or your branch'd cloth of bodkin, or your tifiiies, 
 dearly beloved of fpiced cake and cuftard, your Robin- 
 hoods, Scarlets and Johns, tie your affections in dark- 
 nefs to your mops. No, dainty duckers, up with 
 your three-pil'd fpirits, your wrought valours ; and 
 let your uncut choler make the king feel the meafure 
 of your mightinefs. Philafter ! cry, my rofe-nobles, 
 cry. 
 
 All Philafter ! Philafter ! 
 
 Cap. How do you like this, my lord prince ? Thefe 
 are mad boys, I tell you ; thefe are things that will 
 not ftrike their top-fails to a foift , and let a man of 
 war, an argofy ?s , hull and cry cockles. 
 
 ___._==______ Pka ' 
 
 37 .,,._. -. or your paintings 
 
 Spitted with copper.~] This to me is quite unintelligible ; I have 
 ventured to fubilitute Jpotfeei; i.e. fnrinUed with copper, as our 
 painted papers for hangings are, to referable gold, and look gaudy. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 38 An argofy lull and cry cockles.] Any large veffrl, fo called from 
 
 Jaion's
 
 P H I L A S T E R. i8i 
 
 Pha. Why, you rude flave, do you know what 
 you do ? 
 
 Cap. My pretty prince of puppets, we do know ; 
 and give your greatnefs warning, that you talk no 
 more fuch bug-words, or that fold*red crown (hall be 
 fcratch'd with amufquet. Dear prince Pippen, down 
 wrji your noble blood ; or, as I live, I'll have you 
 coddled. Let him loofe, my fpirits ! Make us a 
 round ring with your bills, my Hectors, and let us 
 fee what this trim man dares do. Now, Sir, have at 
 you ! Here I lie, and with this fwafhing blow (do 
 you fweat, prince ?) I could hulk your grace, and 
 hang you up crofs-leggM, like a hare at a poulter's J9 , 
 and do this with this wiper. 
 
 Pha. You will not fee me murder'd, wicked villains ? 
 
 i Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, Sir : We have not feen 
 one foe a great while 4 . 
 
 Cap. He would have weapons, would he ? Give 
 him a broadfide, my brave boys, with your pikes ; 
 branch me his (kin in flowers like a fattin, and be- 
 tween every flower a mortal cut. Your royalty mail 
 ravel ! Jag him, gentlemen : 111 have him cut to the 
 kell, then down the feams. Oh, for a whip to make 
 him galloon-laces ! Pll have a coach-whip. 
 
 Pha. Oh, fpare me, gentlemen ! 
 
 Cap. Hold, hold; the man begins to fear, and 
 know himfelf ; he mail for this time only be feel'd up, 
 
 Jafon's large fhip Argo. A veflel is faid to bull, when (he floats, or 
 riJes idle to and fro upon the water. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 AfoiJ} is an old word for a fmnlier vcffel. So, in Ben Jonfou's 
 Silent Woman, When the galley Joift is afloat to Wellminiler.' 
 
 J 9 Lite a bare at a poulter's. J We now fay poulterer ; however, 
 there is a company in the city ot London, whicu llul retains its old 
 name of Poultcrs. 
 
 * Tits, indeed, will we, Sir; <we have net feen one foe a g- rai 
 nuhile.~\ This is a typographical error, which, however, makes non- 
 fenie of the paffrge. Foe is millikenly put forfo. Mr. Sjmffi*. 
 
 We apprehend the old reading, foe, to be right ; and that this 
 paflage is meant to exprcfs their not having for a long time been en- 
 gaged ia war. 
 
 M 3 with
 
 jg2 P II I L A S T E R. 
 
 ; with a feather through his nofe 4I , that he may only 
 fee Heaven, and think whither he is going. Nay, my 
 beyond-fea Sir, \vewili proclaim you : You would be 
 king! Thou tender heir apparent to a church-ale, them 
 flight prince of fingle farcenet , thou royal ring-tail **, 
 fit to fly at nothing but poor mens' poultry, and have 
 every boy beat thee from that too with his breatfflmd 
 butter ! 
 
 Pha. Gods keep me from thefe hell-hounds ! 
 
 2 Cit. Shall's geld him, captain ? 
 
 Cap. No, you mall fpare his dowcets, my dear 
 doniels , as you refpeft the ladies, let them flourifh ; 
 The curfes of a longing woman kill as Tpeedy as a 
 plague, boys. 
 
 1 Cit. I'll have a leg, that's certain. 
 
 2 Cit. I'll "have an arm. 
 
 3 Cit. Til have his nofe, and at mine own charge 
 biiild a college, and clap it upon the gate. 
 
 4 Cit. I'll have his little gut to firing a kit with; 
 for, certainly, a royal gut will found like filver. 
 
 Pha. 'Would they were in thy belly, and I paft 
 my pain once ! 
 
 5 Cit. Good captain, let me have his liver to feed 
 ferrets. 
 
 Cap. Who will have parcels elfe ? fpeak. 
 
 Pha. Good gods, confider me ! I mail be tortur'd. 
 
 1 Cit. Captain, I'll give you the trimming of your 
 two-hand fword, and let me have his (kin to make 
 falfe fcabbards. 
 
 2 Cit. He has no horns, Sir, has he 4? ? 
 
 41 He Jh all for ibis tir:e only be fer.l'd up, nxitb a featl:r trough 
 the nofe.~\ There is a ciifterence, which the printers did not know 
 
 betwixt /M/V and yWV; the latter is a term in falconry. When a 
 hawkisfiiic taken, a thread is run through its eyelids, fo that Ihe 
 may fee very litt'e, to make her the better endure the hood. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 4 1 Thou royal ring- tail ] A ting-tall is a fort of a kite, with a 
 \vhitiih rail. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 & He had no horns, Sir, hsd be?~\ We have made a fmrJI altera- 
 tion here, which, from the ether parts of the dialogue, feems abfc- 
 lutejy necefjary. 
 
 Cap.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 183 
 
 Cap. No, Sir, he's a pollard". What would'ft 
 thou do with horns ? . 
 
 2 Cit. Oh, if he had, I would have made rare hafts 
 and whittles of 'em , but his fhin-bones, if they be 
 found, mall ferve me. 
 
 Enter Pbikfrer. 
 
 All. Long live Philafter, the brave prince Philafter ! 
 
 Phi. I thank you, gentlemen. But why are thefe 
 Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands 
 Uncivil trades ? 
 
 Cap. My royal Roficlear, 
 
 We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers ! 
 And when thy noble body is in durance, 
 Thus do we clap our mufty murrions on, 
 And trace the ftreets in terror. Is it peace, 
 Thou Mars of men ? Is the king fociable, 
 And bids theelive? Art thou above thy foemen, 
 And free as Phcebus ? Speak. If not, this {land 
 Of royal blood mail be abroach, a-tilt, 
 And run even to the lees of honour. 
 
 Pbi. Hold, and be fatisfied : I am myfelf ; 
 Free as my thoughts are : By the gods, I am. 
 
 Cap. .Art thou the dainty darling of the king ? 
 Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules ? 
 Do the lords bow, and the regarded fcarlets 
 Kifs their gum'd golls ^^ and cry, ' we are your 
 
 fervants ? ' 
 
 Is the court navigable, and the prefence ftuck 
 With flags of friendfhip ? If not, we 'are thy caftle, 
 And this man fleeps. 
 
 Phi. I am what I do defire to be, your friend ; 
 I am what I was born to be* your prince. 
 
 44 No, Sir, he's a pollard ] A pdiatd, amor.g gardeners, is an old 
 tree which has been often lopped ; but, arrkorg hur.fcrs, a flag, or 
 male-deer, which has call its head, or horr.s. hir. Ikeobald. 
 
 *> Kifs their gumd gols.] Golls, as we learn from Dr. Johnfon, 
 means band!, or paivs ; wherefore we thus underlland this itrtr 
 ' A r e the principal courtiers fo warm in their I'aliuations, that, in 
 ' ki fling their bands, they eagerly prcls thcui to their gurr.s '? ' Mr. 
 Theobald reads, kift the gunj-^oA- 
 
 M 4
 
 i84 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Pha. Sir, there is fome humanity in you -, 
 You have a noble foul , forget my name, 
 And know my mifery : Set me fafe aboard 
 From thefe wild canibals, and, as I live, 
 I'll quit this land for ever. There is nothing, 
 Perpetual 'prifonment ^, cold, hunger, ficknefs 
 Of all forts, of all dangers, and all together, 
 The worft company of the worft men, madnefs, age, 
 To be as many creatures as a woman, 
 And do as all they do , nay, to deipair ; 
 But I would rather make it a new nature, 
 And live with all thofe, than endure one hour 
 Amongft thefe wild dogs. 
 
 Phi. I do pity you. Friends, difcharge your fears ; 
 Deliver me the prince : I'll warrant you, 
 I mall be old enough to find my fafety. 
 
 3 Cit. Good Sir, take heed he does not hurt you : 
 He's a fierce man, I can tell you, Sir. 
 
 Cap. Prince, by your leave, I'll have a furcingle, 
 and mail you like a hawk. [He Jlirs. 
 
 Phi. Away, away ; there is no danger in him : 
 Alas, he had rather ileep to make his fit off. 
 Look ye ? friends, how gently he leads. Upon my 
 
 word, 
 
 He's tame enough, he needs no further watching. 
 Good my friends, go to your houfes, 
 And by me have your pardons, and my love ; 
 And know, there mall be nothing in my pow'r 
 You may deferve, but you mail have your wifhes. 
 To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. 
 
 4 s Perpetual prifonment, ct!J, hunger, ficknefs , 
 
 Ail dangers of all fort?, aud all together,] In this manner Mr. 
 Seward alters thefe lines. The judicious reader will determine which 
 is preferable, his alteration, or the old reading in our text. 
 
 Tfie fame gentleman o/mplains of there being great difficulties in 
 the latter part of this fpeech. It is very probable, Mr. Seward con- 
 ceived our Authors to have had a deeper meaning in it than they 
 r<raliy had ; othervvife, we know not where the difficulty lies. We 
 apprehend the Poets intended Pharamond fimply to declare, that he 
 had rather fuffer any thing, than to be thus baited an/ longer by 
 the mob. 
 
 Continue;
 
 PHILASTER. 185 
 
 Continue ftill your love ; and, for an earneft, 
 Drink this. 
 
 All. Long may'ft thou live, brave prince ! brave 
 
 prince ! 
 Brave prince ! Ex. Phi. and Pha. 
 
 Cap. Thou art the king of courtcfy ! 
 Fall off again, my fweet youths. Come, and every 
 man trace to his houfe again, and hang his pewter 
 up , then to the tavern, and bring your wives in 
 muffs. We will have mufic ; and the red grape mall 
 make us dance, and rife, boys. \Exunt. 
 
 Enter King, Arethufa, Galatea, Megra, Cleremont, Dion, 
 Thrafiline., Bellario^ and attendants. 
 
 King. Is it appeas'd ? 
 
 Dicn. Sir, all is quiet as the dead of night* 7 , 
 As peaceable as deep. My lord Philafter 
 Brings on the prince himielf. 
 
 King. Kind gentleman * 8 ! 
 I will not break the leaft word I have giv'n . 
 In promiie to him : I have heap'd a world 
 Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope 
 To warn away. 
 
 Enter Philafter and Pbaramond. 
 
 Cle. My lord is come. 
 
 King. My fon ! 
 
 Bleft be the time, that I have leave to call 
 Such virtue mine ! Now thou art in mine arms, 
 Methinks I have a falve unto my breaft, 
 For all the ftings that dwell there. Streams of grief 
 
 47 Sir, all is quiet as this dead of night. ~\ There is no hint of the 
 fcene being at midnight ; we mult therefore read /*dead of night. 
 
 Mr. Seivard. 
 
 ** ,- MylordPhiUJler 
 
 Brings on the prince him/elf. King. Kind gentlemen !J It is 
 plain, that the king is fpeaking here of the kindnefs of PhiLrter in 
 appeafing the people, and redeeming Pharamond ; and not of the 
 kindnefi of Dion, and the others prefent, who only informed him of 
 it, We uiuft therefore read gentleman. Mr. Se*u-arJ. 
 
 That
 
 i86 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 That I Jiave wrong'd thee, and as much of joy 
 
 That I repent it, iilue from mine eyes : 
 
 Let them appeafe thee. Take thy right ; take her ; 
 
 She is thy right too ; and forget to urge 
 
 My vexed" foul with that I did before. 
 
 Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory, 
 Paft and forgotten. For you, prince of Spain, 
 Whom I have thus redeem'd, you have full leave 
 To make an honourable voyage home. 
 And if you would go furnifh'd to your realm 
 With fair provifion, I do fee a lady, 
 Methinks, would gladly bear you company : 
 How like you this piece ? 
 
 Meg. Sir, he likes it well; ' 
 For he hath tried it, and found it worth 
 His -princely liking. We were ta'en a- bed ; 
 I know your meaning. I am not the firft 
 That Nature taught to feek a fellow forth ; 
 Can mame remain perpetually in me, 
 And not in others ? or, have princes falves 
 To cure ill names, that meaner people want I 
 
 Phi, What mean you ? 
 
 Meg. You muft get another fhip, . 
 To bear the princefs and the boy together. 
 
 Dion. How now ! 
 
 Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him, 
 At that all women may be ta'en fome time. 
 Ship us all four, my lord ; we can endure 
 Weather and wind alijce. 
 
 King. Clear thou thyfelf, or know not me for father. 
 
 Are. This earth, howfalle it is ! What means is left 
 For me to clear myfelf ? It lies in your belief. 
 My lords, believe me ; and let all things elfe 
 Struggle together to dimonour me. 
 
 Eel. Oh, ftop your ears, great king, that I may fpeak 
 As freedom would ; then I will call this lady 
 As bafe as be her actions ! Hear me. Sir : 
 Believe your heated blood when it rebels 
 Againft your reafon, fooner than this lady.
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 187 
 
 Meg. By this good light, he bears it handfomoly. 
 
 Phi. This lady ? I will fooner truft the wind 
 With feathers, or the troubled fea with pearl, 
 Than her with any thing. Believe her not ! 
 Why, think you, if I did believe her words, 
 I would outlive 'em ? Honour cannot take 
 Revenge on you ; then, what were to be known 
 But death? 
 
 King. Forget her, Sir, fmce all is knit 
 Between us. But I muft requeft of you 
 One favour, and will fadly be denied w . 
 
 Phi. Command, whate'er it be. 
 
 King. Swear to be true 
 To what you promife. 
 
 Phi. By the pow'rs above, 
 Let it not be the death of her or him, 
 And it is granted. 
 
 King. Bear away that boy 
 To torture: I will have her clear'd or buried. 
 
 Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy Sir ! 
 Afk ibmething elfe ! Bury my life and right 
 In one poor grave ^ but do not take away 
 My life and fame at once. 
 
 King. Away with him ! It {lands irrevocable. 
 
 Phi. Turn all your eyes on me : Here ftands a man, 
 The falfeft and the bafeft of this world. 
 Set fwords againft this breaft, fome honeft man, 
 For I have liv'd till I am pitied ! 
 My former deeds were hateful, but this laft 
 Is pitiful , for I, unwillingly, 
 Have given the dear preierver of my life 
 Unto his torture ! Is it in the pow'r 
 Of flefh and blood to carry this, and live ? 
 
 [Offers to kill himfelf. 
 
 Are. Dear Sir, be patient yet ! Oh, flay that hand. 
 
 King. Sirs, {trip that boy. 
 
 49 i , d n j will fa<]Jy le dcr.ied.~\ i. c. fhall be very forry 
 
 to be denied. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Dion.
 
 i88 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 Dion. Come, Sir ; your tender flefh will try your 
 conftancy. 
 
 Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen 1 
 
 Dion. No ! Help, Sirs. 
 
 Bel. Will you torture me ? 
 
 King. Hafte there ! why ftay you ? 
 
 Bel. Then I fhall not break my vow, 
 You know, juil gods, though I difcover all. 
 
 King. How's that ? will he confefs ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, fo he fays. 
 
 King. Speak then. 
 
 Bel. Great king, if you command 
 This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue, 
 Urg'd by my heart, mall utter all the thoughts 
 My youth hath known i and ftranger things than thefe 
 You hear not often. 
 
 King. Walk afide with him. 
 
 Dion. Why fpeak'ft thou not ? 
 
 Bel. Know you this face, my lord ? 
 
 J)ion. No. 
 
 Bel. Have you not feen it, nor the like ? 
 
 Dion. Yes, I have feen the like, but readily 
 I know not where. 
 
 Bel. I have been often told 
 In court of one Euphrafia, a lady, 
 And daughter to you ; betwixt whom and me 
 They, that would flatter my bad face, would fwear 
 There was fuch ftrange refemblance, that we two 
 Could not be known afunder, drefs'd alike. 
 
 Dion. By Heav'n, and fo there is. 
 
 Bel. For her fair lake, 
 
 Who now doth fpend the fpring-time of her life 
 In holy pilgrimage, move to the king, 
 That I may 'fcape this torture. 
 
 J)ion. But thou fpeak'ft 
 As like Euphrafia, as thou doft look. 
 How came it to thy knowledge that (he lives 
 In pilgrimage ? 
 
 Bel. I know it not, my lord j 
 
 But
 
 PHILA'STER. 189 
 
 But I have heard it -, and do fcarce believe it. 
 
 Dion. Oh, my fhame ! Is't poflible ? Draw near, 
 That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou me, 
 Or elie her murderer ? Where wert thou born ? 
 Bel. In Siracufa. 
 Dion. What's thy name ? 
 Bel. Euphrafia. 
 Dion. Oh, 'tis juft, 'tis flie ! 
 Now I do know thee. Oh, that thou hadft died, 
 And I had never feen thee nor my fhame ! 
 How mall I own thee? mall this tongue of mine 
 E'er call thee daughter more ? 
 
 Bel. 'Would I had died indeed -, I wifh it too : 
 And fo I muft have done by vow, ere publifhed 
 What I have told, but that there was no means 
 To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this, 
 The princefs is all clear. 
 King. What have you done? 
 Dion. All is difcover'd. 
 Phi. Why then hold you me ? 
 
 [He offers to ftab himfelf. 
 All is difcover'd ! Pray you, let me go. 
 King. Stay him. 
 Are. What is difcover'd ? 
 Dion. Why, my fhame ! 
 It is a woman : Let her fpeak the reft. 
 Phi. How ? that again ! 
 Dion. It is a woman. 
 
 Phi. Blefs'd be you pow'rs that favour innocence '. 
 King. Lay hold upon that lady. 
 Phi. It is a woman, Sir ! Hark, gentlemen ! 
 It is a woman! Arethufa, take 
 My foul into thy bread, that would be gone 
 With joy. It is a woman ! Thou art fair, 
 And virtuous dill to ages, in defpite of malice. 
 King. Speak you, where lies his fhame ? 
 Bel. I am his daughter. 
 Phi. The gods are juft. 
 Dion. I dare accufe none ; but, before you two, 
 
 The
 
 I 9 o P H I L A S T E R, 
 
 The virtue of our age, I bend my knee 
 For mercy. 
 
 Phi. Take it freely , for, I know, 
 Though what thou didft were indifcretely done, 
 'Twas meant well. 
 
 Are. And for me, 
 
 I have a power to pardon fins, as oft 
 As any man has power to wrong me. 
 
 Cle. Noble and worthy ! 
 
 Phi. But, Bellario, 
 
 (For I muft call thee ftillfo) tell me why 
 Thou didft conceal thy fex ? It was a fault 
 A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds 
 Of truth outweigh'd it : All thefe jealoufies 
 Had flown to nothing, if thou hadft difcover'ct 
 What now we know. 
 
 Bel. My father oft would fpeak s 
 Your worth and virtue , and, as I did grow 
 More and more apprehenfive, 1 did thirft 
 To fee the man fo prais'd , but yet all this 
 Was but a maiden longing, to be loft 
 As foon as found , till fitting in my window^ 
 Printing my thoughts in lawn, I law a god, 
 I thought, (but it was you) enter our gates. 
 My blood flew out, and back again as faftj 
 As I had puff'd it forth and iuck'd it in 
 Like breath : Then was I call'd away in hafte 
 To entertain you. Never was a man, 
 Heav'd from a fheep-cote to a fceptre, rais'd 
 So high in thoughts as I : You kit a kifs 
 Upon thefe lips then, which I mean to keep 
 
 50 -r My father oft ivculd fpeak, &c.] The beauty, the mno- 
 
 cence, of EuphranVs character is finely depio.ed in this narration from 
 her own mouth. Our poets, when they intended it, feitiom fVii'd in 
 the art of moving the jv.iiions. The youug lady from her father's, 
 encomiums fif-ft, had ialien in love with Philaiter ; tho' fhe knew, 
 that fhe could have no prctenficns to hu bed But as her ;u xt, and 
 only, happinefs was to live in his fight, (he difguis'd her lex, and 
 enter'd into his fervice. Her refolunon, and vow, never to nr-.rry 
 asi) other, is a fine heightning of her chaiacler. Mr. ^I
 
 P H I L A S T E R. 191 
 
 From you for ever. I did hear you talk, 
 Far above finging ! After you were gone, 
 I grew acquainted with my heart, and fearch'd 
 What ftir'd it fo : Alas ! I found it love , 
 Yet far from luft ; for could I but have liv'd 
 In prefence of you, I had had my end. 
 For this I did delude my noble father 
 "With a feign'd pilgrimage, and drefs'd myfelf 
 In habit of a boy ; and, for I knew 
 My birth no match for you, I was paft hopa 
 Of having you j and understanding well, 
 That when I made difcov'ry of my fex, 
 I could not ftay with you, I made a vow, 
 By all the moft religious things a maid 
 Could cail together, never to be known, 
 Whilft there was hope to hide me from mens' eyes^ 
 For other than I feem'd, that I might ever 
 Abide with you : Then fat I by the fount, 
 Where firft you took me up. 
 
 King. Search out a match 
 
 Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, 
 And I will pay thy dowry , and thyfelf 
 Wilt well deferve him. 
 
 Bel. Never, Sir, will I 
 Marry ; it is a thing within my vow : 
 But if I may have leave to ferve the princefsj 
 To fee the virtues of her lord and her, 
 I mall have hope to live. 
 
 Are. I, Philafter, 
 
 Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady 
 Drefs'd like a page to fcrve you ; nor will I 
 S u fpect her living here. Come, live with me; 
 Live free as I do. She that loves my lord, 
 Curft be the wife that hates her ! 
 
 Phi. I grieve fuch virtues mould be laid in earth 
 Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father: 
 Wrong not the i'reedom of our fouls fo much, 
 To think to take revenge of that bafe woman ; 
 Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free 
 
 As
 
 i 9 2 P H I L A S T E R. 
 
 As fhe was born, faving from mame and fin-. 
 
 King. Set her at liberty ; but leave the court j 
 This is no place for fuch ! You, Pharamond, 
 Shall have free pafiage, and a conduct home 
 Worthy fo great a prince. When you come there, 
 Remember, 'twas your faults that loft you her, 
 And not my purpos'd will. 
 
 Pba. I do confefs, 
 Renowned Sir. 
 
 King. Laft, join your hands in one. Enjoy, Phi- 
 
 lafter, 
 
 This kingdom, which is yours, and after me 
 Whatever 1 call mine. My blefiing on you ! 
 All happy hours be at your marriage-joys, 
 That you may grow yourfelves over all landSj 
 And live to fee your plenteous branches fpring 
 Where-ever there is fun ! Let princes learn 
 By this, to rule the paflions of their blood, 
 For what Heav'n wills can never be withftood. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 A KING
 
 yrurnron /nt//i
 
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 The Commendatory Verfei by Howard and Herrick afcribe this Play to 
 Fletcher ; by Earle, to Beaumont. The firft edition bean date 
 l6ig. Notnvitbftanding its prodigious merit ', it has not been per- 
 formed for many years pa ft ; nor do ive find tlat it ever rectified 
 any alterations. The fuddcn burjis, and quick inn fit ions ofpajfion, 
 in the chara&er of Arbaces, are, bowevtr, fuppojed t j have given 
 rife to a burlefque drama, or parody (by Tate) fometimes refre* 
 ftnted, under the title of " Dukt and No Duke.", 
 
 VOL. I. N DRAMATIS
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 M E N. 
 
 Arbaces, king of Iberia. 
 
 Tigranes, king of Armenia. 
 
 Gobrias, lord-protettor, and father of Arbarts. 
 
 Bacurius, another lord. 
 
 Mardonius, ") 
 
 Beffus, \* *** 
 
 Ligones, father of Spaconia. 
 
 Two gentlemen. 
 
 Two Sword-men. 
 
 W O M E N. 
 
 Arane, the queen-mother \ 
 
 Panthea, her daughter. 
 
 Spaconia, a lady\ daughter cf Ligones. 
 
 Mandane, a waiting-woman ; and other attendants. 
 
 Three men and a woman. 
 
 Philip, a feruant and two citizens' wives. 
 
 A meffenger. 
 
 A fervant to Bacurius. 
 
 A boy. 
 
 SCENE, on the frontiers of ARMENIA -, and, afterwards^ 
 in the metropolis of Iberia f . 
 
 1 Arane t the queen's mother.] The trifling alteration we have 
 here made is not only neceflary, but warranted by different pafTnges 
 in the play. In the beginning cf the third aft we find, ' And the 
 queen-mother and the princefs wait? 
 
 Scene, on the frontiers, &c.~\ For this information we are in- 
 debted to Mr. Theobald. 
 
 A KING
 
 A KING AND NO KING, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter Mardonius and BeJJtis \ 
 
 Mardonius. TTJ ESS US, the king has made a fair 
 
 r^ hand on't ; he has ended the wars 
 
 JL * at a blow. 'Would my fword had 
 
 a clofe bafket hilt, to hold wine, and the blade would 
 
 make knives ; for we mall have nothing but eating 
 
 and drinking. 
 
 Bef. We that are commanders mall do well enough. 
 
 Mar. Faith, Beflus, fuch commanders as thou 
 may : I had as lieve fet thee perdue for a pudding 
 i'th' dark, as Alexander the Great. 
 
 Bef. I love theie jefts exceedingly. 
 
 Mar. I think thou lov'ft 'cm better than quarrel- 
 ling, Befius -, I'll fay fo much in thy behalf. And 
 
 * The character of Befluj, I think, mult be allowed in general a 
 fine copy from Ssakefpeare's inimitable Falflaffe. He is ?. coward, 
 yet would fain fee up for a hero ; oftentatious, without any grain of 
 merit to fupport his vain-glory ; a lyar throughout, to exalt his 
 nffumed qualifications; and lewd, without any countenance from the 
 ladies to give him an umbrage for it. As to his wit and humour, the 
 precedence mull certainly be adjudged to Falihffe, the great original. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 To thefe remaiks on the character of Bcflfus, it may .not be im- 
 proper to add, that it has a ftrong llobadilian tindture, and that, in 
 all probability, the Miles Gloriofus of Plautus, and Tbrafooi Terence, 
 furnifhed both Jonfon and our Authors with hints for the refpedtive 
 characters. Fulftaffe is more an original. 
 
 N 2 yet
 
 196 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 yet thou'rt valiant enough upon a retreat : I think 
 thou wouldft kill any man that ftop'd thee, if thou 
 couldft. 
 
 Bef. But was not this a brave combat, Mardonius ? 
 , Mar. Why, didft thou fee it ? 
 
 Bef. You flood wi' me. 
 
 Mar. I did fo , but methought thou wink'd'ft every 
 blow they ftruck. 
 
 Bef. Well, I believe there are better foldiers than 
 I, that never faw two princes fight in lifts. 
 
 Mar. By my troth, I think fo too, Beflus , many 
 a thoufand : But, certainly, all that are worfe than thou 
 have feen as much. 
 
 Bef. 'Twas bravely done of our king. 
 
 Mar. Yes, if he had not ended the wars. I'm 
 glad thou dar'ft talk of fuch dangerous bufmefles. 
 
 Bef. To take a prince prifoner in the heart of his 
 own country, in fingle combat. 
 
 Mar. See, how thy blood curdles at this ! I think 
 thou couldft be contented to be beaten i' this paflion. 
 
 Bef. Shall I tell you truly ? 
 
 Mar. Ay. 
 
 Bef. I could willingly venture for it. 
 
 Mar. Hum ! no venture neither, BefTus. 
 
 Bef. Let me not live, if I do not think 'tis a braver 
 piece of fervice than that I'm fo fam'd for. 
 
 Mar. Why, art thou fam'd for any valour ? 
 
 Bef. Fam'd ? I warrant you. 
 
 Mar. Pm e'en heartily glad on't : I have been with 
 thee e'er fince thou cam'ft to the wars, and this is the 
 firft word that ever I heard on't. Prithee, who fames 
 thee? 
 
 Bef. The Chriftian world. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis heathenimly done of 'em, in my con- 
 fcience : Thou deferv'ft it not. 
 
 Bef. Yes, I ha' done good fervice. 
 
 Mur. I do not know how thou may'ft wait of a 
 man in's chamber, or thy agility in mifting of a 
 trencher ; but otherwife no fervice, good Befllis. 
 
 Bef.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 197 
 
 Bef. You faw me do the fervice yourfelf. 
 
 Mar. Not fo hafty, fweetBeflus! Where was it? 
 is the place vanilh'd ? 
 
 Bef. At Befius' Defp'rate Redemption. 
 
 Mar. At Bedus' Defp'rate Redemption ! where'* 
 that ? 
 
 Bef. There, where I redeem'd the day; the place 
 bears my name. 
 
 Mar. Prithee, who chriften'd it ? 
 
 Bef. The foldiers. 
 
 Mar. If I were not a very merrily-difpofed man, 
 what would become of thee ? One that had but a 
 grain of choler in the whole compofition of his body, 
 would fend thee on an errand to the worms, for put- 
 ting thy name upon that field : Did not I beat thee 
 there, i'th* head o'th' troops, with a truncheon, becaufe 
 thou wouldft needs run away with thy company, when 
 we mould charge the enemy ? 
 
 Bef. True-, but I did not run. 
 
 Mar. Right, Befilis : I beat thee out on't. 
 
 Bef. But came I not up when the day was gone, 
 and redeem'd all ? 
 
 Mar. Thou knoweft, and fo do I, thou meant'ft 
 to fly, and thy fear making thee miftake, thou ran'il 
 upon the enemy -, and a hot charge thou gav'ft ; as, 
 I'll do thee right, thou art furious in running away; 
 and, I think, we owe thy fear for our victory. If I 
 Vere the king, and were fure thou wouldil n-iiPcake 
 always, and run away upon th' enemy, thou fnouidft 
 be general, by this light. 
 
 Bef. You'll never leave this, till I fall foul. 
 
 Mar. No more fuch words, dear Bcfiiis-, for though 
 I have ever known thee a coward, and therefore durft 
 never ftrike thee, yet if thou proceed'ft, I will allow 
 thee valiant, and beat thee. 
 
 Bef. Come, our king's a brave fellow. 
 
 Mar. He is fo, Befilis , I wonder how thou cam'ft 
 
 to know it. But, if thou wert a man of underfbnd- 
 
 ing, I would tell thee, he is vain-glorious and humble, 
 
 N 3 and
 
 i9 A KING AND NO KING. 
 and angry and patient, and merry and dull, and 
 joyful and forrowful, in extremity, in an hour. Do 
 not think me thy friend, for this j for if I car'd who 
 knew it, thou fliouldit not hear it, Beffus. Here 
 he is, with his prey in his foot. 
 
 Enter Arlaces, Tigranes, and two gentlemen. 
 
 Ark. Thy fadnefs, brave Tigranes, takes away 
 From my full victory : Am I become 
 Of fo fmall fame, that any man mould grieve 
 When I o'ercome him ? They that plac'd me here. 
 Intended it an honour, large enough 
 For the moft valiant living, but to dare 
 Oppofe me fmgle, though he loft the day. 
 What mould afflict you ? You're as free as I. 
 To be my prifoner, is to be more free 
 Than you were formerly. And never think, 
 The man, I held worthy to combat me, 
 Shall be us'd fervilely. Thy ranfom is, 
 To take my only fifter to thy wife : 
 A heavy one, Tigranes , for me is 
 A lady, that the neighbour princes fend 
 Blanks to fetch home. I have been too unkin4 
 To her, Tigranes : She, but nine years old, 
 I left her, and ne'er faw her fmce : Your wars 
 Have held me long, and taught me, though a youth, 
 The way to victory. She was a pretty child -, 
 Then, I was little better -, but now fame 
 Cries loudly on her, and my meffengers 
 Make me believe me is a miracle. 
 She'll make you (brink, as I did, with a ftroke ? 
 But of her eye, Tigranes. 
 
 Tigr. Is't the courfe 
 Of Iberia to ule her prifoners thus ? 
 Had fortune thrown my name above Arbaces', 
 I mould not thus have talk'd, Sir : In Armenia, 
 We hold it bale. You mould have kept your temper 
 Till you faw home again, where 'tis the falbion, 
 Perhaps, to brag. 
 
 Arb,
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 199 
 
 Arb. Be you my witnefs, earth, 
 Need I to brag ? Doth not this captive prince 
 Speak me Efficiently, and all the acts 
 That I have wrought upon his fuffering land ? 
 Should I then boaft ? Where lies that foot of ground, 
 Within his whole realm, that I have not paft, 
 Fighting and conquering : Far then from me 
 Be oflentation. I could tell the world, 
 How I have laid his kingdom defolate, 
 By this fole arm, prop'd by divinity , 
 Stript him out of his glories ; and have fent 
 The pride of all his youth to people graves ; 
 And made his virgins languifh for their loves -, 
 If I would brag. Should I, that have the pow'r 
 To teach the neighbour world humility, 
 Mix with vain-glory ? 
 
 Mar. Indeed, this is none. [Afide. 
 
 Arb. Tigranes, nay, did I but take delight 
 To ftretch my deeds as others do, on words, 
 I could amaze my hearers. 
 
 Mar. So you do. 
 
 Arb. But he mail wrong his and my modefty, ' 
 That thinks me apt to boaft : After an ad 
 Fit for a god to do upon his foe, 
 A little glory in a foldier's mouth 
 Is well-becoming , be it far from vain. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis pity, that valour fhould be thus drunk. 
 
 Arb. I offer you my fifter, and you anfwer, 
 I do infult : A lady that no fuit, 
 Nor treafure, nor thy crown, could purchafe thee, 
 But that thou fought'ft with me. 
 
 Tigr. Though this be worfe 
 Than that you fpake before, it ftrikes me not j 
 But, that you think to over-grace me with 
 The marriage of your fifter, troubles me. 
 I would give worlds for ranfoms, were they mine, 
 Rather than have her. 
 
 Arb. See, if I infult, 
 
 N 4 That
 
 200 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 That am the conqueror, and for a ranfom 
 
 Offer rich treafure to the conquered, 
 
 Which he refuies, and I bear his fcorn ? 
 
 It cannot be felf-fiattery to fay, 
 
 The daughters of your country, fet by her, 
 
 Would fee their fhame, run home, and blufh jto death 
 
 At their own foulneis. Yet me is not fair, 
 
 Nor beautiful ; thofe words exprefs her not : 
 
 They fay, her looks have fomething excellent, 
 
 That wants a name. Yet, were me odious, 
 
 Her birth deferves the empire of the world : 
 
 Siiler to fuch a brother , that hath ta'en 
 
 Victory prifoner, and throughout the earth 
 
 Carries her bound, and, fhould he let her locfe, 
 
 She durft not leave him. Nature did her wrong, 
 
 To print continual conquefl on her cheeks, 
 
 And make no man worthy for her to tafte, 
 
 But me, that am too near her ; and as ftrangely 
 
 She did for me : But you will think I brag. 
 
 Mar. I do, I'll be fworn. Thy valour and thy 
 pafiions fever'd, would have made two excellent fel- 
 lows in their kinds. I know not, whether I mould 
 be forry thou art fo valiant, or fo paffionate : 'Would 
 one of 'em were away ! [Afide. 
 
 Tigr. Do I refuie her, that I doubt her worth ? 
 Were. Ihe as virtuous as me would be thought ; 
 So perfect, that no one of her own fex 
 Could find a want fne had 4 , fo tempting fair, 
 That fhe could wifh it off, for damning fouls 5 ; 
 
 I would 
 
 4 Could find a nvant, had fheyL tempting fair, 
 
 That jhe could wijb it off, &c.] Thus fay the copies prior to 
 Mr. Theobald, who (without noticing it) alters the pr-ffage thus; 
 
 CoxMJixda want ; Were fhe fo tempting fair , &rV. 
 The deficiency of fenfe in the old copies, we apprehend, was ecca- 
 fioncd by one of thofe errors which the prefs is molt fubject to, a 
 tranrpofition. 
 
 $ fo tempting fair, 
 
 That foe could wijh it of, for damning fouls ] This pafftge is 
 fo oblcuie in che expreffiort, that, I believe, it vv.il! want a fhort com- 
 
 mcnt
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 201 
 I would pay any ranfom, twenty lives, 
 Rather than meet her married in my bed. 
 Perhaps, I have a love, where I have fix'd 
 Mine eyes, not to be mov'd, and flie on me ; 
 I am not fickle. 
 
 drb. Is that all the caufe ? 
 Think you, you can fo knit yourfelf in love 
 To any other, that her fearching fight 
 Cannot diiTolve it ? So, before you try'd, 
 You thought yourfelf a match for me in fight : 
 Truft me, Tigranes, me can do as much 
 In peace, as I in war-, me'll conquer too. 
 You mall fee, if you have the pow'r to ftand 
 The force of her fwift looks 6 . If you diflike, 
 I'll fend you home with love, and name your ranfom 
 Some other way , but if me be your choice, 
 She frees you. To Iberia you muft. 
 
 . Sir I have learn'd a prifoner's fufferance, 
 
 ment to the generality of readers. The Authors mean, ' Were fhe 
 * fo temptingly fair, that fhe could wifh to be lefs beauteous, for 
 ' fear of damning fouls, in their coveting to enjoy her charms, sV.' 
 So, Shakefpeare in his Othello ; 
 
 A fellow almoft damn'd in afairi>:ife t 
 
 i. e. grown fo uxorious through the attractions of her beauty, as to 
 negleir. all his duty towards Heaven, and confequently incur the dan- 
 ger of damnation. This fentiment is explained m another pafljgc of 
 that immortal author, in his Merchant of Venice. 
 
 it it very meet 
 
 The lord Baffanio li<ve an upright life. 
 
 For, having fucb a bleffing in his lady. 
 
 He finds the joys of Heaven here on earth ; 
 
 j$nd if on earth he do not merit it, 
 
 Ju reafon he Jbould never come to Heav'n. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 6 i if you have tie power to ftand 
 
 The force of her fwift Lyks."\ tiuth Mr. Seward and Mr. Symp- 
 fon chide to adopt the epithet j-ixcet. I have not venrur'd to alter 
 the text ; becaufe I think the word/W// is more confonant to force, 
 i. e. the power of her keen, pointed glances ; as Arbaces fpeaks of 
 her a little above ; 
 
 She'll make you jhrink, as 1 did, with a ftroke, 
 
 But of her eye, Tigranes. Mr. Tbcd\iU. 
 
 And
 
 202 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 And will obey : But give me leave to talk 
 In private with fome friends before I go. 
 
 Arb. Some do await him forth, and fee him fafe ; . 
 But let him freely fend for whom he pleafe. 
 And none dare to diflurb his conference 
 I will not have him know what bondage is, 
 
 [Exit Tigranes. 
 
 'Till he be free from me. This prince, Mardonius, 
 Is full of wifdom, valour, all the graces 
 Jvlan can receive. 
 
 Mar. And yet you conquer'd him. 
 
 Arb. And yet I conqucr'd him , and could have 
 
 done 't, 
 
 Hadft thou join'd with him, though thy name in arms 
 Be great. Muft all men, that are virtuous, 
 Think fuddenly to match themfelves with me ? 
 I conquer'd him, and bravely, did I not ? 
 
 Bef. An pleafe your rnajefty, I was afraid at firft 
 
 Mar. When wert thou other ? 
 
 Arb. Of what? 
 
 Bef. That you would not have fpy'd your beft ad- 
 vantages ; for your majefty, in my opinion, lay too 
 high j methinks, under favour, you mould have lain 
 thus. 
 
 Mar. Like a taylor at a wake. 
 
 Bef. And then, if't pleafe your majefty to re- 
 member, at one time rby my troth, I wilh'd my- 
 
 felf wi 5 you. 
 
 Mar. By my troth thou wouldft ha' flunk J em both 
 out o'th' lifts. 
 
 Arb. What to do ? 
 
 Bef. To put your majefty in mind of an occafion : 
 You lay thus, and Tigranes falfified a blow at your 
 leg, which you, by doing thus, avoided ; but, if you 
 had whipp'd up your leg thus, and reach'd him on 
 the ear, you had made the blood-royal run down his 
 head. 
 
 Mar. What country fence-fchool learn'dft that at ? 
 
 Arb. Pifli ! did not I take him nobly ? 
 
 Mar.
 
 A KING AND NO KING, 203 
 
 Mar. Why, you did, and you have talk'd enough 
 pn't. 
 
 Arb. Talk'd enough ? 
 
 Will you confine my words ? By Heav'n and earth, 
 J were much better be a king of beafts 
 Than fuch a people ! If 1 had not patience 
 Above a god, I mould be call'd a tyrant, 
 Throughout the world ! They will offend to death 
 Each minute : Let me hear thee fpeak again, 
 And thou art earth again. Why, this is like 
 Tigranes' fpeech, that needs would fay I brag'd. 
 Befius, he faid, I brag'd. 
 
 Bef. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Arb. Why doft thou laugh ? 
 By all the world, I'm grown ridiculous 
 TO my own fubjecls. Tie me in a chair, 
 And jeft at me ! But I mall make a ftart, 
 And punim fome, that others may take heed 
 How they are, haughty. Who will anfwer me ? 
 He faid'I boafted: Speak, Mardonius, 
 pid I ? He will not anfwer. Oh, my temper ! 
 J give you thanks above, that taught my heart 
 Patience ; I can endure his filence. What, will none 
 Vouchfafe to give me anfwer ? Am I grown 
 To fuch a poor refpecl: ? or do you mean 
 To break my wind ? Speak, fpeak, fome one of you, 
 Qrelfe, by Heav'n 
 
 i Gent. So pleafe your 
 
 Arb. Monftrous ! 
 
 I cannot be heard out ; they cut me off, 
 As if I were too faucy. I will live 
 In woods, and talk to trees , they will allow me 
 To end what I begin. The meaneft fubjecl: 
 Can find a freedom to difcharge his foul, 
 And not I. Now it is a time to fpeak , 
 J hearken. 
 
 i Gent. May it pleafe 
 
 Arb. I mean not you ; 
 Did not I ftop you once ? But I am grown 
 
 To
 
 2<H A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 To talk ! ' But I defy Let another fpeak. 
 
 2 Gent. I hope your majefty 
 
 Arb. Thou drawl'ft thy words, 
 That I muft wait an hour, where other men 
 Can hear in inftants : Throw your words away 
 Quick, and to pnrpofe ; I have told you this. 
 
 Bef. An pleafe your majeily 
 
 Arb. Wilt thou devour me ? This is fuch a rudenefs 
 As yet you never fhew'd me : And I want 
 Pow'r to command too ; elfe, Mardonius 
 Would fpeak at my requeft. Were you my king, 
 I would have anfwer'd at your word, Mardonius. 
 J pray you fpeak, and truly, did I boafl ? 
 
 Mar. Truth will offend you. 
 
 Arb. You take all great care what will offend me, 
 When you dare to utter fuch things as thefe. 
 
 Mar. You told Tigranes, you had won his land 
 With that fole arm, prop'd by divinity : 
 Was not that bragging, and a wrong to us 
 That daily ventur'd lives ? 
 
 ^ Arb. 
 
 7 < Put I am grown 
 
 To balk, bat I defie, let another fpeak ] So ftands this pafiage- 
 in the elder editions. Mr. Seward makes this alteration, 
 . - but I am grown 
 To talk but idly ; let another fpeak, 
 and fubjoins the following note : 
 
 ' As it may be forne entertainment to the curious reader to fee 
 an humble critic poring in the dark, if he by that means has at 
 laft opened the door to day-light, 1 will give the procefs of this 
 emendation. Every one mult fee, that the text, as it flood, was 
 abfolutely nonfenfe : and Mr. Theobald informed me, that it has 
 iiood fo through all the editions : and, not having hit upon any 
 emendation himfelf, he had looked upon it as one of the loci dcf- 
 perati of our Authors. It is eafy to obferve, that the ft rrfe re- 
 quired muft be either, tlat 1 am grown not to have what I fay ob~ 
 fer<ved: or, to lave my luill coxtradiSed in every thing. \ had 
 advanced fevc-ral conjeftures, but they departed too much f.oru 
 the traces of the letters. In rejecting them, therefore,. I obferved, 
 that had any of them been clear, as to the fenfe ; yet they made 
 a ',;, i!ab!e too much in the verfe. Nothing is fo great an affiltance 
 iu jetficving the fcnfe, as a due attendance to the metre ; for a 
 
 ' redundan:
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 205 
 
 Arb. Oh, that thy name 
 
 Were great as mine ! 'would I had paid my wealth 
 It were as great, as I might combat thee ! 
 I would, through all the regions habitable, 
 Search thce, and, having found thee, wi' my fword 
 Drive thee about the world, 'till I had met 
 Some place that yet man's curiofity 
 Hath mifs'd of: There, there would I ftrike thee dead : 
 Forgotten of mankind, fuch funeral rites 
 As beafts would give thee, thou fhouldft have. 
 
 Bef. The king rages extremely -, mall we (link away ? 
 He'll ftrike us. 
 
 2 Gfnt. Content. 
 
 Arb. There I would make you know, 'twas this 
 
 fole arm. 
 
 I grant, you were my inftruments, and did 
 As I commanded you , but 'twas this arm 
 Mov'd you like wheels ; it mov'd you as it pleasM 
 
 redundant fyllable having crept into the former reading, one may 
 eafily fee that it moll probably was in the words ; / dcfie, that be- 
 ing evidently a corruption. The word, therefore, that I have hit 
 upon, gives the full idea required ; and iuppoie, defie, to have been 
 written with a final y inflead of ie, it "drops only one vowel, anil 
 changes an/into an /.' 
 
 A* trie meafure ufed by our Authors, like that of all the other old 
 dramatic writers, is often very licentious, and as, in the paffionat* 
 Harts of Arbaces, we find it frequently difregarded, we cannot, in 
 the prefent cafe, admit the deviation from poetry to be a proof of 
 error in the words ; efpecialiy as they are not repugnant to fenfe, 
 It is prob:ib!e our Authors intended Arbaces (in that unconnected 
 mode fo frequent in the character) to exclaim, ' I am grown to balk/ 
 /. e. ' I am become a man who is to he dij'appointed, difrcgarded, in 
 
 ' every command.' ' But I defy ' when he interrupts himletf 
 
 by repeating his command for fome one tofpenk to him. As, how- 
 ever, there feems a harmntrfs in the cxprefficn, * I am grown to b~lk,* 
 we have adopted Mr. Sewnrd's word talk, which conveys as forcible 
 a meaning by itfdf, as when accompanied with ' but idly.'' The 
 alteration of the fubfeqoent words to * iMy," 1 (though the conjecture 
 is ingenious) we think, departs too much from the old copies to be 
 admitted ; particularly, as the prefervation of them greatly heightens 
 the picture drawn of Arbaces, and paints the workings of ungovern- 
 able pride much more nervoufly than ii done by the complaint, ' 1 
 ' am gro-Mtt to talk but idlv.' 
 
 Whither
 
 206 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Whither flip you now ? What, 8 are you too good 
 
 To wait on me ? (Puffe.) I had need have temper, 
 
 That rule fuch people : I have nothing left 
 
 At my own choice ! 1 would I might be private : 
 
 Mean men enjoy themfelves j but 'tis our curfe 
 
 To have a tumult, that, out of their loves, 
 
 Will wait on us, whether we will or no* 
 
 Go, get you goae ! Why, here they ftand like death i 
 
 My words move nothing. 
 
 i Gent. Muft we go ? 
 
 Bef. I know not. 
 
 Arb. I pray you, leave me, Sirs. I'm proud of 
 this, {Exeunt all but Arb. and Mar. 
 
 That you will be intreated from my fight. 
 Why, now they leave me all. Mardonius ! 
 
 Mar. Sir. 
 
 Arb. Will you leave me quite alone ? Methinks, 
 Civility mould teach you more than this, 
 If I were but your friend. Stay here, and wait. 
 
 Mar. Sir, mall I fpeak ? 
 
 Arb. Why, you would now think much 
 
 8 Are. you too good, &c.] In the old editions, this paflage ftand?, 
 literally , as follows : 
 
 are you too good 
 
 To wait on me ? (pujff,) I had need haue temper, &t. 
 But Mr. Theobald makes the wordpuffe a part of the text, and reads, 
 alfo literally, thus : 
 
 are you too good 
 
 To wait on me, Puffe ? I had need have temper, &c . 
 From the old mode of printing this word, we are inclined to fuppofe, 
 that it was meant as a dire&ioa to the performer of the character of 
 Arbaces, to fhew figns of ftrong agitation from paffion and pride : 
 And though it may be urged, that directions to performers are not 
 common in old plays ; yet as, whenever they were inferted, it was in 
 italics ; and as, befides, we find the word between parent befes, and 
 after the point of interrogation, we cannot help adhering to that 
 opinion. A gentleman of acknowledged abilities has doubted, whe- 
 ther Arbaces might not mean to call Beffus Puffe ; but as the king is 
 not in a merry mood, and the gentlemen as well as Beffus are flipping 
 away, we have left the word in the fame fituation we found it ; 
 thinking it improper to advance it into the text, and there (like the 
 eafy Mr. Theobald, without lubmitting it to the Reader's election) 
 leave it, unnoticed. 
 
 To
 
 A KING AND NO KING, 207 
 
 To be denied j but I can fcarce intreat 
 What I would have. Do, fpeak. 
 
 Mar. But will you hear me out ? 
 
 Arb. With me you article, to talk thus : Well, 
 I will hear you out. 
 
 Mar. Sir, that I have ever lov'd you, my fword 
 hath fpoken for me ; that I do, if it be doubted, I 
 dare call an oath, a great one, to my witnefs , and 
 were you not my king, from amongft men, I mould 
 have chofe you out, to love above the reft : Nor can 
 this challenge thanks ; for my own fake I mould have 
 done it, becaufe I would have lov'd the moft deferv- 
 ing man , for fo you are. 
 
 Arb. Alas, Mardonius, rife! you (hall not kneel : 
 We all are foldiers, and all venture lives ; 
 And where there is no difference in mens' worths, 
 Titles are jefts. Who can outvalue thee ? 
 Mardonius, thou haft lov'd me, and haft wrong; 
 Thy love is not rewarded ; but, believe 
 It fhall be better. More than friend in arms, 
 My father, and my tutor, good Mardonius ! 
 
 Mar. Sir, you did promiie you would hear me out. 
 
 Arb. And fo I will : Speak freely, for from thee 
 Nothing can come, but worthy things and true. 
 
 Mar. Though you have all this worth, you hold 
 fome qualities that do eclipie your virtues. 
 
 Arb. Eclipfe my virtues ? 
 
 Mar. Yes ; your paflions -, which are fo manifold, 
 that they appear even in this : When I commend 
 you, you hug me for that truth j but when I fpeak 
 your faults, you make a ftart, and fly the hear- 
 ing 9 : But - 
 
 9 And fly the hearing but .] This particle feems to have no right 
 to ftand here ; we mult, to make fer.fe, fabftitute cut in its place. 
 
 Mr. Sjtupfon, 
 
 And fo I had corrected the paflage long ago. Mr. Theobald. 
 There is a poverty in this language, * And fy the bearing out,'' 
 which the greateft poetical adverfity could not have reduced our Au- 
 thors to. The three firtt editions guide us to ciietf true meaning : 
 
 Ten
 
 2oS A KING AND NO KING. 
 Arb. When you commend me ? Oh, that I mould 
 
 live 
 
 To need fuch commendations ! If my deeds 
 Blew not my praife themfelves about the earth, 
 I were moft wretched ! Spare your idle praife : 
 If thou didft mean to flatter, and mouldft utter 
 Words in my praife, that thou thought'ft impudence^ 
 My deeds mould make 'em modeft. When you praife, 
 I hug you ? 'Tis fo falfe, that, wert thou worthy, 
 Thou Ihouldft receive a death, a glorious death, 
 From me ! But thou malt underftand thy lyes ; 
 For, mouldft thou praife me imo Heav'n, and there 
 Leave me inthron'd, I would defpife thee then 
 As much as now, which is as much as duft, 
 Becaufe I fee thy envy. 
 
 Mar. However you will ufe me after, yet for your 
 own promife fake, hear me the reft. 
 
 Arb. I will, and after call unto the winds ; 
 For they mall lend as large an ear as I 
 To what you utter. Speak ! 
 
 Mar. Would you but leave thefe hafty tempers, 
 which I do not lay take from you all your worth I& , 
 but darken it, then you will fnine indeed. 
 
 Arb. Well. 
 
 Mar. Yet I would have you keep fome pafiions, 
 left men mould take you for a god, your virtues are 
 fuch. 
 
 Arb. Why, now you flatter. 
 
 Mar. I never understood the word. Were you no 
 king, and free from thefe moods, mould I chufe a 
 companion for wit and pleafure, it mould be you ; 
 
 You make a Jl art, and fly ibe bearing: but 
 
 which punftuation plainly fliews an intended interruption from Ar- 
 baces to Mardonius. 
 
 10 t':hich I Jo not fay t eke from you all your worth, but darken 'em] 
 Worth being a fubftantive of the fingalar number, we muft certainly 
 read ;'/, inftead of ""em. Mr. Sjmpfon. 
 
 Or, perhaps, the Poets wrote worths, and the final s has been loft 
 at the prefs. 
 
 or
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 209 
 
 Or for honefly to interchange my bofom with, it 
 fhould be you , or wifdom to give me counfel, I 
 would pick out you ; or valour to defend my repu- 
 tation, Hill I mould find you out ; for you are fit to 
 fight for all the world, if it could come in queftion. 
 Now I have fpoke : Confider to yourfelf j find out a 
 ufe -, if fo, then what mall fall to me is not material. 
 
 Arb. Is not material ? more than ten fuch lives 
 As mine, Mardonius ! It was nobly faid , 
 Thou hail fpoke truth, and boldly fuch a truth 
 As might offend another. I have been 
 Too pafiionate and idle , thou malt fee 
 A fwift amendment. But I want thofe parrs 
 You praife me for : I fight for all the world ! 
 Give thee a fword, and thou wilt go as far 
 Beyond me, as thou art beyond in years ; 
 I know thou dar'ft and wilt. It troubles me 
 That I mould ufe fo rough a phrafe to thee : 
 Impute it to my folly, what thou wilt, 
 So thou wilt pardon me. That thou and I 
 Should differ thus ! 
 
 Mar. Why, 'tis no matter, Sir. 
 
 Arb. Faith, but it is : But thou doft ever take 
 All things I do thus patiently ; for which 
 I never can requite thee, but with love , 
 And that thou ihalt be fure of. Thou and I 
 Have not been merry lately: Prithee teli me, 
 Where hadft thou that fame jewel in thine ear ? 
 
 Mar. Why, at the taking of a town. 
 
 Arb. A wench, upon my life, a wench, Mardonius, 
 gave thee that jewel. 
 
 Mar. Wench ! They refpect not me ; I'm old and 
 rough, and every limb about me, but that which 
 fhould, grows itiffer. F thofe bufmeffes, I may 
 iwear I am truly honeft ^ ' for I pay juftJy for what I 
 take, and would be glad to be at a certainty. 
 
 Arb. Why, do the wenches encroach upon thee ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, by this light, do they. 
 
 Arb. Didit thou fit at an old rent with 'em ? 
 VOL. 1. O Mar.
 
 210 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Mar. Yes, faith. 
 
 Arb. And do they improve themfelves ? 
 Mar, Ay, ten fhillings to me, every new young 
 fellow they come acquainted with. 
 Arb. How canil live on't ? 
 Mar. Why, I think, I mull petition to you. 
 Arb. Thou (halt take them up at my price. 
 
 Enter two gentlemen^ and BeJJus. 
 
 Mar. Your price ? 
 
 Arb. Ay, at the king's price. 
 
 Mar. That may be more than I'm worth. 
 
 2 Gent. Is he not merry now ? 
 
 i Gent. I think not. 
 
 Bef. He is, he is : We'll mew ourfelves. 
 
 Arb. BeiTus ! I thought you had been in Iberia by 
 this ; 1 bad you hafte \ Gobrias will want entertain- 
 ment for me. 
 
 Bef. An pleafe your majefty, I have a fuit. 
 
 Arb. Is't not loufy, Beffus ? what is't ? 
 
 Bef. I am to carry a lady with me. 
 
 Arb. Then thou haft two fuits. 
 
 Bef. And if I can prefer her to the lady Panthea, 
 your majefty's filter, to learn fafhions, as her friends 
 term it, it will be worth fomething to me. 
 
 Arb. So many nights' lodgings as 'tis thither ; 
 will't not ? 
 
 Bef. I know not that, Sir -, but gold I mall be 
 fure of. 
 
 Arb. Why, thou malt bid her entertain her from 
 me, fo thou wilt refolve me one thing. 
 
 Bef. If I can. 
 
 Arb. Faith, 'tis a very difputable queftion j and 
 yet, I think, thou canft decide it. 
 
 Bef. Your majefty has a good opinion of my un- 
 derftanding. 
 
 Ar^. I have fo good an opinion of it : 'Tis, whe- 
 ther thou be valiant. 
 
 Bef. Somebody has traduced me to you : Do you 
 fee this fword, Sir ?
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 211 
 Art. Yes. 
 
 Bef. If I do not make my back-biters eat it to a 
 knife within this week, fay I am not valiant. 
 
 Enter a Meffenger. 
 
 Mef. Health to your majefty ! 
 
 Arb. From Gobrias ? 
 
 Mef. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Arb. How does he ? is he well ? 
 
 Mef. In perfeft health. 
 
 Arb. Take that for thy good news. 
 A truftier fervant to his prince there lives not, 
 Than is good Gobrias. 
 
 1 Gent. The king ftarts back. 
 Mar. His blood goes back as faft. 
 
 2 Gent. And now it comes again. 
 Mar. He alters ftrangely. 
 
 Arb. The hand of Heaven is on me : Be it far 
 From me to ftruggle ! If my fecret fins 
 Have pull'd this curie upon me, lend me tears 
 Enow to warn me white, that I may feel 
 A child-like innocence within my breaft ! 
 Which, once perform'd, oh, give me leave to (land. 
 As fix'd as conftancy herfelf ; -my eyes 
 Set here unmov'd, regardlefs of the world, 
 Though thoufand mileries encompafs me ! 
 
 Mar. This is ftrange \ Sir, how do you ? 
 
 Arb. Mardonius ! my mother 
 
 Mar. Is Die dead ? 
 
 Arb. Alas, fhe's not fo happy ! Thou doft know 
 How Hie hath labour'd, fince my father died, 
 To take by treafon hence this loathed liiv, 
 That would but be to ferve her. I have pardon'd, 
 And pardon'd, and by that have made her fit 
 To practife new fins, not repent the old. 
 She now had hir'd a Have to come from thence, 
 And rtrike me here ; whom Gobrias, lifting out, 
 Took, and condemn'd, and executed there. 
 1'he carefuFft fervant ! Heav'n, let me but live 
 
 O 2 To
 
 212 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 To pay that man ! Nature is poor to me, 
 That will not let me have as many deaths 
 As are the times that he hath fav'd my life, 
 That I might die 'em over all for him. 
 
 Mar. Sir, let her bear her fins on her own head ; 
 Vex not yourfelf. 
 
 Arb. What will the World 
 Conceive of me ? with what unnatural fins 
 Will they fuppofe me loaden, when my life 
 Is fought by her, that gave it to the world ? 
 But yet he writes me comfort here : My fifter, 
 He fays, is grown in beauty and in grace ; 
 In all the innocent virtues that become 
 A tender fpotlefs maid : She ftains her cheeks 
 With mourning tears, to purge her mother's ill ; 
 And 'mongft that facred dew fhe mingles pray'rs, 
 Her pure oblations, for my fare return. 
 If I have loft the duty of a fon ; 
 If any pomp or vanity of ftate 
 Made me forget my natural offices ; 
 Nay, further, if I have not every night 
 Expoftulated with my wand'ring thoughts, 
 If aught unto my parent they have err'd, 
 And call'd 'em back ; do you " direct her arm 
 Unto this foul diffembling heart of mine. 
 But if I have been juft to her, fend out 
 Your pow'r to compafs me, and hold me fafe 
 From fearching treafon ; I will ule no means 
 But prayer : For, rather fuffer me to fee 
 From mine own veins iffue a deadly flood, 
 Than warn my danger off with mother's blood. 
 
 Mar. I never faw fuch fudden extremities. [Exeunt. 
 
 i . D O j OU direft her arm 
 
 Unto this fcul diffembling heart of mine.~\ Who is to direft her 
 arm ? The gods. I fuppofe, muit be meant ; but they are neither in- 
 voked, nor mentioned. This is a bold ellipjis ; but yet not infrequent 
 with our Poets. Mr.Sympfon. 
 
 Thefe ellipfes are certainly very allowable in dramatic writings, 
 as the aflion of the performer gives full information whom he 
 addidil-s. 
 
 Enter
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 213 
 
 Enter Tigranes and Spaconia. 
 
 figr. Why, wilt thou have me die, Spaconia ? 
 What mould I do ? 
 
 Spa. Nay, let me flay alone ; 
 And when you fee Armenia again, 
 You mail behold a tomb more worth than I. 
 Some friend, that ever lov'd me or my caufe, 
 Will build me fomething to diitinguim me 
 From other women ; many a weeping verfe 
 He will lay on, and much lament thofe maids 
 That plac'd their loves unfortunately high, 
 As I have done, where they can never reach. 
 But why mould you go to Iberia ? 
 
 Tigr. Alas, that thou wilt afk me ! Aik the man 
 That rages in a fever, why he lies 
 Diftemper'd there, when all the other youths 
 Are courfing o'er the meadows with their loves ? 
 Can I refill it ? am I not a Have 
 To him that conquer'd me ? 
 
 Spa. That conquer'd thee, 
 Tigranes ! He has won but half of thee, 
 Thy body ; but thy mind may be as free 
 As his : His will did never combat thine, 
 And take it prifoner. 
 
 -TVgr. But if he by force 
 Convey my body hence, what helps it me, 
 Or thee, to be unwilling ? 
 
 Spa. Oh, Tigranes ! 
 I know you are to. fee a lady there ; 
 To fee, and like, I fear : Perhaps, the hope 
 Of her makes you forget me, ere we part. 
 Be happier than you know to wifh ! farewell ! 
 , Ttgr. Spaconia, ttay, and hear me what I fay. 
 In fhort, deftrnclion meet me that I may 
 See it, and not avoid it, when I leave 
 To be thy faithful lover ! Part with me 
 Thou malt not j there are none that know our love ; 
 And I have given gold unto a captain, 
 
 O 3 That
 
 214 A KING AND NO KING. 
 That goes unto Iberia from the king, 
 That he will place a lady of our land 
 With the king's filler that is offer'd me ; 
 Thither mail you, and, being once get in, 
 Perfuade her, by what fubtlc means you can, 
 To be as backward in her love as I. 
 
 Spa. Can you imagine that a longing maid, 
 When me beholds you, can be pull'd away 
 With words from loving you ? 
 
 Tigr. Difpraife my health, 
 My honefty, and tell her I am jealous. 
 
 Spa. Why, I had rather lofe you : Can my heart 
 Confent to let my tongue throw out fuch words ? 
 And I, that ever yet fpoke what I thought, 
 Shall find it fuch a thing at firft to lye ! 
 
 1?gr. Yet, do thy belt. 
 
 Enter BeJJus. 
 
 Bef. What, is your majefty ready ? 
 
 T/gr. There is the lady, captain. 
 
 Bef. Sweet lady, by your leave. I could wifh my- 
 felf more full of courtmip for your fair fake. 
 
 Spa. Sir, I fhall feel no want of that. 
 
 Bef. Lady, you mufl hafte -, I have receiv'd new 
 letters 'from the king, that require more hafte than I 
 expected; he will follow me fuddeniy himlelf; and 
 begins to call for your majefty already. 
 
 Tigr. He fliall not do fo long. 
 
 Bef. Sweet lady, fhall I call you my Charge here- 
 after ? 
 
 Spa. I will not take upon me to govern your tongue, 
 Sir : You fhall call me what you pleafe. 
 
 ACT
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 215 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Gobrias, Bacurius, Aram, Panthea, and Mandanc* 
 waiting-women, with attendants. 
 
 Gob. 1\ /T Y lord Bacurius, you mufl have regard 
 .IV J_ Unto the queen ; fhe is your prifoner-, 
 'Tis at your peril, if (he make efcape. 
 
 Bac . My lord, I know't , fhe is my prifoner, 
 From you committed : Yet flie is a woman ; 
 And, ib I keep her fafe, you will not urge me 
 To keep her clofe. I mail not fhame to lay, 
 I forrow for her. 
 
 Gob. So do I, my lord : 
 I forrow for her, that fo little grace 
 Doth govern her, that fhe mould ftretch her arm 
 Againft her king ^ fo little womanhood 
 And natural goodnefs, as to think the death 
 Of her own fon. 
 
 Ara. Thou know'fl the reafcn why, 
 Diflembling as thou art, and wilt not fpeak. 
 
 Gob. There is a lady takes not after you -, 
 Her father is within her ; that good man, 
 Whofe tears wjeigh'd down his lins. Mark, how Hue 
 
 weeps ; 
 
 How well it does become her ! And if yen 
 Can find no difpofition in yourfelf 
 To forrow, yet, by gracefulnels in her, 
 Find out the way, and by your reafon weep. 
 All this fhe does for you, and more fhe needs, 
 When for yourfelf you will not lofe a tear. 
 Think, how this want of grief difcredits you ; 
 And you will weep, becaule you cannot weep ri . 
 
 11 This pr-<ff;>ge is quaint; but the two lines together evidently 
 fignify, ' Think, how di(grnce f ul it is to you r.ot to grieve, and you 
 ' will grieve th.u you cannot grieve.' 
 
 O 4 ' Ara.
 
 2i6 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Ara. You talk to me, as having got a time 
 Fit for your purpofe , but, you know, I know 
 You fpeak not what you think. 
 
 Pan. I would my heart 
 
 \Vere ftone, before my foftnefs mould be urg'd 
 Againit my mother ! A more troubled thought 
 No virgin bears about ! Should I excufe 
 My mother's fault, I mquld fet light a life, 
 In lofing which a brother and a king 
 Were taken from me : If I feek to lave 
 That life fo lov'd, I lofe another life, 
 That gave me being ; I mall lofe a mother j 
 A word of fuch a found in a child's ear, 
 That it ftrikes reverence through it. May the will 
 Of Heav'n be done, and if one needs muft fall, 
 Take a poor virgin's life to anfwer all ! 
 
 Ara. But, Gobrias, let us talk. You know, this fault 
 Is not in me as in another mother, 
 
 Gob. I know it is not. 
 
 Ara. Yet you make it fo. 
 
 Gob. Why, is not all that's pafl beyond your help ? 
 
 Ara. I know it is. 
 
 Gob. Nay, mould you publilh it 
 Before the world, think you 'twould be believ'd ? 
 
 Ara. I know, it would not. 
 
 Gob. Nay, mould I join.wi' you, 
 Should v/e not both be torn I3 , and yet both die 
 Uncredited ? 
 
 Ara. 
 
 1} Nay, Jhould I join with you, Jhould nve not both be torn, and 
 yet both die uncreditedr] I can't tftink, this word came from the 
 Poets, or was defigncd by them to ftand for tortured; neither do I 
 know how to apply an healing hand to the text, unlefs'we tranfpofe 
 and read thus, 
 
 Jhould we both be fnvorn, 
 
 Yet Jhould not vie both die uncreditcd. Mr. Sjmpfon. 
 
 My frien/i does not feem much to like his conjecture : But as the 
 paflsge is certainly corrupted without it, and as it retrieves plain 
 ienie, I have ventured to inferc it ; and, I ara verily perfuaded, it 
 will not do him any difcredit. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 It is jplain, Mr. Sympfon had at firft hit upon the Poets' meaning, 
 * however
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 217 
 
 Ara. I think we mould. 
 
 Gob. Why, then, 
 
 Take you fuch violent courfes ? As for me, 
 I do but right in faving of the king 
 From all your plots. 
 
 Ara. The king \ 
 
 Gob. I bad you reft 
 
 With patience, and a time <would come for me 
 To reconcile all to your own content : 
 But, by this way, you take away my pow'r. 
 And what was done, unknown, was not by me, 
 But you ; your urging. Being done, 
 I muft preferve my own u ; but time may bring 
 All this to light, and happily for all. 
 
 Ara. Accurfed be this over-curious brain, 
 That gave that plot a birth ! Accurs'd this womb, 
 That after did conceive, to my difgrace ! . 
 
 Bac . My lord-protector, they fay, there are divers 
 letters come from Armenia, that Beflus has done good 
 fervice, and brought again a day by his particular 
 valour : Receiv'd you any to that effect ? 
 
 Gob. Yes-, 'tis moft certain. 
 
 Bac. I'm forry for't ; not that the day was won, but 
 that 'twas won by him. We held him here a coward : 
 He did me wrong once, at which I laugh'd, and fo 
 did all the world ; for nor I, nor any other, held him 
 worth my fword. 
 
 however widely he afterwards departed from it. Gobrias means, 
 Though we fliould be rack'd, torn even to death, we mould die 
 ' uncreditcd.' There is a weaknefs of expreffion, a poverty of ima- 
 'gination, in the pafiage when thus altered, which, we think, our 
 Authors never betray. Had the Editors of 1750 adhered to the rule 
 which they often mention, of making the poetry a tell for thewordf, 
 they woii!d not have altered nor tranfpofed rx fyllable. But, by fome 
 jftrange railhap, though the elder copies of this Play give us well- 
 divided metre, this part of the fccne, in their edition, is moft ftrangcly 
 confufed ; part of it being printed as profe, and part ranged in Inch 
 jines as we 'believe never before appeared ur.der the name of poetry. 
 
 I+ 1 mujl preferve my own.] *'. e. Muft protect my fon, Aibaces, 
 againft your endeavours to deitroy him. 
 
 Enter
 
 2i8 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Enter Befits and Spaconia. 
 
 Bef. Health to my lord-protector ! From the king 
 thefe letters , and to your grace, madam, thefe. 
 
 Gob. How does his majefty ? 
 
 Bef. As well as conquefl, by his own means and 
 his valiant commanders, can make him : Your letters 
 will tell you all. 
 
 Pan. I will not open mine, till I do know 
 My brother's health : Good captain, is he well ? 
 
 Bef. As the reft of us that fought are. 
 
 Pan. But how's that ? is he hurt ? 
 
 Bef. He's a ftrange foldier that gets not a knock. 
 
 Pan. I do not afk how ftrange that foldier is 
 That gets no hurt, but whether he have one. 
 
 Bef He had divers. 
 
 Pan. And is he well again ? 
 
 Bef. Well again, an't pleafe your grace. Why, I 
 was run twice through the body, and mot i' th' head 
 with a crofs-arrow, and yet am well again. 
 
 Pan. I do not care how thou do'ft : Is he well ? 
 
 Bef. Not care how I do ? Let a man, out of the 
 mightinefs of his fpirit, fructify foreign countries with 
 his blood, for the good of his own, and thus he mall 
 be anfwered. Why, I may live to relieve, with fpear 
 and fiiield, fuch a lady as you diftreffed. 
 
 Pan. Why, I will care: I'm glad that thou art well ; 
 I prithee, is he ib ? 
 
 Gob. The king is well, and will be here to-morrow. 
 
 Pan. My prayer is heard. Now will I open mine. 
 
 Gob. Bacurius, I muft eafe you of your charge. 
 Madam, the wonted mercy of the king, 
 That overtakes your faults, has met with this, 
 And ftruck it out , he has forgiven you freely. 
 Your own will is your law ; be where you pleafe. 
 
 Ara. \ thank him. 
 
 Gob. You will be ready to wait upon his majefty 
 to-morrow ? 
 
 Ara. I will. [Exit Arane. 
 
 Bac.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 219 
 
 Eac. Madam, be wife hereafter. I am glad I have 
 loft this office. 
 
 Gob. Good captain Beffus, tell us the difcourfe 
 Betwixt Tigranes and our king, and how 
 We got the vi&ory. 
 
 Pan. I priihee do ; 
 
 And if my brother were in any danger, 
 Let not thy tale make him abide there long, 
 Before thou bring him off^ for all that while 
 My heart will beat. 
 
 Eef. Madam, let what will beat, I muft tell the 
 truth, and thus it was : They fought fingle in lifts, 
 but one to one. As for my own part, I was dan- 
 geroufly hurt but three days before -, eiie, perhaps, 
 we had been two to two , I cannot tell, ibme thought, 
 we had. And the occafion ot my hurt was this ; the 
 enemy had made trenches 
 
 Gob. Captain, without the manner of your hurt 
 be much material to this bufmefs, we'll hear't Ibme 
 other time. 
 
 Pan. I prithee, leave it, and go on with my brother. 
 
 Eef. I will ; but 'twould be worth your hearing. 
 To the lifts they came, and fingle fword and gauntlet 
 was their fight ''*. 
 
 Pan - 
 
 15 To the lifts they fame, and fingle fword and gauntlel ivai their 
 fgbt.'] I know, in all ages of the world, that foldicrs had a fteel 
 glove, or gantlet, to defend the back of their hands from the cuts of 
 a broad fword ; but, 1'arely, this is an odd word for a weapon of war; 
 and for two Combatants to fight with their gloves on, was no great 
 fign of courage or dexterity. A target, (as 1 fufped, the original 
 word to have been) graceful iy and artfully managed, was a detcr.ce 
 for the .whole body. 
 
 So the words are again joined in the Mad Lover. 
 
 7'iis fttlcw, 
 
 ll'iih all bis fright i abiut kirn ar.d bis furies. 
 His larum>, and hi, lances, i words, and targets, &c. 
 And fo \ve find in the Coronation. 
 
 Enter Seleucus and Arcadiut at ji-veral doors ; their pages btfore 
 
 them, bearing their targets. Mr. Sjmpfon. 
 
 As this alteration is countenanced by rcne of the old copies, fo 
 the reafon for which it is made will hardly be deemed a fufficient one, 
 
 when
 
 220 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Pan. Alas! 
 
 Bef. Without the lifts there flood fome dozen cap- 
 tains of either fide mingled, all which were fworn, 
 and one of thofe was I : And 'twas my chance to 
 ftand next a captain o' th' enemies' fide, call'd Tiri- 
 bafus ; valiant, they faid, he was. Whilft thefe two 
 kings were ftretching themfelves, this Tiribafus caft 
 fomething a fcornful look on me, and afk'd me, whom 
 I thought would overcome ? I fmii'd, and told him, if 
 he would fight with me, he mould perceive by the 
 event of that whofe king would win. Something he 
 anfwer'd, and a fcuffle was like to grow, when one 
 Zipetns offered to help him : I 
 
 Pan. All this is of thyfelf : I pray thee, Beflus, 
 Tell fomething of my brother j did he nothing ? 
 
 Bef. Why, yes ; I'll tell your grace. They were 
 not to fight till the word given ; which, for my own 
 part, by my troth, I confefs, I was not to give. 
 
 Pan. See, for his own part ! 
 
 Bac. I fear, yet, this fellow's abus'd with a good 
 report. 
 
 Bef. But I 
 
 Pan. Still of himfelf! 
 
 Bef. Cry'd, c Give the word ;' wJien, as fome of 
 them fay, Tigranes was {looping ; but the word was 
 not given then ; yet one Cofroes, of the enemies* 
 part, held up his finger to me, which is as much, with 
 us martialills, as, c I will fight with you :' I faid not 
 a word, nor made fign during the combat ; but that 
 once done 
 
 Pan. He Hips o'er all the fight. 
 
 Bef. I call'd him to me ; Cofroes, faid I 
 
 when it is underftood, that every combatant was provided with a 
 
 gauntlet when he fought. In a book entitled, ' Honor Military and 
 
 drill, contained in foureBookes. By W. Segar,'. fo. 1602, p. 130, 
 
 s the following paffage : ' He that lofeth his gauntlet in light, is 
 
 more to be blamed than he who is dilartned of his poulderon. For 
 
 the gauntlet armeth the hand, without which member no fight can 
 
 U- performed ; and theiefore that part of the armor is commonly 
 
 jexit in iigne of. defiance. 1 ^- 
 
 Pay.
 
 A KING AND NO KING, azi 
 
 Pan. I will hear no more. 
 
 Bef. No, no, I lye. 
 
 Bac . I dare be fworn thou doft. 
 
 Bef. Captain, faid I ; fo it was. 
 
 Pan. 1 tell thee, I will hear no further. 
 
 Bef. No ? Your grace will wifh you had. 
 
 Pan. I will not wiih it. What, is this the lady 
 My brother writes to me to take ? 
 
 Bef. An't pleafe your grace, this is me. Charge, 
 will you come near the princefs ? 
 
 Pan. You're welcome from your country; and 
 
 this land 
 
 Shall mew unto you all the kindnefits 
 That I can make it. What's yaur name ? 
 
 Spa. Thaleftris. 
 
 Pan. You're very welcome : You have got a letter 
 To put you to me that has power enough 
 To place mine enemy here ; then much more you, 
 That are fo far from being ib to me, 
 That you ne'er faw me. 
 
 Bef. Madam, I dare pafs my word for her truth. 
 
 Spa. My truth ? 
 
 Pan. Why, captain, do you think I am afraid 
 (he'll fteal ? 
 
 Bef. I cannot tell ; fervants are flippery -, but I 
 dare give my word for her : And for honefty, me 
 came along with me, and many favours (lie did me 
 by the way -, but, by this light, none but what me 
 might do with rnodelty, to a man of my rank. 
 
 Pan. Why, captain, here's nobody thinks other- 
 wife. 
 
 Bef. Nay, if you mould, your grace may think 
 your pleafure ; but I am fure I brought her from 
 Armenia, and in all that way, if ever 1 touch'd any 
 bare of lier above her knee, I pray God I may fink 
 where I ft and. 
 
 Spa. Above my knee ? 
 
 Bef. No, you know I did not ; and if any man will 
 Uy I did, this fword mall anlwer. Nay, I'll defend 
 
 the
 
 222 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 the reputation of my Charge, whilft I live. Your 
 grace mall underftand, I am fecret in thefe bufmefles, 
 and know how to defend a lady's honour. 
 
 Spa. I hope your grace knows him Ib well already, 
 I lhall not need to tell you he's vain and foolifh. 
 
 Bef. Ay, you may call me what you pleafe, but 
 I'll defend your good name agai nit the world. And 
 fo I take my leave of your grace, and of you, my 
 lord-protedor. I am likewile glad to fee your lord- 
 Ihip well. 
 
 Eac. Oh, captain BefTus, I thank you. I would 
 fpeak with you anon. 
 
 Bef. When you pleafe, I will attend your lordmip. 
 
 [Exit Bef. 
 
 Eac. Madam, I'll take my leave too. 
 Pan. Good Bacurius ! [Exit Bac. 
 
 Gob. Madam, what writes his majefly to you ? 
 Pan. Oh, my lord, 
 
 The kindeft words ! I'll keep 'em while I live, 
 Here in my bofom , there's no art in 'em j 
 They lie diforder'd in this paper, juft 
 As hearty nature fpeaks 'em. 
 
 Gob. And to me 
 
 He writes, what tears of joy he fhed, to hear 
 How you were grown in every virtuous way ; 
 And yields all thanks to me, for that dear care 
 Which I was bound to have in training you. 
 There is no princefs living that enjoys 
 A brother of that worth. 
 
 Pan. My lord, no maid 
 Longs more for any thing, and feels more heat 
 And cold within her breait, than I do now, 
 In hope to fee him. 
 
 Gob. Yet I wonder much 
 At this : He writes, he brings along with him 
 A hulband for you, that fame captive prince j 
 And if he love you, as he makes a mew, 
 He will allow you freedom in a choice. 
 
 Pan. And fo he will, mv lord, I warrant you ; 
 
 He
 
 A KING AND NO KING, 223 
 
 He will but offer, and give me the power 
 To take or leave. 
 
 Gob. Truft me, were I a lady, 
 I could not like that man were bargain'd with, 
 Before I chofe him. 
 
 Pan. But I am not built 
 On fuch wild humours j if I find him worthy, 
 He is not It- fs becaufe he's offered. 
 
 Spa. J Tis true he is not ; 'would, he would feem 
 lefs! 
 
 Gob. I think there is no lady can affed: 
 Another prince, your brother Itanding by; 
 He doth eclipfe mcns' virtues fo with his. 
 
 Spa. I know a lady may, and, morel fear, 
 Another lady will. 
 
 Pan. 'Would I might fee him ! 
 
 Gob. Why fo you mail. My bufmeffes are great : 
 I will attend you when it is his pleafure to fee you. 
 
 Pan. I thank you, good my lord. 
 
 Gob. You will be ready, madam ? 
 
 Pan. Yes. [Exit GOP. 
 
 Spa. I do befeech you, madam, fend away 
 Your other women, and receive from me 
 A few fad words, which, fet againft your joys, 
 May make 'em fhine the more. 
 
 Pan. Sirs, leave me all. [Exeunt women. 
 
 Spa. I kneel a ftranger here, to beg a thing 
 Unnt for me to afk, and you to grant. 
 'Tis fuch another ftrange ill-laid reqneft, 
 As if a beggar mould intreat a king 
 To leave his fceptre and his throne to him, 
 And take his rags to wander o'er the world, 
 Hungry and coicl. 
 
 Pan. That were a ftrange requeft. 
 
 Spa. As ill is mine. 
 
 Pan. Then do not utter it. 
 
 Spa. Alas, 'tis of that nature, that it muft 
 Be utter'd, ay, and granted, or I die ! 
 I am alham'd to ipeak it ; but where life 
 
 Lies
 
 
 224 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Lies at the ftake, I cannot think her woman, 
 
 That will not talk fomething unreafonably 
 
 To hazard faving of it I<5 . I fhall feem 
 
 A flrange petitioner, that wifh all ill 
 
 To them I beg of, ere they give me aught ; 
 
 Yet fo I rr.uft : I would you were not fair, 
 
 Nor wife, for in your ill confute my good : 
 
 If you were foolifh, you would hear my prayer ; 
 
 If foul, you had not power to hinder me ; 
 
 He would not love you. 
 
 Pan. What's the meaning of it ? 
 
 Spa. Nay, my requeft is more without the bounds 
 Of reafon yet -, for 'tis not in the pow'r 
 Of you to do, what I would have you grant. 
 
 Pan. Why, then, 'tis idle. Prithee, fpeak it out. 
 
 Spa. Your brother brings a prince into this land, 
 Of fuch a noble mape, fo iweet a grace, 
 So full of worth withal, that every maid 
 That looks upon him gives away herfelf 
 To him for ever ; and for you to have 
 He brings him : And fo mad is my demand, 
 That I defire you not to have this man, 
 This excellent man ; for whom you needs mull die, 
 If you mould mifs him. I do now expect 
 You mould laugh at me. 
 
 Pan. Truft me, I could weep 
 Rather j for I have found in all thy words 
 A ilrange disjointed forrow. 
 
 Spa. 'Tis by me 
 His own defire fo, that you would not love him. 
 
 Pan. His own defire ! Why, credit me, Thaleftris, 
 
 but "jcbere life 
 
 Lies at the ftake, I cannot think her woman 
 
 Tbat li-i/i not take fametlnng unreafo?iably, 
 
 To hazard f awing of it ] Bat what was the woman to take 
 in this cafe ? I think, I may venture to fay, J have reilored the ori- 
 ginal word of the Poets : My emendation is confirmed by what Ihe 
 lays three lines above. 
 
 Alai! 'Tis of that nature, tlat it nmjl 
 
 }k- uttcr'd. Mr. Tbeolald. 
 
 I am-
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 225 
 
 I am no common wooer : If he (hall wooe me, 
 His worth may be fuch, that I dare not fwear 
 I will not love him , but if he will ftay 
 To have me wooe him, I will promife thee 
 He may keep all his graces to himfelf, 
 And fear no ravilhing from me. 
 
 Spa. 'Tisyet 
 
 His own deiire; but when he fees your face, 
 I fear, it will not be -, therefore I charge you^ 
 As you have pity, flop thole tender ears 
 From his enchanting voice , clofe up thofe 
 That you may neither catch a dart from him, 
 Nor he from you. I charge you, as you hope 
 To live in quiet , for when I am dead, 
 For certain I will walk to vilit him, 
 If he break promife with me : For as fad . 
 
 As oaths, without a formal ceremony, 
 Can make me, I am to him. 
 
 Pan. Then be fearlefs ; 
 For if he were a thing 'twixt God and man, 
 I could gaze on him, if I knew it fin 
 To love him, without paffion I? . Dry your eyes ; 
 I fwear, you (hall enjoy him ftill for me i 
 I will not hinder you. But I perceive, 
 You are not what you feem : Rife, rile, Thaleftris, 
 If your right name be ib. 
 
 Spa. Indeed, it is not : 
 Spaconia is my name -, but I defire 
 Not to be known to others. 
 
 Pan. Why, by me 
 
 You (hall not , I will never do you wrong -, 
 What good I can, I will : Think not my birth 
 
 '7 For if he were a thing 'twixt god and man, 
 
 1 cculJ gaze on kirn, if 1 knti'J it fin 
 
 To Itvehi*, without pafton :] /'. t. If flie knew it a fin to fall 
 in love with him, let him be ever lo lovely, flic could avoid it. The 
 con6dence with which (he freaks this, is extremely natural, to (hew 
 how little we know our own weakness : For ihe loon aitc: falls in 
 love with one, whom flic took for her own broll.er. Mr. Stiuard. 
 
 VOL. I. P Or
 
 226 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Or education fuch, that I mould injure 
 
 A ftranger virgin. You are welcome hither. 
 
 In company you wifh to be commanded -, 
 
 But, when we are alone, I fhall be ready 
 
 To be your fervant. [Exeunf. 
 
 Enter three men and a 'woman. 
 
 1 Man. Come, come, run, run, run. 
 
 2 Man. We mail out-go her. 
 
 3 Man. One were better be hang'd than carry out 
 women fiddling to thefe mows. 
 
 Worn. Is the king hard by ? 
 
 1 Man. You heard he with the bottles faid, he 
 thought we mould come too late. What abundance 
 of people here is ? 
 
 Worn. But what had he in thofe bottles ? 
 3 Man. I know not. 
 
 2 Man. Why, ink, goodman fool. 
 
 3 Man. Ink, what to do ? 
 
 1 Man. Why, the king, look you, will many 
 times call for thofe bottles, and break his mind to his 
 friends. 
 
 Worn. Let's take our places -, we fhall have ho 
 room elfe. 
 
 2 Man. The man told us, he would walk o' foot 
 through the people. 
 
 3 Man. Ay, marry, did he. 
 
 1 Man. Our {hops are well look'd-to now. 
 
 2 Man. 'Slife, yonder's my mailer, I think. 
 i Man. No, 'tis not he. 
 
 Enter Philip, with I-JUQ citizens* wives, 
 
 1 Cit. Lord, how fine the fields be. What fweet 
 living 'tis in the country ! 
 
 2 Cit. Ay, poor fouls, God help 'em, they live as 
 contentedly as one of us. 
 
 i Cit. My huiband's coufm would have had me 
 gone into the country laft year. Wert thou ever 
 there ? 
 
 2 Cit.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 227 
 2 Cit. Ay, poor fouls, I was amongft 'em once. 
 
 1 Cit. And what kind of creatures are they, for love 
 of God ? 
 
 2 Cit. Very good people, God help 'em. 
 
 i Cit. Wilt thou go down with me this fummcr 
 when I am brought to- bed ? 
 
 2 Cit. Alas, it is no place for us. 
 
 1 Cit. Why, prithee ? 
 
 2 Cit. Why, you can have nothing there -, there's 
 nobody cries brooms. 
 
 1 Cit. No ? 
 
 2 Cit. No truly, nor milk. 
 
 i Cit. Nor milk ! how do they ? 
 <2 Cit. They are fain to milk themfelves i' the 
 country. 
 
 1 Cit. Good lord ! But the people there, I think, 
 will be very dutiful to one of us. 
 
 2 Cit. Ay, God knows wilt they ; and yet they do 
 not greatly care for our hufbands. 
 
 i Cit. Do they not ? alas ! i' good faith, I can- 
 not blame them : For we do not greatly care, for them 
 on delves. Philip, I pray, chufe us a place. 
 
 Phil. There's the belt, forfooth. 
 
 1 Cit. By your leave, good people, a little. 
 
 3 Man. What's the matter ? 
 
 Phi. I pray you r my friend, do not thruft my 
 miftrefs fo -, fhe's with child. 
 
 2 Man. Let her look to herfelf then , has flie not 
 had thruiting enough yet ? If file (bay mouldering 
 here, me may, haps, go home with a cake in her 
 belly. 
 
 3 Man. How now, goodman Squitter-brecch ! why 
 do you lean on me ? 
 
 Phil. Bt-cauie I will. 
 3 Man. Will you, Sir Sauce-box ? 
 i Cit. Look, if one ha' not ftruck Philip, Come 
 hither, Philip , why did he ftrike thee ? 
 Phil. For leaning on him. 
 i Cit. Why didft thou lean on him ? 
 
 ? ^ Phil
 
 228 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Phil. I did not think he would have ft ruck me. 
 
 i Of. As God fave me, la, thou'rt as wild as a 
 buck ; there's no quarrel, but thou'rt at one end or 
 other on't. 
 
 3 Man. It's at the firft end then, for he'll ne'er flay 
 the laft. 
 
 j Cit. Well, Slip-ftring, I mail meet with you. 
 
 3 Man. When you will. 
 
 i Cit. I'll give a crown to meet with you. 
 
 3 Man. At a bawdy-houfe. 
 
 j Cit. Ay, you're full of your roguery , but if I 
 do meet you, it mall coft me a fall. 
 
 Flourijh. Enter one running. 
 
 4 Man. The king, the king, the king, the king ! 
 Now, now, now, now ! 
 
 Flourijh. Enter Arbaces, 'figranes, and Mardonius. 
 - All. God preferve your majefty ! 
 
 Arb. I thank you all. Now are my joys at full, 
 When I behold you fafe, my loving fubjects. 
 By you I grow -, 'tis your united love 
 That lifts me to this height. 
 All the account that I can render you 
 For all the love you haye beftow'd on me, 
 All your expences to maintain my war, 
 Is but a little word : You will imagine 
 'Tis Hender payment , yet 'tis fuch a word 
 As is not to be bought but with your bloods : 
 'Tis peace ! 
 
 All. God preferve your majefty ! 
 
 Arb. Now you may live fecurely i' your towns, 
 Your children round about you ; you may fit 
 Under your vines, and make the miferies 
 Of other kingdoms a difcourfe for you, 
 And lend them forrows. For yourfelves, you may 
 Safely forget there are fuch things'* as tears : 
 And you may all, whofe good thoughts I have gain'd, 
 Hold me unworthy, when I think my life 
 
 A facrifice
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 229 
 
 A facrifice too great to keep you thus 
 In fuch a calm eilate ! 
 
 AIL God blefs your majefty ! 
 
 Arb. See, all good people ; I have brought the 
 
 man, 
 
 Whofe very name you fear'd, a captive home. 
 Behold him -, 'tis Tigranes ! In your hearts 
 Sing fongs of gladnefs and deliverance. 
 
 1 Cit. Out upon him ! 
 
 2 Cit. How he looks. 
 
 3 Worn. Hang him, hang him ! 
 Mar. Thefe are fweet people. 
 Tigr. Sir, you do me wrong, 
 
 To render me a fcorned fpectacle 
 To common people. 
 
 Arb. It was far from me 
 To mean it fo. If I have aught deferv'd, 
 My loving fubjedts, let me beg of you 
 Not to revile this prince, in whom there dwells 
 All worth, of which the nature of a man 
 Is capable , valour beyond compare : 
 The terror of his name has ftretch'd itfelf 
 Where-ever there is fun : And yet for you 
 I fought with him fmgle, and wen him too. 
 I made his valour ftoop, and brought that name, 
 Soar'd to fo unbeliev'd a height, to fall 
 Beneath mine. This, infpir'd with all your loves, 
 I did perform ; and will, for your content, 
 Be ever ready for a greater work. 
 
 All. The Lord bids your majeity ! 
 
 Tig. So, he has made me amends now with a fpcech 
 in commendation of himfelf : I would not be fo vain- 
 glorious. 
 
 Arb. If there be any thing in which I may 
 Do good to any creature here, Ipeak out ; 
 For I muft leave you : And it troubles me, 
 That my occafions, for the good of you, 
 Are fuch as call me from you : Elfe, my joy 
 Would be to fpend my davs among you all. 
 
 ' J> 3 You
 
 230 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 You mew your loves in thefe large multitudes 
 That come to meet me. I will pray for you. 
 Heav'n profper you, that you may know old years, 
 And live to fee your childrens children 
 Sit at your boards with plenty ! When there is 
 A want of any thing, let it be known 
 To me, and I will be a father to you. 
 God keep you all ! 
 
 [Flourijh. Exeunt kings and their train. 
 All. God blefsyour majefty, God blefsyour majefty ! 
 
 1 Man. Come, mail we go ? all's done. 
 
 Worn. Ay, for God's fake : I have not made a fire 
 yet. 
 
 2 Man. Away, away ! all's done. 
 
 3 Man. Content. Farewell, Philip. 
 
 1 Cit. Away, you halter-fack, you ! 
 
 2 Man. Philip will not fight i he's afraid on's face. 
 PHI. Ay, marry , am I afraid of my face ? 
 
 3 Man. Thou wouldft be, Philip, if thou faw'ft it 
 in a glafs ; it looks fo like a vifor. 
 
 [Exeunt the three men and woman. 
 
 1 Cit. You'll be hang'd, firrah. Come, Philip, walk 
 before us homewards. Did not his majefty fay he had 
 brought us home peas for all our money ' 8 ? 
 
 2 Cit. Yes, marry, did he. 
 
 1 Cit. They're the firfl I heard of this year, by my 
 troth. I long'd for fome of 'em. Did he not fay, we 
 fhouki have fome ? 
 
 2 Cit. Yes, and fo we mall anon, I warrant you, 
 have every one a peck brought home to our houfes. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 18 Did not bis majefty fay, he had brought us home peas for all our 
 money. ~\ This ridituious blunder from the ignorance of the citizen 
 in milt, king peace for peas, might have an effedl, perhaps, (at lealt 
 of bugliter; on the giofs nudienccs of thofe times; though i queilion 
 whether it would uot meet with a rebuke from the nicer taltes in ours. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 ACT
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 231 
 
 ACT HI. 
 
 Enter Arbaces and Curias. 
 Arb. ]\ /T Y fitter take it ill ? 
 lyl Gob. Not very ill : 
 Something unkindly Hie does take it, Sir, 
 To have her hufband chofen to her hands. 
 
 Arb. Why, Gobrias, let her : I muft have her know, 
 My will, and not her own, muft govern her. 
 What, will flie marry with fome (lave at home ? 
 
 Gob. Oh, fhe is far from any ftubbornnefs , 
 You much miftake her ; and, no doubt, will like 
 Where you will have her. But when you behold her, 
 You will be loth to part withfuch a jewel. 
 
 Arb. To part with her ? Why, Gobrias, art thou 
 
 mad ? 
 She is my filter. 
 
 Gob. Sir, I know me is : 
 But it were pity to make poor our land, 
 With fuch a beauty to enrich another. 
 
 Arb. Pirn! Will fhe have him ? 
 
 Gob. I do hope me will not. \_Afide. 
 
 I think me will, Sir. 
 
 Arb* Were me my father, and my mother too, 
 And all the names for which we think folks friends, 
 She fhould be forc'd to have him, when I know 
 'Tis fit. I will not hear her fay, (he's loth. 
 
 Gob. Hcav'n, bring my purpofe luckily to pafs ! 
 You know 'tis juft. She will not need conftraint, 
 She loves you io. 
 
 Arb. How does (he love me ? Speak. 
 
 Gob. She loves you more than people love their 
 
 health, 
 That live by labour ; more than I could love 
 
 V 4 A man
 
 2 3 i A KI'NG AND NO KING. 
 
 A man that died for me, if he could live 
 Again. 
 
 Arb. She is not like her mother, then. 
 
 Gob. Oh, no ! When you were in Armenia, 
 I durit not let her know when you were hurt : 
 For at the firft, on every little {cratch, 
 She kept her chamber, wept, and could not eat, 
 Till you were well , and many times the news 
 Was fo long coming, that, before we heard, 
 She was as near her death, as you your health. 
 
 Arb. Alas, poor foul ! But yet me muft be rul'd, 
 I know not how I mail requite her well. 
 I long to fee her : Have you fent for her, 
 To tell her I am ready ? 
 
 Gob. Sir, I have. 
 
 Enter \ gentleman and Tigranes. 
 
 i Gent. Sir, here is the Armenian king, 
 
 Arb. He's welcome. 
 
 i Gent. And the queen-mother and the princefs wait 
 Without. 
 
 Arb. Good Gobrias, bring 'em in. [Exit Gobrias. 
 Tigranes, you will think- you are arriv'd 
 In a ftrange land, where mothers caft to poifon 
 ' Their only fons : Think you, you fljall be fafe ? 
 
 Tig. Too fafe I am, Sir. 
 
 Enter Gobrias, Arane, Panthea^ Spaconia, Bacurius^ 
 
 Mardonius, BeJJus, and two gentlemen. 
 4ra. As low as this I bow to you ' 9 ; and would 
 
 As 
 
 *9 As low as this I bow to you. &e ] Mr, Theobald compares this 
 fpeecb, and Atbaces. 1 reply, to the following paffdge in Coriolanus, on 
 a fijnilar occifmn, ' to wnich, fays he, our Authors might poffibly 
 ' have an eye.' 
 
 Vol. Ob, ft and up Me/s'J! 
 
 W hi I ft with no J after cufliou than the Jlinf 
 1 kneel before tbee ; and unproperly 
 Shew duty as miflaken all the while 
 the (hild and parent. 
 
 Cor.
 
 A KING AND NO *ING. 233 
 As low as is my grave, to (hew a mrnd 
 Thankful for all your mercies. 
 
 Arb. Oh, ftand up, 
 
 And let me kneel ! the light will be afham'd 
 To fee obfervance done to me by you. 
 Ara. You are my king. 
 Arb. You are my mother. Rife ! 
 As far be all your faults from your own foul, 
 As from my memory ; then you mail be 
 As white as Innocence herfclf. 
 
 Ara. I came 
 
 Only to (hew my duty, and acknowledge 
 My forrows for my fins : Longer to ftay, 
 Were but to draw eyes more attentively 
 Upon my fhame. That pow'r, that kept you fafc 
 From me, prelerve you ftill ! 
 
 Arb. Your own defires mall be your guide. 
 
 [Exit Arane. 
 
 Pan. Now let me die ! 
 Since I have ieen my lord the king return 
 In fafety, I huve feen all good that life 
 Can flicw me. I have ne'er another wifh 
 For Heav'n to grant -, nor were it fit I mould -, 
 For I am bound to fpend my age to come, 
 In giving thanks that this was granted me. 
 
 Gob. Why does not your majefty fpeak ? 
 
 Arb. To whom ? 
 
 Gob. To the princefs. 
 
 Pan. Alas, Sir, I am fearful ! You do look 
 On me, as if I were fome loathed thing, 
 That you were finding out a way to fhun. 
 
 Gob. Sir, you mould fpeak to her. 
 
 Arb. Ha? 
 
 tor. What is this? 
 
 Tour kneti to me ? to your- corretfcd fan ? 
 Totn let the pebbles on the hungry btacb 
 F.'<3f thejiars ; then let the >nntinoui winds 
 Strike the proud cedars ' ' gain ft the Jitry fun ; 
 r ft?' ring impojjibilily^ to make 
 cannot be Jligbi ivori. 
 
 Pan.
 
 234 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Pan. I know I am unworthy, yet not ill : 
 Arm'd with which innocence, here I will kneel 
 *Till I am one with earth, but I will gain 
 Some v/ords and kindnels from you. 
 
 Tigr. Will you fpeak, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. Speak ! am I what I was ? 
 What art thou, that doft creep into my breaft, 
 And dar'ft not Tee my face ? Shew forth thyfelf. 
 I feel a pair of fiery wings difptay'd 
 Hither, from thence. You mall not tarry there ! 
 Up, and be gone , if thou be'ft love, be gone ! 
 Or I will tear thee from my wounded breaft, 
 Pull thy lov'd down away, and with a quill 
 By this right arm drav/n from thy wanton wing, 
 Write to thy laughing mother i' thy blood *% 
 That you are pow'rs bely'd, and all your darts 
 Are to be blown away, by men refolv'd, 
 Like duft. I know thou fear'ft my words , away ! 
 
 3%r. Oh, mifery ! why mould he be fo flow ? 
 There can no falmood come of loving her. 
 Though I have given my faith, me is a thing 
 Both to be lov'd and ferv'd beyond my faith. 
 I would, he would prefent me to her quickly. 
 
 Pan. Will you not fpeak at all ? Are you fo far 
 From kind words ? Yet, to fave my modefty, 
 That muft talk till you anfwer, do not fland 
 As you were dumb ; fay fomething, though it be 
 Poilbn'd with anger that may itrike me dead. 
 
 Mar. Have you no life at all ? For manhood fake, 
 Let her not kneel, and talk neglected thus. 
 A tree would find a tongue to anfwer her, 
 Did me but give it fuch a lov'd rcfpecb. 
 
 Ark. You mean this lady. Lift her from the earth : 
 Why do you let her kneel fo long ? Alas ! 
 Madam, ; your beauty ufes to command, 
 And not to beg. What is your fuit to me I 
 It iliall be granted ; yet the time is fhort, 
 
 40 Thy laughing tnothtr.] Theoki poets, bntb Greek and Latin, as 
 Mr. Seward oUerves, sppl) this epithet to Venus. 
 
 And
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 235 
 
 And my affairs are great. But where's my fifter ? 
 I bade, me mould be brought. 
 
 Mar. What, is he mad ? 
 
 Arb. Gobrias, where is me ? 
 
 Gob, Sir! 
 
 Arb. Where is me, man ? 
 
 Gob. Who, Sir? 
 
 Arb. Who ? haft thou forgot my fifter ? 
 
 Gob. Your fifter, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. Your fifter, Sir ? Some one that hath a wit, 
 Aniwer, where is me ? 
 
 Gob. Do you not fee her there ? 
 
 Arb. Where? 
 
 Gob. There. 
 
 Arb. There ? where ? 
 
 Mar. 'Slight, there ! are you blind ? 
 
 Arb. W T hich do you mean ? That little one ? 
 
 Gob. No, Sir. 
 
 Arb. No, Sir ? Why, do you mock me ? 1 can fee 
 No other here, but that petitioning lady. 
 
 Gob. That's me. 
 
 Arb. Away ! 
 
 Gob. Sir, it is me. 
 
 Arb. 'Tis falfe. 
 
 Gob. Is it ? 
 
 Arb. As Hell ! By Heav'n, as falfe as Hell ! 
 My lifter! Is me dead ? If it be fo, 
 Speak boldly to me ; for I am a man, 
 And dare not quarrel with Divinity ; 
 And do not think to cozen me with this. 
 I fee, you all are mute and (land amaz'd, 
 Fearful to anfwer me. It is too true -, 
 A decreed inftant cuts off ev'ry life, 
 For which to mourn, is to repine. She died 
 A virgin though, more innocent than deep, 
 As clear as her own eyes ; and blefTednefs 
 Eternal waits upon her where me is. 
 I know, me could not make a wifti to change 
 Her tate for new j and you mall fee me bear 
 
 My
 
 236 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 My crofies like a man. We all muft die, 
 And me hath taught us how. 
 
 Gob. Do not miftake, 
 
 And vex yourfelf for nothing ; for her death 
 Is a long life off yet, I hope. 'Tis fhe , 
 And if my fpeech deferve not faith, lay death 
 Upon me, and my lateft words mail force 
 A credit from you. 
 
 Ark. Which, good Gobrias ? 
 That lady, doil thou mean ? 
 
 Gob. That lady, Sir : 
 She is your fitter ; and me is your fitter 
 That loves you fo ; 'tis fhe for whom I weep, 
 To fee you ufe her thus. 
 
 Arb. It cannot be. 
 
 7/r. Pirn! this is tedious : 
 I cannot hold , I muft prefent myfelf. 
 And yet the fight of my Spaconia 
 Touches me, as a fudden thunder-clap 
 Does one that is about to fin. 
 
 Arb. Away! 
 
 No more of this ! Here I pronounce him traitor, v 
 The direct plotter of my death, that names 
 Or thinks her for my filter : 'Tis a lye, 
 The moft malicious of the world, invented 
 To mad your king. He that will fay fo next, 
 Let him draw out his fword and fheath it here , 
 It is a fin fully as pardonable. 
 She is no kin to me, nor mail fhe be : 
 If fhe were ever, I create her none. 
 And which of you can queftion this ? My pow'r 
 Is like the fea, that is to be obey'd, 
 And not difputed with. I have decreed her 
 As far from having part of blood with me, 
 As the naked Indians. Come and anfwer me, 
 He that is boldeft now : Is that my fifter ? 
 
 Mar. Oh, this is fine ! 
 
 Eef. No, marry, fhe is not, an't pleafe your majefty. 
 J never thought }he was j ffre's nothing like you. 
 
 Arb,
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 237 
 
 Arb. No ; 'tis true, fhe is not. 
 
 Mar. Thou fhouldft be hang'd. 
 
 Pan. Sir, I will fpeak but once : By the fame pow'r 
 You make my blood a ftranger unto yours, 
 You may command me dead ; and fo much love 
 A ftranger may importune , pray you, do, 
 If this requeft appear too much to grant, 
 Adopt me oi" fome other family, 
 By your unqueftion'd word , elfe I mall live 
 Like finful iflues, that are left in ftreets 
 By their regardlefs mothers, and no name 
 Will be found for me, 
 
 Arb. I will hear no more. 
 Why mould there be fuch mufic in a voice, 
 And fin for me to hear it ? All the world 
 May take delight in this ll $ and 'tis damnation 
 For me to do io. You are fair, and wife, 
 And virtuous, I think , and he is blcls'd 
 That is fo near you as a brother is -, 
 But you are nought to me but a difeafe -, 
 Continual tormeni without hope of eafe, 
 Such an ungodly fickneis I have got, 
 That he, that undertakes my cure, muft firft 
 O'erthrow divinity, all moral laws, 
 And leave mankind as unconfin'd as beads ; 
 Allowing 'em to do all aclions, 
 As freely as they drink when they defire. 
 Let me not hear you fpeak again -, yet fo 
 I mail but languifh for the want of that, 
 The having which would kill me. No man here 
 Offer to fpeak for her , for I confider 
 
 and V/j damnation 
 
 For me to do fo ] To make fenfe and true reafom'ng, the con- 
 junction Wmalt be tnanged into the difcretive particle yet. The 
 king meani, all the world, Inrfides Jiiinfelf, may tuhe delimit in the 
 tnuijc of her tor.gue ; ba: it would be damnation hi him to do ft>. 
 
 Mr. 'ikccba'd. 
 
 We have followed the oM reading, which we think eafy and fa- 
 miliar. And often Hands for and -et ; and clearly conveys that fenfe 
 in the pafLgc before- u?. 
 
 As
 
 238 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 As much as you can fay , I will not toil 
 My body and my mind too ; reft thou there -, 
 Here's one within will labour for you both. 
 
 Pan. I would I were pad fpeaking. 
 
 Gob. Fear not, madam ; 
 The king will alter : 'Tis fome fudden rage, 
 And you (hall fee it end fome other way. 
 
 Pan. Pray Heav'n it do ! 
 
 Tig. Though me to whom I fvvore be here, I cannot 
 Stifle my pafilon longer ; if my father 
 Should rife again, difquieted with this, 
 And charge me to forbear, yet it would out. 
 Madam, a ftranger, and a pris'ner, begs 
 To be bid welcome. 
 
 Pan. You are welcome, Sir, 
 I think , but if you be not, 'tis pafl me 
 To make you fo ; for I am here a ftranger 
 Greater than you : We know from whence you come ; 
 But I appear a loft thing, and by whom 
 Is yet uncertain ; found here i' the court, 
 And only fuffer'd to walk up and down, 
 As one not worth the owning. 
 
 Spa. Oh, I fear 
 
 Tigranes will be caught ; he looks, methinks, 
 As he would change his eyes with her. Some help 
 There is above for me, I hope ! 
 
 ftgr. Why do you turn away, and weep fo faft, 
 And utter things that mif-become your looks 2 
 Can you want owning ? 
 
 Spa. Oh, 'tis certain fo. 
 
 Tigr. Acknowledge yourfelf mine. 
 
 Arb. How now ? 
 
 ligr. And then fee if you want an owner. 
 
 Arb. They are talking ! 
 
 figr. Nations mail own you for their queen* 
 
 Arb. Tigranes ! art not thou my prifoner ? 
 
 2%r. I am. 
 
 Arb. And who is this ? 
 
 Tigr. She is your fifter. 
 
 Arb.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 239 
 
 Arb. She is fo. 
 
 Mar. Is fhe fo again ? that's well. 
 
 Arb. And how, then, dare you offer to change 
 words with her ? 
 
 Tigr. Dare do it ! Why, you brought me hither, 
 
 Sir, 
 To that intent. 
 
 Arb. Perhaps, I told you fo : 
 If I had fworn it, had you fo much folly 
 To credit it ? The leait word that fhe fpeaks 
 Is worth a life. Rule your diforder'd tongue, 
 Or I will temper it ! 
 
 Spa. Bleft be that breath J 
 
 1'jgr. Temper my tongue ! S,uch incivilities 
 As thele no barbarous people ever knew : 
 You break the laws of nature, and of nations-, 
 You talk to me as if I were a prifoner 
 For theft. My tongue be temper'd ? I muft fpeak, 
 If thunder check me, and I will. 
 
 Arb. You will? 
 
 Spa. Alas, my fortune ! 
 
 %igr. Do not fear his frown. 
 Dear madam, hear me. 
 
 Arb. Pear not my frown ? But that 'twere bafe 
 
 in me 
 
 To fight with one I know I can o'ercome, 
 Again thou (houldft be conquered by me. 
 
 Mar. He has one ranibin with him already , me- 
 thinks, 'twere good to fight double or quit. 
 
 Arb. Away with him to prifon ! Now, Sir, fee 
 If my frown be regardlefs. Why delay you ? 
 Seize him, Bacurius ! You fhall know my word 
 Sweeps like a wind ; and all it grapples with 
 Are as the chaff before it. 
 
 Tigr. Touch me not,, 
 
 Arb. Help there ! 
 
 Tigr. Away ! 
 
 1 Gent. It is in vain to ftruggle. 
 
 2 Gent. You muft be forc'd. 
 
 **.
 
 240 A KING AND NO KING, 
 
 Bac. Sir, you muft pardon us ; 
 We muft obey. 
 
 Arb. Why do you dally there ? 
 Drag him away by any thing, 
 
 Bac. Come, Sir. 
 
 Tigr. Juftice, thou ought'ft to give me ftrength 
 
 enough 
 
 To (hake all theie off. This is tyranny, 
 Arbaces, fubtler than the burning bull's", 
 Or that fam'd tyrant's bed*'. Thou mightft as well 
 Search i' the deep of winter through the Ihow 
 For half-ftarv'd people, to bring home with thee, 
 To fhew 'cm fire and fend 'ern back again, 
 As ufe me thus. 
 
 Arb. Let him be clofe, Bacurius. 
 
 [Exeunt Tigranes and Bacurius. 
 
 Spa. I ne'er rejoic'd at any ill to him, 
 But this imprifonment : What mail become 
 Of me forfaken ? 
 
 Gob. You will not let your fifter 
 Depart thus difcon tented from you, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. By no means, Gobrias : I have done her wrong, 
 And made myfelf believe much of myfelf, 
 
 2i . This is tyranny. 
 
 drkaces, fubtler than the burning bull'*!.'] The allufion here is 
 to the tyranny of Phalaris, who inclofed the wretches that had of- 
 fended him, in a bull of brafs, and burn'd them alive ; being de- 
 lighted to hear their groans exprefs the bellowing of a btjl. Or.e 
 Perillus, we are told, made this favage prefent to Phalaris ; and the 
 tyrant made the firit experiment upon him of his own cruel ingenuity : 
 Upon which Ovid has veiy properly oblerv'd, 
 
 Nef lex eft juflior ulla, 
 
 Qtiiim necis artifices arte perire fua. 
 
 c There is no more equal juilice, than that the artificers o" mifchief 
 fhouW fuffer by their own bad arts.' Mr. Iheobald. 
 
 *J Or that fam'd tyrant's bed.] The poets allude to the bed of the 
 inhuman Procrulles, an infamous robber of Attic.), who cdmpell'd 
 all his prifoners to lie in it ; snd, if they were too fnort, he by r r .cks 
 Hretch'd out their limbs to the extent of it ; if thry wire of tco tall 
 a fuuure, he lopp'd ofF their feet, and reduced them to a lergtfc 
 iuitable to his bed. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 That
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 241 
 
 That is not in me. You did kneel to me, 
 
 Whilft I flood ilubborn and regardlefs by, 
 
 And, like a god incenfed, gave no ear 
 
 To all your prayers. Behold, I kneel to you : 
 
 Shew a contempt as large as was my own, 
 
 And I will fuffer it ; yet, at the lall, forgive me. 
 
 Pan. Oh, you wrong me more in this 
 Than in your rage you did : You mock me now. 
 
 Arb. Never forgive me, then ; which is the word 
 Can happen to me. 
 
 Pan. If you be in earneft, 
 Stand up, and give me but a gentle look, 
 And two kind words, and I mail be in Heaven. 
 
 Arb. Rife you then too * 4 : Here I acknowledge thee 
 My hope, the only jewel of my life, 
 The belt of fitters, dearer than my breath, 
 A happinefs as high as I could think ; 
 And when my actions call thee otherwife, 
 Perdition light upon me ! 
 
 Pan. This is better . ' 
 Than if you had not frown'd ; it comes to me 
 Like mercy at the block : And when I leave 
 To ferve you with my life, your curfe be with me ! 
 
 Arb. Then thus I do falute thee ; and again, 
 To make this knot the flronger. Paradife 
 Is there ! It may be, you are yet in doubt j 
 This third kifs blots it out. I wade in fin, 
 And foolifhly intice myfelf along ! 
 Take her away , fee her a prilbner 
 In her own chamber, clofely, Gobrias ! 
 
 Pan. Alas ! Sir, why ? 
 
 Arb. I muft not flay the anfwer. Do it ! 
 
 Gab. Good Sir ! 
 
 Arb. No more ! Do it, I fay ! 
 
 Mar. This is better and better. 
 
 Pan. Yet, hear me fpeak. 
 
 *+ Rife you then to hear ; lac knowledge thee, &c.] The alteration, 
 which is Mr. Theobald's, we doubt not will appear proper, to every 
 reader who conf:ders the precceding fpeeti.es. 
 
 VOL. I. C Arb -
 
 242 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Arb. I will not hear you fpeak. 
 Away with her ! Let no man think to fpeak 
 For fuch a creature -, for me is a witch, 
 A poifoner, and a traitor ! 
 
 Gob. Madam, this office grieves me. 
 
 Pan. Nay, 'tis well -, the king is pleafed with it. 
 
 Arb. Beffus, go you along too with her. I will prove 
 AH this that I have faid, if I may live 
 So long. But I am defperately fick i 
 For me has given me poifon in a kifs : 
 She had it 'twixt her lips ; and with her eyes 
 She witches people. Go, without a word ! 
 
 Exeunt. Gcb. Pan. Bef. and Spat. 
 Why mould you, that have made me Hand in war 
 Like Fate itfelf, cutting what threads I pleas'd, 
 Decree fuch an unworthy end of me, 
 And all my glories ? What am I, alas, 
 That you oppofe me ? If my fccret thoughts 
 Have ever harbour'd fwellings againft you, 
 They could not hurt you ; and it is in you 
 To give me forrow, that will render me 
 Apt to receive your mercy : Rather fo, 
 Let it be rather fo, than puniiri me 
 With fuch unmanly fins. Inceft 15 is in me 
 Dwelling already ; and it muft be holy, 
 That pulls it thence. Where art, Mardonius ? 
 
 Mar. Here, Sir. 
 
 Arb. I pray thee, bear me, if thou canft, 
 .Am I not grown a ftrange weight ? 
 
 Mar. As you were. 
 
 Inceft it in me 
 Dwelling already, and it mujl be holy 
 
 That pulls it thence .] The obfcurity of this paffage, puzzled 
 me a great while ; but by pondering often over it, I think, I have 
 traced the intention of the Poets. The king would fay, that incef^ 
 has already taken cp its refidence in him ; and is a iin of fo horrid 
 a di?, that nothing buc the affiitance of the holy povers can expel 
 it. Mr. Iksobaid. 
 
 As // ttands fo frequently for that which, it is furprizing Mr. 
 Theobald fhojld have bceo puzzled about this paffage. 
 
 Arb.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 243 
 
 Arb. No heavier ? 
 
 Mar. No, Sir. 
 
 Arb. Why, my legs 
 
 Refufe to bear my body ! Oh, Mardonius, 
 Thou haft in field beheld me, when thou know'tt 
 I could have gone, thou I could never run. 
 
 Mar. And fo I mall again. 
 
 Arb. Oh, no, 'tis paft. 
 
 Mar. Pray you, go reft yourfelf. 
 
 Aib. Wilt thou, hereafter, when they talk of me, 
 As thou malt hear nothing but infamy, 
 Remember fome of thofe things ? 
 
 Mar. Yes, I will. 
 
 Arb. I pray thee, do ; for thou fhalt never fee 
 me fo again. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Beffus, alone. 
 
 Bef. They talk of Fame ; I have gotten it in the 
 wars, and will afford any man a realbnable penny- 
 worth. Some will fay, they could be content to have 
 it, but that it is to be atchiev'd with danger ; but 
 my opinion is otherwife : For if I might ftand ftill 
 in cannon-proof, and have Fame fall upon me, I 
 would refufe it. My reputation came principally by 
 thinking to run away, which nobody knows but 
 Mardonius ; and, I think, he conceals it to anger 
 me. Before I went to the wars, I came to the town 
 a young fellow, without means or parts to deferve 
 frkidsj and my empty guts perfuaded me to lye, 
 and abufe people, for my meat ; which I did, and 
 they beat me. Then would I fail two days, till my 
 hunger cry'd out on me, ' Rail ftill :' Then, me- 
 thought, I had a monftrous ftomach to abufe 'em 
 again, and did it. In this ftate I continued, till they 
 hung me up by th' heels, and beat me wi' hafle-fticks, 
 as if they would have baked me, and have cozen'd 
 fome body wi' me for venifon. After this I rail'd, 
 and eat quietly : For the whole kingdom took notice 
 of me for a baffled whip'd fellow, and what I faid 
 z was
 
 244 A KING AND NO KING. 
 was remembred in mirth, but never in anger, of which 
 I was glad, I would it were at that pafs again ! After 
 this, Heaven call'd an aunt of mine, that left two hun- 
 dred pounds in a coufin's hand for me - 9 who, taking 
 me to be a gallant young fpirit, railed a company for 
 me with the money, and fent me into Armenia with 
 'em. Away I would have run from them, but that 
 I could get no company , and alone I durft not run. 
 I was never at battle but once, and there I was run- 
 ning, but Mardonius cudgel'd me : Yet I got loofe at 
 laft, but was fo afraid that I faw no more than my 
 Ikoulders do -, but fled with my whole company 
 amongft mine enemies, and overthrew 'em : Now the 
 report of my valour is come over before me, and they 
 lay I was a raw young fellow, but now I am im- 
 prov'd : A plague on their eloquence! 'twill coft me 
 many a beating ; and Mardonius might help this too, 
 if 'he would j for now they think to get honour on 
 rne, and all the men I have abus'd call me frefhiy 
 to account, (worthily, as they call it) by the way of 
 challenge. 
 
 Enter a gentleman. 
 
 Gent. Good-morrow, captain BefTus. 
 
 Bef, Good-morrow, Sir. 
 
 Gent. I come to fpeak with you 
 
 Bef. You're very welcome. 
 
 Gent. From one that holds himfelf wrong'd by 
 you fome three years fmce. Your worth, he fays, 
 is fam'd, and he doth nothing doubt but you will 
 do him right, as befeems a foldier. 
 
 Bef. A pox on 'em, fo they cry all ! 
 
 Gent. And a flight note I have about me for you* 
 for the delivery of which you muft excufe me : It 
 is an office that friendlhip calls upon me to do, and 
 no way offenfive to you ; fmce I defire but right on 
 both fides. 
 
 Bef. 'Tis a challenge, Sir, is it not ? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis an inviting to the field. 
 
 Stf.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 245 
 
 Btf. An inviting ? Oh, cry you mercy ! what a 
 compliment he delivers it with ! he might, as agree- 
 ably to my nature, prefent me poifon with fuch a 
 fpeech. Urn, um, um Reputation urn, um, urn 
 call you to account um, um, um forc'd to this 
 um, um, um with my fword um, um, urntike a 
 gentleman um, um, um -dear to me um, um, um 
 fatisfaftion. 'Tis very well, Sir ; I do accept it ; but 
 he mufl await an anfwer this thirteen weeks. 
 
 Gent. Why, Sir, he would be glad to wipe off his 
 ftain as fbon as he could. 
 
 Bef. Sir, upon my credit, I am already engag'd to 
 two hundred and twelve ; all which muft have their 
 ftains wip'd off, if that be the word, before him. 
 
 Gent. Sir, if you be truly engag'd but to one, he 
 fhall ftay a competent time. 
 
 Bef. Upon my faith, Sir, to two hundred and 
 twelve : And I have a fpent body, too much bruis'd 
 in battle ; fo that I cannot fight, I muft be plain, 
 above three combats a-day. All the kindnefs I can 
 fliew him, is to fet him relblvedly in my roll, the two 
 hundred and thirteenth man, which is fomething ; 
 for, I tell you, I think there will be more after him 
 than before him ; I think fo. Pray you commend 
 me to him, and tell him this. 
 
 Gent. I will, Sir. Good-morrow to you. 
 
 [Exit gentleman. 
 
 Bef. Good-morrow, good Sir. Certainly, my fafeft 
 way were to print mylelf a coward, with a diicovery 
 how I came by my credit, and clap it upon every poft. 
 I have received above thirty challenges within this 
 two hours : Marry, all but the firft I put offwith en- 
 gagement ; and, by good fortune, the firit is no mad- 
 der of fighting than I j fo that that's referred. The 
 place where it muft be ended is four day's journey off, 
 and our arbitrators are theic -, he has chofen a gentle- 
 man in travel, and I have a ipecial friend with a quar- 
 tain ague, like to hold hi.M this five years, for mine \ 
 and when his man comes home, we are to expect my 
 
 friend's
 
 246 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 friend's health. If they would fend me challenges 
 thus thick, as long as I liv'd, I would have no other 
 living : I can make feven {hillings a- day o' th' paper 
 to the grocers. Yet I learn nothing by all thefe, but 
 a little fldll in comparing of ftyles : I do find evi- 
 dently, that there is ibme one fcrivener in this town, 
 that has a great hand in writing of challenges, for 
 they are all of a cut, and fix of 'em in a hand ; and 
 they all end, ' my reputation is dear to me, and 
 I muft require fatisfaftion.' Who's there ? more 
 paper, I hope. No ; 'tis my lord Bacunus. I fear, 
 all is not well betwixt us. 
 
 Enter Bacunus. 
 
 Eac. Now, captain BeiTus ! I come about a frivo- 
 lous matter, caus'd by as. idle a report : You know, 
 you were a cov/ard. 
 
 Bef. Yery right. 
 
 Eac. And wrong'd me. 
 
 Bef. True, my lord. 
 
 Eac. But now, people will call you valiant , de- 
 fertlefly, I think , yet, for their fatisfadtion, I will 
 have you fight with me. 
 
 Bef. Oh, my good lord, my deep engagements 
 
 Eac. Tell not me of your engagements, captainBef- 
 fus ! It is not to be put oif with an excufe. For my 
 own part, I am none of the multitude that believe 
 your converfion from coward. 
 
 Bef. My lord, I feek not quarrels, and this be- 
 longs not to me ; I am not to maintain it. 
 
 Eac. Who, then, pray ? 
 
 Bef. Befius the Coward wrong'd you. 
 
 Eac. Right. 
 
 Bef. And mall BefTus the Valiant maintain what 
 Beffus the Coward did ? 
 
 Eac. I prithee leave theje cheating tricks ! I fwear 
 thou mail fight with me, or thou malt be beaten ex- 
 tremely, and kick'd. 
 
 Bef. Since you provoke me thus far, my lord, I 
 
 will
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 247 
 
 will fight with you j and, by my fword, it fhall coft 
 me twenty pounds, but I will have my leg well a, 
 week fooner purpofelj-. 
 
 Bac. Your leg ? why, what ails your leg ? I'll do 
 a cure on you. Stand up ! 
 
 Bef. My lord, this is not noble in you. 
 
 Bac. What doft thou with fuch a phrafe in thy 
 mouth ? I will kick thee out of all good words be- 
 fore I leave thee. 
 
 Bef. My lord, I take this as a punimment for the 
 offence I did when I was a coward. 
 
 Bac. When thou wert ? confefs thyfelf a coward 
 (till, or, by this light, I'll beat thee into fponge. 
 
 Bef. Why, I am one. 
 
 Bac. Are you fo, Sir ? and why do you wear a 
 fword then ? Come, unbuckle ! quick ! 
 .Bef. My lord? 
 
 Bac. Unbuckle, I fay, and give it me ; or, as I 
 live, thy head will ake extremely. 
 
 Bef. It is a pretty hilt ; and if your lordftiip take 
 an affection to it, with all my heart I prefent it to 
 you, for a new-year's-gift. 
 
 Bac. I thank you very heartily, fweet captain 1 
 Farewell. 
 
 Bef. One word more : I bafeech your lordfhip to 
 render me my knife again. 
 
 Bac. Marry, by all means, captain. Cherim your- 
 felf with it, and eat hard, good captain ! we cannot 
 tell whether we mail have any more fuch. Adieu, 
 dear captain ! [Exit Bac. 
 
 Bef. I will make better ufe of this, than of my 
 fword. A bafe fpirit has this 'vantage of a brave 
 one -, it keeps always at a flay, nothing brings it down, 
 not beating. I remember I promis'd the king, in a 
 great audience, that I would make my back-biters eat 
 my fword to a knife : How to get another fword I 
 know not; nor know any means left forme to main- 
 tain my credit, but impudence : Therefore I willout- 
 fwear him and all his followers, that this is all that's 
 left unraten of my fword. [Exit Be/us. 
 
 Enter
 
 248 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Enter Mardonius. 
 
 Mar. I'll move the king 16 ;- he is moft flrangely 
 alter'd : I guefs the cauie, I fear, too right. Heaven 
 has fome fecret end in't, and 'tis a fcourge, no quef-r 
 ticn, juftiy laid upon him. He has follow'd me 
 through twenty rooms , and ever,, when I (lay to wait 
 his command, he blufhes like a girl, and looks upon 
 me as if modefty kept in his bufincfs , fo turns away 
 from me ; but, if I go on, he follows me again. 
 
 * 6 /'// move the king, &c.] This and all the fubfequent fcene 
 betwixt the king and Mardonius has all along been printed as profe; 
 but it came from the poets ftri<ftly in metre. To fuch I have reduced 
 it with no fmall difficulty, and with the great affiftance of the inge- 
 nious Mr. Seward : Not without the neceffity of throwing out, here 
 and there, fome few trifling monofyilables, which were foifted in, as 
 I prefume, by the players, to fupport a cadence more to their minds ; 
 but which, indeed, much incumber the verification. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 We have hitherto forborn to notice the unpardonable Difregard to 
 Veracity difcovered by the Editors of 1750; who have certainly 
 made as large facrifices to Vanity, as ever Coquet did to the Graces. 
 We now mean jufl to inform our Readers of the falfhood contained 
 in the above note ; after which we fhall (anlefs conftrained to the 
 contrary) confign their iimilar affertions to the contemptuous oblivion 
 they merit. 
 
 Mr. Theobald fays, " All the fubfequent fcene between the king 
 " and Mardonius has all along been printed as profe." This is fo 
 very untrue, that all fbe editions (even that of 1655, theworft, we 
 btlieve, ever printed) exhibit every fpeech of Arbaces in verfe ; and 
 even thofe of Mardonius are not all printed in profe. We have, as 
 nearly as poilible, (that is, allowing for typographical errors) followed 
 the o'd Editions in metre and le&ion ; and are firmly perfuaded, that 
 our Poets intended Mardonius to talk plain profe, except in two or 
 three paffages, which his indignation raifes to the fubljme. It is 
 fcarcely po&b!e for a good writer, even when he intends thefimpleft 
 profe, to avoid having fome poetical paffages ; but are we therefore 
 to count off his other words upon our fingers (for the ear, in the 
 prcient cafe, mult have been out of the queftion) and range them 
 like heroics r If this is too great a liberty to take, how then fhall 
 we venture (with the Critics of 1750) to interpolate or difcard what- 
 ever we think proper ; efpecially if the confequence mould be, that 
 we produce matter infinitely inferior to the original text. It is rather 
 ?. matter of furprize, that, when thefe Gentlemen were about it, 
 they did not arrange the whole of the converfations between Eeffus, 
 the Sword-men, Mardonius, &c. in the fame manner ; for which they 
 Undoubtedly had as much reafon, and equal authority-. 
 
 Enter
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 249 
 
 Enter Arbaces. 
 
 See, here he is. I do not ufe this, yet, I know not 
 how, I cannot choofe but weep to fee him : His very 
 enemies, I think, whofe wounds have bred his fame, 
 if they mould fee him now, would find tears i' their 
 eyes. 
 
 Arb. I cannot utter it ! Why mould I keep 
 A breaft to harbour thoughts I dare not fpeak ? 
 Darknefs is in my bofom ; and their lie 
 A thouiand thoughts that cannot brook the light, 
 How wilt thou vex me, when this deed is done, 
 Confcience, that art afraid to let me name it ! 
 
 Mar. How do you, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. Why, very well, Mardonius : 
 How doft thou do ? 
 
 Mar. Better than you, I fear. 
 
 Arb. I hope, thou art , for, to be plain with thec, 
 Thou art in hell elfe ! Secret fcorching flames, 
 That far tranfcend earthly material fires, 
 Are crept into me, and there is no cure. 
 Is it not ftrange, Mardonius, there's no cure ? 
 
 Mar. Sir, either I miftake, or there is fomething 
 jhid, that you would utter to me. 
 
 Arb. So there is ; but yet I cannot do it. 
 
 Mar. Out with it, Sir. If it be dangerous, I will 
 not fhrink to do you fervicc : I mail not efteem my 
 life a weightier matter than indeed it is. I know, 'tis 
 fubject to more chances than it has hours ; and I 
 were, better lofe it in my king's caufe, than with an 
 ague, or a fall, or (deeping) to a thief; as all thefe 
 are probable enough. Let me but know what I mail 
 do for you. 
 
 Arb. It will not out! Were you with Gobrias, 
 And bad him give my fifter all content 
 The place affords, and give her leave to fend 
 And fpeak to whom {he pleafe ? 
 
 Mar. Yes, Sir, I was. 
 
 Arb. And did you to Bacurius fay as much 
 About Tisranes ? 
 
 A/*r.
 
 *5o A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Mar. Yes. 
 
 Arb. That's all my bufmefs. 
 
 Mar. Oh, fay not fo ; you had an anfwer of this 
 before : Befides, I think this bufmefs might be utter'd 
 more carelefly. 
 
 Arb. Come, thou malt have it out. I do befeech 
 
 thee, 
 
 By all the love thou haft profefs'd to me, 
 1"o fee my fifter from me. 
 
 Mar. Well j and what ? 
 
 Arb. That's all. 
 
 Mar. That's ftrange ! Shall I fay nothing to her ?^ 
 
 Arb. Not a word : 
 
 But, if thou lov'ft me, find fome fubtle way 
 To make her underftand by figns. 
 
 Mar. But what mall I make her underftand ? 
 
 Arb. Oh, Mardonius, for that I muft be pardon'd, 
 
 Mar. You may i but I can only fee her then. 
 
 Arb. 'Tis true ; 
 
 Bear her this ring, then ; and, on more advice, 
 Thou malt fpeak to her : Tell her I do love 
 My kindred all ; wilt thou ? 
 
 Mar. Is there no more ? 
 
 Arb. Oh, yes ! And her the beft ; 
 Better than any brother loves his fifter : 
 That is all. 
 
 Mar. Methinks, this need not have been deliver'd 
 with fuch a caution. I'll do it. 
 
 Arb. There is more yet : Wilt thou be faithful tot 
 me? 
 
 Mar. Sir, if I take upon me to deliver it, after \ 
 hear it, I'll pafs through fire to do it. 
 
 Arb. I love her better than a brother ought. 
 Doft thou conceive me ? 
 
 Mar. I hope you do not, Sir. 
 
 Arb. No ! thou art dull. Kneel down before her, 
 And ne'er rife again, 'till me will love me. 
 
 Mar. Why, I think me does. 
 
 Arb. But, better than me does ; another way j 
 As wives love hufbands. 
 
 Mar.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 351 
 
 Mar. Why, I think there are few wives that love 
 their hufbands better than (he does you. 
 
 Arb. Thou wilt not underftand me ! Is it fit 
 This fhould be utter'd plainly ? Take it, then, 
 Naked as it is : I would defire her love 
 Lafciviouily, lewdly, inceftuoufly, 
 To do a fin that needs muft damn us both ; 
 And thee too. Doft thou underftand me now ? 
 
 Mar. Yes-, there's your ring again. What have 
 
 I done 
 
 Dilhoneftly, in my whole life, name it, 
 That you mould put fo bafe a bufinets to me ? 
 
 Arb. Didft thou not tell me, thou would ft do it i 
 
 Mar. Yes, if I undertook it : But if all 
 My hairs were lives, I would not be engag'd 
 In luch a caufe to fave my laft life. 
 
 Arb. Oh, guilt, how poor and weak a thing art 
 
 thou ? 
 
 This man, that is my fervant, whom my breath 
 Might blow about the world, might beat me herc^ 
 Having this caufe , whilft I, prefs'd down with fin, 
 Could not refift him. Hear, Mardonius ! 
 It was a motion mis-befeeming man, 
 And I am forry for it. 
 
 Mar. Heav'n grant you may be fo ! You muft 
 underftand, nothing that you can utter can remove my 
 love and fervice from my prince ; but, otherwife, I 
 think, I mail not love you more : For you are finful, 
 and, if you do this crime, you ought to have no laws ; 
 for, after this, it will be great injuftice in you to punifli 
 any offender, for any crime. For myfelf, I find my 
 heart too big ; I feel, I have not patience to look on, 
 whilft you run thefe forbidden courfes. Means I 
 have none but your favour ; and I am rather glad 
 that I mail lofe 'em both together, than keep 'em 
 with fuch conditions. I mail find a dwelling amongft 
 fome people, where, though our garments perhaps be 
 coarfer, we mail be richer far within, and harbour no 
 fuch vices in 'em. The gods preferve and mend you ! 
 
 Arb.
 
 252 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Arb. Mardonius ! Stay, Mardonius ! for, though 
 JMy prefent ftate requires nothing but knaves 
 To be about me, fuch as are prepar'd 
 For every wicked aft, yet who does know, 
 But that my loathed fate may turn about, 
 And I have ufe for honeft men again ? 
 I hope, I may; I prithee, leave me not. 
 
 Enter Be/us, 
 
 Bef. Where is the king ? 
 
 Mar. There. 
 
 Bef. An't pleafe your majefty, there's the knife. 
 
 Arb. What knife ? 
 
 Bef. The fword is eaten. 
 
 Mar. Away, you fool ! the king is ferious, 
 And cannot now admit your vanities. 
 
 Bef. Vanities ! I'm no honeft man, if my enemies 
 have not brought it to this. What, do you think 
 I lye ? 
 
 Arb. No, no, 'tis well, Beffus ; 'tis very well. 
 I'm glad on't. 
 
 Mar. If your enemies brought it to this, your ene- 
 mies are cutlers. Come, leave the king. 
 
 Bef. Why, may not valour approach him ? 
 
 Mar. Yes ; but he has affairs. Depart, or I mall 
 be fomething unmannerly with you ! 
 
 Arb. No ; let him flay, Mardonius ; let him flay ; 
 1 have occafion with him very weighty, 
 And I can fpare you now. 
 
 Mar. Sir? 
 
 Arb. Why, I can fpare you now. 
 
 Bef. Mardonius, give way to the ftate-affairs. 
 
 Mar. Indeed, you are fitter for his prefent purpofe. 
 
 [Exit Mar. 
 
 Arb. BefTus, I mould employ thee : Wilt thou do't ? 
 
 Bef. Do't for you ? By this air, I will do any thing, 
 without exception, be it a good, bad, or indifferent 
 thing. 
 
 Arb. Do not fwear. 
 
 Bef.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 253 
 
 Bef. By this light, but I will ; any thing whatfoevcr. . 
 
 Arb. But I fhall name the thing 
 Thy confcience will not fuffer thee to do. 
 
 Bef. I would fain hear that thing. 
 
 Arb. Why, I would have thee get my fitter for me : 
 Thou underftand'ft me, in a wicked manner. 
 
 Kef. Oh, you would have a bout with her ? 1*11 
 do't, I'll do't, i'faith. 
 
 Arb. Wilt thou ? doft thou make no more on't ? 
 
 Bef. More ? No. Why, is there any thing elfe ? If 
 there be, truft me, it mail be done too. 
 
 Arb. Hail thou no greater fenfe of fuch a fin ? 
 Thou art too wicked for my company, 
 Though I have hell within me, and may'ft yet 
 Corrupt me further ! Prithee, anfwer me, 
 How do I mew to thee after this motion ? 
 
 Bef. Why, your majefty looks as well, in my 
 opinion, as ever you did fmce you were born. 
 
 Arb. But thou appear'ft to me, after thy grant, 
 The uglieft, loathed, deteftable thing 
 That I have ever met with. Thou haft eyes 
 Like flames of fulphur, which, methinks, do dart 
 Infection on me j and thou haft a mouth 
 Enough to take me in, where there do ftand 
 Four rows of iron teeth. 
 
 Bef. I feel no fuch thing : But 'tis no matter how 
 I look -, I'll do your bufmels as well as they that look 
 better. And when this is difpatch'd, if you have a 
 mind to your mother, tell me, and you mall fee I'll 
 fet it hard. 
 
 Arb. My mother ! Heav'n forgive me, to hear this ! 
 I am infpir'd with horror. Now I hate thee 
 Worfe than my fin ; which, if I could come by, 
 Should fuffer death eternal, ne'er to rife 
 In any bread again. Know, I will die 
 Languiihing mad, as I refolve I fhall, 
 Ere I will deal by fuch an inftrumcnt : 
 Thou art too finful to employ in this. 
 Out of the world, away !
 
 2^4- A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Bef. What do you mean, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. Hung round with curfes, take thy fearful flight 
 Into the defarts , where, 'mongft all the moniters, 
 If thou find'ft one fo beaftly as thyfelf, 
 Thou fhalt be held as innocent ! 
 
 Bef. Good Sir 
 
 Arb. If there were no fuch inftruments as thou * 7 , 
 We kings could never act fuch wicked deeds ! 
 Seek out a man that mocks divinity, 
 That breaks each precept both of God and man, 
 And nature too, and does it without luft, 
 Merely becaule it is a law, and good, 
 And live with him ; for him thou canft not fpoil. 
 Away, I fay ! I will not do this fin. [Exii Bfjfus. 
 I'll prefs it here, 'till it do break my breaft : 
 It heaves to get out ; but thou art a fin, 
 And, fpite of torture, I will keep thee in [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Gobrias, Panfbea, and Spaconia. 
 Gob. T T AVE you written, madam ? 
 
 J7JL Pan. Yes, good Gobrias. 
 Gob. And with a kindnefs and fuch winning words 
 As may provoke him, at one inftant, feel 
 His double fault, your wrong, and his own ralhnefs ? 
 Pan. I have lent words enough, if words may 
 win him 
 
 *" If there i<:ere no fuch inftritmenit as thou, &c ] The following 
 paffage, in Shakcfpearc's King John, conveys the fame fentimcnt, and 
 is fimilar to this before us. 
 
 '// // the carfe of kings, to be attended 
 
 Bvjtavef that take their humours for a warrant, 
 
 To break into the bloody houfe of life : 
 
 dnd, on the winking of authority^ 
 
 9"o wderftand a /aiu, to knoiv the meaning 
 
 Of dun^rous majcjly ; ivhen, perchance, it frowns 
 
 Mo>- uf.zti humour, tl:au advisd refpeHl. 
 
 From
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 255 
 
 From his difpleafure , and fuch words, I hope, 
 As fhall gain much upon his goodnefs, Gobrias, 
 Yet fearing, fmce they're many, and a woman's, 
 A poor belief may follow, I have woven 
 As many truths within 'em, to fpeak for me, 
 
 That if he be but gracious,' and receive 'em 
 
 Gob. Good lady, be not fearful: Though he 
 
 fhould not 
 
 Give you your prefent end in this, believe it, 
 You mall feel, if your virtue can induce you 
 To labour out this tempeft (which, I know, 
 Is but a poor proof 'gainft your patience) 
 All thofe contents, your fpirit will arrive at, 
 Newer and fweeter to you. Your royal brother, 
 When he fhall once colle6b himfelf, and fee 
 How far he has been afunder from himfelf, 
 What a mere ftranger to his golden temper, 
 Muft, from thofe roots of virtue, never dying, 
 Though fomewhat ftopt with humour, moot again 
 Into a thoufand glories, bearing his fair branches 
 High as our hopes can look at, ftrait as juftice, 
 Loaden with ripe contents. He loves you dearly, 
 I know it, and, I hope, I need not further 
 Win you to underftand it. 
 
 Pan. I believe it ; 
 
 But, howfoever, I am fure I love him dearly : 
 So dearly, that if any thing I write 
 For my enlarging mould beget his anger, 
 Heav'n be a witnefs with me, and my faith, 
 I had rather live entomb'd here. 
 
 Gob. You mall not feel a worfe ftroke than your 
 
 grief ; 
 
 I am forry 'tis ib fharp. I kifs your hand, 
 And this night will deliver this ftrue ftory, 
 With this hand, to your brother, 
 
 Pan. Peace go with you ! You are a good man. 
 
 [ExitGok. 
 
 My Spaconia, why are you ever fad thus ? 
 Spa. Oh, dear lady. 
 
 Pan.
 
 256 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Pan. Prithee difcover not at way to fadnefs, 
 Nearer than I have in me. Our two forrows 
 Work, like two eager hawks, who fhall get higheft. 
 How mall I lefien thine ? for mine, I fear, 
 Is eafier known then cur'd. 
 
 Spa. Heaven comfort both, 
 And give yours happy ends, however I 
 Fall in my ftubborn fortunes, 
 
 Pan. This but teaches 
 How to be more familiar with our borrows, 
 That are too much our mafters. Good Spaconiij. 
 How mail I do you fervice ? 
 
 Spa. Nobleft lady, 
 
 You make me m ore a flave flill to your goodnefs. 
 And only live to purchafe thanks to pay you ; 
 For that is all the bufmefs of my life now. 
 I will be bold, fince you will have it fo, 
 To afk a noble favour of you. 
 
 Pan. Speak it ; 'tis yours ; for, from fo fvveet a virtue, 
 No ill demand has ifiue. 
 
 Spa. Then, ever-virtuous, let me beg your will 
 In helping me to fee the prince Tigranes ; 
 With whom I'm equal prifoner, if not more. 
 
 Pan. Referve me to a greater end, Spaconia ; 
 Bacurius cannot want fo much good-manners 
 As to deny your gentle vifitation, 
 Though you came only with your own command, 
 
 Spa. I know they will deny me, gracious madam 
 Being a ftranger, and fo little fam'd, 
 So utter empty of thofe excellencies 
 That tame authority * 8 : But in you, fweet lady. 
 All thefe are natural ; befide, a pow'r 
 Deriv'd immediate from your royal brother, 
 Whofe leaft word in you may command the kingdom. 
 
 a8 So utter empty of thofe excellencies 
 
 1'hat tame authority;'} The oldeit quarto in 1619 reads, that 
 have, &c. but the quarto's m 1631, 1661, and 1676, all concur in 
 giving us the word tame, which, without doubt, is the true reading. 
 She means, fhe is utterly void of thofe talents that can have any 
 comroul over people in office and power. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Pan.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 2*7 
 
 Pan. More than my word, Spaconia, you fhall cany. 
 For fear it fail you. 
 
 Spa. Dare you truft a token ? 
 Madam, I fear I am grown too bold a beggar. 
 
 Pan. You are a pretty one ; and, truft me, lady, 
 It joys me I fhall do a good to you, 
 Though to myfelf I never fliall be happy. 
 Here, take this ring, and from me as a token 
 Deliver it : I think they will not ftay you. 
 So, all your own defires go with you, lady ! 
 
 Spa. And fweet peace to your Grace ! 
 
 Pan. Pray Heav'n, I find it ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Tigranes, in -prifon, 
 7/jr. Fool that I am ! I have undone myfelf, 
 And with my own hand turn'd my fortune round, 
 That was a fair one. I have chiltlimly 
 Play'd with my hope fo long, 'till I have broke it, 
 And now too late I mourn for't. Oh, Spaconia ! 
 Thou haft found an even way to thy revenge now. 
 Why didft thou follow me, like a faint fhadow, 
 To wither my defires ? But, wretched fool, 
 Why did I plant thee 'twixt the fun and me, 
 To make me freeze thus ? why did I prefer her 
 To the fair princefs ? Oh, thou fool, thou fool, 
 Thou family of fools, live like a (lave ftill ! 
 And in thee bear thine own hell and thy torment ; 
 Thou haft deferv'd it. Couldft thou find no lady, 
 But fiie that has thy hopes, to put her to, 
 And hazard all thy peace ? none to abufc, 
 But me that lov'd thee ever, poor Spaconia ? 
 And fo much lov'd thee, that, in honefty 
 And honour, thou art bound to meet her virtues ! 
 She, that format the greatnefs of her grief 
 And mifcries % that muft follow luch mad paflions, 
 
 EndL-is 
 
 *9 did mi fa its. that mujl faitovj //.cv- trad taffions, 
 
 LK*Ufi4nd<uiild** wwwwir] Why Woft i:rar.es, \vhilIUe is 
 c.'kiog in praiie of one wuniur, .-.bufe ali vvwuici) in general ? Bc- 
 \<H.. I. R
 
 258 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Endlefs and wild in women ! me, that for thee,. 
 
 And with thee, left her liberty, her name, 
 
 And country ! You have paid me, equal heav'ns, 
 
 And fent my own rod to correct me with, 
 
 A woman ! For inconftancy I'M fuffer ; 
 
 Lay it on, Juftice, 'till my foul melt in me,? 
 
 For my unmanly, beaftly, fudden doting, 
 
 Upon a new face j after all my oaths, 
 
 Many, and ftrange ones. 
 
 I feel my old fire flame again and burn 
 
 So ftrong and violent, that, mould I fee her 
 
 Again, the grief, and that, would kill me. 
 
 Enter Bacurius and Spaconia. 
 
 Bac. Lady, 
 
 Your token I acknowledge ; you may pafs -, 
 There is the king. 
 
 Spa. I thank your lordfhip for it. [Exit Bat. 
 
 Tigr. She comes, me comes ! Shame hide me ever 
 
 from her ! 
 
 'Would I were bury'd, or fo far remov'd 
 Light might not find me out ! I dare not fee her. 
 
 Spa. Nay, never hide yourfelf ! Or, were you hid, 
 Where earth hides all her riches, near her centre, 
 My wrongs, without more day, would light me to you : 
 I muit fpeak, ere I die. Were all your greatnefs 
 Doubled upon you, you're a perjur'd man, 
 And only mighty in your wickednefs 
 Of wronging women ! Thou are falfe, falfe, prince \ 
 I live to fee it ; poor Spaconia lives 
 
 fides, hr.d he a mind to abufe 'em, and apply the epithet 'wild to 
 them, he could with no propriety add the other, endlejs. I hope, I 
 have reftor'd the true particle, which gives a very different and a very 
 good fenie to the whole fentence, i. e. when women, fo we:ik to 
 Defend themfelvcs, have iuch ilrcng paffions as to fly their friends, 
 and follow a prifoner into an enemy's country, they niuft run the 
 b.zaiJ of endlefi and ot'/^iniferies. Or if the epithets endlefi and 
 wild be apply 'd to paffion^, the fenfe will be much the fame, and tne 
 emendation as necefliiry. Mr. Se-u-arJ, 
 
 To
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 259 
 
 To tell thee thou art falfe in ; and then no more ! 
 She lives to tell thce, thou art more inconilant 
 Than all ill women ever were together. 
 Thy faith is firm as raging overflows, 
 That no bank can command ; as lafting 
 As boys' gay bubbles, blown i' th' air and broken. 
 The wind is fix'd to thee , and fooner fhall 
 The beaten mariner, with his mrill whiftle. 
 Calm the loud murmur of the troubled main, 
 And ftrike it fmooth again, than thy foul fall 
 To have peace in love with any : Thou art all 
 That all good men muft hate ; and if thy ftor/ 
 Shall tell lucceeding ages what thou wert, 
 Oh, let it fpare me in it, left true lovers, 
 In pity of my wrongs, burn thy black legend^ 
 And with their curfes fhake thy (leeping afhes ! 
 
 Tigr. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Spa. The deftinies, I hope, have pointed out 
 Our ends alike, that thou may'ft die for love, 
 Though not for me ; for, this afiiire thyfelf, 
 The princefs hates thee deadly, and will fooner 
 Be won to marry with a bull, and fafer, 
 Than fuch a beaft as thou art. I have ftruck, 
 I fear, too deep ; belhrew me for it ! Sir, 
 This forrow works me, like a cunning friendfhip, 
 Into the fame piece with it j 'tis afham'd ! 
 Alas, I have been too rugged. Dear my lord, 
 I am forry I have fpoken any thing, 
 Indeed I am, that may add more reftraint 
 To that too much you have. Good Sir, be pleas'd 
 
 30 poor Spaconia lives 
 
 To tell thee thou art falfe ; and then no more."] Mr. Sympfon aflts, 
 Should not Spaconia then have held her tongue ? But as (he goes on, 
 he thinks the paflige conupt, and reads, and tell thee mot e. \ by 
 no means admit the change, but think the old text not or.ly unexcep- 
 tionable, but much preferable to the new one. To tell thee thou art 
 falfe, IJgnifies, to (hew thy faifhood in its true colours, which (hi- ac- 
 cordingly afterwards paints pretty ftrongly. And then no more, i. e. 
 this (hall be the laft time I w;ii upbraid you with it. 
 
 Mr. Sward. 
 
 R* To
 
 *6o A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 To think it was a fault of love, not malice -, 
 And do as I will do, forgive it, prince. 
 I do and can forgive the greateft tins 
 To me you can repent of. Pray believe, 
 
 tfigr. Oh, my Spaconia ! Oh,thou virtuous woman! 
 
 Spa. No more ; the king, Sir. 
 
 Enter Arlaces, Bacurius, and Mardonius. 
 Arb. Have you been careful of our noble prifoner, 
 That he want nothing fitting for his greatnefs ? 
 Bac. I hope his grace will quit me for my care, Sir. 
 Arb. 'Tis well. Royal Tigranes, health ! 
 5"/gr. More than the ftrictnefs of this place can 
 
 give, Sir, 
 I offer back again to great Arbaces. 
 
 Arb. We thank you, worthy prince ; and pray 
 
 excufe us, 
 
 We have not feen you fince your being here. 
 I hope your noble ufage has been equal 
 With your own perfon : Your imprifonment a 
 If it be any, I dare fay, is cafy ; 
 And mall not outlaft two days. 
 
 Tigr. I thank you. 
 
 My ufage here has been the fame it was, 
 Worthy a royal conqueror. For my restraint, 
 It came unkindly, becaufe much unlook'd-for ; 
 But I muft bear it. 
 
 Arb. What lady's that, Bacurius ? 
 Bac. One of the princefs' women, Sir, 
 Arb. I fear'd it. Why comes fhe hither ? 
 Bac. To fpeak with the prince Tigranes. 
 Arb. From whom, Bacurius ? 
 Bac. From the princefs, Sir. 
 Arb. I knew I had feen her. 
 
 Mar. His fit begins to take him now again. 
 *Ti3 a ftrange fever, and 'twill make us ail anon, I 
 fear. 'Would he were well cur'd of this raging folly : 
 Give me the wars, where men are mad, and may talk 
 what they lift, ami held the braveft fellows-, this 
 
 pelting
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 261 
 
 pelting prating peace is good for nothing : Drink- 
 ing's a virtue to't. 
 
 Arb. I fee there's truth in no man, nor obedience, 
 But for his own ends : Why did you let her in ? 
 
 Bac. It was your own command to bar none from 
 
 him : 
 Bcfides, the princefs fent her ring, Sir, for my warrant. 
 
 Arb. A token to Tigranes, did (lie not ? 
 Sir, tell truth. 
 
 Bac. I do not ufe to lye, Sir. 
 'Tis no way I eat, or live by, and I think 
 This is no token, Sir. 
 
 Mar. This combat has undone him : If he had 
 been well beaten, he had been temperate. I fhall 
 never fee him handfome again, 'till he have a horfe- 
 man's ftaff yok'd through his fhoulders, or an arm 
 broke with a bullet. 
 
 Arb. I am trifled with. 
 
 Bac. Sir? 
 
 Arb. I know it, as I know thee to be falfe. 
 
 Mar. Now the clap comes. 
 
 Bac. You never knew me fo, Sir, I dare fpeak it; 
 And, durft a worfe man tell me, though my better 
 
 Mar. 'Tis well faid, by my foul. 
 
 Arb. Sirrah, you aniwer as you had no life. 
 
 Bac. That I fear, Sir, to lole nobly. 
 
 Arb. I fay, Sir, once again 
 
 Bac. You may fay what you pleafe, Sir : 
 Would I might do ib. 
 
 Arb. I will, Sir , and fay openly, this woman car- 
 ries letters : By my life, I know me carries letters j 
 this woman does it. 
 
 Mar. 'Would BefTus were here, to take her afide 
 and fearch her ; he would quickly tell you what fhe 
 carried, Sir. 
 
 Arb. I have found it out, this woman carries 
 letters. 
 
 Mar. If this hold, 'twill be an ill world for bawds, 
 
 chamber-maids, and poft-boys. I thank Heav'n, I 
 
 R 3 have
 
 26z A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 have none but his letters-patents, things of his own 
 
 inditing. 
 
 Arb. Prince, this cunning cannot dq't. 
 
 Tigr. Do what, Sir ? I reach you not. 
 
 Arb. It fhall not ferve your turn, prince. 
 
 Tigr. Serve my turn, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. Ay, Sir, it lhall not ferve your turn. 
 
 Tigr. Be plainer, good Sir. 
 
 Arb. This woman fnall carry no more Betters back 
 to your love Panthea ; by Heav'n, fhe fhall not j I fay 
 fhe fhall not. 
 
 Mar. This would make a faint fwear like a foldier, 
 and a foldier like Termagant J1 . 
 
 Tigr. This beats me more, king, than the blows 
 you gave me. 
 
 Arb. Take 'em away both, and together let them 
 prifoners be, ftri6lly and clofely kept ; or, firrah, your 
 life lhall anfwer it ; and let nobody fpeak with 'em 
 hereafter. 
 
 Tigr. Well, I am fubjedt to you, 
 And muft endure thefe paffions : 
 
 Spa. This is th' imprifonment I have look'd for 
 
 always, 
 And the dear place I would choofc. 
 
 [Exeunt Tigr. Spa. Bac. 
 
 Mar. Sir, have you done well now ? 
 
 Arb. Dare you reprove it ? 
 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Arb. You muft be croffing me, 
 
 Mar. I have no letters, Sir, to anger you, 
 But a dry fonnet of my corporal's, 
 To an old futtler's wife -, and that I'll b.urn, Sir. 
 'Tis like to prove a fine age for the ignorant. 
 
 ?I And afolcUer //',v<r Termagant.] Termagant was an oid fwearing, 
 fwaggeririg character, well known for Come centuries part. It is 
 mention'd by Shakefpeare in his Hamlet ; by Spenfer in his Fairy- 
 Queen j by Chaucer in his Tale of Sir Thopas, and in feveral oid 
 plays. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Termagant was a Saracen deity, very clamorous and violent in the 
 p}d moralities. Percy. 
 
 Arb,
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 263 
 
 Aria. How dar'ft thou ib often forfeit thy life ? 
 Thou know'ft 'tis in my power to take it. 
 
 Mar. Yes, and I know you wo' not ; or, if you 
 do, you'll mils it quickly. 
 
 Arb. Why? 
 
 Mar. Who fliall tell you of thefe childifh follies, 
 When I am dead ? who mall put to his power 
 To draw thofe virtues out of 'a flood of humours, 
 When they are drown'd, and make 'em mine again ? 
 No, cut my head off: 
 
 Then you may talk, and be believ'd, and grow worfe, 
 And have your too-felf-glorious temper rock'd 
 Into a deep deep JX , and the kingdom with you , 
 Till foreign fwords be in your throats, and flaughter 
 Be eveiy where about you, like your flatterers. 
 Do, kill me ! 
 
 Arb. Prithee, be tamer, good Mardonius. 
 Thou know'ft I love thee ; nay, I honour thee j 
 Believe it, good old foldier, I am thine : 
 But I am rack'd clean from myfelf ! Bear with me ! 
 Woo't thou bear with me, my Mardonius ? 
 
 Enter Gobrias. 
 
 Mar. There comes a good man ; love him too 
 
 he's temperate ; 
 
 You may live to have need of fuch a virtue : 
 Rage is not ilill in famion. 
 
 Arb. Welcome, good Gobrias. 
 
 Gob. My iervice, and this letter, to your Grace. 
 
 Art?.' From whom ? 
 
 Gob. From the rich mine of virtue and beauty, 
 Your mournful filter. 
 
 Arb. She is in priibn, Gobrias, is me not ? 
 
 51 And have your to-) Jeif ' ghnout temper rot 
 
 Into a deep J?e(p.~\ Bef:des the ui'piopriety of rotting into 
 f.eep. the expreHion is too coarfe for the character of Mardonius ; who, 
 though bold and honelt, is not abufive. I hope I have reilored the 
 origins! word. . A/r. Seiuard. 
 
 This emendation is finely imagined; and is fufficiently confirmfO by 
 the three vcrfes that follow. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 R 4 Gob.
 
 264. A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Gcb. She is, Sir, till your pleafure do enlarge her., 
 Which on my knees I beg. Oh, 'tis 'not fit, 
 That all the fweetnefs of the world in one, 
 The youth and virtue that would tame wild tygers, 
 And wilder people, that have known no manners, 
 Should live thus cloifler'd up ! For your love's fake, 
 If there be any in that noble heart 
 To her, a wretched lady, and forlorn , 
 Or for her love to you, which is as much 
 As nature and obedience ever gave, 
 Have pity on her beauties. 
 
 Arb. Pray thee, iland up : 'Tis true, me is too fair, 
 And all thefe commendations but her own : 
 'Would thou hadft never fo commended her, 
 Or I ne'er liv'd to have heard it, Gobrias ! 
 If thou but knew'fl the wrong her beauty does her, 
 Thou wouldil, in pity of her, be a lyar. 
 Thy ignorance has drawn me, wretched man, 
 \V iiither myielf, nor thou, canft well tell. Oh, my fate 5 
 I think ibe loves me, but I fear another 
 Is deeper in her heart : How think'il thou, Gobrias? 
 
 Gob. I do befeech your Grace, believe it not ; 
 For, let me perifh, if it be not falfe ! 
 Good Sir, read her letter. 
 
 Mar. This love, or what a devil it is, J know not, 
 begets more mifchief than a wake. I had rather be 
 well beaten, ftarv'd, or loufy, than live within the air 
 on't. He, that had feen this brave fellow charge 
 through a grove of pikes but t'other day, and look 
 upon him now, will ne'er believe his eyes again. If 
 he continue thus but two days more, a taylor may 
 beat him, with one hand tied behind him. 
 
 Ark. Alas, me would be at liberty ; 
 And there be thoufand reafons, Gobrias, 
 Thoufands, that will deny't>, 
 Which, if me knew, me would contentedly 
 Be where {he is, and blefs her virtues for it, 
 And me, though me were clofer : She would, Gobrias ; 
 Good man, indeed, me would,
 
 A KING AND NO KING. *f$ 
 Gob. Then, good Sir, for her fatisfa&ion, 
 
 Send for her, and, with reafon, make her know 
 
 Why fhe mud live thus from you. 
 
 Arb. I will. Go bring her to me. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Befits, two Sword-men, and a boy. 
 Bef. You're very welcome, both ! Some ftools there, 
 
 boy; 
 
 And reach a table. Gentleman o* th' fword, 
 Pray fit, without more compliment. Be gone, child ! 
 I have been curious in the fearching of you, 
 Becaufe I underlland you wile and valiant perfons. 
 i Sw. We underlland ourfelves, Sir. 
 Bef. Nay, gentlemen, and dear friends o* th' 
 
 fword, 
 
 No compliment^ I pray , but to the caufe 
 I han<? upon, which, in few, is my honour. 
 ' 2 Sw. You cannot hang too much, Sir, for your 
 
 honour. 
 But to your caiife. 
 
 Bef. Be wile, and fpeak truth. 
 My firft doubt is, my beating by my prince. 
 
 1 Sw. Stay there a jittle, Sir : Do you doubt a 
 
 beating ? 
 Or, have you had a beating by your prince ? 
 
 Bef* 'Gentlemen o* th' fword, my prince has beaten 
 me, 
 
 2 Sw. Brother, what think you of this cafe ? 
 
 1 Sw. If he has beaten him, the cafe is clear. 
 
 2 Sto. Jf he have beaten him, I grant the cafe. 
 But how ? we cannot be too fubtle in this bufmefs, 
 I fay, but how ? 
 
 Bef. Even with his royal hand. 
 
 1 Sw. Was it a blow of love, or indignation ? 
 Bef. 'Twas twenty blows of indignation, gentle- 
 men ; 
 
 Be fides two blows o' th' face. 
 
 2 Sw. Thole blows o' th' face have made a new 
 
 caufe on't ; 
 The reft were but an honourable rudenefs. 
 
 i Sw.
 
 266 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 1 SID. Two blows o' th' face, and given by a worfc 
 man, I mtift confefs, as the fword-men lay, had turn'4 
 the bufmefs : Mark me, brother, by a worfe man : 
 But ? being by his prince, had they been ten, and thofe 
 ten drawn ten teeth, befides the hazard of his nofe for 
 ever ; all this had been but favours. This is my flat 
 opinion, which I'll die in. 
 
 2 Sw. The king may do much, captain, believe it j 
 for had he crack'd your fkull through, lik^e a bottle, or 
 broke a rib or two with toffing of you, yet you had 
 loft no honour. This is ftrange, you may imagine^ 
 but this is truth now, captain. 
 
 Bef. I will be glad to embrace it, gentlemen. 
 But how far may he ftrike me ? 
 
 1 Sw. There is another ; a new caufe rifing from 
 the time and diftance, in which I will deliver my 
 opinion. He may ftrike, beat, or caufe to be beaten j 
 for thefe are natural to man: Your prince, I fay, 
 may beat you fo far forth as his dominion reacheth -, 
 that's for the diftance j the time, ten miles a-day, I 
 take it. 
 
 2 Siv. Brother you err, 'tis fifteen miles a-day ; 
 His ftage is ten, his beatings are fifteen. 
 
 Bef. 'Tis of the longeft, but we fubjects mufl 
 
 1 Sw. Be fubjecr. to it : You are wile and virtuous. 
 Bef. Obedience ever makes that noble ufe on't, 
 
 To which I dedicate my beaten body. 
 I muft trouble you a little further, gentlemen o* th* 
 fword. 
 
 2 Sw. No trouble at all*to us, Sir, if we may 
 Profit your undcrftanding : We are bound, 
 
 By virtue of our calling, to utter our opinions. 
 Shortly, and difcretely. 
 
 Bef. My foreft bufinefs is, I have been kick'd. 
 
 2 Siv. How far, Sir ? 
 
 Bef. Not to flatter myfelf in it, all over 3? : My 
 
 5 1 . Not to flutter myfelf in it, all over ; my fword foic'd, but not 
 loil ;] This is as abiurd arc! ridiculous a tianlpoikion (made thro' 
 the error of the copy ills, or at prefs) as we fliuil meet with in haile. 
 Tho' Bcflas was by nature and habit a lyar, yet here he meant to 
 rep'-eient the itate of ins cafe ferioufly to the Sword- men, to have 
 
 their 

 
 A KING AND NO KING. 267 
 
 fword loft, but not forc'd j for difcretely I rcnder'd it, 
 to favc that imputation. 
 
 i Sw. It fhew'd difcretion, the beft part of valour. 
 
 zSw. Brother, this is a pretty cafe i pray ponder on't: 
 Our friend here has been kick'd. 
 
 1 Sw. He has fo, brother. 
 
 2 Sw, Sorely, he fays. Now, had he fet down here, 
 Upon the mere kick, 't had been cowardly. 
 
 1 Sw. I think, it had been cowardly, indeed. 
 
 2 Sw. But our friend has redeem'd it, in delivering 
 His fword without compulfiori -, and that man 
 That took it of him, 1 pronounce a weak one, 
 And his kicks nullities. 
 
 He fhould have kick'd him after the delivery, 
 Which is the confirmation of a coward. 
 
 1 Sw.. Brother, I take it, you miftake the queftion j 
 For, lay, that I were kick'd, 
 
 2 Sw. 1 muft not fay fo , 
 
 Nor I muft not hear it fpoke by th' tongue of man. 
 You kick'd, dear brother ! You're merry. 
 
 1 Sw. But put the cafe, I were kick'd. 
 
 2 Sw. Let them put it, that are things weary of 
 their lives, and know not honour ! Put the cafe, you. 
 were kick'd! 
 
 j Sw. I do not fay, I was kick'd. 
 i Sw. Nor no filly creature that wears his head 
 without a cafe, his foul in a ikin-coat. You kick'd, 
 dear brother ! 
 
 "Bef. Nay, gentlemen, let us do what we mail do, 
 and honeftly. Good Sirs, to the queftion. 
 
 their opinion upon it. We find in a preceding fcene, that, upon 
 Bacurius difcovering him to be a notorious pohron, he orders him ro 
 unbuckle and deliver up 1m fword. Bellus obeys, and does it with 
 a G:\fconade; faying, it is a pretty kilt, avd if his lordjJj'tp takes 
 an ajfefiion to //, with all his hiart he' II prcfent it to him for a 
 te-iu years-gift. How then v.as his fword forced from him ? It was 
 not; for he immediately fuljoins here to the Sword-men ; for I dif- 
 a-ctfly rendered it to fa=ve that imputation. All the editions concur 
 in the blunder ; and, I imagine, the molt accurate renders may have 
 flip'd over this abfurdity. Let the two words forc'd and loft change 
 places, and then all ii clear, and the fad truly itated. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 iSw.
 
 268 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 1 Sw. Why, then, I fay, fuppofe your boy kick'd, 
 captain. 
 
 2 Sw. The boy, may be fuppos'd, is liable. 
 But, kick my brother ! 
 
 i Sw. A ibolifh forward zeal, Sir, in my friend. 
 But to the boy : Suppofe, the boy were kick'd. 
 Bef. I do fuppofe it, 
 i Sw. Has your boy a fword ? 
 Bef. Surely, no ; I pray, fuppofe a fword too. 
 
 1 Sw. I do fuppofe it. You grant, your boy was 
 kick'd then. 
 
 2 Sw. By no means, captain ; let it be fuppofed 
 Hill ; the word ' grant' makes not for us. 
 
 1 Sw. I fay, this muft be granted ?4- . 
 
 2 Sw. This muft be granted, brother ? 
 
 1 Sw. Ay, this muft be granted. 
 
 2 Sw. Still, this muft ? 
 
 J Sw. I fay, this muft be granted. 
 
 2 Sw. Ay ! give me the muft again ! Brother, you 
 
 palter, 
 i Sw. I will not hear you, wafp 35 . 
 
 2 Sw. 
 
 3 * I Sw. I Jay, this mult be granted. 
 2 Sw. This mutt.be granted, brother ? 
 
 1 Sw. y/v, this mult be granted. 
 
 2 Sw. Still this mult J The poets here are flirting (I wasalrnoft 
 going to fay, invidioufiy) at a paflage in Shakefpeare's Coriolanus. 
 
 . - ~ // is a mind 
 
 Tbzt fhali remain a poison where it is, 
 Not poifon any further. 
 Cor. Sha'l remain ? 
 
 Hear you thit triton of the minnows ? Mark you 
 Hit abfehite Ihrill ? 
 "Com. 'Tiuas from the Canon. 
 Cor. Shall ! 
 
 Have you tlus 
 
 G'fJ'n Hydra here to choofe an officer, 
 
 That with bis peremptory {hall 
 
 They chooje their ma gift rate / 
 
 ^nd fuch a cue as he, ic/jo puts his ihall, 
 His popular fnall, fcV. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 " i Sw. 1 will not hear you, wafp.] Here again is a fneer upon 
 that celebrated quarrelling icene betwixt Brutus and Caffius, in 
 Shakelpeare's Julius Cacfar.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 269 
 
 2 Sw. Brother, I fay you palter -, the muft three 
 times together ! I wear as fharp fleel as another man, 
 and my fox bites as deep 36 . Mufted, my dear brother ! 
 But to the caufe again. 
 
 Bef. Nay, look you, gentlemen ! 
 
 2 Sw. In a word, I ha' done. 
 
 1 Sw. A tall man, but intemperate-, *tis great 
 pity. Once more, fuppofc the boy kick'd. 
 
 2 Sw. Forward. 
 
 1 Sw. And, being thoroughly kick'd, laughs a^ 
 the kicker. 
 
 2 Sw. So .much for us. Proceed. 
 
 1 Sw. And in this beaten fcorn, as. I may call it, 
 Delivers up his weapon ; where lies the error ? 
 
 Bef. It lies i' th' beating, Sir : I found it four days 
 fince. 
 
 2 Sw. The error, and a fore one, as I take it, 
 Lies in the thing kicking. 
 
 Bef. I underftand that well; 'tis fore, indeed, Sir. 
 
 1 Sw. That is according to the man that did it. 
 
 2 Sw. There fprings a new branch : Whole was 
 the foot ? 
 
 Bef. A lord's. 
 
 1 Sw. The caufe is mighty; but, had it been 
 
 two lords, 
 And both had kick'd you, if you laugh'd, 'tis clear. 
 
 Bef. I did laugh -, 
 But how will that help me, gentlemen ? 
 
 2 Sw. Yes, it mail help you, if you laugh'd aloud. 
 Bef. As loud as a kick'd man could laugh, I 
 
 laugh'd, Sir. 
 
 Muft 1 bud^e ? 
 
 Muft 1 obfetve you ? Muft 1 fiand and craucb 
 U>nit r your ttlty humour? By the goat, 
 Youjnali digeft the venom of your ffleen, 
 Tko' it i/sjfltt yeu far, fr:m thu day fartb, 
 1 II life JO* for my mirth, jea, for my laughter, 
 1! htnyou a-e wafpiih. Mr. 
 
 * My fox bites as deep, CV] Our authois ufe the word fox, to 
 
 Cguify af-ixord, in Piiilaller, a well as here. It is alfo to be found 
 
 iii the fame fuile, ir, ijhukclpe. re. 
 
 iSw.
 
 2 ;o 'A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 1 Sw. My reafon now : The valiant man is known 
 By fuffering and contemning j you have 
 
 Enough of both, and you are valiant, 
 
 2 Sw. If he be fure he has been kick'd enough : 
 For that brave fufferance you fpeak of, brother, 
 Confifts not in a beating and away, 
 
 But in a cudgel'd body, from eighteen 
 
 To eight and thirty -, in a head rebuk'd 
 
 With pots of all fize 37 , daggers, ftools, and bed- 
 
 ftaves : 
 This fhews a valiant man. 
 
 Bef. Then I am valiant, as valiant as theproudeft; 
 For thefe are all familiar things to me ; 
 Familiar as my deep, or want of money : 
 All my whole body's but one bruife, with beating. 
 I think I have been cudgel'd with all nations, 
 And almoft all religions. 
 
 2 Sw. Embrace him, brother ! this man is valiant; 
 I know it by myfelf, he's valiant. 
 
 1 Sw. Captain, thou art a valiant gentleman, 
 To bide upon, a very valiant man. 
 
 Bef. My equal friends o' th' fword, I mud requeft 
 Your hands to this. 
 
 2 Sw. 'Tis fit it mould be. 
 
 Bef. Boy, get fome wine, and pen and ink, within. 
 Am I clear, gentlemen ? 
 
 i Sw. Sir, when the world has taken notice what we 
 
 have done, 
 
 Make much of your body-, for I'll pawn my fteel, 
 Men will be coyer of their legs hereafter. 
 
 Bef. I muft requeft you go along, and teftify to the 
 
 3" . in a head rebuked, C3V] There is a pleafant 
 
 paflage in Plautus's Perfian about Parafites, whom he ftyles bard- 
 beaded fellows, becaufe they had frequently things thrown at their 
 pates. 
 
 His cognomentum crat duris capitonibus. 
 
 Cafaubon has this note upon the place. Olim inter alia injlrutnenta. 
 f>erditi luxfii, & tnatula in triclinia inferri folit< ; quas ftfpe* 
 tibi incaluijfent , in capita Jibi invicem illi ferunt. Hinc ditii frop- 
 terea Para/iti, duri capitones. Mr. Sympfon. 
 
 lord
 
 A KING AND NO KING; 271 
 
 lord Bacurius, whofe foot has firuck me, how you 
 find my caufe. 
 
 2 Sw. We will -, and tell that lord he muft be rul'd; 
 Or there be thofe abroad, will rule his lordfhi. 
 
 Enter Arbaces at one door^ and Gobrias and Pantbea at 
 another. 
 
 Gob. Sir, here's the princefs* 
 
 Arb. Leave us, then, alone -, 
 For the main caufe of her imprifonment 
 Muft not be heard by any but herfelf. [Exit Gob. 
 You're welcome, filter , and I would to Heav'n 
 I could fo bid you by another name. 
 If you above love not fuch fins as thefe, 
 Circle my heart with thoughts as cold as fnow, 
 To quench thefe rifing flames that harbour here, 
 
 Pan. Sir, does it pleafe you I fnall fpeak ? 
 
 Arb. Pleafe me ? 
 
 Ay, more than all the art of mufic can, 
 Thy fpeech doth pleafe me , for it ever founds 
 As thou brought'ft joyful unexpected news : 
 And yet it is not fit thou fhpulcift be heard ; 
 I pray thee, think fo. 
 
 Pan. Be it fo ; I will. 
 Am I the firft that ever had a wrong 
 So far from being fit to have redrels, 
 That 'twas unfit to hear it ? I will back 
 To prifon, rather than difquiet you, 
 And wait till it be fie. 
 
 Arb. No, do not go ; 
 
 For I will hear thee with a ferious thought : 
 I have collected all that's man about me 
 Together ftrongly, and I am rcfolv'd 
 To hear thee largely : But I do befeeeh thee, 
 Do not come nearer to me -, for there is 
 Something in that, that will undo us both. 
 
 Pan. Alas, Sir, am I venom ? 
 
 Arb. Yes, to me ; 
 
 Though,
 
 272 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Though, of thyfelf, I think thee to be in 
 
 As equal a degree of heat or cold, 
 
 As nature can make : Yet, as unfound men 
 
 Convert the fweeteft and the nourifhing'ft meats' 
 
 Into difeafes, fo mall I, diftemper'd, 
 
 Do thee : I pray tliee, draw no nearer to me. 
 
 Pan. Sir, this is tTiat I would : I am of late 
 Shut from the world, and why it mould be thus 
 Is all I wifh to know, 
 
 Arb. Why, credit me, 
 Panthea, credit me^ that am thy brother^ 
 Thy loving brother, that there is a caufe 
 Sufficient, yet unfit for thee to know^ 
 That might undo thee everlailingly, 
 Only to hear. Wilt thou but credit this ? 
 By Heav'n, 'tis true , believe it, if thou can'fh 
 
 Pan, Children and fools are ever credulous, 
 And I am both, I think, for I believe. 
 If you diflemble, be it on your head ! 
 I'll back unto my prifon. Yet, methinks,. 
 I might be kept in Ibme place where you are j 
 For in myftif I find, I know not what 
 To call it, but it is a great .defire 
 To fee you often. 
 
 Arb. Fie, you come in a ilep ; what do you mean ? 
 Dear lifter, do not fo ! Ah:, Fanthea, 
 Where I am would you be ? why, that's the caufe 
 You are imprifon'd, that you may not be 
 Where I am. 
 
 Pan. Then I muft endure it, Sir. Heav'n keep 
 you ! 
 
 Arb. Nay, you mail hear the caufe in mort, Pan- 
 thea ; 
 
 And, when thou hear'ft it, thou wilt blufh for me, 
 And hang thy head down like a violet 
 full of the morning's dew. There is a way 
 To gain thy freedom ; but,- 'tis fuch a one 
 As puts thee in work bondage, and I know 
 Thou wouldfl encounter fire, and make a proof 
 
 Whether
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 273 
 
 "Whether the gods have care of innocence, 
 Rather than follow it ; Know, that I've loft, 
 The only difference betwixt man and beaft, 
 My reafon. 
 
 Pan. Heav'n forbid ! 
 
 Arb. Nay, it is gone ; 
 And I am left as far without a bound 
 As the wild ocean, that obeys the winds ; 
 Each fudden pafllon throws me where it lifts, 
 And overwhelms all that oppofe my will. 
 I have beheld thee with a luftful eye j 
 My heart is fet on wickednefs, to act 
 Such fins with thee, as I have been afraid 
 To think of. If thou dar'ft confent to this, 
 Which, I befeech thee, do not, thou may'ft gain 
 Thy liberty, and yield me a content \ 
 
 If not, thy dwelling muft be dark and clofe, 
 Where I may never fee thee : For, Heav'n knows, 
 That laid this punimment upon my pride, 
 Thy fight at Ibme time will enforce my madnefs 
 To make a ftart e'en to thy ravifhing. 
 Now fpit upon me, and call all reproaches 
 Thou canft devife together, and at once 
 Hurl 'em againft me , for I am a ficknefs 
 As killing as the plague, ready to feize thee. 
 
 Pan. Far be it from me to revile the king ! 
 But it is true, that I mail rather choofe 
 To fearch out death, that elfe would fearch out me, 
 And in a grave deep with my innocence, 
 Than welcome fuch a fin. It is my fate \ 
 To thefe crofs accidents I was ordain'd, 
 And muft have patience -, and, but that my eyes 
 Have more of woman in 'em than my heart, 
 1 would not weep. Peace enter you again ! 
 
 Arb. Farewell , and, good Panthea, pray for me, 
 (Thy prayers are pure) that I may find a death, 
 However foon, before my paflions grow, 
 That they forget what I defire is fin ; 
 For thither they are tending : If that happen, 
 VOL. I. S Then
 
 274 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Then I ihall force thee, tho' thou wert a virgin 
 By vcw to Heaven, end. fliall pull a heap 
 Of ftrangre, yet uninvested, fin upon me. 
 
 Pan. Sir, I will pray for you , yet you fliall know 
 It is a fullen fate that governs us : 
 For I could wifh, as heartily as you, 
 I were no fifter to you -, I mould then 
 Embrace your lawful love, fooner than health. 
 
 Arb. Couldft thou affect me then ? 
 
 Pan. So perfectly, 
 
 That, as it is,, I ne'er fhall fway my heart 
 To like another. 
 
 Arb. Then I curfe my birth ! 
 Muft this be added to my miferies, . 
 That thou art willing too ? Is there no ftop 
 To our full happineis, but thefe mere founds, 
 Brother and filter ? 
 
 Pan. There is nothing elfe : 
 But thefe, alas ! will feparate us more 
 Than twenty worlds betwixt us. 
 
 Arb. I have liv'd 
 
 To conquer men, and now am overthrown 
 Only by words, brother and filler. Where 
 Have thole words dwelling ? I will find 'em out, 
 And utterly deftroy 'em ; but they are 
 Not to be graip'd : Let them be men or beafts, 
 And I will cut 'em from the earth -, or towns, 
 And I will raze 'em, and then blow 5 em up : 
 Let 'em be feas, and I will drink 'em off, 
 And yet have unquench'd fire left in my breaft : 
 Let 'em be any thing but merely voice. 
 
 Pan. But 'tis not in the pow'r of any force, 
 Or policy, to conquer them. 
 
 Arb. Panthea, 
 
 What mall we do ? Shall we iland firmly here, 
 And gaze our eyes out ? 
 
 Pan. 'Would I could do fo ! 
 But I fhall weep out mine. 
 
 Arb. Accurfed man, 
 Thou bought'ft thy reafon, at too dear a rate ; 
 
 Eor
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 275 
 For thou haft all thy actions bounded in 
 With curious rules, when ev'ry beaft is free : 
 What is there that acknowledges a kindred, 
 But wretched man ? Who ever faw the bull 
 Fearfully leave the heifer that he lik'd, 
 Becaufe they had one dam ? 
 
 Pan. Sir,' I difturb 
 You and myfelf too-, 'twere better:! were gone. 
 
 Arb. I will not be fo foolifti as I was ; 
 Stayj we will love juft as becomes our births, 
 No otherwife : Brothers and fillers may 
 Walk hand in hand together ; fo will we. 
 Come nearer : Is there any hurt in this ? 
 
 Pan. I hope not. 
 
 Arb. Faith, there is none at all : 
 And tell me truly now, is there not one 
 You love above me ? 
 
 Pan. No, by Ileav'n. 
 
 Arb. Why, yet. you Tent unto Tigrancs, fiften 
 
 Pan. True, 
 But for another : For the truth 
 
 Arb. No more. 
 
 I'll credit thee , thou canfc not lie, 
 Thou art all truth. 
 
 Pan. But is there nothing elfe, 
 That we may do,, but only walk ? Methinks,. 
 Brothers and fitters lawfully may kifs. 
 
 Arb. And fo they may, Panthea ; fo will we 5 
 And kifs again too ; we were too fcrupulous 
 And foolifh, but we will be fo no more. 
 
 Pan. If you have any mercy, let me go 
 To prifon, to my death, to any thing : 
 I feel a fin growing upon my blood, 
 Worfe than all thefe, hotter than yours. 
 
 Arb. That is impofiible -, what mould we do ? 
 
 Pan. Fly, Sir^ for Heav'n's fake. 
 
 Arb. So we muft ; away ! 
 Sin grows upon us more by this delay. 
 
 [Exeunt, feveral ways. 
 
 82 ACT
 
 276 A KING AND NQ KING. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter Mardonius and Lygones. 
 
 Mar. O I R, the king has feen your commifiion, 
 j^ and believes it ; and freely by this warrant 
 gives ypu power to vifit prince Tigranes, your noble 
 mafter. 
 
 Lyg. I thank his grace, and kifs his hand. 
 
 Mar. But is the main of all your bufmefs ended 
 in this ? 
 
 Lyg. I have another, but a worfe ; I am afliam'd ! 
 it is a bufmefs - 
 
 Mar. You ferve a worthy perfon ; and a ftranger, 
 I am fure, you are : You may employ me, if you 
 pleafe, without your purfe ; fuch offices mould ever 
 be their own rewards. 
 
 Lyg. I am bound to your noblenefs. 
 
 Mar. I may have need of you, and then this 
 
 courtefy, 
 
 If it be any, is not ill beftow'd. 
 But may I civilly defire the reft ' 8 ? 
 I mail not be a hurter, if no helper. 
 
 Lyg. Sir, you mail know : I have loft a foolim 
 
 daughter, 
 
 And with her all my patience , pilfer'd away 
 By a mean captain of your king's. 
 
 38 But may 1 civilly dtfire the rejl f ] Mardonius may feem here 
 at firft view, to be over inquifitive into the fecrets of one, whom h 
 had never feen before : but he, firft, offers him his bell fervices with- 
 out fee, or reward. But the motive of the poets for this curiofity 
 was to let the audience be inform'd that Lygones was the father of 
 Spsconia ; and that a fcurvy captain, belonging to Arbaces, had pil- 
 fer'd her away from him. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 It is certainly the ufual intention, as well as bufinef?, of dramatic 
 poets, to convey the plot to the audience ; yet that ought always to 
 be effected by natural and probable means ; and we think there is 
 no force uftd in the prefent dialogue. 
 
 Mar.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 277 
 
 Alar. Stay there, Sir : 
 
 If he have reach'd the noble v/orth of captain, 
 He may well claim a worthy gentlewoman, 
 Though me were yours, and noble. 
 
 Lyg- I grant all that too : But this wretched fellow 
 Reaches no further than the empty name, 
 That ferves to feed him. Were he valiant, 
 Or had but in him any noble nature, 
 That might hereafter promife him a good man, 
 My cares were fo much lighter, and my grave 
 A fpan yet from me. 
 
 Mar. I confels, fuch fellows 
 Be in all royal camps, and have and muft be, 
 To make the fm of coward more detefted 
 In the mean foldier, that with fuch a foil 
 Sets off much valour. By defcription, 
 I mould now guefs him to you , it was Befius, 
 I dare almoil with confidence pronounce it. 
 
 Lyg. 'Tis fuch a fcurvy name as BefTus ; and, now 
 I think, 'tis he. 
 
 Mar. Captain do you call him ? 
 Believe me, Sir, you have a mifery 
 Too mighty for your age : A pox upon him ! 
 For that muft be the end of all his fervice. 
 Your daughter was not mad, Sir ? 
 
 Lyg. No , 'would flie had been ! 
 The fault had had more credit. I would do fomething. 
 
 Mar. I would fain counfel you ; but to what I 
 
 know not. 
 
 He's fo below a beating, that the women 
 Find him not worthy of their diftaves, and 
 To hang him were to caft away a rope. 
 Pie's fuch an airy, thin, unbodied coward, 
 That no revenge can catch him. 
 I'll tell you, Sir, and tell you truth ; this rafcal 
 Fears neither God nor man, h'as been fo beaten : 
 Sufferance has made him wainfcot ; he has had, 
 Since he was firft a flave, at leall three hundred daggers 
 Set in's head, as little boys do new knives in hot meat. 
 There's not a rib in's body, o' my confcience, 
 
 S That
 
 278 A KJNG AND NO KING. 
 
 That has not been thrice broken with dry beating : 
 
 And now his fides look like two wicker targets, 
 
 Every way bended ; 
 
 Children will ihortly take him for a wall, 
 
 And let their ftone-bows in his forehead. 
 
 He is of fo bafe a fenfe, I cannot in a week imagine 
 
 what mail be done to him. 
 
 Lyg. Sure, I have committed fome great fin 
 That this bafe fellow mould be made my rod. 
 I would fee him ; but I mall have no patience. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis no great matter, if you have not : If a 
 laming of him, or fuch a toy, may dp you pleafure, 
 Sir, he has it for you ; and I'll help you to him. 
 'Tis no news to him to have a leg broke, or a moulder 
 out, with being turn'd o' th' ftones like a tanfy. 
 Draw not your Iword, if you love it -, for, on my 
 confcience, his head will Ureak it : We ufe him i'th 
 wars like a ram, to make a wall withal. Here comes 
 the very perfon of him ; do as you mail find your 
 temper ; I muft leave you : But if you do not break 
 him like a bifket, you're much to blame, Sir. 
 
 [Exit Mar, 
 
 Enter BeJJus and the Sword- men. 
 
 Lyg. Is your name BefTus ? 
 
 Bef. Men call me captain BcfTus. 
 
 Lyg. Then, captain BefTus, you're a rank rafcal, 
 without more exordiums ; a dirty frozen (lave ! and, 
 with the favour of your friends here, 1 will beat 
 you. 
 
 2 Sw. Pray ufe your pleafure, Sir ; you feem to be 
 a gentleman. 
 
 Lyg. Thus, captain BefTus, thus ! Thus twinge 
 your nofe, thus kick, thus tread upon you. 
 
 Bef. I do befeech you, yield your caufe, Sir, quickly. 
 
 Lyg. Indeed, I mould have told you that firft. 
 
 Bef. I take it fo. 
 
 iSw. Captain, he mould, indeed; he is miftaken. 
 
 f.yg. Sir, you fnall have it quickly, and more, 
 beating : 
 
 You
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 179 
 
 You have ftol'n away a lady, captain Coward, 
 And fuch a one [Beafs him. 
 
 Bef. Hold, I befeech you, hold, Sir ; 
 I never yet ftole any living thing 
 That had a tooth about it. 
 
 Lyg . I know you dare lye. 
 
 Jbef. With none but fummer- whores upon my life, 
 
 Sir : 
 
 My means and manners never could attempt 
 Above a hedge or haycock. 
 
 Lyg. Sirrah, that quits not me : Where is this 
 
 lady ? 
 
 Do that you do not ufe to do, tell truth, 
 Or, by my hand, I'll beat your captain's brains out, 
 Wafh 'em, and put 'em in again, that will I. 
 
 Fef. There was a lady, Sir, I muft confefs, 
 Once in my charge : The pri-nce Tigranes gave her 
 To my guard, for her fafety. How I us'd her 
 She may herfejf report ; (he's with the prince now. 
 I did but wait upon her like a groom, 
 Which me will teftify, I'm fure : If not, 
 My brains are at your fervice, when you pleafe, Sir, 
 And glad I have 'em for you. 
 
 Lyg. This is moil likely. Sir, I afk you pardon, 
 And am forry I was fo intemperate. 
 
 Eef. Well, I can afk no more. You will think it 
 ftrange now, to have me beat you at firft fight. 
 
 Lyg. Indeed, I would ; but, I know, your good- 
 nefs can forget twenty beatings : You muft forgive' 
 me. 
 
 Eef. Yes -, there's my hand-. Go where you will, li. 
 fhail think you a valiant fellow for all this. 
 
 Lyg. My daughter is a whore ! 
 I feel it now too fenfible ; yet I will fee her ; 
 Difcharge myfelf from being father to her, 
 And then back to my country, and there die : 
 Farewell, captain.. [Exit Lyg. 
 
 Bef. Farewell, Sir, farewell ! Commend me to the 
 gentlewoman, I pray. 
 
 $4 i Sw.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. , 
 
 i Sw. Hpw now, captain ? bear up, man. 
 
 Bef. Gentlemen o'th' fword, your hands once more , 
 I have been kick'd again ; but the foolifh fellow is 
 penitent, h'as ask'd me mercy, and my honour's fafe. 
 
 i Sw. We knew that, or the foolilh fellow had 
 better have kick'd his grandfire. 
 
 Bef. Confirm, confirm, I pray. 
 
 i Sw. There be our hands again ! Now let him 
 come, and fay he was not forry, and he fleeps for it. 
 
 Bef. Alas ! good ignorant old man, let him go, 
 let him go, thefe courfes will undo him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lygones and Bacurius. 
 Bac. My lord, your authority is good, and I am 
 glad it i& fo j for my confent would never hinder you 
 from feeing your own king : I am a minifter, but not 
 a governor of this ftate. Yonder is your king ; I'll 
 leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Tigranes and Spaconia. 
 
 Lyg. There he is, indeed, 
 And with him my difloyal child. 
 
 Tygr. I do perceive my fault fo much, that yet ? 
 Methinks, thou fhouldft not have forgiven me. 
 
 Lyg. Health to your majefty ! 
 
 Tigr. Wh at, good Lygones! welcome! whatbufmefs 
 Brought thee hither ? 
 
 Lyg. Several bufmefles : 
 My public bufmefs will appear by this ; 
 I have a meflage to deliver, which 
 If it pleafes you fo to authorize, is 
 An embaflage from th' Armenian ftate, 
 Unto Arbaces for your liberty. 
 The offer's there fet down , pleafe you to read it. 
 
 Tigr. There is no alteration happen'd fmce 
 I came thence ? 
 
 Lyg. None, Sir ; all is as it was. 
 
 Tigr. And all our friends are well ? 
 
 Lyg. All very well ? 
 
 Spa.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 281 
 
 Spa. Though I have done nothing but what was 
 
 I dare not fee my father : It was fault 
 Enough not to acquaint him with that good. 
 
 Lyg. Madam, I (hould have feen you. 
 
 Spa. Oh, good Sir, forgive me. 
 
 Lyg. Forgive you ! why, I am no kin t'you, am I ? 
 
 Spa. Should it be meaiur'd by my mean deferts, 
 Indeed, you are not. 
 
 Lyg. Thou couldft prate, unhappily, 
 Ere thou couldft go; 'would thou couldft do as well I 
 And how does your cuftom hold out here ? 
 
 Spa. Sir? 
 
 Lyg. Are you in private ftill, or how ? 
 
 Spa. What do you mean ? 
 
 Lyg. Do you take money ? Are you come to fell 
 fin yet ? Perhaps, I can help you to liberal clients : 
 Or has not the king caft you off yet ? Oh, thou vile 
 creature, whofe belt commendation is, that thou art 
 a young whore ! I would thy mother had liv'd to fee 
 this -, or, rather, that I had died ere 1 had feen it ! 
 "Why didft not make me acquainted when thou wert 
 firft refolv'd to be a whore ? 
 I would have feen thy hot luft fatisfied 
 More privately : I would have kept a dancer, 
 And a whole confort of muficians, 
 Jn my own houfe, only to riddle thee. 
 
 Spa. Sir, I was never whore. 
 
 Lyg. If thou couldft not fay fo much for thyfelf, 
 thou fhouldft be carted. 
 
 Tigr. Lygones, I have read it, and I like it , 
 YOU (hall deliver it. 
 
 Lyg. Well, Sir, I will : 
 But I have private bufmefs with you. 
 
 Tigr. Speak ; what is't ? 
 
 Lyg. How has my age defcrv'd fo ill of you, 
 That you can pick no ftrumpcts i' the land, 
 But out of my breed ? 
 
 . Strumpets, good Lygones ?
 
 iSz A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Lyg. Yes ; and I wifh to have you know, I fcorn 
 To get a whore for any prince al^ve : 
 And yet fcorn will not help ! Methinks, my daughter 
 Might have been fpar'd ; there were enow beiides. 
 
 ligr. May I not profper but ihe's innocent 
 As morning light, for me ; and, I dare fwear, 
 For all the world. 
 
 Lyg. Why is me with you, then ? 
 Can me wait on you better than your man ? 
 Has me a gift in plucking off your {.lockings ? 
 Can (he make caudles well, or cut your corns ? 
 Why do you keep her with you ? For a queen, 
 I know, you do contemn her ; fo fnould 1 ; 
 And every fubject elfe think much at it. 
 
 Tigr. Let 'em think much; but 'tis more firm 
 
 than earth, 
 Thou fee'ft thy queen there. 
 
 Lyg. Then have I made a fair hand : I cal?d 
 her whore. If I mall fpeak now as her father, I can- 
 not choofe but greatly rejoice that me mail be a queen : 
 But if I mail fpeak to you as a ftatefman, me were 
 more fit to be your whore. 
 
 Tigr. Get you about your bufmefs to Arbacesj 
 Now you talk idly. 
 
 Lyg. Yes, Sir, I will go. 
 And mall me be a queen ? She had more wit 
 Than her old father, when me ran away. 
 Shall me be queen ? Now, by my troth, 'tis fine ! 
 I'll dance out of all meaiure at her wedding : 
 Shall I not, Sir ? 
 ' Tigr. Yes, marry, malt thou. 
 
 Lyg. I'll make theie withered kexes bear my body 
 Two hours together above ground. , 
 
 ftgr. Nay, go ; 
 My bufinefs requires hafle. 
 
 Lyg. Good Heav'n prelerve you ! 
 You are an excellent king. 
 
 Spa. Farewell, good father. 
 
 Lyg. Farewell, fweet virtuous daughter.' 
 
 I never
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 283 
 
 I never was fo joyful in all my life, 
 
 That I remember ! Shall fhe be a queen ? 
 
 Now I perceive a man may weep for joy ; 
 
 I had thought they had lyed that faid fo. [Extt Lyg, 
 
 Tigr. Come, my dear love. 
 
 Spa. But you may fee another, 
 May alter that again. 
 
 'Tig. Urge it no more : 
 I have made up a new ftrong conftancy, 
 N ot to be mook with eyes. I know I have 
 The padions of a man -, but if I rueet 
 With any fubject that mould hold my eyes 
 More firmly than is fit, I'll think of thee, 
 And run away from it : Let that fuffice. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Bacurius and his feruant. 
 
 Bac. Three gentlemen without, to fpeak with me ? 
 
 Ser. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Bac. Let them come in. 
 
 Enter Bejfus with the two Sword-men. 
 
 $er. They are entered, Sir, already. 
 
 Bac. Now, fellows, your bufmefs ? Are thefe the 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Bef. My lord, I have made bold to bring thefe 
 gentlemen, my friends o'th' fword, along with me. 
 
 Bac. I am afraid you'll fight, then. 
 
 Bef. My good lord, I will not ; 
 Your lordfhip is miftaken ; fear not, lord. 
 
 Bac. Sir, I am lorry for't. 
 
 Bef. I afk no more in honour. Gentlemen, you 
 hear my lord is forry. 
 
 Bac. Not that I have beaten you, 
 But beaten one that will be beaten -, 
 One whofe dull body will require a laming, 
 As furfeits do the diet, fpring and fall. 
 Now, to your fvvord-men : 
 "What come they for, good captain Stockfim ? 
 
 Bef. It feems your lordihip has forgot my name. 
 
 Bac.
 
 284 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Bac. No, nor your nature neither , though they 
 are things fitter, I muft confefs, for any thing than 
 my remembrance, or any honeft man's : "What fhall 
 thefe billets do ? be pil'd up in my wood-yard ? 
 
 Bef. Your lordfhip holds your mirth ftill, Heav'n 
 continue it ! But, for thefe gentlemen, they come 
 
 Bac . To fwear you are a coward : Spare your book j 
 I do believe it. 
 
 Bef. Your lordfhip ftill draws wide ; they come to 
 vouch, under their valiant hands, I am no coward. 
 
 Bac. That would be a fhow, indeed, worth feeing. 
 Sirs, be wife and take money for this motion, travel 
 with it ; and where the name of Beffus has been 
 known, or a good coward ftirring, 'twill yield more 
 than a tilting. This will prove more beneficial to yoUj 
 if you be thrifty, than your captainfhip, and more 
 natural. Men of moft valiant hands, is this true ? 
 
 2 Sw. It is fo, moft renowned. 
 
 Bac. 'Tis fomewhat ftrange. 
 
 1 Sw. Lord, it is ftrange, yet true. We have ex- 
 amined, from your lordfhip's foot there to this man's 
 head, the nature of the beatings -, and we do find his 
 honour is come off clean and fufficient : This, as our 
 fwords lhall help us. 
 
 Bac. You are much bound to your bilbo men ; 
 I'm glad you're ftraight again, captain. 'Twere good 
 you would think fome way how to gratify them - 3 they 
 have undergone a labour for you, BefTus, would have 
 puzzled Hercules with all his valour. 
 
 2 Sw. Your lordfhip muft underftand we are no 
 men o'th* law, that take pay for our opinions ; it is 
 fufficient we have clear'd our friend. 
 
 Bac. Yet there is fomething due, which f, astouch'd 
 in confcience, will difcharge. Captain, I'll pay this 
 rent for you. 
 
 Bef. Spare yourfelf, my good lord ; my brave 
 friends aim at nothing but the virtue. 
 
 Bac . That's but a cold difcharge, Sir, for the pains. 
 
 2 Sw. Oh, lord ! my good lord ! 
 
 Bac.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 285 
 
 Bac. Be not fo modeft ; I will give you fomething. 
 
 Bef. They lhall dine with your lordfhip j that'i 
 fufHcient. 
 
 Etc. Something in hand the while. You rogues, 
 you apple- {quires, do you come hither, with your 
 bottle .1 valour, your windy froth, to limit out my 
 beatings ? 
 
 1 Sw. I do befeech your lordfhip. 
 
 2 Sw. On, good lord ! 
 
 Bac. 'Sfoot, what a bevy of beaten flaves arc here? 
 Get me a cudgel, Sirrah, and a tough one. 
 
 2 Sw. More of your foot, I do beieech your lord- 
 {hip. 
 
 Lac. You mall, you mail, dog, and your fellow 
 beagle. 
 
 i Sw. O' this fide, good my lord. 
 
 Bac. Off with your fwords ; for if you hurt my 
 foot, I'll have you flead, you rafcals. 
 
 1 Sw. Mine's off, my lord. 
 
 . 2 Sw. I befeech your lordfliip, flay a little ; my 
 (trap's tied to my cod-piece point : Now, when you 
 pleafe. 
 
 Bac. Captain, thefe are your valiant friends ; you 
 long for a little too ? 
 
 Bcf. I am very well, I humbly thank your lordfhip. 
 
 Ea. What's that in your pocket hurts my toe, you 
 imingrel? Thy buttocks cannot be fo hardj out 
 with it quickly. 
 
 2 Sw. Here 'tis, Sir ; a fmall piece of artillery, 
 that a gentleman, a dear friend of your lordfhip's, fent 
 me with, to get it mended, Sir ; for, if you mark, 
 the nofe is fomewhat loofe. 
 
 Bac. A friend of mine, you rafcal ? I was never 
 wearier of dothing nothing, than kicking thefe two 
 foot-balls. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Here is a good cudgel, Sir. 
 
 Bac. It comes too late j I'm weary ; prithee, do 
 thou beat them.
 
 2&6 A KfNG AND NO KING?; 
 
 2 Sw. My lord, this is foul play, i'faith, to ptjt 3 
 frefli man upon us : Men are but men, Sir. 
 
 Bac. That jeft fhall fave your bones. Captain, 
 rally up your rotten regiment, and be gone. I had 
 rather threfh than be bound to kick theie rafcals, 'till 
 they cry'd, ' ho !' BefTus, you may put your hand to 
 them now, and then you are quit. Farewell ! as you 
 like this, pray vifit me again , 'twill keep me in good 
 health. [Exif. 
 
 2 S-w. H'as a devilifh hard foot-, I never felt the like. 
 
 1 Sw. Nor I ; and yet, I am Cure, I have felt a 
 hundred. 
 
 2 Sw. If he kick thus i' th' Dog-days, he will be 
 dry-foundred. What cure now, captain, befiues oil 
 of bays ? 
 
 Bef. Why, well enough, I warrant you , you can go. 
 2 Sw. Yes, Heav'n be thank'd! but 1 feel a IhrcwJ 
 ache -, Cure, he's fprang my huckle-bone. 
 
 1 Sw. I ha' loft a haunch. 
 
 Bef. A little butter, friend, a little butter ; butter 
 and parfley is a fovereign matter : Probatum eft. 
 
 2 Sw. Captain, we muft rcqueft your hand now to 
 our honours. 
 
 Eef. Yes, marry, mail ye-, and then let all th* 
 world come,, we are valiant to ourfelves, and there's 
 an end. 
 
 1 Sw. Nay, then, we muft be valiant. Oh, my 
 
 ribs! 
 
 2 Sw. Oh, my fmall guts ! a plague upon thefe 
 {harp-toed (hoes , they are murderers ! [Exeund 
 
 Enter Arbaces, with bis fword drawn. 
 
 '/frb. It is refolv'd : I bare it whilft I could ; 
 I can no more. Hell, open all thy gates, 
 And I will thorough them : If they be {hut, 
 I'll batter 'em, but I will find the place 
 Where the moft damn'd have dwelling ! Ere I end, 
 Amongft them all they fhall not have a fin, 
 But I may call it mine ! I muft begin 
 
 Wi'th'
 
 A KING AND NO KING.' 187 
 
 Wi'th* murder of my friend, and fo go on 
 To that inceiluous ravifhlng, and end 
 My life and fins with a forbidden blow 
 Upon myfelf ! 
 
 Enter Mardonius. 
 
 Mar. What tragedy is near ? 
 That hand was never wont to draw a fword, 
 But it cry'd 'dead 1 to fomething. 
 
 Arb. Mardonius, 
 Have you bid Gobrias come ? 
 
 Mar. How do you, Sir ? 
 
 Arb. Well. Is he coming ? 
 
 Mar. Why, Sir, are you thus ? 
 Why do your hands proclaim a lawlefs war 
 Againlt yourfelf? 
 
 Arb. Thou anfwer'ft me one queftion with another : 
 Is Gobrias coming ? 
 
 Mar. Sir, he is. 
 
 Arb. 'Tiswell: 
 I can forbear your queftions then. Be gone ! 
 
 Mar. Sir, I have mark'd 
 
 Arb. Mark lefs ! it troubles you 
 And me. 
 Mar. You are more variable than you were. 
 
 Arb. It may be fo. 
 
 Mar. To-day no hermit could be humbler 
 Than you were to us all. 
 
 Arb. And what of this ? 
 
 Mar. And now you take new rage into your eyes, 
 As you would look us all out of the land. 
 
 Arb. I do confefj it ; will that fatisfy ? 
 I prithee, get thee gone. 
 
 Mar. Sir, I will fpeak. 
 
 Arb. Will ye? 
 
 Mar. It is my duty. 
 
 I fear you'll kill yourfelf : I am a fubject, 
 And you mail do me wrong in't ; 'tis my caufe, 
 And I may fpeak. 
 
 Arb.
 
 aS8 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Arb. Thou art not traih'd in fin, 
 It feems, Mardonius : Kill myfelf ! by Heav'n, 
 I will not do it yet ; and, when I will, 
 I'll tell thee, then I fhall be fuch a creature, 
 That thou wilt give me leave without a word. 
 There is a method in man's wickednefs j 
 It grows up by degrees 59 : I am not come 
 So high as killing of myfelf ; there are 
 A hundred thoufand fins 'twixt me and it, 
 Which I muft do, and I mail come to't at laft ; 
 But, take my oath, not now. Be fatisfied, 
 And get thee hence. 
 
 Mar. I'm forry 'tis fo ill. 
 
 Arb. Be forry, then^ 3 : 
 True forrow is alone ; grieve by thyfelf. 
 
 Mar. I pray you, let me fee your fword put up 
 Before I go : I'll leave you then. 
 
 Arb. Why, fo. What folly is this in thee ? is it nor 
 As apt to mifchief as it was before ? 
 Can I not reach it, think'ft thou ? Thefe are toys 
 For children to be pleas'd with, and not men. 
 Now I am fafe, you think : I would the Book 
 Of Fate were here ; my fword is not fo fure 
 But I would get it out, and mangle that, 
 That all the deftinies mould quite forget 
 Their fix'd decrees, and hafte to make us new, 
 Far other fortunes ; mine could not be worfe. 
 Wilt thou now leave me ? 
 
 '9 *Fhere is a method in man's nmickednefs, 
 
 It grows tip by degrees."} This thought is plainly borrowed 
 from Juvenal's fatires ; (as 1 had mark'd in the margin of my 
 book, and as Mr. Sympfon likevvife hinted to me)' 
 
 Nemo repente fuit turpiflimus. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 4 Be forty then ; true forroiv is alone ; 
 
 Grieve by thyfelf.] This reflexion is as evidently fhadow'd 
 out from one of Martial's epigrams. 
 
 Ills dolet vere, qui fine tefte doltt. 
 
 This, if I remember right, was thus rendered by our facetious 
 Tom Brown. 
 
 That man grieves with a witnefs ixr&d grieves without one. 
 
 Mr. fhcolatt. 
 
 Mar.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 289 
 
 Mar. Heav'n put into your bofom temperate 
 
 thoughts ! 
 I'll leave you, though I fear. [Exit Mar. 
 
 Arb. Go -, thou art honed. 
 Why mould the hafty errors of my youth 
 Be fo unpardonable to draw a fin, 
 Helplefs, upon me? 
 
 Enter Gobrias. 
 
 Gob. There is the king ; now it is ripe. 
 
 Arb. Draw near, thou guilty man *' j 
 That art the author of the loathed'ft crime 
 Five ages have brought forth, and hear me fpeak ! 
 Curfes incurable, and all the evils 
 Man's body or his fpirit can receive, 
 Be with thee ! 
 
 Gob. Why, Sir, do you curfe me thus ? 
 
 Arb. Why do I curfe thee ? If there be a man 
 Subtle in curies, that exceeds the reft, 
 His worft wifh on thee ! Thou haft broke my heart. 
 
 Gob. How, Sir! Have I preferv'd you, from a 
 
 child, 
 
 From all the arrows malice or ambition 
 Could (hoot at you, and have I this for pay ? 
 
 Arb. 'Tis true, thou didft prelerve me, and in that 
 Wert crueller than hard'ned murderers 
 Of infants and their mothers ? Thou didft fave me, 
 
 * f Draw near, tbau guilty man.] The fubfequcnt fcenes, to the 
 end of the play, have been, through the whole courfe of the imprel- 
 fion*, ddivered down to us as prole ; bat I have rellor'd them to their 
 ftricl metre and verification: And through my whole edition (vvh-re 
 the interpolr-itior.s, or callrations, by the llage do not obilrud me 
 in it, 1 (hall endeavour to do oar authors the lame iullice. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 This is only a continuation of the daring falftiood mentioned in 
 p. 248 ; for, in the old copies, we find the lines run exactly the fame 
 as in Mr. Theobald's edition, except in two or three v<:ry trifling 
 inftances. It is remarkable, too, that that gentleman has introduced 
 fewer of his arbitrary variations in this fcene, than in almoft any other 
 part of the wotk. 
 
 VOL. I. T Only
 
 290 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Only till thou hadft ftudied out a way 
 How to deftroy me cunningly thyfelf : 
 This was a curious way of torturing. 
 
 Gob. What do you mean ? 
 
 Arb. Thou know'ft the evils thou haft done to me ! 
 Doit thon remember all thofe witching letters 
 Thou fent'ft unto me to Armenia, 
 Fill'd with the praife of my beloved fifter, 
 Where thou extol'dfl her beauty ? What had I 
 To do with that ? what could her beauty be 
 To me ? And thou didft write how well me lov'd me ! 
 Doft thou remember this ? fo that I doted 
 Something before 'I faw her. 
 ' Cob. This is true. 
 
 Arb. Is it? and, when I was return'd, thou know'ft, 
 Thou didft purfue it, 'till thou wound'ft me in 
 To fuch a ftrange and unbeliev'd affection, 
 As good men cannot think on. 
 
 Gob. This I grant j 
 I think, I was the caufe. 
 
 Arb. Wert thon ? Nay, more, 
 I think, thou meant'ft it. 
 
 Gob. Sir, I hate a lye : 
 As I love Heav'n and honefty, I did j 
 It was my meaning. 
 
 Arb. Be thine own fad judge , 
 A further condemnation will not need : 
 Prepare thyfelf to die. 
 
 Gob. Why, Sir, to die ? 
 
 Arb. Why, fhouldft thou live ? was ever yet of- 
 fender 
 
 So impudent, that had a thought of mercy, 
 After confefiion of a crime like this ? 
 Get out I cannot where thou hurPdft me in ; 
 But I can take revenge j that's all the fweetnefs 
 Left for me. 
 
 Gob. Now's the time. Hear me but fpeak. 
 
 Arb. No ! Yet I will be far more merciful 
 Than thou wert to me ; thou didft fteal into me, 
 
 And
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 291 
 
 And never gav'ft me warning : So much time 
 As I give thee now, had prevented me 
 For ever. Notwithstanding all thy fins, 
 If thou haft hope that there is yet a prayer 
 To fave thee, turn and fpeak it to thyfelf. 
 
 Gob. Sir, you mall know your fins, before you do 
 
 'em : 
 If you kill me 
 
 Arb. I will not ftay then. 
 
 Gob. Know you kill your father. 
 
 Arb. How ? 
 
 Gob. You kill your father. 
 
 Arb. My father ? Though I know it for a lye, 
 Made out of fear, to fave thy ftained life, 
 The very rev'rence of the word comes crofs me, 
 And ties mine arm down. 
 
 Gob. I will tell you that mall heighten you again ; 
 I am thy father , I charge thee hear me. 
 
 Arb. If it fliould be fo, 
 As 'tis moft falie, and that I mould be found 
 A baftard ifiue, the defpifed fruit 
 Of lawlefs luft, I mould no more admire 
 All my wild pafTions ! But another truth 
 Shall be wrung from thee : If I could come by 
 The fpirit of pain, it mould be pour'd on thee, 
 'Till thou allow'ft thyfelf more full of lyes 
 Than he that teaches thee. 
 
 Enter Arane. 
 Ara. Turn thee about; 
 I come to fpeak to thee, thou wicked man ! 
 Hear me, thou tyrant! 
 
 Arb. I will turn to thee ; 
 Hear me, thou ftrumpet ! I have blotted out 
 The name of mother, as thou haft thy fhame. 
 Ara. My fhame ! Thou haft lefs fhame than any 
 
 thing ! 
 
 Why doft thou keep my daughter in a prifon ? 
 Why doft thou call her After, and do this ? 
 
 T 2 Arb.
 
 292 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Arb. Ceafe, thou ftrange impudence, and anfwer 
 
 quickly ! 
 
 If thou contemn'il me, this will afk an anfwer, 
 And have it. 
 
 Ara. Kelp me, gentle Gobrias. 
 
 Arb. Guilt dare not help guilt -, though they grow 
 
 together 
 
 In doing ill, yet at the punimment 
 They fever, and each flies the noife of other. 
 Think not of help ; anfwer ! 
 
 Ara. I will -, to what ? 
 
 Arb. To fuch a thing, as, if it be a truth, 
 Think what a creature thou haft made thyfelf, 
 That didft not mame to do what I mufl blufh 
 Only to afk thee. Tell me who I am, 
 "Whofe fon I am, without all circumftance 
 Be thou as hafty as my fword will be, 
 If thou refufeft. 
 
 Ara. Why, you are his fon. 
 
 Arb. His fon ? Swear, fwear, thou worfe than wo- 
 man damn'd ! 
 
 Ara. By all that's good, you are. 
 
 Arb. Then art thou all 
 
 That ever was known bad ! Now is the caufe 
 Of al} my ftrange misfortunes come to light. 
 "What reverence expe&'ft thou from a child, 
 To bring forth which thou haft offended Heav'n, 
 Thy huiband, and the land ? Adulterous witch ! ' 
 I know now why thou wouldft have poifon'd me : 
 I was thy ] uft, which thou wouldft have forgot ! " 
 Then, wicked mother of my fins, and me, 
 Shew me the way to the inheritance 
 I have by thee j which is a fpacious world 
 Of impious acts, that I may foon poffefs it. 
 Plagues rot thee, as thou liv'ft, and fuch difeafes 
 As ufe to pay luft, recompence thy deed ! 
 
 Gob. You do not know why you curfe thus. 
 
 Arb. Too well. 
 YOU are a pair of vipers , and behold 
 
 The
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 293 
 The ferpent you have got ! There is no beaft, 
 But, if he knew it, has a pedigree 
 As brave as mine, for they have more defcems ; 
 And I am every way as beaftly got, 
 As far without the compafs of a law, 
 As they. 
 
 Ara. You fpend your rage and words in vain. 
 And rail upon a guefs ; hear us a little. 
 
 Arb. No, I will never hear, but talk away 
 My breath, and die* 
 
 Gob. Why, but you are no baftard. 
 
 Arb. How's that ? 
 
 Ara. Nor child of mine. 
 
 Arb. Still you go on 
 In wonders to me. 
 
 Gcb. Pray you, be more patient ; 
 I may bring comfort to you. 
 
 Arb. I will kneel, 
 
 And hear with the obedience of a child. 
 Good father, fpeak ! I do acknowledge you, 
 So you bring comfort. 
 
 Gob. Firft know, our laft king, your fuppofed father, 
 Was old and feeble when he married her, 
 And almoft ail the land, as me, paft hope 
 Of ifilie from him. 
 
 Arb. Therefore me took leave 
 To play the whore, becaufe the king was old : 
 Is this the comfort ? 
 
 Ara. What v/ill you find out 
 To give me fatisfa&ion, when you find 
 How you have injur'd me r Let tire confume me 
 If ever I were whore ! 
 
 Gob. Forbear thefe ft arts, 
 Or I will leave you wedded to defpair, 
 As you are now : If you can find a temper, 
 M'f breath mall be a pleafant weftern wind 
 That cools and blafts not. 
 
 Arb. Bring it out, good father. 
 I'll lie, and liften here as reverently 
 As to an angel : If I breathe too loud,
 
 294 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Tell me -, for I would be as ftill as night. 
 
 . Gob. Our king, I fay, was old, and this our queen 
 Defir'd to bring an heir, but yet .her hufband, 
 She thought, was paft it , and to be difhoneft, 
 I think, me would not : If (he would have been, 
 The truth is, flie was watch'd fo narrowly, 
 And had fo (lender opportunities, 
 She hardly could have been : But yet her cunning 
 Found out this way , Ihe feign'd herfelf with child, 
 And pofts were fent in hafte throughout the land, 
 And God was humbly thank'd in ev'ry church, 
 That fo had blefs'd the queen , and prayers were 
 
 made 
 
 For her fafe going and delivery. 
 She feign'd now to grow bigger ; and perceiv'd 
 This hope of iflue made her fear'd, and brought 
 A far more large refpeft from every man, 
 And faw her pow'r cncreafe, and was relblv'd, 
 Since me believ'cl me could not have't indeed, 
 At lead fhe would be thought to have a child. 
 
 Arb. Do I not hear it well ? Nay, I will make 
 No noife at all , but pray you to the point, 
 Quick as you can. 
 
 Gob. Now when the time was full 
 She mould be brought to bed, I had a fon 
 Born, which was you : This, the queen hearing of, 
 Mov'd me to let her have you ; and fuch reafons 
 She mewed me, as me knew well would tie 
 My fecrecy : She fwore you mould be king ; 
 And, to be fhort, I did deliver you 
 Unto her, and pretended you were dead, 
 And in mine own houfe kept a funeral, 
 And had an empty coffin put in earth. 
 That night this queen feign'd haftily to labour, 
 And by a pair of women of her own, 
 Which me had charm'd, me made the world believe 
 She was deliver'd of you. You grew up, 
 As the king's fon, till you were fix years old ^ 
 Then did the king die, and did leave to me 
 
 Protection
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 295 
 
 Protection of the realm , and, contrary, 
 To his own expectation, left this queen 
 Truly with child, indeed, of the fair princefs 
 Panthea. Then (he could have torn her hair, 
 And did alone to me, yet durfl not fpeak 
 In public, for (he knew (he mould be found 
 A traitor -, and her tale would have been thought 
 Madnefs, or any thing rather than truth. 
 This was the only caufe why (he did feek 
 To poifon you, and I to keep you fafe -, 
 And this the reafon why I fought to kindle 
 Some fparks of love in you to fair Panthea, 
 That (he might get part of her right again. 
 
 Arb. And have you made an end now ? Is this all ? 
 If not, I will be dill till I be aged, 
 Till all my hairs be filver. 
 
 Gob. This is all. 
 
 Arb. And is ic true, fay you too, madam ? 
 
 Ara. Yes, Heaven knows, it is moft true. 
 
 Arb. Panthea, then, is not my fifter. 
 
 Gob. No. 
 
 Ara. But can you prove this ? 
 
 Gob. If you'll give confent, 
 Elfe who dares go about it ? 
 
 Arb. Give confent ? 
 
 Why, I will have 'em all that know it rack'd 
 To get this from 'em. All that wait without, 
 Come in, whate'er you be, come in, and be 
 Partakers of my joy ! Oh, you are welcome ! 
 
 Enter Be/us, gentlemen, Mardonius, and other attendants. 
 Mardonius, the bed news ! Nay, draw no nearer j 
 They all mall hear it : I am found No King. 
 
 Mar. Is that fo good news ? 
 
 Arb. Yes, the happkft news 
 That e'er was heard. 
 
 Mar. Indeed, 'twere well for you 
 If you might be a little Ids obcy'd. 
 
 T 4 Arb.
 
 296 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Arb. One call the queen. 
 
 Mar. Why, fhe is there. 
 
 Arb. The queen, 
 
 Mardonius ? Panthea is the queen, 
 And I am plain Arbaces. Go, ibme one ! 
 She is in Gobrias' houfe. Since I faw you, 
 There are a thoufand things deliverd to me, 
 You little dream of. [Exit a gentleman . 
 
 Mar. So k mould feem. My lord, 
 What fury's this ? 
 
 Gob. Believe me, 'tis no fury ; 
 All that he fays is truth. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis very ftrange. 
 
 Arb. Why do you keep your hats off, gentlemen ? 
 Is it to me ? I fwear, it mult not be , 
 Nay, truft me, in good fakh, it muft not be ! 
 I cannot now command yon ; but I pray you, 
 For the refpedt you bare me when you took. 
 Me for your king, each man clap on his hat 
 At my defire. 
 
 Mar. We will. You are not found 
 So mean a man, but that you may be cover'd 
 As well as we , may you not ? 
 
 Arb. Oh, not here ! 
 
 You may, but not I, for here is my father 
 In prefence. 
 
 Mar. Where? 
 
 Arb. Why, there. Oh, the whole ftory 
 Would be a wildernefs, to lofe thyfelf 
 For ever. Oh, pardon me, dear father, 
 For all the idle and unreverend words 
 That I have fpoke in idle moods to you ! 
 I am Arbaces , we all ftllow-fubjects ; 
 Nor is the queen Panthea now my filler. 
 
 Bef. Why, if you remember, fellow-fubjed Arba- 
 ces, I told you once me was not your fifter : Ay, and 
 fhe look'd nothing like you. 
 
 Arb. I think you did, good captain BefTus. 
 
 Bef.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 297 
 Bef. Here will arife another queftion now amongft 
 the fword-men, whether I be to call him to accounc 
 for beating me^ now he is.prov'd No King. 
 
 Enter Lygones. 
 
 Mar. Sir, here's Lygones, the agent for the Arme- 
 nian Hate. 
 
 Arb. Where is he ? I know your bufmefs, good 
 Lygones. 
 
 fjyjr. We mufl have our king again, and will. 
 
 Arb. I knew that was your bufmefs : You mall 
 
 have 
 
 Your king again , and have him fo again, 
 As never king was had. Go ; one of you, 
 And bid Bacurius bring Tigranes hither ^ 
 And bring the lady with him, that Panthea, 
 The queen Panthea, lent me word this morning 
 Was brave Tigranes' miftrefs. [Ex. two gentlemen. 
 
 Lyg. 'Tis Spaconia. 
 
 Arb. Ay, ay, Spaconia. 
 
 Lyg. She is my daughter. 
 
 Arb. She is fo. I could now tell any thing 
 I never heard. Your king mail go fo home, . 
 As never man went. 
 
 Mar. Shall he go on's head ? 
 
 Arb. He mall have chariots eafier than air, 
 That I will have invented , and ne'er think 
 He lhall pay any ranfom ! And thyfelfj 
 That art the mefTengcr, fliall ride before him 
 On a horfe cut out of an entire diamond, 
 That fliall be made to go with golden wheels, 
 I know not how yet. 
 
 Lyg. Why, I mail be mad? 
 For ever ! They bely'd this k'ing with us, 
 And laid he was unkind. 
 
 Arb. And then, thy daughter-, 
 She fliall have fome ftrange thing; we'll have the 
 
 kingdom 
 Sold utterly, and put into a toy, 
 
 7 Which
 
 298 A KING AND NO KING. 
 
 Which fhe mall wear about her carelefly, 
 Somewhere or other. See, the virtuous queen ! 
 Behold the humbleft fubjed: that you have, 
 Kneel here before you. 
 
 Enter Panthea and i gentleman. 
 
 Pan. Why kneel you to me, 
 That am your vaffal ? 
 
 Arb. Grant me one requeft. 
 
 Pan. Alas I what can I grant you ? what I can 
 I will. 
 
 Arb. That you will pleafe to marry me, 
 If I can prove it lawful. 
 
 Pan. Is that all ? 
 More willingly than I would draw this air. 
 
 Arb. I'll kils this hand, in earneft. 
 
 2 Gent. Sir, Tigranes 
 
 Is coming ; though he made it ftrange, at firft, 
 To lee the princefs any more. 
 
 Enter 'Tigranes and Spaconia. 
 
 Arb. The queen, 
 
 Thou mean'ft. Oh, my Tigranes, pardon me 1 
 Tread on my neck , I freely offer it , 
 And, if thou be'ft fo given, take revenge, 
 For I have injur'd thee. 
 
 1'igr. No -, I forgive, 
 
 And rejoice more that you have found repentance, 
 Than I my liberty. 
 
 Arb. May'ft thou be happy 
 In thy fair choice, for thou art temperate ! 
 You owe no ranfom to the ftate ! Know, that 
 I have a thoufand joys to tell you of, 
 Which yet I dare not utter, till I pay 
 My thanks to Heav'n for 'em. Will you go 
 With me, and help me ? pray you, do. 
 
 Tigr. I will. 
 
 Arb.
 
 A KING AND NO KING. 299 
 
 Ark. Take then your fair one with you : And you, 
 
 queen 
 
 Of goodnefs and of us, oh, give me leave 
 To take your arm in mine ! Come, every one 
 That takes delight in goodnefs, help to fing 
 Loud thanks for me, that I am prov'd No King ! 
 
 [Exeunt onmcs. 
 
 THE following obfervations are made by Mr. Seward, refpeaine 
 this Play. 
 
 * Mr. Rhymer flings the rrtoft virulent of all his inveftives againft 
 Othello and Arbaces, falfly deeming all the faults of thofe charac- 
 ters to be fo many charges againil the Poets ; wherea? their intent 
 was not to paint perfection but human nature, to blend the 'virtue* 
 and vices together, fo that both may fpring from the fame tcnptr, 
 and, like handfome and ill-favour* d children, both ftill bear a refem- 
 blance to their firs. To do this well is one of the higheit efforts 
 of poetry. Arbaces, like his great pattern Achilles, has virtues 
 and vices in the extreme. His violence makes us expeft fome 
 dreadful effedr., and it therefore foon hurries him into an attempt 
 to commit inceft. He is to raife terror and anger, not pity and 
 love ; and Mr. Rhymer having the fame choler in his temper^ ndi- 
 culoufly took fire, and furioufly attack'd Iris onjcn ^ 
 
 The favage jealoufy of the Moor is fo finely delineated, that the 
 tragedy of Othello, notwithftanding fome flight defeds in the con- 
 ftruftion of the fuble, rnuit for ever excite the admiration of all true 
 lovers of dramatic poetry. The fpleen of Rhymer is almoft as in- 
 effectually vented on this Trngedy of our Authors : Yet Candor and 
 Juftice oblige us to confefs, that the fudden transition of paffions in 
 the character of Arbaccs fometimes borders on the ridiculous. The 
 pifture is, however, in the main, faithfully copied from nature, with 
 many touches of peculiar excellence, particularly the agitations of 
 Arbaces, during his conflict with a fuppofed inceftuous paflion. His 
 reverential fear of Mardonius, and his contempt of Beflus, while he 
 is feverally foliating them, are finely imagined, and as finely exe- 
 cuted. The Arbaces of our Authors is evidently the model on which 
 Lee formed his Alexander, as well as his Clytus on Mardonius. It 
 would, perhaps, require a nice hand to make this play thoroughly 
 relifljcd by a modern audience ; yet it moft certainly abounds with 
 the higheil dramfitic excellencies, and deferves an eminent rank in the 
 lilt of theatrical productions. 
 
 THE

 
 J^saSffl^L * 
 
 J/u, //,/'//,'< 
 -not s/rsr f 'f / '/ '//M/a . 
 
 TA/V. 
 
 __ ..' .. ;
 
 THE; 
 
 SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 COMEDY. 
 
 fhe Commendatory Verfes by Waller and Stanley fpeak of Fletcher as 
 the Author of this Comedy ; in the titles of the old copies <we find 
 the names of both our Authors, and it is fuppofed to have been their 
 joint production. We do not find that it nuas ever altered > nor hat 
 it been performed in the courfe of many years pajl ; though, in the 
 lifetime of Mrs. Qldfield, who a fled the Lady, it ufed t be fre~ 
 fttently reprefented. 
 
 PRAMATI5
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 . M E N. 
 
 Elder Lovelefs, a fuitor to the Lady. 
 Young Lovelefs, a -prodigal. 
 SaviL, fteward to Elder Lovelefs. 
 Welford, a fuitor to the Lady. 
 Sir Roger, curate to the Lady. 
 A Captain, - 
 
 A Traveller, 
 
 A p > hangers-on to Toung Lovelefs. 
 
 A Tobacco-man, J 
 Morecraft, an ufurer. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 Lady, 7 
 
 . i C tlflQ IlitPY f 
 
 Martha, J 
 
 Younglove, or Abigail, a waiting gentlewoman. 
 
 A rich Widow. 
 
 Wenches, fdfers, and attendants. 
 
 SCENE, LONDON. 
 
 THE
 
 THE 
 
 SCORNFUL LADY, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter Elder Lovelefs, Young Lovelefs, Savil, and a page. 
 
 Elder Lovelefs. T~J R O T H E R, is your laft hope 
 r^ pad, to mollify Morecraft's heart 
 JL-J about your mortgage ? 
 
 Toung Lovelefs. Hopclefly paft. I have prefented 
 the ufurer with a richer draught than ever Cleopatra 
 fwallow'd i he hath fuck'd in ten thoufand pounds 
 worth of my land more than he paid for, at a gulp, 
 without trumpets '. 
 
 El. Lo. I have as hard a tafk to perform in this 
 houfe. 
 
 To. Lo. Faith, mine was to make an ufurer honeft, 
 or to lole my land. 
 
 El. Lo. And mine is to perfuade a pafiionate 
 woman, or to leave the land. 
 
 1 At a gulp, without trumpets."] The allufion is here either to the 
 drinking of healths at our public halls and city entertainments ; or elfe 
 to a paflage in the Acnarnenfes of Ariflophanes, upon which the old 
 Scholiaft informs us, that it was a cuilom in Athens, at certain of 
 their feafts, to challenge one another to drink by found of trumpet. 
 
 Mr. Ueobald. 
 
 To. to. .
 
 3 o 4 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 To. Lo. Make the boat flay *. 
 
 El. Lo. I fear I mall begin my unfortunate journey 
 this night j though the uarknefs of the night, and the 
 roughnefs of the waters, might eafily diffuade an un- 
 willing man. 
 
 Savil. Sir, your father's old friends hold it the 
 founder c'ourfe for your body and eftate to flay at 
 home and marry, and propagate, and govern in your 
 country, than to travel and die without iffue. 
 
 El. Lo. Savil, you {hall gain the opinion of a better 
 icrvant, in feeking to execute, not alter, my will, 
 jiowfoever my intents fucceed. 
 
 To. Lo. Tender's miftrefs Tounglove, brother, the 
 grave rubber of your miftrefs's toes. 
 
 Enter Tounglove^ or Abigail. 
 
 El. Lo. Miftrefs Tounglove 
 
 Alrig* Mafler Lovelels, truly we thought your 
 farts -had been hoift : My miftrefs is perfuaded you 
 are iea-fick ere this. 
 
 El. Lo. Loves me her ill-taken-up refolution fo 
 dearly ? Didft thou move her from me ? 
 
 Ablg. By this light that mines, there's no removing 
 her, if me get a ftif 7 opinion by the end. I attempted 
 
 - And mine is to perfuadc, &c } The majority of the old quarto's 
 thus divide this Ipeccti: 
 
 or to leave the land. 
 
 Yo. Lo. Make the beat fla^ ; I fear Ifiall, &c. 
 uhich is certainly erroirecus. The modern editions make no diviiion, 
 bi;t give the whole to tlie Eider Lovelefs ; which feems equally im- 
 proper. We apprehend the original reading to have been, 
 or to leave the land. 
 
 Yo. Lo. Make tie boat Jl ay. 
 
 El. Lo. 1 fear Ijbali begin, &c. 
 
 i.e. After the Eider Lovelefs declares, that, if he cannot pprfuade 
 the Lady to remit the duty (he had impofed on him in her paflion, he 
 muft undergo the di(;.greeab!e taflc of quitting the land ; the Younger, 
 jocularly replies, ' ^iVJake the boat flay ;' be not hafy, pojlpone your 
 departure. The Eider then rejoins, I fear J lhail begin mv jour- 
 t'.ey this night.' 
 
 her
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 305 
 
 her to-day, when, they fay, a woman can deny 
 nothing. 
 
 El. Lo. What critical minute was that ? 
 
 Abig. When her fmock was over her ears -, but me 
 was no mere pliant than if it hung above her heels. 
 
 El. Lo. I prithee deliver my fervice, and fay,' I 
 defire to fee the dear caufe of my banimment , 'and 
 then for France. 
 
 Abig. I'll do't. Hark hither, is that your brother ? 
 
 El. Lo. Yes ; have you loft your memory ? 
 
 Abig. As I live he's a pretty fellow. {Exit. 
 
 To. Lo. Oh, this is a fweet brach '. 
 
 El. Lo. Why me knows not you. 
 
 To. Lo. No, but (he offer'd me once to know her. 
 To this day (he loves youth of eighteen. She heard a 
 tale how Cupid ftruck her in love with a great lord in 
 the Tilt-yard, but he never faw her -, yet me in kind- 
 nefs would needs wear a willow-garland at bis wed- 
 ding. She lov'd all the players in the laft queen's 
 time once over ; me was ftruck when they adted lo- 
 vers, and forfook fome when they play'd murderers. 
 She has nine fpur-royals % and the fervants fay (he 
 hoards old gold ; and me herfclf pronounces angerly, 
 that the farmer's eldeft fon (or her miftrefs's hufband's 
 clerk mall be) that marries her, mall make her a join- 
 ture of fourfcore pounds a-year. She tells tales of the 
 ferving-men - 
 
 El. Lo. Enough, I know her. Brother, I mall en- 
 treat you only to falute my miftrefs and take leave j 
 we'll part at the flairs. 
 
 Enter Lady and waiting-woman. 
 Lady. Now, Sir, this flrft part of your will is per- 
 form'd : What's the reft ? 
 
 J O, ibis is a facet brache !] A fort of" hound, or any little 
 (linking, hoafehold cur. Mr. 'Theobald. 
 
 Brach is ufcd by Shakefpeare to fignify a bitch-hound. 
 
 4 She has nine fpur-ryal. c .] This was a piece of gold coin, very 
 current in the reign of king James I. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 VOL. I. U El.Lo.
 
 306 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 EL Lo. Firft, let me beg your notice for this gen- 
 tleman, my brother. 
 
 Lady. I fhall take it as a favour done to me. Tho' 
 the gentleman hath receiv'd but an untimely grace 
 from you, yet my charitable difpofition would have 
 been ready tc\ have done him freer courtefies as a 
 ftranger, than upon thofe cold commendations. 
 
 To. Lo. Lady, my falutations crave acquaintance 
 and leave at once. 
 
 Lady. Sir, I hope you are the matter of your own 
 
 occafions. [Ex. To. Lo. andSavil. 
 
 El. Lo. 'Would I were fo. Miftrefs, for me to praile 
 
 over again that worth, which all the world, and you 
 
 yourlelf can fee 
 
 Lady. It's a cold room this, fervant. 
 
 El.Lo. Miftrefs 
 
 . Lady. What think you if I have a chimney for't, 
 out here, ? 
 
 El. Lo. Miftrefs, another in my place, that were 
 not ty'd to believe all your actions juft, would ap- 
 prehend himfelf wrong'd : But I, whofe virtues are 
 
 conftancy and obedience 
 
 Lady. Younglove, make a good fire above, to warm 
 me after my fervant's exordiums. 
 
 EL. Lo. I have heard and feen your affability to be 
 fuch, that the fervants you give wages to may fpeak. 
 Lady. 'Tis true, 'tis true j but they fpeak to th* 
 purpofe. 
 
 El. Lo. Miftrefs, your will leads my fpeeches from 
 
 the purpofe. But, as a man 
 
 Lady. A fimile, fervant ! This room was built for 
 honeft meaners, that deliver themfelves haftily and 
 plainly, and are gone. Is this a time or place for 
 exordiums, and fimilies, and metaphors ? If you have 
 ought to fay, break into't : My anfwers mail very 
 reafonably meet you. 
 
 El. Lo. Miftrefs, I came to fee you. 
 
 Lady. That's happily difpatch'd j the next. 
 
 El. Lo. To take leave of you. 
 
 Lady.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 307 
 
 "Lady. To be gone ? 
 
 El.Lo. Yes. 
 
 Lady. You need not have defpair'd of that, nor 
 have us'd fo many circumftances to win me to give 
 you leave to perform my command. Is there a third ? 
 
 El. Lo. Yes j I had a third, had you been apt to 
 hear it. 
 
 Lady. I ? never apter. Faft, good fervant, faft ! 
 
 EL Lo. 'Twas to entreat you to hear reafon. 
 
 Lady. Moft willingly , have you brought one can 
 fpeak it? 
 
 El. Lo. Laftly, it is to kindle in that barren heart 
 love and forgivenefs. 
 
 Lady. You would ftay at home ? 
 
 El. Lo. Yes, lady. 
 
 Lady. Why, you may, and doubtlefly will, when 
 you have debated that your commander is but your 
 miftrefs, a woman, a weak one, wildly overborn with 
 paffions : But the thing by her commanded is, to fee 
 Dover's dreadful Cliff, pafling in a poor water-houfe ; 
 the dangers of the mercilefs Channel 'twixt that and 
 Calais, five long hours' fail, with three poor weeks' 
 victuals 5 . 
 
 El. Lo. You wrong me. 
 
 Lady. Then, to land dumb, unable to enquire for 
 an Englifh hofl, to remove from city to city, by moft 
 chargeable poft-horfe, like one that rode in quell of 
 his mother tongue. 
 
 El. Lo. You wrong me much. 
 
 Lady. And all thefe (almoft invincible) labours 
 
 5 Five long hour? fail, with three poor weeks' c vi3uals.~\ This 
 fpcech is all through farcaftical. She is bantering her gallant on the 
 fuppofed danger of his voyage ; and the gieat care he is taking of 
 himfelf, in laying in three weeks provifions only to crof from Dover 
 to Calais. Mr. Tbtobald. 
 
 Where the apprehenfive Mr. Theobald acquired information of 
 Lovelefs having laid in three weeks' provifion is unknown to us. Had 
 he not informed us this was the cafe, we ftiould have fuppofed the 
 farcafm levelled ac the generality of puny travellers, not fmgly at 
 Lovelefs. 
 
 U 2 perfonnM
 
 36S THE SCORNFUL LADY, 
 perform'd for your miftrefs, to be in danger to for- 
 fake hervand to put on new allegiance to fome French 
 lady, WTO is content to change language with your 
 laughter ; and, after yonr whole year fpent in tennis 
 and broken fpeech, to Hand to the hazard of being 
 laugh'd at, at your return, and have tales made on you 
 by the chambermaids. 
 
 EL Lo. You wrong me much. 
 
 Lady. Louder yet. 
 
 El. Lo. You know your lead word is of force to 
 make me feek out dangers , move me not with toys. 
 But, in this baniihment, I muft take leave to fay, you 
 are unjuft : Was one kifs forc'd from you in public 
 by me fo unpardonable? Why, all the hours of day 
 and night have feen us kifs. 
 
 Lady. 'Tis true, and fo you told the company that 
 heard me chide. 
 
 El. Lo. Your own eyes were not dearer to you than I. 
 
 Lady. And fo you told 'em. 
 
 El. Lo. I did-, yet no fign of difgrace need to have 
 flain'd your cheek : You yourfelf knew your pure 
 and fimple heart to be moft unfpotted, and free from 
 the leaft bafenefs. 
 
 Lady. I did : But if a maid's heart doth but once 
 think that me is fufpected, her own face will write 
 her guilty. 
 
 El. Lo. But where lay this difgrace ? the world, 
 that knew us, knew our refolutions well : And could 
 it be hop'd, that I mould give away my freedom, and 
 venture a perpetual bondage with one I never kifs'd ? 
 or could I in ftricl: wifdom take too much love upon 
 me, from her that chofe me for her hufband ? 
 
 Lady. Believe me, if my wedding-fmock were on -, 
 Were the gloves bought and giv'n, the licence come ; 
 Were the rofemary-branches dipp'd, and all 
 The hippocras 6 and cakes eat and drank off; 
 
 Were 
 
 6 Hippocras.] This was a wine fpiced and ftrain'd thro' a flannel 
 bag, formerly in much requeft at weddings, wakes, &c. The 
 
 ftraiaer,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 309 
 
 Were thefe two arms encompais'd with the hands 
 Of batchelors, to lead me to the church -, 
 Were my feet in the door ; were c I John' faid ; 
 If John mould boaft a favour done by me, 
 I would not wed that year. And you, I hope, 
 When you have fpent this year commodiouily, 
 In atchieving languages, will at your return 
 Acknowledge me more coy of parting with mine eyes, 
 Than fuch a friend. More talk I hold not now. 
 If you dare go 
 
 EL Lo. I dare, you know. Firft, let me kifs. 
 
 Lady. Farewell, fweet fervant. Your tafk perform'd, 
 On a new ground, as a beginning fuitor, 
 I mall be apt to hear you. 
 
 El. Lo. Farewell, cruel miftrefs ! [Exit Lady. 
 
 Enter Young Lovclefs and Savil. 
 
 To. Lo. Brother, you'll hazard the lofmg your tide 
 to Gravefend j you have a long half-mile by land to 
 Greenwich. 
 
 El. Lo. I go. But, brother, what yet-unheard-of 
 courfe to live doth your imagination flatter you with ? 
 Your ordinary means are devour'd. 
 
 To. Lo. Courfe ? why horfe-courfmg, I think. Con- 
 fume no time in this -, I have no eftate to be mended 
 by meditation : He that bufies himfelf about my for- 
 tunes, may properly be faid to bufy himfelf about 
 nothing. 
 
 El. Lo. Yet fome courfe you muft take, which, for 
 my fatisfacYion, reiblve and open. If you will mape 
 none, I muft inform you, that that man but perfuades 
 himfelf he means to live, that imagines not the means. 
 
 To. Lo. Why, live upon others, as others have liv'd 
 upon me. 
 
 El. Lo. I apprehend not that : You have fed others, 
 
 ftrainer, we are told, was call'ii HipF ocratc '' s nccve - J know ' , thcre 
 is a woollen bag, fo call't, ufed by the apothecaries to dram fyrups 
 and decoftions for clarification. #* Theobald. 
 
 . U 3 and
 
 310 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 and confequently difpos'd of 'em ; and the fame mea- 
 fure muft you expect from your maintainers ; which 
 will be too heavy an alteration for you to bear. 
 
 To.Lo. Why, I'll purfe-, if that raife me not, I'll 
 bett at bowling-alleys, or man whores 7 : I would fain 
 live by others. But I'll live whilft I am unhang'd, 
 and, after, the thought's taken. 
 
 El. Lo. I fee you are ty'd to no particular employ- 
 ment, then ? 
 
 To. Lo. Faith, I may chufe my courfe : They fay, 
 nature brings forth none but me provides for them ; 
 I'll try her liberality. 
 
 El. Lo. Well, to keep your feet out of bafe and 
 dangerous paths, I have refolv'd you mall live as 
 matter of my houfe. It mall be your care, Savil, to 
 fee him fed and cloath'd, not according to his prefent 
 citate, but to his birth and former fortunes. 
 
 To. Lo. If it be referr'd to him, if I be not found 
 in carnation Jerfey ftockings, blue devils' breeches, 
 with the guards down, and my pocket i' th' fleeves, 
 I'll ne'er look you i' th' face again. 
 
 Saw. A comelier wear, I wis, it is than thofe 
 dangling flops. 
 
 EL Lo. To keep you ready to do him all fervice 
 
 7 Why, ril purfe ; if that raife me not, P II bett at bonvling- 
 alleys, or man whores.] ;'. e. I'll take a purfe upon the rosd, or turn 
 bully and Ihllion to a bawdy-houfe. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 The Authors here allude to three of the moft defpicable modes of 
 acquiring fubfiftence to which mankind can be reduced : To be a robber, 
 a gambler, and an attendant offirumpets ; for fuch is the meaning of 
 man ivborcs, and not to be a ftailion, as Mr. Theobald fuppofes. 
 
 This expreffion is ufed by Gfborn, in his Advice to his Son, in the 
 following manner. 
 
 ' Carry no dogs to court, or any public place, to avoid contefts 
 with fuch as may fpurn, or endeavour to take them up : The fame 
 may be faid of boys not wife or ftrong enough to decline or re- 
 venge affronts, \vhofe complaints do not feldom engage their mailers ; 
 as I knew one of quality killed in the defence of his page : The 
 like danger attends fuch as are fo indifcrete, as to man whores in 
 the ftreet, in which every one pretends to have an intereft for his 
 money, and therefore unwilling to fee them monopolized, efpecially 
 when they have got a pot in their pate.' 
 
 peaceably,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 3 u 
 
 peaceably, and him to command you reafonably, I 
 leave thefe further directions in writing ; which, at 
 your bed leifure, together open and read. 
 
 Enter Abigail to them, with a jewel. 
 
 Abig. Sir, my miftrefs commends her love to you 
 in this token, and thefe words : It is a jewel, me fays, 
 which, as a favour from her, (he would requeft you 
 to wear till your year's travel be perform'd j which, 
 once expir'd, me will haftily expect your happy 
 return 8 . 
 
 El. Lo. Return my fervice, with fuch thanks as me 
 may imagine the heart of a fuddenly-over-joy'd man 
 would willingly utter : And you, I hope, I mail with 
 (lender arguments perfuade to wear this diamond , that 
 when my miftrefs (hall, through my long a'ofence, 
 and the approach of new fuitors, offer to forget me, 
 you may call your eye down to your finger, and re- 
 member and fpeak of me : She will hear thee better 
 than thofe allied by birth to her ; as we fee many 
 men much fway'd by the grooms of their chambers -, 
 not that they have a greater part of their love or 
 opinion of them, than on others, but for they know 
 their fecrets. 
 
 Abig. O' my credit, I fwear I think 'twas made for 
 me : Fear no other fuitors. 
 
 El. Lo. I (hall not need to teach you how to dif- 
 credit their beginning : You know how to take ex- 
 ception at their fhirts at warning , or to make the 
 maids fwear they found plaifters in their beds. 
 
 Abig. I know, I know -, and do you not fear the 
 fuitors. 
 
 El. Lo. Farewell ; be mindful, and be happy ; the 
 night calls me. [Exeunt omnes prater Abig. 
 
 8 She w/// haftily expe3 your kaffy return.'} All the editions, from 
 that of 1639, downward-., erroneoully read happily for hajlily \ not- 
 withftanding the great difference in the fenfe. The one word imply- 
 ing, {he will be quite tafy and contented about your return ; the 
 other, (he will be impatient for it ; in which way we are to und.r- 
 ftuncl the paflage, as appears by fcveral of the Lady's own fpecches. 
 U 4 Abig.
 
 312 THE .SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Abig. The gods .of the winds befriend you, Sir ! A 
 conftant and liberal lover thou art ; more fuch God 
 fend us ! 
 
 Enter Welford. 
 
 Wei. Let 'em not ftand ftill, we have rid hard 9 . 
 
 Abig. A fuitor, I know, by his riding hard ; I'll 
 not be feen. 
 
 Wei. A pretty hall this : No fervant in't ? I would 
 look fremly. 
 
 Abig. You have deliver'd your errand to me, then. 
 There's no danger in a handfome young fellow : I'll 
 mew myfelf. 
 
 Wei. Lady, may it pleafe you to beftow upon a 
 ftranger the ordinary grace of falutation ? Are you the 
 lady of this houfe P 
 
 Abig. Sir, I am worthily proud to be a fervant of 
 hers. 
 
 Wei. Lady, I fnould be as proud to be a fervant 
 of yours, did not my fo-late acquaintance make me 
 defpair. 
 
 Abig. Sir, it is not fo hard to atchieve, but nature 
 may bring it about. 
 
 Wei. For thefe comfortable words, I remain your 
 glad debtor. Is your lady at home ? 
 
 Abig. She is no ftraggler, Sir. 
 
 Wei. May her occafions admit me to fpeak with 
 her ? 
 
 Abig. If you come in the way of a fuitor, no. 
 
 Wei. I know your affable virtue will be mov'd to 
 perfuade her, that a gentleman, benighted and ftray'd, 
 offers to be bound to her for a night's lodging. 
 
 Abig. I will commend this mefiage to her ; but if 
 you aim at her body, you will be deluded. Ic Other 
 
 women 
 
 9 let Vz not fiandjiill, we have rid.'] Mr. Seward prefcribes the 
 infertion of the word hard, which, probably has been dropp'd at the 
 prefs, and fecms neceffiry to the fenfe. 
 
 ' Other <voomcn of the houfeholds, of as good carriage and govern- 
 ment.] Mr. Sympfon reads, There are other women of the houfhold
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 313 
 
 women of the houfholds', of good carriage and go- 
 vernment -, upon any of which if you can caft your 
 affeftion, they will perhaps be found as faithful, and 
 not fo coy. [Exit Abig. 
 
 Wei What a fkinfull of luft is this ? I thought I 
 had come a.-wooing, and I am the courted party. 
 This ivS right court-famion ; men, women, and all 
 woo ; catch that catch may. If this foft-hearted 
 woman have infus'd any of her tendernefs into her 
 lady, there is hope me will be pliant. But who's 
 Jiere ? 
 
 Enter Sir Roger. 
 
 Rog. God fave you, Sir ! My lady lets you knowy 
 me defires to be acquainted with your name, before 
 me confer with you ? 
 
 Wei. Sir, my name calls me Welford. 
 
 Rog. Sir, you are a gentleman of a good name. 
 I'll try his wit. 
 
 Wei. I will uphold it as good as any of my ancef- 
 tors had this two .hundred years, Sir. 
 
 Rog. I knew a worfhipful and .a religious gentle- 
 man of your name in the bilhopric of Durham : Call 
 you him coufm ? 
 
 Wei. I am only allied to his virtues, Sir. 
 
 Rog. It is modeftly faid. I mould carry the badge 
 of your Chriftianity with me too. 
 
 Wei What's that ? a crofs ? There's a tetter. 
 
 Rog. I mean, the name which your godfathers and 
 godmothers gave you at the font. 
 
 WeL *Tis Harry. But you cannot proceed orderly 
 now in your catechifm ; for you have told me who 
 gave me that name. Shall I beg your name ? ' 
 
 of as. good carriage, &c. We have not ventured to deviate from the 
 old copies, thinking the fenfe not imperfeft. She mefins, ' Tho' you 
 ' cannot have my miftrefs's perfon, >ou may find other women of the 
 ' houfhold, upon any of which, &c'.' It may be urged, that, with- 
 out Mr. Symplon's words, -there are, the expreflion is quaint ; but 
 .that is, perhaps, rather an argument for than againil its having been 
 ufed by our Poets. 
 
 Rog.
 
 3 i4 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 Rog. Roger. 
 
 Wei. What room fill you in this houfe ? 
 
 Rog. More rooms than one, 
 
 Wei. The more the merrier : But may my bold- 
 nefs know, why your lady hath fent you to decypher 
 my name ? 
 
 Rog. Her own words were thefe : To know whe- 
 ther you were a formerly-deny'd fuitor, difguis'd in 
 this mefiage ; for I can aflure you, (lie delights not 
 in Thalamo " ; Hymen and fhe are at variance. J mall 
 return with much haile. [Exit Roger. 
 
 WeL And much fpeed, Sir, I hope. Certainly, I 
 am arrived amongft a nation of new-found fools, on a 
 land where no navigator has yet planted wit. If I 
 had forefeen it, I would have laded my breeches with 
 bells, knives, copper, and glafles, to trade with wo- 
 men for their virginities , yet, I fear, I mould have 
 betray'd myfelf to needlefs charge, then. Here's 
 the walking night-cap again. 
 
 Enter Roger. 
 
 Rog. Sir, my lady's pleafure is to fee you ; who 
 hath commanded me to acknowledge her forrow, that 
 you muft take the pains to come up for fo bad enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Wei. I mall obey your lady that fent it, and ac- 
 knowledge you that brought it to be your art's mafter. 
 
 Reg. I am but a batchelor of arts, Sir \ and I have 
 the mending of all under this roof, from my lady on 
 her down bed, to the maid in the peafe-ftraw. 
 
 Wei. A cobler, Sir ? 
 
 Rog. No, Sir , I inculcate divine fervice within thefe 
 walls li . 
 
 Wei. 
 
 11 She delights not in Thalame :] It muft be, as I had long ago 
 obferv'd, and as Mr. Sympfon likewife hinted to me, in ^ h alamo : 
 She has no tafte for wedlock, for the marriage- bed. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 " No Sir, I inculcate di-vine fervice within thefe walls. ~\ Several 
 of the old quarto's have it, homilies ; either word is equally to the 
 
 purpofe,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY, 
 
 L But the inhabitants of this houfe do often 
 employ you on errands, without any fcruple of 
 confcience. 
 
 Rog. Yes, I do take the air many mornings on 
 foot, three or four miles, for eggs : But why move 
 you that ? 
 
 WeL To know whether it might become your 
 function, to bid my man to neglect his horfe a little, 
 to attend oji me. 
 
 Rog. Moft properly, Sir. 
 
 WeL I pray you do fo then ; and, whilft, I will 
 attend your lady. You direct all this houfe in the 
 true way ? 
 
 Rog. I do, Sir. 
 
 WeL And this door, I hope, conducts to your lady? 
 
 fiog. Your underftanding is ingenious. 
 
 [Exeunt feverally. 
 
 Enter Young Lovelefs and Savil, with a writing. 
 
 Sav. By your favour, Sir, you mail pardon me. 
 
 To. Lo. I mail beat your favour, Sir IJ ! Crofs me 
 no more ! I fay, they mall come in. 
 
 Sav. Sir, you forget, then, who I am ? 
 
 To. Lo. Sir, I do not ; thou art my brother's 
 fteward, his caft-offmill-money, his kitchen arithmetic. 
 
 'Sav. Sir, I hope, you will not make fo little of 
 mej . 
 
 purpofe, but the latter being the ftiffer and more precife term, feems 
 mod fuitabie to Sir Roger's formal chara&er. So Abigail, at the 
 Beginning of the fourth acl, fpeaking of him, fays ; 
 7*o this %ood homiiift I've been ever ftubborn ; 
 
 Sir Roger is a very good pidlure of a dull, pedantic country-chap- 
 Jain, of thofe times, in a private family. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 The oldeft edition?, however, reading fer-vict, we have chofe to 
 infert that word. 
 
 I? / Jhall bear your favour, Sir, croft me no more.] There is 
 neither ienfe nor humour, in Young Lovelefs's reply, as it Hands in 
 all the copies. My correclion retrieves both : /. e. If you continue 
 to crofs me, I fhallcorreft you for your ftubbornnefs. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 To. Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 To. Lo. I make thee not ib little as thou art ; for, 
 indeed, there goes no more to the making of a fteward, 
 but a fair imprimis, and then a reafonable item infus'd 
 into him, and the thing is done. 
 
 Sav. Nay., then, you ftir my duty, and I muft tell 
 you 
 
 To. 0.What wouldft thou tell me ? how hops grow ? 
 or hold forne rotten difcourfe of fheep, or when our 
 Lady-day falls ? Prithee, farewell, and entertain my 
 friends ; be drunk, and burn thy table-books , and, my 
 dear fpark of velvet '*, thou and I 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, remember. 
 
 To. Lo. I do remember thee a foolifh fellow, one 
 that did put his truft in almanacks, and horfe-fairs, 
 and rofe by honey, and pot-butter. Shall they come 
 in yet ? 
 
 &KT; Nay, then I muft unfold your brother's plea- 
 fure : Thefe be the leflbns, Sir, he left behind him. 
 
 To. Lo. Prithee, expound the firft. 
 
 Sav. c I leave to keep my houfe three hundred 
 pounds a-year ; and my brother to difpofe of it ' 
 
 To. Lo. Mark that, my wicked fteward j and I 
 difpofe of it ! 
 
 Sav. ' Whilft he bears himfelf like a gentleman, 
 and my credit falls not in him.' Mark that, my 
 good young Sir, mark that. 
 
 To. Lo. Nay, if it be no more, I mall fulfil it , 
 while my legs will carry me I'll bear myfelf gentle- 
 man-like, but when I am drunk, let them bear me 
 that can. Forward, dear fteward. 
 
 Sav. ' Next, it is my will, that he be furnim'd (as 
 my brother) with attendance, apparel, and the obe- 
 dience of my people ' 
 
 To. Lo. Steward, this is as plain as your old mini- 
 kin-breeches. Your wifdom will relent now, will it 
 
 not ? Be mollified, or You underftand me, Sir. 
 
 Proceed. 
 
 I4 - My dear fpark of velvet ] Mr. Seward propofes changing W- 
 i't to vellum. 
 
 Sav.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 317 
 
 Sav. ' Yet, that my ileward keep his place, and 
 power, and bound my brother's wildnefs with his 
 care.' 
 
 To. Lo. I'll hear no more ! This is Apocrypha ; 
 bind it by itfelf, fteward. 
 
 Sav. This is your brother's will ; and, as I take it, 
 he makes no mention of iuch company as you would 
 draw unto you : Captains of gallyfoifts 1 5 -, fuch as in a 
 clear day have feen Calais, fellows that have no 
 more of God, than their oaths come to-, they wear 
 fwords to reach fire at a play, and get there the oil'd 
 end of a pipe for their guerdon. Then the remnant 
 of your regiment are wealthy tobacco-merchants, that 
 fet up with one ounce, and break for three , together 
 with a forlorn hope of poets , and all thefe look like 
 Carthufians, things without linnen : Are thefe ik 
 company for my matter's brother ? 
 
 To. Lo. I will either convert thee (oh, thou Pagan 
 fteward) or prefently confound thee and thy reckon- 
 ings. Who's there ? Call in the gentlemen. 
 
 Sav. Good Sir ! 
 
 To. Lo. Nay, you mail know both who I am, and 
 where I am. 
 
 Sav. Are you my mailer's brother ? 
 
 To. Lo. Are you the fage mailer fteward, with a 
 face like an old Ephemeris ? 
 
 Enter bis comrades. Captain, Traveller, Poet, &c. 
 
 Sav. Then God help all l6 , I fay ! 
 To. Lo. Ay, and 'tis well faid, my old peer of 
 France. Welcome, gentlemen, welcome, gentlemen ; 
 
 '* Captains of gallyfoifts. ] Seep. 181, of this volume. 
 
 16 Sav. Then God help all, lfay!~\ Savil has been efteem'd by nil 
 good judges of comedy, an excellent charr.dler of a precife, dog- 
 matical, fc If- conceited Steward : Always pretending to obtrude his 
 advice, and as defirous of controulir.g with his opinions. The inge- 
 nious Mr. Addifon, I remember, to?J me, thnt he fketch'd out his 
 character of Vellum, in the comedy c.ill'J the Drummer, purely from 
 ila, model. Mr. Ibeolald. 
 
 mine
 
 $i8 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 mine own dear lads, you're richly welcome. KnoW 
 this old Harry-groat. 
 
 Capt. Sir, I will take your love < 
 
 Sav. Sir, you will take my purfe. 
 
 Capt. And fludy to continue it. 
 
 Sav. 1 do believe you. 
 
 Trav. Your honourable friend and matter's bro- 
 ther, hath given you to us for a worthy fellow, and fo 
 we hug you, Sir. 
 
 Sav. H'as given himfelf into the hands of varlets, 
 to be carv'd out I7 . Sir, are thefe the pieces ? 
 
 To. Lo. They are the morals of the age, the virtues, 
 men made of gold. 
 
 Sav. Of your gold, you mean, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. This is a man of war, and cries, ' go on,* 
 and wears his colours 
 
 Sav. In's nofe. 
 
 To. L. In the fragrant field. This is a traveller, 
 Sir, knows men and manners, and has plow'd up the 
 fea fo far, 'till both the poles have knock'd ; has feen 
 the fun take coach, and can diftinguim the colour of 
 his horles, and their kinds ; and had a Flanders- 
 mare leap'd there. 
 
 Sav. 'Tis much. 
 
 Trav. I have feen more, Sir. 
 
 Sav. 'Tis even enough o* confcience. Sit down, 
 and reft you ; you are at the end of the world already. 
 'Would you had as good a living, Sir, as this fellow 
 could lye you out of; he has a notable gift in't ! 
 
 To. Lo. This minifters the fmoke, and this the 
 mufes. 
 
 Sav. And you the cloaths, and meat, and money. 
 You have a goodly generation of 'em ; pray, let them 
 
 '^ tf as giv en himfelf into the hands of t'ar/efs, not to be ccir^ifd 
 out.'] We cannot underfland this paflage as here printed; but think 
 the word not an interpolation. Savi), we fuppofe, means, that Young 
 Lovelefs has given hirr.felf into the hands of fellows who will confurr.e 
 him, eat him up ; and accordingly afterwards f;iys, ' You minified 
 the cloaths, and meat, and money.' 
 
 multiply ;
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. $ig 
 
 Multiply i your brother's houfe is big enough ; and to 
 lay truth, h'as too much land ; hang it, dirt ! 
 
 To. Lo. Why, now thou art a loving ftinkard. Fire 
 off thy annotations and thy rent-books , thou haft a 
 weak brain, Savil, and with the next long bill thou 
 wilt run mad. Gentlemen, you are once more wel- 
 come to three hundred pounds a-year ! We will be 
 freely merry , mall we not ? 
 
 Capt. Merry as mirth and wine, my lovely Lovelefs. 
 
 Poet. A ferious look mail be a jury to excommuni- 
 cate any man from our company. 
 
 Trav. We will not talk wifely neither ? 
 
 To. Lo. What think you, gentlemen, by all this re- 
 venue in drink ? 
 
 Capt. I am all for drink. 
 
 Trow. I am dry 'till it be fo. 
 
 Poet. He that will not cry ' amen* to this, let him 
 live fober, feem wife, and die o' th' quorum. 
 
 To. Lo. It mail be fo , we'll have it all in drink j 
 let meat and lodging go , they are tranfitory, and mew 
 men merely mortal. Then we'll have wenches, every 
 one his wench, and every week a frem one -, we'll keep 
 no powder'cl flefh. All thefe we have by warrant, unr 
 der the title of ' things neceifary :' Here, upon this 
 place I ground it , * the obedience of my people, and 
 all neceflaries.' Your opinions, gentlemen ? 
 
 Capt. 'Tis plain and evident, that he meant wenches. 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, let me expound it. 
 
 Capt. Here be as found men as yourfelf, Sir. 
 
 Poet. This do I hold to be the interpretation of it: 
 In this word 4 necelfary' is concluded all that be helps 
 to man , woman was made the firft, and therefore here 
 the chiefeft. 
 
 To. Lo. Believe me 'tis a learned one ; and by thefe 
 words, ' the obedience of my people,' you, ftcward, 
 being one, are bound to fetch us wenches. 
 
 Capt. He is, he is. 
 
 To. Lo. Steward, attend us for inftructions. 
 
 Sav. But will you keep no houfe, Sir ? 
 
 To. Lo.
 
 320 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 To. Lo. Nothing but drink, Sir ; three hundred 
 pounds in drink. 
 
 Sav. Oh, miferable houfe ; and miferable I that 
 live to fee it ! Good Sir, keep fome- meat. 
 
 To. Lo. Get us good whores ; and, for your part, 
 I'll board you in an alehoufe ; you mall have cheefe 
 and onions. 
 
 Sav. What fhall become of me ? no chimney fmoak- 
 ing ? Well, prodigal, your brother will come home. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 To. Lo. Come, lads, I'll warrant you for wenches. 
 Three hundred pounds in drink. 
 
 Omnes. Oh, brave Lovelefs 1 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Lady, Welford, and Sir Roger. 
 
 I R, now you fee your bad lodging, I muft 
 _ bid you good night. 
 
 Wei. Lady, if there be any want, 'tis in want of 
 you. 
 
 Lady. A little fleep will eafe that compliment. Once 
 rjiore, good night. 
 
 Wei. Once more, dear lady ; and then, all fweet 
 nights. 
 
 Lady. Dear Sir, be fhort and fweet, then. 
 Wei. Shall the morrow prove better to me ? mall 
 I hope my fuit happier by this night's reft ? 
 
 Lady. Is your fuit fo fickly, that reft will help it ? 
 Pray ye let it reft then till I call for it. Sir, as a 
 ft ranger you have had all my welcome : But, had I 
 known your errand ere you came, your paffage had 
 been ftraiter. Sir, good night. 
 
 Wei. So fair, and cruel ! Dear unkind, good night. 
 
 [Exit Le.dy. 
 Nay,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 321 
 
 Nay, Sir, you fhall flay with me j I'll prefs your zeal 
 fo far. 
 
 Rog. Oh, Lord, Sir ! 
 
 Wei. Do you love tobacco ? 
 
 Rog. Surely I love it, but it loves not me ; yet, 
 with your reverence, I will be bold. 
 
 Wei. Pray, light it, Sir, How do you like it ? 
 
 Rog. I promiie you it is notable flinging geer in- 
 deed. It is wet, Sir : Lord, how it brings down 
 rheum ! 
 
 Wei. Handle it again, Sir ; you have a warm text 
 of it. 
 
 Rog. Thanks ever premis'd for it l8 . I promife 
 you it is very powerful, and, by a trope, fpiritual j 
 for, certainly, it moves in fundry places. 
 
 Wei. Ay, it does fo, Sir -, and me, efpecially, to 
 afk, Sir, why you wear a night-cap ? 
 
 Rog. Afiuredly, I will fpeak the truth unto you. 
 You fnall underfland, Sir, that my heau is broken ; 
 and by whom ? even by that vilible beafl ' 9 , the 
 butler. 
 
 Wei. The butler ! Certainly, he had all his drink 
 about him when he did it. Strike one of your grave 
 cafTock ! The offence, Sir ? 
 
 18 Tkanki ever promifcdyir it. I promife you.~\ But why thanks 
 promifed? He certainly meant to render them for the favour. I dare 
 fay, a flight corruption has crept in, from the word promife imme- 
 diately following. I make no doubt, but the Authors wrote pre- 
 mifed; i e. his thanks given by way of preface, or introduction. 
 And, as it is a term in logic too,, it has the greater analogy to Sir 
 Roger's character. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 *9 And by whom?, even by that vifible tazy?, the butler.] An in- 
 uijible but'.er would certainly be a rare curiofity. Every man, quoad 
 homo, is equally <uljible at fome times. I am perfuaded, rifible was 
 the original word ; /. e. that boifterous, noify, laughing varlet. Or, 
 perhaps, Sir Roger may ule the word in a more quaint acceptation ; 
 to fignify a man rifu dignut, worthy to be laugh 'd* at. 
 
 Mr. Sjtnpfon. 
 
 ' ' Vif.ble beaft, fay* Mr. Seward, fignifies, one that appe irs to every 
 one to be a beait.' That this was our Authors' meaning will not 
 admit of a doubt ; any more than that Mr. Sympfon's alteration is 
 arbitrary and injudicious. 
 
 VOL. I. X Rog.
 
 322 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Rog. Reproving him at tra-trip, Sir, for fwearing. 
 You have the total, furely. 
 
 Wei. You rcprov'd him when his rage was fet a-tilt, 
 and fo he crack'd your canons : I hope he has not 
 hurt your gentle reading. But fhall we fee thefe gen- 
 tlewomen to-night ? 
 
 Rog. Have patience, Sir, until our fellow Nicholas 
 be deceas'd, that is, afleep , for fo the word is taken : 
 ' To fleep, to die -, to die, to fleep 23 ;' a very figure, 
 Sir. 
 
 Wei. Cannot you caft another for the gentlewomen ? 
 
 Rog. Not till the man be in his bed, his grave ; 
 his grave, his bed : The very fame again, Sir. Our 
 comic poet gives the reafon iweetly ; Plexus rimarum 
 eft 2I , he is full of loop-holes, and will difcover to 
 our patronefs. 
 
 V/el. Your comment, Sir, hath made me underftand 
 ycu. 
 
 Enter Martha, and Abigail to them, with a pojfef. 
 
 Rog. Sir, be addrefs'd i the graces do falute you 
 with a full bowl of plenty. Is our old enemy en- 
 tomb'd ? 
 
 Abig. He's fafe. 
 
 Rog. And does he fnore out fupinely, with the 
 poet ? 
 
 20 Tojlecp, to die ; to die, tojleep ; 
 
 Not till the man be in his bed, bis grave ; his grave, bis bed ;] 
 Thefe two figures, as Sir Roger calls them, are a manifeit flirt at the 
 Hamlet of Shakefpeare, in that fine foiiloquy, which begins, To le t 
 or not to be, &C. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Though we mould fuppofe every perfon who reads this paflage 
 would confider it in the fame light as Mr. Theobald has dor;.-, yet 
 Mr. Seward thinks our Authors had no intention to flirt at Shakefpeare, 
 but meant this fpeech as a ridicule upon bad imitations of real beau- 
 ties ; ' Sir Roger's whole character being, fays he, a burlefque upon 
 * fcholarjhip? 
 
 ZI Plenus rimarum eft, he is full of loop-boles.] The comic pet, 
 whom Sir Roger is here quoting, is Terence, in his Eunuch. 
 Farm. Plenus rimarum fum, hac atque iliac ferfluo. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Mar.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 323 
 
 Mar. No, he out-fnores the poet. 
 
 Wei. Gentlewoman, this courtefy fhall bind a 
 ftranger to yon, ever your fervant. 
 
 Mar. Sir, my filler's ftriftnefs makes not us for- 
 get you are a ftranger and a gentleman. 
 
 Abig. In footh, Sir, were I changed into my lady, 
 a gentleman, fo well endued v/ith parts, mould not be 
 loit. 
 
 Wei. I thank you, gentlewoman, and reft bound to 
 you. See, how this foul familiar chews the cud ! 
 From thee and three-and-fifty, good Love, deliver me ! 
 
 Mar. Will you fit down, Sir, and take a fpoon ? 
 
 WeL I take it kindly, lady. 
 
 Mar. It is our beft banquet, Sir. 
 
 Rog. Shall we give thanks ? 
 
 Wei. I have to the gentlewomen already, Sir. 
 
 Mar. Good Sir Roger, keep that breath to cool 
 your part o' th' poflet ; you may chance have a fc aid- 
 ing zeal elfe ; an you will needs be doing, pray tell 
 your twenty to yourfelf. 'Would you could like 
 this, Sir ? 
 
 Wei. I would your filler would like me as well, 
 Jady ! 
 
 Mar. Sure, Sir, Ihe would not eat you. But ba- 
 nifli that imagination , flic's only wedded to herfelf, 
 lies with herlelf, and loves herfelf ; and for another 
 hufband than herfelf, he may knock at the gate, but 
 ne'er come in. Be wife, Sir, (he's a woman, and a 
 trouble, and has her many faults j the leaft of which 
 is, me cannot love you. 
 
 Abig. God pardon her, me'll do worfe ! 'Would 
 I were worthy his leaft grief, miftrcfs Martha. 
 
 Wei. Now I muft over-hear her. 
 
 Mar. Faith, 'would thou hadft them all with all 
 my heart , I do not think they would make thee a 
 day older. 
 
 Abig. Sir, will you put in deeper , 'tis the fweeter. 
 
 Mar. Well laid, old fayings. 
 
 Wei. She looks like one, indeed. Gentlewoman, 
 X 2 you
 
 324 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 you keep your word -, your fweet felf has made the 
 
 bottom fweeter. 
 
 Abig. Sir, I begin a frolic : Dare you change, Sir ? 
 
 Wei. Myfelf for you, fo pleafe you. That fmile 
 has turn'd my ftomach : This is right the old emblem 
 of the moyle cropping of thiftles. Lord, what a 
 hunting head me carries ! fure (he has been ridden 
 with a martingale. Now, Love, deliver me ! 
 
 Rog. Do I dream, or do I wake ? furely, I know 
 not. Am I rub'd off? Is this the way of all my 
 morning prayers ? Oh, Roger, thou art but grafs, 
 and woman as a flower ! Did I for this confume my 
 quarters " in meditation, vows, and woo'd her in he- 
 roical epiftles ? Did I expound the Owl * 3 , and under- 
 took, with labour and expcnce, the recollection of 
 thofe thoufand pieces, conlum'd in cellars, and to- 
 bacco-mops, of that our honour'd Englimman Nic. 
 Broughton i4 ? Have I done this, and am I done thus 
 to ? I will end with the wife man, and fay, 4 He that 
 holds a woman, has an eel by the tail.' 
 
 Mar. Sir, 'tis fo late, and our entertainment (mean- 
 ing our poflet) by this is grown fo cold, that 'twere an 
 unmannerly part longer to hold you from your reft. 
 Let what the houfe has be at your command, Sir. 
 
 41 Did 1 for this cor.fume my quarters.] If Sir Roger means hb 
 body, as Mr. Sympfon obferved to me, one mould conjecture, that 
 carcafs was more fignificant, if not more obvious to be underftood. 
 
 Mr. TbeobaU. 
 
 We have retained the old word, quarters, becaufe it may refer to 
 time, as well as to Sir Roger's perfon. 
 
 ZJ Did 1 expound the Owl.] TheOiv/is evidently fome piece of 
 Nich. Broughtou's, or fome fuch doug bty writers. Mr. SeiuarJ. 
 
 M- Of that our honoured Englifimau, Ni. Br] The Poets, I do not 
 apprehend, had any intention of finking, or making a fecret, of this 
 author's name. He was fo well known at that time of day, that the 
 copyifts thought they might fafely give us his name abbreviated. He 
 was a voluminous writer, who, among other things, compiled an 
 elaborate trail about Fifth -Monarchy -Men. Ben Jonfon, in his Al- 
 chemift, has made Dol Common, in her ecftatick fit to Sir Epicure 
 Mammon, talk very largely oat of the works of this Nich. Broughton. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Wei
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 325 
 
 Wei. Sweet reft be with you, lady. And to you 
 what you defire too. 
 
 Abig. It fhould be fome fuch good thing like your- 
 felf then. [Ex. Mar. and Abig. 
 
 Wei. Heav'n keep me from that curfe, and all my 
 iflue ! Good-night, antiquity. 
 
 Rog. Solamen miferis focios kabuiffe doloris : But I 
 alone 
 
 Wei. Learned Sir, will you bid my man come to 
 me ? and, requefting a greater mcafure of your learn- 
 ing, good-night, good matter Roger. 
 
 Rog. Good Sir, peace be with you,! [Exit Roger. 
 
 Wei. Adieu, dear Domine ! Half a dozen fuch in a 
 kingdom would make a man forfwear confeflion : For 
 who, that had but half his wits about him, would 
 commit the counfel of a ferious fin to fuch a 15 crewel 
 night-cap ? Why, how now, mall we have an antick ? 
 
 Enter fsrvant. 
 
 Whofe head do you carry upon your moulders, that 
 you joll it fo againft the poft ? is it for your eafe ? 
 or have you feen the cellar ? Where are my flippers, 
 Sir? 
 
 Ser. Here, Sir. . 
 
 Wei. Where, Sir ? Have you got the pot- vertigo * 6 ? 
 Have you feen the horfes, Sir ? 
 
 Ser. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Wei. Have they any meat ? 
 
 Ser. Faith, Sir, they have a kind of wholefome 
 rufhes ; hay I cannot call it. 
 
 Wei. And no provender ? 
 
 *J To fuch a cruel night cap?} The poets, as Mr. Sympfon ob- 
 ferv'd with me, certainly wrote, crnud ', i. e. made of the ends of 
 coarfe vjorjied. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 16 Have you got tke pot-vtidago ?] Verdugo is a word of Spani(h 
 extraftion ; but, amonglt all the figmfications in which it is taken, it 
 has no one confonant to the idea ai.d meaning here required. The 
 poets mull certainly have wrote vertigo, a dizzincfs, or fwimming in 
 the head, with drink. Mr. Ibcobatd. 
 
 X Ser.
 
 326 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Ser. Sir, fo I take it. 
 
 Wei. You are merry, Sir ; and why fo ? 
 
 Ser. Faith, Sir, here are no oats to be got, unlefs 
 you'll have 'em in porridge ; the people are fo mainly 
 given to fpoon-meat. Yonder's a caft of coach-mares 
 of the gentlewoman's, the flrangeft cattle. 
 
 WeL Why? 
 
 Ser. Why, they are tranfparent, Sir j you may fee 
 through them : And fuch a houfe ! 
 
 WeL Come, Sir, the truth of your difcovery. 
 
 Ser. Sir, they are in tribes like Jews : The kitchen 
 and the dairy make one tribe, and have their faction 
 and their fornication within themfelves , the buttery 
 and the landry are another, and there's no love loft ; 
 the chambers are entire, and what's done there is 
 fomewhat higher than my knowledge. But this I am 
 fare, between thefe copulations, a ftranger is kept 
 virtuous, that is, falling. But, of all this, the drink, 
 g; r 
 
 ~ WeL What of that, Sir? 
 
 Ser. Faith, Sir, I will handle it as the time and 
 your patience will give me leave. This drink, or this 
 cooling julap, of which three fpoonfulls kill the ca- 
 lenture, a pint breeds the cold palfy 
 
 WeL Sir, you belye the houfe. 
 
 Ser.\ would I did, Sir. But, as I am a true man, 
 if it v/ere but one degree colder, nothing but an afs's 
 hoof would hold it 1? . 
 
 -if it ixere but one degree 
 
 Colder, nothing but an afs's hoof would bold it,] It is one pe- 
 culiar impropriety in oar authors, (who, to be fure, ought every 
 where to fhew their learning, fo it be done without pedantry j) that 
 they too frequently put it in the mouths of characters, who cannot 
 well be fcppofed to know any thing of the matter. The allufion 
 here is to thofe extreme cold -waters which flow'd down from the 
 mountain Nonacris in Arcadia, and which would penetrate thro' every 
 vehicle but that of an horfe's hoof; as Juftin tel's us in the xiith 
 Book of his Hiltory. Plutarch and ^Elian fay, it was an afs's hoof. 
 Adrian, Pliny, and Vitruvius, a mule's : And Quintus Curtius, an 
 ox's. The variation in this point is of very little confequence. They 
 were of fo very cold a quality, as to be mortal to thofe who drank of 
 them. Mr, Theobald.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 327 
 
 WcL I am glad on't, Sir ; for, if it had prov'd 
 (Ironger, you had been tongue-ty'd of thefe commen- 
 dations. Light me the candle, Sir ; I'll hear no more. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Young Lovelefs, and bis comrades, with wenches, 
 
 and two fiddlers. 
 To. Lo. Come, my brave man of war, trace out thy 
 
 darling , 
 
 And you, my learned council, fet and turn, boys ; 
 Kifs till the cow come home -, kifs clofe, kifs clofe, 
 
 knaves. 
 My modern poet, thou fhaltkifs in couplets. 
 
 Enter fervant, with wine. 
 
 Strike up, you merry varlets, and leave your peeping ; 
 This is no pay for fiddlers. 
 
 Capt. Oh, my dear boy, thy Hercules, thy captain, 
 Makes thee his Hylas, his delight, his folace. 
 Love thy brave man of war, and let thy bounty 
 Clap him in Ihamois ! 
 
 Let there be deducted out of our main potation 
 Five marks, in hatchments to adorn this thigh, 
 Cramp'd with this reft of peace 4i , and I will fight 
 Thy battks. 
 
 To. Lo. Thou malt have't, boy, and fly in feather ; 
 Lead on a march, you michers * 9 . 
 
 ^ Five marks in hatchments to adorn tbii thigh, 
 
 Crampt with this reft of peace.'} The reji of peace is a little 
 tautological, and I believe the original was, 
 
 Cramped with the ruft of peace. 
 
 i. e. Cramp'd with wearing fuch a rufty fword as a long peace had 
 reduc'd him to. He wanted to have a new fword, or at lealt to have 
 his old one i;ew batch" d: The batch of the fword is the gilded wire 
 of the handle, or the;*'// of it in general. Mr. Sward. 
 
 We have no doubt of reft being the proper word, becaufe the 
 Captain complains of his thigh being cramfd-, which it might be by 
 a want of exercife, but hardly by having a ruity, any moic than a 
 bright, fword hanging near it. 
 
 Z 9 Ton michers.] i. e. Idlers, loiterers. 
 
 X 4 Enter
 
 328 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Enter Savil. 
 
 Sav. Oh, my head, oh, my heart, what a noife and 
 change is here ! 'Would I had been cold i' th' mouth 
 before this day, and ne'er have liv'd to fee this diflb- 
 lution. He that lives within a mile of this place, had 
 as good fleep in the perpetual noife of an iron-mill. 
 There's a dead fea of drink i' th' cellar, in which 
 goodly veflels lie wreck'd ; and, in the middle of this 
 deluge, appear the tops of flagons and black-jacks, 
 like churches drown'd i' th' marihes. 
 
 To. Lo. What, art thou come, my fweet Sir Amias ? 
 Welcome to Troy ! Come, thou mail kifs my Helen, 
 And court her in a dance. 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, confider. 
 
 To. Lo. Shall we confider, gentlemen ? how fay you , ? 
 
 Capt. Confider ! That were a fimple toy, i 3 faith. 
 Conlider ! Whofe moral's that ? The man that cries 
 ' Confider,' is our foe : Let my fteel know him. 
 
 To. Lo. Stay thy dead-doing hand ; he muft not 
 
 die yet : 
 Prithee be calm, my Hector, 
 
 Capt. Peafant flave! 
 
 Thou groom compos'd of grudgings, live and thank 
 This gentleman -, thou hadit feen Pluto elfe ! 
 The next ' confider' kills thee. 
 
 Trav. Let him drink down his word again, in a 
 gallon of fack. 
 
 Poet. 'Tis but a fnuff; make it two gallons, and 
 let him do it kneeling in repentance. 
 
 Sav. Nay, rather kill me ; there's but a lay-man 
 loft. Good captain, do your office. 
 
 To. Lo. Thou malt drink, fteward ; drink and dance, 
 my fteward. Strike him a hornpipe, fqueakers ! 
 Take thy ftiver, and pace her till me ftew J0 . 
 
 Sav. 
 
 * Take thy ftriver, and pace her till Jbe f.eiu."\ Here is both ob- 
 fcurity and r.onfenfe, from the cafual interpofition of one unneceJTary 
 letter. Stive was the old and obfolete term for the/wv ; and eon- 
 
 ' fequcntl/,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 329 
 
 Sav. Sure, Sir, I cannot dance with 1 your gentle- 
 women i they are too light for me. Pray break my 
 head, and let me go. 
 
 Capt. He mail dance, he mall dance. 
 
 To. Lo. He mall dance, and drink, and be drunk 
 and dance, and be drunk again, and mall fee no meat 
 in a year. 
 
 Poet. And three quarters. 
 
 To. Lo. And three quarters be it. 
 
 Capt. Who knocks there ? let him in. 
 
 Enter Elder Lowlefs, difguis'd.. 
 
 Sav. Some to deliver me, I hope. 
 
 EL Lo. Gentlemen, God fave you all ! My bufmefs 
 is to one mafter Lovelefs. 
 
 Capt. This is the gentleman you mean ; view him, 
 and take his inventory, he's a right one. 
 
 El. Lo. He promifes no lefs, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Sir, your bufmefs ? 
 
 El. Lo. Sir, I mould let you know, yet I am loth, 
 yet I am fworn to't ! 'Would fome other tongue 
 would fpeak it for me ! 
 
 To. Lo. Out with it, i' God's name. 
 
 El.Lo. All I defire, Sir, is the patience and 
 fuff'rance of a man ; and, good Sir, be not mov'd 
 more 
 
 To. Lo. Than a pottle of fack will do. Here is 
 my hand ; prithee, thy bufmefs ? 
 
 El. Lo. Good Sir, excufe me ; and whatfoever you 
 hear, think muft have been known unto you ; and 
 be yourfelf, difcrete, and bear it nobly. 
 
 To. Lo. Prithee difpatch me. 
 
 El. Lo. Your brother's dead, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Thou doft not mean dead drunk ? 
 
 fequently, a Jiiver, as it mould be reitored in the text, was a girl, a 
 ftrumpet, who ply'd there. Hence, perhaps, might come the word 
 Jlii}er too, to fignify that incooficlerable coin (the fifth part of an 
 Englifti Penny) the pay of thefe mean proftitutes, thefe meretritcs 
 diobolares, as FJautus ftyles them. Mr. ThiobaM. 
 
 El.Lo.
 
 330 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 1. Lo. No, no ; dead and drown'd at fea, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Art fure he's dead ? 
 
 EL Lo. Too fure ? Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Ay, but art thou very certainly fure of it ? 
 
 El. Lo. As fure, Sir, as I tell it. 
 
 To. Lo. But art thou fure he came not up again ? 
 
 El. Lo. He may come up, but ne'er to call you 
 brother. 
 
 To. Lo. But art fure he had water enough to drown 
 him ? 
 
 El. Lo. Sure, Sir, he wanted none. 
 
 To. Lo. I would not have him want , I lov'd him 
 better. Here, I forgive thee ; and, i'faith, be plain ; 
 how do I bear it ? 
 
 El. Lo. Very wifely, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Fill him fome wine. Thou doll not fee 
 me mov'd ; thefe tranfitory toys ne'er trouble me ; 
 he's in a better place, my friend, I know't. Some 
 fellows would have cry'd now, and have curs'd thee, 
 and fall'n out with their meat, and kept a pother -, but 
 all this helps not : He was too good for us, and let 
 God keep him ! There's the right ufe on't, friend. 
 Off with thy drink ; thou haft a fpice of forrow makes 
 thee dry : Fill him another. Savil, your mafter's 
 dead ; and who am I now, Savil ? Nay, let's ail bear 
 it well. Wipe, Savil, wipe ; tears are but thrown 
 away. We mail have wenches now ; mail we not, 
 Savil ? 
 
 Sav. Yes, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. And drink innumerable ? 
 
 Sav. Yes, forfooth. 
 
 To. Lo. And you'll ftrain court'fy, and be drunk a 
 little ? 
 
 Sav. I would be glad, Sir, to do my weak endea- 
 vour. 
 
 To. Lo. You may be brought in time to love a 
 wench too. 
 
 Sav. In time the fturdy oak, Sir 
 
 To. Lo. Some more wine for my friend there. 
 
 El.Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 331 
 
 El. Lo. I fhall be drunk anon for my good news ; 
 But I have a loving brother, that's my comfort. 
 
 To. Lo. Here's to you, Sir , this is the word I wifh 
 you for your news : And if I had another elder bro- 
 ther, and fay, it were his chance to feed haddocks, I 
 fhould be ftill the fame you fee me now, a poor con- 
 tented gentleman. More wine for my friend there ; 
 he's dry again. 
 
 El. Lo. I fhall be, if I follow this beginning. Well, 
 my dear brother, if I 'fcape this drowning, 'tis your 
 turn next to fink , you fhall duck twice before I help 
 you. Sir, I cannot drink more ; pray let me have 
 your pardon. 
 
 To. Lo. Oh, lord, Sir, it is your modefty ! More 
 wine ; give him a bigger glafs. Hug him, my Cap- 
 tain ! Thou malt be my chief mourner. 
 . Cap. And this my pennon. Sir, a full caroufe to 
 you, and to my lord of land here. 
 
 El. Lo. I feel a buzzing in my brains ; pray God 
 they bear this out, and I'll ne'er trouble them fo far 
 again. Here's to you, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. To my dear fte ward. Down o* your knees, 
 you infidel, you pagan ! be drunk, and penitent. 
 
 Sav. Forgive me, Sir, and I'll be any thing. 
 
 To. Lo. Then be a bawd ; I'll have thee a brave 
 bawd. 
 
 El. Lo. Sir, I muft take my leave of you, my bufi- 
 nefs is fo urgent. 
 
 To. Lo. Let's have a bridling caft, before you go. 
 Fill's a new ftoop. 
 
 El. Lo. I dare not, Sir, by no means. 
 
 To.Lo. Have you any mind to a wench ? I would 
 fain gratify you for the pains you took, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. As little as to the other. 
 
 To. Lo. If you find any ftirring, do but fay fo. 
 
 El. Lo. Sir, you're too bounteous : When I feel 
 
 that itching, you fhall afiliage it, Sir, before another. 
 
 . This only, and farewell, Sir : Your brother, when 
 
 the ftorm was moft extreme, told all about him, he 
 
 left
 
 33 2 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 left a will, which lies clofe behind a chimney in the 
 matted chamber. And fo, as well, Sir, as you have 
 made me able, I take my leave. 
 
 To. Lo. Let us embrace him all ! If you grow dry 
 before you end your bufmefs, pray take a bait here ; 
 I have a frelh hogfhead for you. 
 
 Sav. You mall neither will, nor choofe, Sir. My 
 mafter is a wonderful fine gentleman ; has a 'fine ftate, 
 a very fine ftate, Sir j I am his fteward, Sir,, and his 
 man. 
 
 El. Lo. Would you were your own, Sir, as I left 
 you. Well, I mutt caft about, or all finks. 
 
 Sav. Farewell, gentleman, gentleman, gentleman ! 
 
 El. Lo. What would you with me, Sir ? 
 
 Sav. Farewell, gentleman ! 
 
 El. Lo. Oh, fleep, Sir, fleep. [Ex. El. Lo. 
 
 To. Lff. Well, boys, you (ee what's fall'n ; let's in 
 and drink, and give thanks for it. 
 
 Capf. Let's give thanks for it. 
 
 To. Lo. Drunk, as I live. 
 
 Sav. Drunk, as I live, boys. 
 
 To. Lo. Why, now thou art able to difcharge thine 
 office, and caft up a reckoning of fome weight. I 
 will be knighted, for my ftate will bear it , 'tis fix- 
 teen hundred, boys! Off with your hufks; I'll fkin 
 you all in fattin. 
 
 Capt. Oh, fweet Lovelefs ! 
 
 Sav. All in fattin ! Oh, fweet Lovelefs ! 
 - To. Lo. March in, my noble compeers ! And this, 
 my countefs, (hall be led by two : - And fo proceed we 
 to the will. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Morecraft and Widow. 
 
 Mor. And, Widow, as I fay, be your own friend : 
 Your hufband left you wealthy, ay, and wife , con- 
 tinue fo, fweet duck, continue fo. Take heed of 
 young fmooth varlets, younger brothers , they are 
 worms that will eat through your bags , they are very 
 light'ning, that with a flam or two will melt your 
 
 money,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 333 
 
 money, and never fmge your purfe-ftrings ; they are 
 colts, wench, colts, heady and dangerous, 'till we 
 take 'em up, and make 'em fit for bonds. Look 
 upon me ; I have had, and have yet, matter of mo- 
 ment, girl, matter of' moment : You may meet with 
 a worfe back -, I'll not commend it. 
 
 Wti. Nor I neither, Sir. 
 
 Mor. Yet thus far, by your favour, Widow, 'tis 
 tough. 
 
 Wid. And therefore not for my diet j for I love a 
 tender one. 
 
 Mor. Sweet Widow, leave your frumps, and be 
 edified : You know my ftate , I fell no perspectives, 
 fcarfs, gloves, nor hangers, nor put my truft in fhce- 
 ties i and where your hufband in an age was rifing by 
 burnt figs, dredg'd with meal and powdered fugar, 
 faunders, and grains, wormieed and rotten raifins, 
 and fuch vile tobacco that made the footmen mangy-, 
 I, in a year, have put up hundreds-, inclos'd, my 
 Widow, thofe pleafant meadows, by a forfeit mort- 
 gage , for which the poor knight takes a lone chamber, 
 owes for his ale, and dare not beat his hoftefs. Nay, 
 more 
 
 Wid. Good Sir, no more. Whate'er my hufband 
 was, I know what I am -, and, if you marry me, you 
 muft bear it bravely off, Sir. 
 
 Mor. Not with the head, fweet Widow. 
 
 Wid. No, fweet Sir, but with your fhoulders. I 
 muft have you dubb'd ; for under that I will not 
 ftoop a feather. My hufband was a fellow lov'd to 
 toil, fed ill, made gain his exercife, and fo grew 
 coftive, which, for that I was his wife, I gave way to, 
 and fpun mine own fmocks coarfe, and, Sir, fo little 
 
 But let that pafs : Time, that wears all things 
 
 out, wore out this hufband -, who, in penitence ot 
 fuch fruitlefs five years marriage, left me great with 
 his wealth ; which, if you'll be a worthy gofiip to, 
 be knighted, Sir. 
 
 Enttr
 
 334 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Enter Savil. 
 
 Mor. Now, Sir, from whom come you ? whole 
 man are you, Sir ? 
 
 Sav. Sir, I come from young mailer Lovelefs. 
 
 Mor. Be filent, Sir ; I have no money, not a penny 
 /or you : He's funk j your matter's funk ; a periih'd 
 man, Sir. 
 
 Sav. Indeed, his brother's funk, Sir ; God be with 
 him ! A periih'd man, indeed, and drown'd at fea. 
 
 Mor. How faidft thou, good my friend ? his bro- 
 ther drown'd ? 
 
 Sav. Untimely, Sir, at lea. 
 
 Mor. And thy young mailer left fole heir ? 
 
 Sav. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Mor. And he wants money ? 
 
 Sav. Yes ; and fent me to you, for he is now to b~ 
 knighted. 
 
 Mor. Widow, be wife ; there's more land coming, 
 Widow-, be very wife, and give thanks forme, Widow. 
 
 Wid. Be you very wife, and be knighted, and then 
 give thanks for me, Sir. 
 
 Sav. What fays your worlhip to this money ? 
 
 Mor. I fay, he may have money, if he pleaie. 
 
 Sav. A thoufand, Sir ? 
 
 Mor. A thoufand, Sir, provided, any wife, Sir, his 
 land lie for the payment , otherwife 
 
 Enter Young Lovtlefs and comrades^ to them. 
 
 Sav. He's here himfelf, Sir, and can better tell you. 
 
 Mor. My notable dear friend, and worthy m after 
 Lovelefs, and now right worfhipful, all joy and 
 welcome ! 
 
 To. Lo. Thanks to my dear inclofer, mafter More- 
 craft. Prithee, old angel-gold, falute my family j I'll 
 do as much for yours, This, and your own dedres, 
 fair gentlewoman. 
 
 Wid. And yours, Sir, if you mean well. 'Tis a 
 handfome gentleman. 
 
 To. Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 335 
 
 To. Lo. Sirrah, my brother's dead. 
 
 Mor. Dead ? 
 
 To.Lo. Dead j and by this time fous'd for Ember- 
 week. 4^ 
 
 Mor. Dead ? 
 
 To. Lo. Drown'd, drown'd at fea, man. By the 
 next frefh conger that comes we mall hear more. 
 
 Mor. Now, by the faith of my body, it moves me 
 much. 
 
 To. Lo. What, wilt thou be an afs, and weep for 
 the dead ? Why, I thought nothing but a general in- 
 undation would have mov'd thee. Prithee, be quiet ; 
 he hath left his land behind him. 
 
 Mor. Oh, has he fo ? 
 
 To. Lo. Yes, faith, I thank him for't : I've all, 
 boy. Haft any ready money ? 
 
 Mor. Will you fell, Sir ? 
 
 To. Lo. No, not outright, good Gripe. Marry, a 
 mortgage, or fuch a flight fecurity. 
 
 Mor. I have no money, Sir, for mortgage: If you'll 
 fell, and all or none, I'll work a new mine for you. 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, look before you ; he'll work you 
 out of all elfe. If you fell all your land, you have 
 fold your country ; and then you muft to lea, to feck 
 your brother, and there lie pickled in a powdering- 
 tub, and break your teeth with bifcuits and hard 
 beef, that muft have watering, Sir : And where' s 
 your three hundred pounds a- year in drink then? 
 If you'll turn up the Straits, you may ; for you have 
 no calling for drink there, but with a cannon, nor 
 no fcoring but on your fhip's fides ; and then, if you 
 'fcape with life, and take a faggot-boat and a bottle 
 of ufquebaugh, come home, poor man, like a type 
 of Thames-itreet, (linking of pitch and poor-John. 
 I cannot tell, Sir ; I would be loth to fee it. 
 
 Capt. Steward, you are an afs, a meazel'd mungrel ; 
 and, were it not againft the peace of my Ibvereign 
 friend here, I would break your forecafting coxcomb, 
 dog, I would, even with thy ftufF of office there, thy 
 
 pen
 
 336 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 pen and inkhorn. Noble boy, the god of gold here 
 has fed thee well 31 ; take money for thy dirt. Hark, 
 and believe , thou art cold of conftituticn, thy feat 
 unhealthful j fell and be wife : We are three that will 
 adorn thee, and live according to thine own heart, 
 child , mirth fhall be only ours, and only ours mall 
 be the black-ey'd beauties of the time. Money makes 
 men eternal. 
 
 Poet. Do what you will, it is the nobleft courfe : 
 Then you may live without the charge of people ; 
 only we four will make a family ; ay, and an age 
 that will beget new annals, in which I'll write thy 
 life, my fon of pleafure, equal with Nero and Ca- 
 ligula. 
 
 To. Lo. What men were they, Captain ? 
 
 Capt. Two roaring boys of Rome, that made all fplit, 
 
 To. Lo. Come, Sir, what dare you give ? 
 
 Sav. You will not fell, Sir ? 
 
 To. Lo. Who told you fo, Sir ? 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, have a care. 
 
 To. Lo. Peace, or I'll tack your tongue up to your 
 roof. What money ? fper:k. 
 
 Mar. Six thoufand pounds, Sir. 
 
 Capt. Take it ; h'as overbidden, by the fun ; bind 
 him to his bargain quickly. 
 
 To. Lo. Come, ftrike me luck with earneft, and 
 draw the writings. 
 
 Mcr. There's a god's penny for thee. 
 
 Sav. Sir, for my old mailer's fake, let my farm be 
 excepted : If I become his tenant, I am undone, my 
 children beggars, and my wife God knows what. 
 Confider me, dear Sir. 
 
 31 Tie go J of gold here has ftd thee <UY//.] Mr. Seward imagines, 
 ' that the laft lyllable of the true word only remained in the copy, 
 ' fed, which the editors altered \nfcd\ .r.r.d therefore propofes read- 
 ing advifcd. Though we think his fuggeftion ingenious, the varia- 
 tion from the old authorities is too great, for us to admit advifed into 
 the text. It is very probable the Captain means, * Morecraft has 
 hitherto />//, fuelled, you well with money ; and do not break off 
 * with him now.' 
 
 Mor.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 337 
 
 Mor. I'll have all or none. 
 
 To. Lo. All in, all in. Difpatch the writings. 
 
 [Exit witb Com. 
 
 Wid. Go, thou art a pretty forehanded fellow ! 
 'Would, thou wert wifer. 
 
 Sav. Now do I fenfibly begin to feel 
 Mylelf a rafcal ! 'Would I could teach a fchool, 
 Or beg, or lye well : I am utterly undone. 
 Now he, that taught thee to deceive and cozen, 
 Take thee to his mercy ! So be it. [Exit. 
 
 Mor. Come, Widow, come, never ftand upon a 
 knighthood; it is a mere paper honour, and not 
 proof enough for a ferjeant. Come, come, I'll make 
 thee 
 
 Wid. To anfwer in fhort, 'tis this, Sir. No knight, 
 no Widow : If you make me any thing, it muft be a 
 lady ; and fo I take my leave. 
 
 Mor. Farewell, fweet Widow, and think of it. 
 
 Wid. Sir, I do more than think of it j it makes me 
 dream, Sir. [Exit Wid. 
 
 Mor. She's rich and fober, if this itch were from 
 her : And, fay, I be at the charge to pay the footmen, 
 and the trumpets, ay, and the horfemen too, and be 
 a knight, and fhe refufe me then : 
 Then am I hoiit into the fubfidy, 
 And fo by confequence mould prove a coxcomb : 
 I'll have a care of that. Six thoufand pound. 
 And then the land is mine : There's fome refrefhing 
 yet. [Exit* 
 
 VOL. L Y ACf
 
 333 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 .ACT III, 
 
 Enter Abigail, and drops her glove. 
 
 . TF he but follow me, as all my hopes 
 X Tell me he's man enough, up goes my reft, 
 And, I know, I lhall draw him. 
 
 Enter Welford. 
 
 Wei. This is the ftrangeft pamper'd piece of fleih 
 towards fifty, that ever frailty cop'd withal. What 
 a trim / 'envoy here me has put upon me 3 * : Thefe wo- 
 men are a proud kind of cattle, and love this whore- 
 fon doing fo directly, that they will not ftick to make 
 their very fkins bawds to their flefh. Here's dogfkin 
 and ftorax fufficient to kill a hawk : What to do with 
 it, befide nailing it up 3} amongft Irifh heads of 
 teer, to fhew the mightinefs of her palm, I know not. 
 There me is : I muft enter into dialogue. 
 Lady, you ha\ie loft your glove. 
 
 Abig. Not, Sir, if you have found it. 
 
 Wei. It was my meaning, lady, to reftore it. 
 
 Abig. 'Twill be uncivil in me to take back 
 A favour fortune hat.h fo well beftow'd, Sir. 
 - Pray, wear it for me. 
 
 Wei. I had rather wear a bell. But, hark you, 
 
 miflrefs, 
 
 W r hat hidden virtue Is there in this glove, 
 , That you would have me wear it ? Is it good 
 
 Jl What a trim 1'envoy here Jbt has put upon tne.~\ L 1 envoy fign'fies 
 an ambaiTador, emiflhry, go-between. It is a term ftill in ufe to fig- 
 nify a minijler. Weiford (peaks with reference to Abigail's glove, 
 \vfcich fhe drops when flie enters. 
 
 * : Atnongfl Irifii beads of teer, to Jhtiu tie might itiefs of her palm.] 
 Ten- is the Iriili pronunciation of detr \ the palm, or palmer, is cail'd 
 the crown of a flag's head . Mr. 
 
 Again It
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 339 
 
 Againft fore eyes, or will it charm the tooth-ach ? 
 
 Or thefe red tops, being fteep'd in white-wine foluble, 
 
 Will 't kill the itch ? or has it fo conceal'd 
 
 A providence to keep my hand from bonds ? 
 
 If it have none of thefe, and prove no more 
 
 But a bare glove of half-a-crown a pair, 
 
 'Twill be but half a courtefy , I wear two always. 
 
 Faith, let's draw cuts ; one will do me no pleafure. 
 
 Alrig. The tendernefs of 's years keeps him as yet 
 In ignorance : He's a well-moulded fellow, 
 And I wonder his blood fliould ftir no higher j 
 But 'tis his want of company : I muft 
 Grow nearer to him. 
 
 Enter Eldtr Lovelefs difguis'd. 
 
 El. Lo, God fave you both ! 
 Abig. And pardon you, Sir ! This is fomewhat rude : 
 How came you hither ? 
 
 El Lo. Why, through the doors , they are open. 
 Wei. What are you ? and what bufmefs' have you 
 
 here? 
 
 EL 1 6. More, I believe, than you have. 
 Abig. Who would this fellow fpeak with ? Art thou 
 
 fober ? 
 
 EL Lo. Yes ; I come not here to fleep. 
 V/el. Prithee, what art thou ? 
 El. Lo. As much, gay man, as thou art ; I am a 
 
 gentleman. 
 
 Wei. Art thou no more ? 
 
 EL Lo. Yes, more than thou dar'ft be ; a foldier. 
 Abig. Thou doft not come to quarrel? 
 EL Lo. No, not with women. I come here to fpeak 
 With a gentlewoman. 
 Abig. Why, I am one. 
 EL Lo. But not with one fo gentle. 
 Wei. This is a fine fellow. 
 EL Lo. Sir, I'm not fine yet. I am but new come 
 
 over; 
 Direcl me with your ticket to your tailor, 
 
 Y 2 And
 
 340 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 And then I fhall be fine, Sir> Lady, if there be 
 A better of your fex within this houfe, 
 Say I would fee her. 
 
 Abig. "Why, am not I good enough for you, Sir ? 
 
 EL Lo. Your way you'll be too good. Pray, end 
 
 my bufmefs. 
 This is another fuitor : Oh, frail woman ! 
 
 Wei. This fellow, with his bluntnefs, hopes to do 
 More than the long fuits of a thoufand could 34 : 
 Tho' he be four, he's quick ; I muft not truft him. 
 Sir, this lady is not to fpeak with you , (he is more 
 ferious. You fmell as if you were new calk'd ; go r 
 and be handfome, and then you may fit with the 
 iervingmen. 
 
 EL Lo. What are you, Sir ? 
 
 WeL Troth, guefs by my outfide. 
 
 EL Lo. Then, I take you, Sir, for fome new filken 
 thing, wean'd from the country, thatm-all (when you 
 come to keep good company) be beaten into better 
 manners. Pray, good proud gentlewoman, help me to 
 your miflrels. 
 
 We). How many lives hail thou, that thou talk'fl 
 thus rudely 35 ? 
 
 EL Lo. But one, one , I am neither cat nor woman. 
 
 WeL And will that one life, Sir, maintain you ever 
 In fuch bold faucinefs ? 
 
 3* Ib'n felio-jj, <vcith bis bluntnefs, &c.J So Shakefpeare, in his 
 King Lear, Ad II. 
 
 This is fome fellaiv. 
 
 Who- having been praiidfor bluntnefs, doth ajfctt 
 A faucy roughnefs ; and conjlrains the garb, 
 >uite from his nature. He can t flatter, be I 
 An hor.eft mind and plain, be muft fpeak truth ; 
 An they will take it, fo ; if not, be^s jlain. 
 Thefc kind of knaves I know, ivbicb in this plainntfs 
 Harbour more craft , and more corrupter ends, 
 Than twenty filly ducking ebfet wants, 
 That Jlretch tieir duties nicely. 
 
 ' *' Abig. Ho<w many lives, &c.] All the copies place this fpeech 
 to Abigail. We h:ive ventured to transfer it to Weiford; which his 
 next fpeech, we think, fully warrants us to do. 
 
 EL Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 341 
 
 El. Lo. Yes, 'mongft a nation of fuch men as you 
 
 are, 
 
 And be no worfe for wearing. Shall I (peak 
 With this lady ? 
 
 Abig. No, by my troth, (hall you not. 
 
 El. Lo. I mud itay here then. 
 
 Wei. That you (hall not, neither. 
 
 EL Lo. Good fine thing, tell me why ? 
 
 Wei. Good angry thing, I'll tell you : 
 This is no place for fuch companions , 
 Such loufy gentlemen (hall find their bufmefs 
 Better i' th' fuburbs ; there your ftron<* pitch- perfume, 
 Mingled with lees -of ale, (hall reek in famion : 
 This is no Thames -Street, Sir. 
 
 Abig. This gentleman informs you truly. 
 Prithee, be fatisfied, and feek the fuburbs, 
 Good captain, or whatever title elfe 
 The warlike eel-boats have beftow'd upon thee. 
 Go and reform thyfelf; prithee be fweeter; 
 And know, my lady fpeaks with no fuch fwabbers. 
 
 El. Lo. You cannot talk me out with your tradition 
 Of wit you pick from plays ; go to, I have found ye. 
 And for you, tender Sir, whofe gentle blood 
 Runs in your nofe, and makes you fnufFat all 
 But three-pil'd people ' 6 , I do let you know, 
 He that begot your worship's fattin fuit, 
 Can make no men, Sir. 1 will fee this lady, 
 And, with the reverence of your filkenmip, 
 In thefe old ornaments. 
 
 Wei. You will not, lure ? 
 
 El. Lo. Sure, Sir, I (hall. 
 
 Abig. You would be beaten out ? 
 
 El. Lo. Indeed I would not -, or, if I would be 
 
 beaten, 
 
 Pray, who (hall beat me ? This good gentleman 
 Looks as he were o' th' peace. 
 
 ' 6 But three-pil'd people ] /'. e. Wearers of velvet; the pile is the 
 foftfhr^orpluffofir. ' Mr. Utobald. 
 
 Y 3
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 Wei. Sir, you (hall fee that. Will you get you out ? 
 EL Lo. Yes , that that fliall correct your boy's 
 
 tongue. 
 
 Dare you fight ? I will ftay here dill. [They draw. 
 Abi?. Oh, their things are out ! Help, help, rbr 
 
 God's fake j 
 
 Madam ! Jefus ! They foin at one anothefr, 
 Madam ! Why, who is within there ? 
 
 Enter Lady. 
 
 Lady. Who breeds this rudenefs ? 
 
 WtL This uncivil fellow. 
 He fays he comes from fea j where, I believe, 
 H'as purg'd away his manners. 
 
 Lady. Why, what of him ? 
 
 ffiel. Why, he will rudely, without once c Goct 
 
 blefs you,' 
 
 Prefs to your privacies, and no denial 
 Muft Hand betwixt your perfon and his bufmefs. 
 I let go his ill language. 
 
 Lady. Sir, have you 
 Bufinefs with me ? 
 
 El. Lo. Madam, fome, I have ; 
 But not fo ferious to pawn my life for't. 
 If you keep this quarter, and maintain about you 
 Such knights o' th' fun as this is, to defy 
 Men of employment to you, you may live ; 
 But in what fame ? 
 
 Lady. Pray ftay, Sir, who has wrong'd you ? 
 
 El. Lo. Wrong me he cannot, though uncivilly 
 He flung his wild words at me : But to you, 
 I think, he did no honour, to deny 
 The hafte I come withal a paflage to you, 
 Though 1 feem coarfe. 
 
 Lady. Excufe me, gentle Sirj 'twas from my know-, 
 
 ledge, 
 
 And mail have no protection. And to you, Sir, 
 You have mew'd more heat than wit, and from your^ 
 feif 
 
 Have
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 343 
 Have borrow'd pow'r I never gave you here, 
 To do thefe vile unmanly things. My houfe 
 Is no blind flreet to fwagger in ; and my favours 
 Not doting yet on your unknown deferts 
 So far, that I mould make you mafterof my bufmefs. 
 My credit yet ftands fairer with the people 
 Than to be tried with fwords , and they that come 
 To do me fervice, muft not think to win me 
 With hazard of a murder. If your love 
 Confift in fury, carry it to the camp ; 
 And there, in honour of ibme common miftrefs, 
 Shorten your youth. I pray be better temper'd ; 
 And give me leave awhile, Sir. 
 
 Wei. You muft have it. [Exit Welford. 
 
 Lady. Now, Sir, yur bufmefs ? 
 
 El. Lo. Firft, I thank you for fchooling this young 
 
 fellow, 
 
 Whom his own follies, which he's prone enough 
 Daily to faH into, if you but frown, 
 Shall level him a way to his repentance. 
 Next, I mould rail at you ; but you are a woman, 
 And anger's loft upon you. 
 Lady. Why at me, Sir ? 
 I never did you wrong ; for, to my knowledge, 
 This is the firft fight of you. 
 
 EL Lo. You have done that, 
 I muft confefs, I have the leaft curfe in, 
 Becaufe the leaft acquaintance : But there be 
 (If there be honour in the minds of men) 
 Thoufands, when they fliall know what I deliver, 
 (As all good men muft mare in't) will to fhame 
 Blaft your black memory. 
 Lady. How is this, good Sir ? 
 EL Lo. 'Tis that, that, if you have a foul, will 
 
 choke it : 
 
 You've kill'd a gentleman. 
 Lady. I kill'd a gentleman ! 
 JLL Lo. You, and your cruelty, have kill'd him, 
 woman ! 
 
 Y A And
 
 344 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 And fuch a man (let me be angry in't) 
 
 Whofe leaft worth weigh'd above all womens' virtues 
 
 That are , I fpare you ail to come too : Guefs him now. 
 
 Lady. I am fo innocent, I cannot, Sir. 
 
 EL La. Repent, you mean. You are a perfect wov 
 
 man, 
 And, as the firft was, made for man's undoing. 
 
 Lady. Sir, you have mifs'd your way ; I am not fhe. 
 
 EL Lo. Would he had mifs'd his way too, though 
 
 he had wander.'d 
 
 Farther than women are ill fpoken of, 
 So he had mifs'd this mifery. You, lady 
 
 Lady. How do you do, Sir ? 
 
 El. Lo. Well enough, I hope, 
 While I can keep myfelf out from temptations. 
 
 Lady. Pray, leap into this matter ; whither would 
 you ? 
 
 EL Lo. You had a fervant, that your peevifhnefs 
 Enjoin'd to travel. 
 
 Lady. Such a one I have 
 Still, and mould be grieved it were otherwife. 
 
 EL Lo. Then have your alking, and be griev'cl j 
 
 he's dead ! 
 
 How you will anfwer for his worth I know not ; 
 But this I am fure, either he, or you, or both, 
 Were (lark mad ; elfe he might have liv'd 
 To've given a flronger teftimony to th' world, 
 Of what he might have been. He was a man 
 I knew but in his evening , ten funs after, 
 Forc'd by a tyrant ftorm, our beaten bark 
 Bulg'd under us ; in which fad parting blow 
 He call'd upon his faint, but not for life, 
 On you, unhappy woman ; and, whilft all 
 Sought to preierve their fouls, he defp'rately 
 Embfac'd a wave, crying to all that faw it, 
 f If any live, go to my Fate, that forc'd me 
 '* To this untimely end, and make her happy.' 
 His name was Lovelefs ; and I 'fcap'd the ftorm, 
 And now you have my bufmefs. 
 
 Lady,
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 345 
 
 Lady. 'Tis too much. 
 
 * Would I had been that itorm ; he had not perifh'd. 
 If you'll rail now, I will forgive you, Sir : 
 Or if you'll call in more, if any more 
 Come from his ruin, I fliall juftly fuffer 
 What they can fay : I do confefs myfelf 
 A guilty caufe in this. I would fay more, 
 But grief is grown too great to be deliver'd }7 . 
 
 EL Lo. I like this well : Thefe women are ftrange 
 things. {.Afide. 
 
 'Tis fomewhat of the lateft now to weep -, 
 You mould have wept when he was going from you, 
 And chain'd him with thofe tears at home. 
 
 Lady. 'Would you had told me then fo ; thefe two 
 
 arms 
 Had been his fea. 
 
 El. Lo. Truft me, you move me much : 
 But, fay he liv'd ; thefe were forgotten things again. 
 
 Lady. Ay, fay you fo ? 
 
 Sure, I fhpuld know that voice : This is knavery. 
 I'll fit you for it. Were he living, Sir, 
 I wpuld perfuade you to be charitable, 
 Ay, and confefs we are not all fo ill 
 As your opinion holds us. Oh, my friend, 
 What penance mail I pull upon my fault, 
 Upon my moll unworthy felt for this ? 
 
 El. Lo. Leave to love others ; 'twas fome jealoufy 
 That turn'd him defperate. 
 
 Lady. I'll be with you ftraight : 
 Are you wrung there ? [Afidt. 
 
 El. Lo. This works amain upon her. 
 
 Lady. I do confefs there is a gentleman, 
 Has borne me long good will. 
 
 EL Lo. I do not like that. \_Afide. 
 
 Lady. And vow'd a thoufand fer vices to me j 
 Tome, regardlefs of him : 
 
 37 . I would fay more, 
 
 But grief is grown too great to be deliver'd.] 
 Cur* lews loquuntur, ingentesjlupent. Mr. IhtolaU. 
 
 But
 
 3,6 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 But fince Fate, that no power can withftand, 
 Has taken from me my firft, and beft love, 
 And to weep away my youth is a mere folly, 
 I will mew you what I determine, Sir ; 
 You fhall know all. 
 
 Call Mr. Welford, there : That gentleman 
 I mean to make the model of my fortunes, 
 And, in hfs chafte embraces, keep alive 
 The memory of my loft lovely Lovelefs. 
 He is fomewhat like him too. 
 
 El. Lo. Then you can love ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, certainly, Sir : 
 
 Though it pleafe you to think me hard and cruel, 
 I hope I mall perluade you otherwife. 
 
 El. Le. I have made myfelf a fine fool. 
 
 Enter Welford. 
 
 Wei. Would you have fpoken with me, madam ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, Mr. Welford ; and I afk your pardon, 
 Before this gentleman, for being froward : 
 This kifs, and henceforth more affeftion. 
 
 El. Lo. So j it is better I were drown'd indeed. 
 
 Wei. This is a fudden paflion , God hold it ! 
 This fellow, out of his fear, fure, has 
 Perfuaded her. I'll give him a new fuit on't. 
 
 Lady. A parting kifs -, and, good Sir, let me pray 
 
 you 
 To wait me in the gallery. 
 
 Wei. I'm in another world ! 
 Madam, where you pleafe. {Exit Wei.' 
 
 EL Lo. I will to fea, 
 And 't fhall go hard but I'll be drown'd indeed. 
 
 Lady. Now, Sir, you fee I am no fuch hard-hearted 
 
 creature, 
 But time may win me. 
 
 El. Lo. You have forgot your loft love. 
 
 Lady. Alas, Sir, what would you have me do ? 
 I cannot call him back again with forrow : 
 I'll love this man as dearly -, and, bofhrew me, 
 
 I'll
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 347 
 I'll keep him far enough from fea. 
 And 'twas told me, now I remember me, 
 By an old wife woman, that my firft love 
 Should be drowned ; and fee, 'tis come about. 
 
 El. Lo. I would me had told you your fecond 
 Should be hang'd too, and let that come about : 
 But this is very ftrange. 
 
 Lady. Faith, Sir, confider all, 
 And then I know you will be of my mind : 
 If weeping could redeem him, I would weep ft ill. 
 
 El. Lo. But, fay, that I were Lovelefs, 
 And fcap'd the ftorm j how would you anfwer this? 
 
 Lady. Why, for that gentleman I would leave all the 
 world. 
 
 El. Lo. This young thing too ? 
 
 Lady. This young thing too, 
 Or any young thing clfe. Why, I would lofe my ftatc. 
 
 El. Lo. Why, then, he lives ftill : I am he, your 
 Lovelefs ! 
 
 Lady. Alas, I knew it, Sir, and for that purpofe 
 Prepar'd this pageant. Get you to your tafk, 
 And leave theie players' tricks, or I mall leave you -, 
 Indeed, I mall. Travel, or know me not. 
 
 El. Lo. Will you then marry ? 
 
 Lady. Iwillnotpromife-, take your choice. Farewell. 
 
 EL Lo. There is no other purgatory but a woman ! 
 I muft do fomething. [Exit Lovelefs. 
 
 Enter Welford. 
 
 Wd. Miftrefs, I am bold. 
 
 Lady. You are, indeed. 
 
 Wei. You fo o'erjoy'd me, Lady ! 
 
 Lady. Take heed, you furfeit not ; pray faft, and 
 
 welcome. 
 
 Wei. By this light, you love me extremely. 
 Lady. By this, and to-morrow's light, I care not 
 
 for you. 
 
 Wei. Come, come, you cannot hide it. 
 Lady. Indeed I can, where you mail never find it. 
 
 Wei.
 
 34? THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Wei. I like this mirth well, Lady. 
 
 Lady. You fhall have more on't. 
 
 Wei. I muft kifs you. 
 
 Lady. No, Sir. 
 
 Wl. Indeed, I muft. 
 
 Lady. What muft be, muft be. I will take my leave : 
 You have your parting blow. I pray commend me 
 To thofe few friends you have, that lent you hither, 
 And tell them, when you travel next, 'twere fit 
 You brought lefs brav'ry with you, and more wit ; 
 You'll never get a wife elfe. 
 
 Wtl. Are you in earneft ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, faith. Will yon eat, Sir ? 
 Your horfes will be ready ftraight -, you mail have 
 A napkin laid in the buttery for you. 
 
 Wei. Do not you love me, then ? 
 
 Lady. Yes, for that face. 
 
 Wei. It is a good one, Lady. 
 
 Lady. Yes, if 'twere not warpt ; 
 The fire in time may mend it. 
 
 Wei. Methinks, yours is none of the beft, Lady. 
 
 Lady. No, by my troth, Sir ; yet, o' my confcience, 
 You would make mift with it. 
 
 Wei. Come, pray, no more of this. 
 
 Lady. I will not : Fare you well. Ho \ who's 
 
 within there ? 
 
 Bring out the gentleman's horfes , he's in hafte ; 
 And fet fome cold meat on the table. 
 
 Wei. I have too much of that, I thank you, Lady : 
 Take to your chamber when you pleafe, there goes 
 A black one with you, Lady. 
 
 Lady. Farewell, young man ! {Exit Lady. 
 
 Wei. You have made me one. Farewell; and may 
 the curfe of a great houfe fall upon thee ; I mean,' the 
 butler ! The devil and all his works are in thefe wo- 
 men. 'Would all of my fex were of my mind ; I 
 would make 'em a new Lent, and a long one, that 
 
 flefh might be in more rev'rence with them. 
 
 Enter
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 549 
 
 Enter Abigail to him. 
 
 Abig. I am forry, Mr. Wclford 
 
 Wet. So am I, that you are here. 
 
 Abig. How does my lady ufe you ? 
 
 Wei. As I would ufe you, fcurvily. 
 
 Abig. I mould have been more kind, Sir. 
 
 Wei. I fhould have been undone then. Pray, leave 
 
 me, 
 And look t' your Tweet-meats. Hark, your lady calls. 
 
 Abig. Sir, I fhall borrow fo much time, without 
 offence. 
 
 Wei. You're nothing but offence -, for God's love, 
 leave me. 
 
 Abig. J Tis ftrange, my lady mould be fuch a 
 tyrant. 
 
 Wei. To lend you to me. 'Pray, go ftitchj good, do! 
 You are more trouble to me than a term. 
 
 Abig. I do not know how my good will, if I faid love 
 I lied not, mould any ways deferve this. 
 
 Wei. A thoufand ways, a thoufand ways ! 
 Sweet creature, let me depart in peace. 
 
 Abig. What creature, Sir ? I hope I am a woman. 
 
 Wei. A hundred, I think, by your noife. 
 
 Abig. Since you are angry, Sir, I'm bold to tell you 
 That I'm a woman, and a rib. 
 
 Wei. Of a roafted horfe. 
 
 Abig. Conftrue me that. 
 
 Wei. A dog can do it better 3 *. Farewell, Couutefs ; 
 and commend me to your lady ; tell her fhe's proud, 
 and fcurvy : And fo I commit you both to your 
 tempter. 
 
 Abig. Sweet Mr. Welford ! 
 
 Wei. Avoid, old Satanas ! Go daub your ruins, 
 Your face looks fouler than a ftorm : 
 
 j3 A dog can do it better ; farewell, Countefs.] This is not com- 
 plimental, but farcaftically fpoken. In a p^ck of hounds, an old 
 ibunch hunting-bitch is often oJi'd Ducheft, Countefi, Beauty, &c. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 The
 
 350 .THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 The footman flays you in the lobby, Lady. 
 
 Abig. If you were a gentleman, I fhould know it 
 by your gentle conditions. Are thefe fit words to 
 give a gentlewoman ? 
 
 Wei. As fit as they were made for you. 
 Sirrah, my horfes ! Farewell, old adage ! 
 Keep your nofe warm ; the, rheum will make it horn 
 elfe. [Exit Wei 
 
 Abig. The bleflings of a prodigal young heir 
 Be thy companions, Welford ! Marry, come up, my 
 
 gentleman, 
 
 Are your gums grown fo tender they can't bite ?' 
 A fkittifh filly will be your fortune, 
 Welford, and fair enough for fuch a packfaddle. 
 And I doubt not (if my aim hold) 
 To fee her made to amble to your hand. [Exit Abig. 
 Enter Young Lovelefs, and comrades, Morecraft^ Widow, 
 Savil, and the reft. 
 
 Capt. Save thy brave Ihoulder, my young puiffant 
 
 knight ! 
 
 And may thy back-fword bite them to the bone 
 That love thee not : Thou art an errant man 39 ; 
 Go on : The circumcis'd fhall fall by thee. 
 Let land and labour fill the man that tills ; 
 Thy fword muft be thy plough ^ and Jove it fpeed ! 
 Mecha lhall fweat, and Mahomet mall fall, 
 And thy dear name fill up his monument. 
 
 To. Lo. It fhall, Captain , I mean to be a worthy. 
 
 Capt. One worthy is too little ; thou malt be all. 
 
 Mor. Captain, I mall deferve fome of your love too. 
 
 Capt. Thou fhalt have heart and hand too, noble 
 
 Morecraft, 
 
 If thou wilt lend me money. 
 I am a man of garrifon j be rul'd, 
 And open to me thofe infernal gates, 
 
 39 __ . thou art an errant man, 
 
 Go on. The circumcis *d frail fall by tbee.'} i.e. A knight-errant; 
 one fit to go on the holy wars ; to fight againtt the Turks and Jews. 
 
 Mr. Theobald. 
 
 Whence
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 351 
 
 Whence none of thy evil angels pafs again, 
 And I will ftyle thee noble, nay, Don Diego ; 
 I'll wooe thy infanta for thee, and my knight 
 Shall feaft her with high meats, and make her apt. 
 
 M?r.Pardon me, Captain, you're befide my meaning. 
 
 To. Lo. No, Mr. Morecraft, 'tis the Captain's 
 
 meaning, 
 I mould prepare her for ye. 
 
 Capt. Or provoke her. 
 Speak, my modern man, I fay * provoke her.' 
 
 Poet. Captain, I fay fo too ; or ftir her to it. 
 So fay the critics. 
 
 To. Lo. But howfoever you expound it, Sir, 
 She's very welcome , and this mall ferve for witncfs. 
 And, Widow, fince you're come fo happily, 
 You mall deliver up the keys, and free 
 Poifeffion of this houfe, while I ftand by to ratify. 
 
 Wid. I had rather give it back again, believe me j 
 It is a mifery to fay, you had it. Take heed. 
 
 To. Lo. 'Tis paft that, Widow. Come, fit down. 
 
 Some wine there ! 
 
 There is a fcurvy banquet, if we had it. 
 Mr. Morecraft, all this fair houfe is yours, Sir. Savil ! 
 
 Sav. Yes, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Are your keys ready ? I muft eafe your 
 burden. 
 
 Sav. I'm ready, Sir, to be undone, when you 
 Shall call me to't. 
 
 To. Lo. Come, come, thou malt live better. 
 
 Sav. I (hall have lefs to do, that's all : 
 There's half a dozen of my friends i' th' fields, 
 Sunning againft a bank, with half a breech 
 Among 'em j I mail be with 'em fhortly. 
 The care and continual vexation 
 
 * There is a fcurvy banquet, if <v.e bid it. All this fair &on/e it 
 yours, Sir Savil ?] Thus the modern editions moft nonfenfically ex- 
 hibit this paffage; omitting ' Mr. Morecraft, 1 whom Young Lovelcfs 
 muft be addreffing. Some of the old editions aJfo omit thcfe word*, 
 but yet read fenfibly, ' All this fair loufe it yours, Sir. Savil ?' 
 
 Of
 
 352 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Of being rich, eat up this rafcal ! 
 
 What ftiall become of my poor family ? 
 
 They are no fheep, yet they muft keep themfelves. 
 
 To. Lo. Drink, m after Morecraft! Pray be merry all. 
 Nay, an you will not drink, there's no fociety. 
 Captain, ipeak loud, and drink ! Widow, a word. 
 
 Capt. Expound her throughly, knight. 
 Here, God 'o gold, here's to thy fair pofleflioris ! 
 Be a baron, and a bold one. 
 
 Leave off your tickling of young heirs like trouts, 
 And .let thy chirnnies imoke. Feed men of war, 
 Live, and be honeft, and be faved yet. 
 
 Mor. I thank you, worthy Captain, for your counfel. 
 You keep your chimnies fmoking there, your noftrils ; 
 And, when you can, you feed a man or war. 
 This makes you not a baron, but a bare one ; 
 And how or when you mall be faved, let 
 The clerk o' th* company (you have commanded) 
 Have a juft care of. 
 
 Poet. The man is much mov'd * f . Be not angry, 
 
 Sir. 
 
 But, as the poet fings 4! , let your difpleafure 
 Be a ihort fury, and go cut. You have fpoke home, 
 And bitterly to me, Sir. Captain, take truce ^ 
 The miier is a tart and a witty whoribn ! 
 
 Capt. Poet, you feign, perdie ! The wit of this man 
 Lies in his ringers ends ; he mult tell all. 
 His tongue fills his mouth like a neat's tongue, 
 And only ferves to'lick his hungry chaps 
 After a purchafe : His brains and brimftone are 
 The Devil's diet to a fat ufurer's head. 
 To her, knight, to her! clap her aboard, and ftow her. 
 
 41 The man is-much mo*v*d, &c.] We are inclined to believe, this 
 one fpeech was intended for three ; and that the Captain fhould have 
 the words, You have fpoke home and bitterly to me, Sir. Mr. Sewnrd 
 would read, And bitCerh to'o, Mifer. We have not ventured to 'de- 
 part- from our authorities, in favour of either fuggeftion. 
 
 41 But, as the poet Jltigs, let your difpleafure be a (hort fury.] 
 The Poet, alluded to here, is Horace. 
 
 Ira furor brevis eft. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 W r here's
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 353 
 
 Where's the brave fteward ? 
 
 Sav. Here's your poor friend and fervant, Savil, 
 Sir . " 
 
 Capf. Away, thou'rt rich in tenements of nature : 
 Firft, in thy face, thou haft a ferious face, 
 Abetting, bargaining, and faving face, 
 A rich face ; pawn it to the uiurer ; 
 A face to kindle the compaflion 
 Of the moft ignorant and frozen juflice. 
 
 Sav. 'Tis fuch, I mall not dare to mew it fhortly, 
 Sir. 
 
 Capf. Be blithe and bonny, Steward. Matter 
 
 Morecrait, 
 Drink to this man of reckoning. 
 
 Mor. Here's e'en to him. 
 
 Sav. The devil guide it downward ! 'Would there 
 
 were in't 
 
 An acre of the great broom-field he bought, 
 To fweep your dirty confcience, or to choke you ! 
 'Tis all one to me, uiurer. 
 
 To. to. Confider what I told you , you are young, 
 Unapt for worldly bufmefs : Is it fit 
 One of fuch tendernefs, fo delicate, 
 So contrary to things of care, mould ftir 
 And break her better meditations, 
 In the bare brokage of a brace of angels ? 
 Or a new kirtel, though it be of fattin ? 
 Eat by the hope of forfeits, and lie down 
 Only in expectation of a morrow, 
 That may undo fome eafy-hearted fool, 
 Or reach a widow's curfes ; let out money, 
 Whole ufe returns the principal ? and get, 
 Out of thefe troubles, a confuming heir j 
 For fuch a one mutt follow necefljirily. 
 Yx)ii mall die hated, if not old and miferable , 
 And that pofiels'd wealth, that you got with pining, 
 
 *' Here's your poor friended Savil, &>.] Mr. Scvv:ird recom- 
 mends inlercing the \\oid fcpvznt in tli s p. fl.-.^c. 
 
 VOL. I. Z
 
 354- THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Live to fee -tumbled to another's hands, 
 That is no more a-kin to you, than you 
 To his coz'nage ! 
 
 Wid. Sir, you fpeak well : 'Would God, 
 That charity had firft begun here. 
 
 To. Lo. 'Tis yet time. Be merry ! 
 Methinks, you want wine there -, there's more i' th" 
 
 houfe. 
 Captain, where refts the health ? 
 
 Capt. It mall go round, boy ! 
 
 To. Lo. Say, can you fuffer this, becaufe the end 
 Points at much profit ? Can you Ib far bow 
 Below your blood, below your too-much beauty, 
 To be a partner of this fellow's bed, 
 And lie with his difeafes ? If you can, 
 I will not prefs you further. Yet look upon him : 
 There's nothing in that hide-bound ufurer, 
 That man of mat, that all- decay 'd 44 , but akes, 
 For you to love, unlefs his perim'd lungs, 
 His dry cough, or his fcurvy. This is truth, 
 And fo far I dare fpeak it : He has yet, 
 Pad cure of phyfic, ipav* , or any diet, 
 A primitive pox in his bones ^ and, o' my knowledge, 
 He has been ten times rowell'd : You may love him. 
 He had a baftard, his own toward ifiue, 
 "Whipp'd, and then crop'd, for warning out the rofes 
 In three-farthings, to make 'em pence. 
 
 Wid. I do not like thefe morals. 
 
 To. Lo. You muft not like him, then. 
 
 Enter Elder Lovelefs. 
 
 El. Lo. By your leave, gentlemen. 
 To. Lo. By my troth, Sir, you're welcome ; wel- 
 come, faith. 
 
 Lord, what a ftranger you are grown ! Pray, know 
 This gentlewoman ; and, if you pleafe, thefe friends 
 here. 
 
 That ail decay 'd.] 1 read, lays Mr. Seward, that all decay. 
 
 We
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 355 
 
 We are merry j you fee the worft on's , 
 Your houfe has been kept warm, Sir 45 . 
 
 El. Lo. I am glad 
 To hear it, brother ; pray God, you are wife too ! 
 
 To. Lo. Pray, Mr. Morecraft, know my elder bro- 
 ther ; 
 
 And, Captain, do your compliment. Savil, 
 I dare fwear, is glad at heart to fee you. 
 Lord, we heard, Sir, you were drown'd at fea, 
 And fee how luckily things come about ! 
 
 Mor. This money muft be paid back again, Sin 
 
 To.Lo. No, Sir-, 
 
 Pray keep the fale ; 'tlwill make good tailors' meafures. 
 I am well, I thank you. 
 
 Wid. By my -troth, the gentleman 
 Has ilew'd him in his own fauce j I mall love him 
 for't. 
 
 Sav. I know not where I am, I am fo glad. 
 Your worfhip is the welcom'ft man alive : 
 Upon my knees 1 bid you welcome home. 
 Here has been fuch a hurry, fuch a din, 
 Such difmal drinking, fwearing, and whoring, 
 'T has almoft made me mad : 
 We've liv'd in a continual Turnbal-Street * 6 . 
 
 Sir, 
 
 **> Tour boufe has been kept warm, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. I'm glad to tear it, brother ; fray Cod, you are wife too ? ] 
 This would be a very odd reply, did it not depend on a proverbial 
 expreflion, ' If you are wife, keep yourfelf warm. 1 So in Shake- 
 fpeare's Much Ado about Nothing, 
 
 So that if be has wit enough to keep kimfilj warm, &c. 
 And, again, in his Taming of the Shrew : 
 Pet. Am 1 not wife ? 
 
 Kath. ret; k<ep you warm. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 4* We've livdin a continual TurnbaUStrcet ] Turrbal, or rather 
 Turnbutt Street, 'is mentioned in Shakefpeare's Henry IV. part ii. 
 It appears to have been a pl:ice of very ill rt-pute at the period in 
 tvhich our Authors wiote. In an old comedy, called Ram-Alley, or 
 Merry Tricks, it is mentioned again : 
 ' Sir, get you gone, 
 
 , Turnbull Street rogue. 
 
 Z 2 Nafh,
 
 356 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Sir, bleft be Heav'n, that fent you fafc again ; 
 Now fliall I eat, and go to bed again. 
 
 EL Lo. Brother, difmiis thefe people. 
 
 To. Lo. Captain, begone a-whilc , meet me at my 
 old rendezvous in the evening ; take your fmall poet 
 with you. Mr. Morecraft, you were beft go prattle 
 with your learned counfel -, I mail preferve your mo- 
 ney : I was cozen'd when time was ; we are quit, Sir. 
 
 Wti. Better and better ftill. 
 
 El. Lo. What is this fellow, brother ? 
 
 To. Lo. The thirily ufurer that fup'd my land off. 
 
 EL Lo. What does he tarry for ? 
 
 To. Lo. To be landlord of your houfe and ftate : 
 I was bold to make a little fale, Sir. 
 
 Mor. Am I o'er-reach'd ? If there be law, I'll ham- 
 per ye. 
 
 El. Lo. Prithee, be gone, and rave at home ; thou an 
 So bale a fool I cannot laugh at thee. 
 Sirrah, this comes of coz'ning ! home, and fpare ^ 
 Eat raddim /till you raife your fums again^ 
 If you ftir far in this, I'll have you whip'd, 
 Your ears nail'd, for inteliigencing, o' th' pillory, 
 And your goods forfeit ! You're a flak cozener ? 
 Leave iny houfe. No more ! 
 
 Mcr. A pox upon your houfe ! 
 Come, Widow, I mall yet hamper this young gamefter. 
 
 Nafh, in Pierce Pennileffe his Supplication, commends the fillers of 
 Turnbull Street to the patronage of the Devil. In the Inner Temple 
 "Mafque, by Middleton, 1619, 
 
 ""I'ii in your charge to pull do~jcn bawdy-koufes, 
 
 caufe Jfoil in Shoreditcb, 
 
 jnd deface Turnbull. 
 
 Again, in Middleton's comedy called Any Thing for a Quiet Life, a 
 French bawd fays, ' J^ay une file qui- parle un peu Fraxfois elle con- 
 * ver/era avec voies, a la Fleur de Lys en Turnbull-Street.' Again, 
 in the Knight of the Burning Peille, by our Authors, 
 
 TLtSy my lady dear, 
 
 1 flole her from her friends in Turnbull Street. 
 Turnltdl t or Turtuaifl-Strett, is near Cow- Crofs, V\ r cit-Smithf5cld. 
 
 I\Ir. Sfeti'fns. 
 
 Wid.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 357 
 
 Wid. Good twelve i* th' hundred, keep your way ; 
 I am not for your diet : Marry in your own tribe, 
 Jew, and get a broker. 
 
 To. Lo. 'Tis well faid, Widow. Will you jog on, 
 Sir ? 
 
 Mor. Yes, I will go ; but 'tis no matter whither : 
 But when I truit a wild fool, and a woman, 
 May I lend gratis, and build hofpitals ! [Exit. 
 
 To. Lo. Nay, good Sir, make all even : 
 Here's a widow wants your good word for me , 
 She's rich, and may renew me and my fortunes. 
 
 EL Lo. I'm glad you look before you. Gentlewo- 
 man, 
 Here is a poor diftrefied younger brother. 
 
 Wid. You do him wrong, Sir ; he's a knight. 
 
 El. Lo. I afk you mercy : Yet, it is no matter j 
 His knighthood's no inheritance, I take it. 
 Whatfoever he is, he is your fervant, 
 Or would be, lady. 
 
 Faith, be not mercilefs, but make a man ; 
 He's young and handfome, though he be my brother, 
 And his obiervance may deferve your love ; 
 He mall not fall for means. 
 
 Wid. Sir, you fpeak like a worthy brother : 
 And fo much do I credit your fair language, 
 
 That I mall love your brother , and fo love him 
 
 But 1 fhall bluih to fay more. 
 
 EL Lo. Stop her mouth. 
 I hope you mall not live to know that hour, 
 When this fhall bi repented. Now, brother, I mould 
 
 chide i 
 
 But Fll give no diftafte to your fair miftrefs. 
 I will inilru<5t her in't, and me (hail do't : 
 You have been wild and ignorant ; pray, mend it. 
 
 To. Lo. Sir, every day, now fpring comes on. 
 
 El. Lo. To you, good Mr. Savil, and your office, 
 Thus much I have to fay : You're from my fteward 
 Become, firit, your-own drunkard, then his bawd : 
 They fay, you're excellent grown in both, and perfedh 
 Give me your keys, Sir Savil. 
 
 Z 3 Sav.
 
 358 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, confider whom you left me to, 
 
 EL Lo. I left you as a curb for, not to provoke, 
 My brother's follies. Where's the beft drink, now ? 
 Come tell me, Savil ; where's the foundeft whores ? 
 You old he-goat, you dried ape, you lame ftallion ! 
 Muft you be leaping in my houfe? Your whores, 
 Like fairies, dance their night-rounds, without fear 
 Either of king or conftable, within my walls. 
 Are all my hangings fafe ? my fheep unfold yet ? 
 I hope my plate is current i I have too much on't. 
 What fay you to three hundred pounds in drink now ? 
 
 Sav. Good Sir, forgive me, and but hear me fpeak. 
 
 El. Lo. Methinks, thou fhouldft be drunk ftill, and 
 
 not fpeaki 
 J Tis the more pardonable, 
 
 Sav. I will, Sir, if you will have it fo. 
 
 El. Lo. I thank you : Yes, e'en purfue it, Sir. Do. 
 
 you hear ? 
 
 Get you a whore foon for your recreation , 
 Go look out captain Broken-breech, your fellow, 
 And quarrel, if you dare. I mail deliver 
 Thefe keys to one mall have more honefty, 
 Though not fo much fine wit, Sir. You may walk 
 And gather crefies, Sir, to cool your liver > 
 There's foinething for you to begin a diet, 
 You'll have the pox elfe. Speed you well, Sir Savil ! 
 You may eat at my- houfe to preferve life ; 
 But kixp no fornication in the ftables. 
 
 [Ex. cmnes pr. Savil. 
 
 Sav. Now rouft I hang myfelf * 7 j my friends will 
 
 look for't. 
 
 Eating and ileeping, I do defpife you both now : 
 I will run mad firft, and, if that get not pity, 
 I'll drown myfelf, to a moft difmal ditty. [Exit SaviJ. 
 
 47 New muft 1 bang wyfelf, &c ] This Play, more than any other 
 of our Authors, abounds with fatirical fneers againit our great drama- 
 tic Poet, bhakefpeare. Thefe concluding lines very plainly were in- 
 intended to ridicule the cataltrophe of Ophelia, in the tragedv of 
 Hamlet, R. 
 
 ACT
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 359 
 
 i 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Abigail^ fola. 
 
 Allg. A LAS, poor gentlewoman, to what a mifery 
 \^ hath age brought thee, to what a fcurvy 
 fortune ! Thou that haft been companion for noble- 
 men, and at the word of thofe times for gentlemen ; 
 now, like a broken ferving-man, muft beg for favour 
 to thofe, that would have crawl'd like pilgrims to 
 my chamber, but for an apparition of me. You 
 that be coming on, make much of fifteen, and lo 
 till five-and-twenty : Ufe your time with reverence, 
 that your profits may arife : It will not tarry with 
 you ; ecce fignum. Here was a face : 
 But Time, that, like a furfeit, eats our youth 
 (Plague of his iron teeth, and draw 'em for't !) 
 Has been a little bolder here than welcome -, 
 And now, to fay the truth, I am fit for no man. 
 Old meji i'th' houfe, of fifty, call me Granum ; 
 And when they are drunk, e'en then, when Joan and 
 
 my lady 
 
 Are all one, not one will do me reafon. 
 My little Leyite hath forfaken me ; 
 His filver found of 4 " cithern quite abolifh'd ; 
 His doleful hymns under my chamber-window, 
 Digefted into tedious learning. 
 Well, fool, you leap'd a haddock when you left 
 
 him ; 
 
 He's a clean man, and a good edifier, 
 And twenty nobles is his ft ate de clard, 
 Befides his pigs in pojffe. 
 To this good homililt I have been ever ftubborn, 
 
 + s GV/W] A kind of harp. 
 
 Z 4 Which
 
 360 THE SCORNFUL LA&-& 
 
 "Which God forgive me for, and mend my manners : 
 And, Love, if ever thou hadft care of forty * 8 , 
 Of fuch a piece of laye ground, hear my pray'r, 
 And fire his zeal fo far forth, that my faults, 
 In this renew'd impreflion of my love, 
 May mew corrected to our gentle reader. 
 
 Enter Roger. 
 
 See, how negligently he paries by mej 
 With what an equipage canonical, 
 As tho' he had broken the heart of Bellarmine, 
 Or added fomething to the finging brethren. 
 *Tis fcorn, I know it, and deferve it. Mafter Roger I 
 
 Rog. Fair gentlewoman, my name is Roger. 
 
 Abig. Then, gentle Roger 
 
 Rog Ungentle Abigail ! 
 
 Abig. Why, mafter Roger, will you fet your wit 
 To a weak woman's ? 
 
 Rog. You are weak, indeed : 
 For io the poet fings. 
 
 Abig. I do confefs 
 My weaknefs, fweet Sir Roger. 
 
 Rog. Good my lady's 
 
 Gentlewoman, or my good lady's gentlewoman, 
 (This trope is loft to you now) leave your prating. 
 You have a fealbn of your firft mother in you : 
 And, furely, had the Devil been in love, 
 He had been abufed too. Go, Dalilah; 
 You make men fools, and wear fig-breeches. 
 
 Ab'Tg. Well, well, hard-hearted man, you may dilate 
 Upon the weak infirmities of women : 
 
 Thefe are fit texts : But once, there was a time 
 
 'Would I had never feen thofe eyes, thofe eyes, 
 Thole orient eyes ! 
 
 * s And, Low, ife-ver tbou hadH care of forty, 
 
 Of fuch a piece qflzpe ground, ktar my prayer."] I believe there 
 is no fiich term in the Englifh tongue, as lape ground. The word 
 mult have been /ay, or/?} 1 : i.e. terra inculta, novale: unplowed, 
 uncultivated, land. Mr. Sjmp/on. 
 
 Rog.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADT 361 
 
 Reg. Ay, they were pearls once with you. 
 
 Abig. Saving your reverence, Sir, fo they are dill. 
 
 Rag. Nay, nay, I do befeech yon, leave your cog- 
 ging- 
 
 What they are, they are : 
 They ferve me without fpec^acles, I thank 'em. 
 
 Abig. Oh, will you kill me r 
 
 Rog. I do not think I can ; 
 You're like a copy-hold, with nine lives in't. 
 
 Abig. You were wont to bear a Chriitian fear about 
 
 you: 
 For your own worfhip's fake 
 
 Rog. I was a Chriftian fool then ! 
 Do you remember what a dance you led me ? 
 Jiow I grew qualm'd in love, and was a dunce ? 
 Could not expound but once a quarter, and then was 
 
 out too : 
 
 And then, out of the ftinking flir you put me in, 
 J pray'd for my own royal iflue. You do 
 Remember all this ? 
 
 Abig. Oh, be as then you were, 
 
 Rog. I thank you for it : 
 Surely, I will b.e wifer, Abigail , 
 And, as the Ethnick poet fmgs, 
 I will not lofe my oil and labour too 49 . 
 You're for the worfhipful, I take it, Abigail ? 
 
 Abig. Oh, take it fo, and then I am for thee. 
 
 Rog. I like thefe tears well, and this humbling alfoj 
 They are fymptoms of contrition, as a Father laith. 
 If I mould fall into my fit again, 
 Would you not make me into a quotidian coxcomb ? 
 Would you not ufe me fcurvily again, 
 And give me poflets with purging comfits in 'em ? 
 I tell thee, gentlewoman, thou halt been harder to me, 
 Than a long chapter with a pedigree. 
 Abig. Oh, curate, cure me ! 
 
 v Iivi/Jxot lofe my oil and labour too.] The Ethnick poet here 
 alluded to is Plautus,in his Panulus ; 
 
 'Turn fo/ ego fcf bleum fcT operatn ptr&. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 I will
 
 gfo THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 I will love thee better, dearer, longer: 
 I will do any thing ; betray the fecrets 
 Of the main houfhold to thy reformation. 
 My lady mall look lovingly on thy learning ; 
 And when due time mail point thee for a parfon, 
 I will convert thy eggs to penny cuftards, 
 And thy tithe gcofe mall graze and multiply, 
 
 Rog. I am mollified, 
 As well mall teftify this faithful kifs. 
 But have a great care, miftrefs Abigail, 
 How you deprefs the fpirit any more 
 With your rebukes and mocks ; for, certainly, 
 The edge of fuch a folly cuts itielf. 
 
 Abig. Oh, Sir, you've pierc'd me thorough. Here 
 
 I vow 
 
 A recantation to thofe malicious faults 
 I ever did againft you. Never more 
 Will I defpife your learning ; never more 
 Pin cards and cony- tails upon your caflbck ; 
 Never again reproach your reverend night-cap, 
 And call it by the mangy name of Murrion ; 
 Never your reverend perfon, more, and fay, 
 You look like one of Baal's priefts i' th' hanging; 
 Never again, when you fay grace, laugh at you, 
 Nor put you out at prayers ; never cramp you more 
 With the great Book of Martyrs ; nor, when you ride, 
 Get fope and thirties for you. No, my Roger, 
 Thefe faults mall be corrected and amended, 
 As by the tenor of my tears appears. 
 
 Rog. Now cannot I hold, if I mould be hang'd -, 
 I mult cry too. Come to thine own beloved, 
 Abigail ; and do e'en what thou wilt with me, 
 Sweet, fweet Abigail ! I am thine own for ever : 
 Here's my hand. When Roger proves a recreant, 
 Hang him i' th' bell-ropes. 
 
 Enter Lady^ and Martha. 
 
 Lady. Why, how now, mafter Roger, no pray'rs 
 down with you to-night ? Did you hear the bell 
 
 ring ?
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 363 
 
 ring ? You are courting ; your flock fhall fat well 
 for it. 
 
 Rog. I humbly afk your pardon. I'll chop up 
 
 pray'rs, 
 But flay a little, and be with you again. [Exit. 
 
 JLnter Elder Lovelefs. 
 
 Lady. How dare you, being fo unworthy a fellow, 
 Prefume to come to move me any more ? 
 
 El. Lo. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Lady. What ails the fellow ? 
 
 El. Lo. The fellow comes to laugh at you. 
 I tell you, Lady, I would not, for your land, 
 Be fuch a coxcomb, fuch a whining als, 
 As you decreed me for when I was laft here. 
 
 Lady. I joy to hear you are wile-, 'tis a rare jewel 
 In an elder brother : Pray, be wifer yet. 
 
 gl. Lo, Methinks, I'm very wife : I do not come 
 
 a-wooing. 
 Indeed, I'll move no more love to your ladyfhip. 
 
 Lady. What makes you here, then ? 
 
 El. Lo. Only to fee you, and be merry, Lady : 
 That's all my bufmefs. Faith, let's be very merry. 
 Where's little Roger ? He is a good fellow. 
 An hour or two, well fpent in wholefome mirth, 
 Is worth a thouiand of thefe puling paflions. 
 'Tis an ill world for lovers. 
 
 Lady. They were never fewer. 
 
 fLl. Lo. I thank God, there is one lefs for me, Lady. 
 
 Lady. You were never any, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. Till now, and now 
 J am the prettied fellow ! 
 
 Lady. You talk like a taylor, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. Methinks, your faces are no fuch fine 
 things now. 
 
 Lady. Why did you tell me you were wife ? 
 Lord, what a lying age is this ! Where will 
 You mend thefe faces ? 
 
 E}. Lo. A hog's face, fous'd, is worth a hundred 
 of 'em. 
 
 Lady.
 
 364 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Lady. Sure, you had a fow to your mother. 
 
 El. Lo. She brought fuch fine white pigs as you, fit 
 for none but parfons, Lady.. 
 
 Lady. 'Tis well you will allow us our clergy yet. 
 
 El. Lo. That will not fave you. Oh, that I were 
 in love again with a wim ! 
 
 Lady. By this light, you are a fcurvy fellow ! 
 Pray, be gone. 
 
 El. Lo. You know, I am a clean-fkin'd man, 
 
 Lady. Do I know it ? 
 
 El. Lo. Come, come, you would know it-;, that's 
 
 as good : 
 But not a fnap, ne'er long for't, not a fnap, dear Lady. 
 
 Lady. Hark ye, Sir, hark ye, get you to the fuburbs -, 
 There's horfe-flefh for fuch hounds. Will you go, Sir ? 
 
 El. Lo. Lord, how I lov'd this woman ! how I 
 
 wormip'd 
 
 This pretty calf with a white face here ! As I live, 
 You were the prettied fool to play withal, 
 The wittieft little varlet ! It would talk ; 
 Lord, how it talk'4 ! And when I angred it, 
 It would cry out, and fcratch, and eat no meat, 
 Ancl it would fay, go hang. 
 
 Lady. It will fay ib ftill, if you anger it. 
 
 El. Lo. And when I afk'd it, if it would be married, 
 It lent me of an errand into France, 
 And would abufe me, and be glad it did fo. 
 
 Lady. Sir, this is moil unmanly , pray, be gone. 
 
 El. Lo. And fwear(even when it twitter'd to be at me) 
 I was unhandibme. 
 
 L ady. Have you no manners in you ? 
 
 EL Lo. Ancl lay my back was melted, when Heaven 
 
 knows, 
 
 I kept it at a charge, four Flanders mares 
 Would have been eafier to nie. and a fencer. 
 
 Lady. You think all this is true now ? 
 
 El.Lo. Faith, whether it be or no, it is too good 
 
 fjr you. 
 But, fo m ich for our mirth : Now have at you in
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 365 
 
 Lady. There is enough, Sir , I delire no more. 
 
 EL Lo. Yes, faith, we'll have a call at your belt 
 parts now , and then die devil take the woiit ! 
 
 Lady. Pray, Sir, no more j I am not fo much affected 
 with your commendations. 'Tis almoit dinner ; I 
 know they ftay for you at the ordinary. 
 
 El. Lo. E'en a fhort grace, and then I am gene : 
 You are a woman ! 
 
 And the proudeft that ever lov'd a coach : 
 The fcornful'it, fcurvieft, and molt fenielefs woman ! 
 The greedieft to be prais'd, and never mov'd, 
 1' hough it be grofs and open , the moil envious, 
 That> at the poor fame of another's face, 
 Would eat your own, and more than is your own, 
 The paint belonging to it : Of fuch a felt-opinion, 
 That you think no one can deferve your glove : 
 And, for your malice, you're fo excellent, 
 You might have been your tempter's tutor. Nay, 
 Never cry. 
 
 Lady. Your own heart knows you wrong me : 
 I cry for you ! 
 
 El. Lo. You mall before I leave you. 
 
 Lady. Is all this fpoke in earnefl ? 
 
 El. Lo. Yes, and more, as foon as I can get it out, 
 
 Lady. Well, out with't. 
 
 El. Lo. You are let me fee 
 
 Lady. One that has us'd you with too much re.- 
 fpeft. 
 
 El, Lo. One that hath us'd me, fince you will have 
 
 it fo, 
 
 The bafeft, the moft foot-boy-like, without refpect 
 Of what I was, or what you might be by me. 
 You have us'd me as I would ufe a jade, 
 Ride him off's legs, then turn him to the commons -, 
 You have us'd me with difcretion, and I thank you j 
 If you have many more fuch pretty fervants, 
 Pray build an hofpital, and, when they are old, 
 Pray keep 'em, for fhame. 
 
 Lady. I cannot think yet this is fcrious. 
 
 El. Lo.
 
 $66 THE SCORNFUL LADY/ 
 
 El. Lo. Will you have more on't ? 
 Lady. No, faith, there's enough, 
 If it be true : Too much, by all my part* 
 You are no lover, then ? 
 
 El. Lo. No, I had rather be a carrier. 
 Lady. Why, the Gods amend all ! 
 EL Lo. Neither do I think 
 There can be fuch a fellow found i'th' world, 
 To be in love with fuch a froward woman : 
 If there be fueh, they're mad , Jove comfort 'em \ 
 Now have you all, and I as new a man, 
 As light, and fpirited, that I feel rnyfelf 
 Clean through another creature. Oh, 'tis brave 
 To be one's own man ! I can fee you now 
 As I would fee a picture ; fit all day 
 By you, and never kifs your hand : Hear you fing, 
 And never fall backward , but, with as fet a temper 
 As I would hear a fidler, rife and thank you. 
 I can now keep my money in my purfe, 
 That ftill was gadding out for fcarfs and waiftcoats : 
 And keep my hand from mercers' fheep-fkins finely, 
 I can eat mutton now, and feaft myfelf 
 With my two millings, and can fee a play 
 For eighteen-pence again : I can, my lady, I can. 
 
 Lady. The carriage of this fellow vexes me. Sir^ 
 Pray let me fpeak a little private with you., 
 I muit not fufier this. 
 
 El. Lo. Ha, ha, ha ! What would you with me ? 
 You will not ravifli me ? Now, your fet fpeech, 
 Lady. Thou perjur'd man ! 
 EL Lo. Ha, ha, ha ! this is a fine exordium. 
 And why, I pray you, perjur'd ? 
 
 Lady? Did you not fwear 
 A thoufand thoufand times, you lov'd me beft 
 Of all things ? 
 
 EL Lo. I do confefs it : Make your beft of that, 
 Lady. Why do you fay you do not, then ? 
 EL Lo. Nay, I'll fwear it. 
 And give fuificient reafon ; your own ufage. 
 
 Lady.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 3 5 7 
 
 Lady. Do you not love me now, then ? 
 
 El. Lo. No, faith. 
 
 Lady. Did you ever think I lov'd you dearly ? 
 
 El. Lo. Yes j but I fee but rotten fruits on't. 
 
 Lady. Do nor deny your hand, for I muft kifs it t 
 And take my laft farewell : Now let me die, 
 So you be happy. 
 
 El.Lo. I am toofooliftl: Lady, fpeak, dear lady! 
 
 Lady. No, let me die. \_Sbe fwoons.. 
 
 Mar. Oh, my fitter ! 
 
 Abig. Oh, my lady ! Help, help ! 
 
 Mar. Run for fome rofa foils! 
 
 El. Lo. I have play'd the fine afs ! Bend her bodv 
 
 lady! 
 
 Beft, deareft, worthieft lady, hear your fervant. 
 I am not as I fhew'd ! Oh, wretched fool, 
 To fling away the jewel of thy life thus ! 
 Give her more air. See, me begins to ftir ; 
 Sweet miftrefs, hear me. 
 
 Lady. Is my fervant well ? 
 
 El. Lo. In being yours, I am fo. 
 
 Lady. Then I care not. 
 
 El. Lo. How do you ? Reach a chair there. I 
 
 confefs 
 
 My fault not pardonable, in purfuing thus, 
 Upon fuch tendernefs, my wilful error : 
 But had I known it would have wrought thus with you, 
 Thu*s ftrangely, not the world had won me to it. 
 And let not, my belt Lady, any word, 
 Spoke to my end, difturb your quiet peace j 
 For fooner (hall you know a general ruin, 
 Than my faith broken. Do not doubt this, miftrefs ; 
 For, by my life, I cannot live without you. 
 Come, come, you mail not grieve ; rather be angry, 
 And heap infliction on me , I will fuffer. 
 Oh, I could curfe myfelf ! Pray, fmile upon me. 
 Upon my faith, 'twas but a trick to try you, 
 Knowing you lov'd me dearly, and yet Itrangely, 
 
 That
 
 3 63 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 That you would never Ihew it, though my means 
 Was all humility ^. 
 
 All. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 EL Lo. How now ? 
 
 Lady. I thank you, fine fool, for your moil fine plot : 
 This was a fubtle one, a ftifY device 
 To have caught dottrels with. Good fenfelefs Sir, 
 Could you imagine I mould fwoon for you, 
 And know yourfelf to be an arrant afs ; 
 Ay, a difcover'd one ? 'Tis quit ; I thank you, Sir. 
 Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Mar. Take heed, Sir ; me may chance to fwoon 
 again. 
 
 All Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Abig. Step to her, Sir ; fee, how me changes colour. 
 
 El. Lo. I'll go to Hell firft, and be better welcome. 
 I am fool'd, I do confefs it ; finely fool'd, 
 Lady , fool'd, madam ; and I thank you for it ! 
 
 Lady. Faith, 'tis not fo much worth, Sir : 
 But if I knew when you come next a-birding, 
 Fll have a ftronger noofe to hold the woodcock. 
 
 All Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 El. Lo. I am glad to fee you merry : Pray laugh on. 
 
 Mar. H'ad a hard heart, that could not latigh at 
 
 you, Sir. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Lady. Pray, fifter, do not laugh; you'll anger 
 
 him, 
 
 And then he'll rail like a rude coflermonger, 
 That fchool-boys had cozen'd of his apples, 
 As loud and fenfeltfs. 
 
 El. Lo. I will not rail. 
 
 Mar. Faith, then let's hear him, fitter. 
 
 5 Though my means was all humanity.] This is the reading of the 
 modern editions; the old ones fay, humility. Mr. Sevvard (who men- 
 tions it in his Poftfcript) not comprehending the paffage, propofe 
 two or three variations, which feem to us totally unnecdury, as the 
 meaning obvioufiy is, ' I knew you loved me, though you would 
 * never fhevv it, notwithstanding I ufed the bumblejl means to induce 
 ' you to do it.' 
 
 El Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 369 
 
 El. Lo. Yes, you fhall hear me. 
 
 Lady. Shall we be the better by it, then ? 
 
 EL Lo. No ; he that makes a woman better by his 
 
 words, 
 I'll have him fainted : Blows will not do it. 
 
 Lady. By this light, he'll beat us. 
 
 El. Lo. ' You do deferve it richly, 
 And may live to have a beadle do it. 
 
 Lady. Now he rails. 
 
 El. Lo. Come, fcornful Folly, 
 If this be railing, you mail hear me rail. 
 
 Lady. Pray put it in good words, then. 
 
 El. Lo. The worft are good enough for fuch a trifle, 
 Such a proud piece of cobweb-lawn. 
 
 Lady. You bite, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. I would till the bones crack'd, an I had 
 my will. 
 
 Mar. We had beft muzzle him j he grows mad. 
 
 El. Lo. I would 'twere lawful, in the next great 
 
 ficknefs, 
 
 To have the dogs fpar'd, thofe harmlefs creatures, 
 And knock o' th' head thole hot continual plagues, 
 Women, that are more infectious. I hope 
 The ftate will think on't. 
 
 Lady. Are you well, Sir ? 
 
 Mar. He looks 
 As though he had a grievous fit o' th' cholic. 
 
 El. Lo. Green-ginger will cure me. 
 
 Abig. I'll heat a" trencher for him. 
 
 El. Lo. Dirty December, -do -, 
 Thou, with a face as old as Erra Pater j 
 Such a prognofticating nofe : Thou thing, 
 That ten years fmce has left to be a woman, 
 Out-worn the expectation of a bawd , 
 And thy dry bones can reach at nothing now, 
 But gords or ninepins 5 \ pray go fetch a trencher, go. 
 
 *' But goid^] /. i. initruments of game then in common ufe. We 
 meet with the lame term again in Shakefpeare's Merry Wives of 
 Windfor : If gord andfullam hoMs. Mr. Sevan/. 
 
 VOL. I. A a Lady.
 
 370 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Lady. Let him alone ; he's crack'd. 
 
 Abig. I'll fee him hang'd firft -, he's a beaftly fellow, 
 To ufe a v/oman of my breeding thus ; 
 Ay, marry is he. Would I were a man, 
 I'd make him eat his knave's words. 
 
 El. Lo. Tie your me-otter up, good Lady Folly, 
 She ftinks worfe than a bear-baiting. 
 
 Lady. Why will you be angry now ? 
 
 El. Lo. Go paint, and purge ; 
 Call in your kennel with you. You a Lady ? 
 
 Abig. Sirrah, look to't againft the quarter-fefiions : 
 If there be good behaviour in the world, 
 I'll have thee bound to it. 
 
 EL Lo. You mull not feek it in your lady's houfe, 
 
 then. 
 
 Pray fend this ferret home ; and fpin, good Abigail. 
 And, madam, that your ladymip may know, 
 In what bafe manner you have us'd my fervice, 
 I do from this hour hatd you heartily , 
 And, tho' your folly mould whip you to repentance, 
 And waken you at length to fee my wrongs, 
 'Tis not the endeavour of your life mail win me ; 
 Not all the friends you have, nor intercefiion, 
 Nor your fubmifiive letters, though they fpoke 
 As many tears as words \ not your knees grown 
 To th' ground in penitence, nor all your ftate, 
 To kils you ; nor my pardon, nor my will 
 To give you Chriftian burial, if you die thus ; 
 
 So, farewell. 
 
 When I am married and made fure, I'll come 
 And vifit you again, and vex you, Lady. 
 By all my hopes, I'll be a torment to you, 
 Worfe than a tedious winter. I know you will 
 Recant and fue to me ; but fave that labour : 
 I'll rather love a fever and continual thirft, 
 Rather contract my youth to drink, and rather 
 Dote upon quarrels sl , 
 
 51 Rather contrafl v:y youth to drink, and face; dote upon quarrels.] 
 In this unintelligible manner all .the editions exhibit this pallage, till 
 
 that
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 37 i 
 
 t)r take a drawn whore from an hofpital, 
 That time, difeafes, and Mercury had eaten, 
 Than to be drawn to love you. 
 
 Lady. Ha, ha, ha ! Pray do; but take heed though. 
 
 El. Lo. From thee, falfe dice, jades, cowards, and 
 
 plaguy fummers ", 
 Good Lord deliver me ! [Exit. 
 
 Lady. But hark you, fervant, hark ye ! Is he gone ? 
 Call him again. 
 
 Abig. Hang him, paddock ! 
 
 Lady. Art thou here ftill ? Fly, fly, 
 And call my fervant , fly, or never fee me more. 
 
 Abig. I had rather knit again, than fee that rafcal, 
 But I muft do it. [Exit Abigail. 
 
 Lady. I would be loth to anger him too much. 
 What fine foolery is this in a woman, 
 To ufe thofe men moft frowardly they love moft ? 
 If I mould lofe him thus, I were rightly ferv'd. 
 I hope he's not fo much himfelf, to take it 
 To th' heart. How now ! Will he come back ? 
 
 Enter Abigail. 
 
 Abig. Never, he fwears, while he can hear men fay 
 There's any woman living : He fwore he would 
 Have me firft. 
 
 Lady. Didft thou entreat him, wench ? 
 
 that of 1750 ; when iMr. Sympfon thought he fupplied the chafm, 
 both in the fenfe and the verfe, by the 1 following reading : 
 
 Rather contra^ my youth to drink and fwagger, 
 
 Doat upon quarrel}, or take a drawn lubore from 
 
 An hofpital., that time, dtfeajts, and 
 
 Mercury bad eaten, tian t &C. * 
 
 We do not thir:k his corje&ure hyr.ny means happy. As the words 
 we have infcrted come fo near lliole of the old books, vve hope we 
 have rellored the original reading. It is true, an htmiiiich is left ; 
 but liemiftichs are common with our Authors. Probably, fome words 
 have been quite lott. 
 
 * } And pi '.guy fummers.] ' I read, faysMr.Seward, plaguc-fum- 
 ' men \ i.e. Summers in which the plague iag.' Plaguy clearly 
 toiiveving the Jai.ic idea, we have followed th,e old books. 
 
 A a 2 Abig.
 
 372 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Abig. As well as I could, madam. 
 But this is ftill your way, to love being abfent, 
 And when he's with you, laugh at him and abufe him. 
 There is another way, if you could hit on't. 
 
 Lady. Thou fay'ft true-, get me paper, pen, and ink ; 
 I'll write to him : I'd be loth he fhould deep in's anger. 
 Women are moil fools when they think they're wiled. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 Mufick. Enter Young Lovelefs and Widow doing to be 
 married) ; with them his comrades. 
 
 Wid. Pray, Sir, caft off thefe fellows, as unfitting 
 For your bare knowledge, and far more your company. 
 Is't fit fuch ragamuffins as thefe are, 
 Should bear the name of friends, and furnifh out 
 A civil houfe ? You're to be married now ; 
 And men, that love you, muft expe<5t a courfe 
 Far from your old career. If you will keep 'em, 
 Turn 'em to the liable, and there make 'em grooms : 
 And yet, now 1 confider it, fuch beggars 
 Once fet o' horfe-back, you have heard, will ride, 
 How far you had beft to look to. 
 
 Capt. Hear you, 
 
 You that muft be lady, pray content yourfelf, 
 And think upon your carriage foon at night, 
 What drefling will beft take your knight, what waift- 
 
 coat, 
 
 What cordial will do well i' th' morning for him. 
 What triers have you ? 
 
 Wid. What do you mean, Sir ? 
 
 Capt. Thofe that muft fwitch him up : If he ftart 
 
 well, 
 
 Fear not, but cry ' Saint George,' and bear him hard. 
 When you perceive his wind grows hot and wanting, 
 Let him a little down ; he's fleet, ne'er doubt him, 
 And (lands found. 
 
 Wid. Sir, you hear thefe fellows ? 
 
 To. Lo. Merry companions, wench, merry com- 
 panions. 
 
 Wid.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 373 
 
 Wid. To one another let 'em be companions, 
 But, good Sir, not to you : You mall be civil, 
 And flip off thefe bafe trappings. 
 
 Capt. He (hall not need, my rnoft fweet lady Grocer ! 
 If he be civil, not your powder'd fugar, 
 Nor your raifins, mail perfuade the Captain 
 To live a coxcomb with him. Let him be civil, 
 Arid eat i' th' Arches, and fee what will come on't. 
 
 Poet. Let him be civil, do : Undo him ; ay, that's 
 
 the next way ! 
 
 I will not take, if he be civil once, 
 Two hundred pounds a- year to live with him. 
 Be civil ! There's a trim perfuafion. 
 
 Capt. If thou be'ft civil, knight (as Jove defend it !) 
 Get thee another nofe -, that will be pull'd 
 Off by the angry boys for thy converfion. 
 The children thou malt get on this civilian 
 Cannot inherit by the law ; they're Ethnicks, 
 And all thy fport mere mortal lechery. 
 When they are grown, having but little in 'em, 
 They may prove haberdalhers, or grofs grocers. 
 Like their dear dam there ! Prithee be civil, knight j 
 In time thou may'ft read to thy houfhold, 
 And be drunk once a-year : This would mew finely. 
 
 To. Lo. I wonder, fweetheart, you will offer this j 
 You do not underftand thefe gentlemen. 
 I will be ihort and pithy , I had rather 
 Caft you off, by the way of charge. Thefe are creatures, 
 That nothing goes to the maintenance of, 
 But corn and water. I will keep thefe fellows 
 Juft in the competency of two hens. 
 
 Wid. If you can caft it fo, Sir, you've my liking : 
 If they eat lefs, I mould not be offended. 
 But how thefe, Sir, can live upon fo little 
 As corn and water, I am unbelieving. 
 
 To. Lo. Why, prithee, fweetheart, what's your ale ? 
 
 Is not 
 That corn and water, my fweet widow ? 
 
 Wid. Ay; 
 
 A a 3 But,
 
 37 4 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 But, my fweet knight, where is the meat to this, 
 And cloaths, that they muft look for ? 
 
 To. Lo. In this fhort fentence ' ale,' is all included ^ 
 Meat, drink, and cloth. Thefe are no ray'ning foot- 
 men, 
 
 No fellows, that at ordinaries dare 
 Eat their eighteen-pence thrice out before they rife, 
 And yet go hungry to a play, and crack 
 More nuts than would fuffice a dozen fquirrels ; 
 Befides the din, which is moft damnable : 
 I had rather rail, and be confm'd to a boat-maker. 
 Than live among fuch raicals. Thefe are people 
 Of fuch a clean t-ifcretion in their diet, 
 Of fuch a moderate iiiftenance, that they fweat 
 If they but fmell hot meat. Porridge is poifon ^ 
 They hate a kitchen as they hate a counter, 
 And, Ihew 'em but a feather-bed, they fwoori. 
 Ale is their eating and their drinking folely ^. 
 Which keeps their bodies clear, and foluble. 
 Bread is a binder, and for that abolifh'd, 
 Even in their ale, whofe loft room fills an apple. 
 Which is more airy and of fubtler nature. 
 The reft they take is little, and that little 
 Is little eafy ; for, like ftrid: men of order, 
 They do correct their bodies with a bench, 
 Or a poor ftubborn table -, if a chimney 
 Offer itfelf, with fome few broken rufhes, 
 They are in down. When they are fick, that's drunk, 
 They may have frem ftraw ; elfe they do defpife 
 Thefe worldly pamperings. For their poor apparel, 
 'Tis worn out to the diet -, new they feek none ; 
 And if a man mould offer, they are angry, 
 Scarce to be reconcil'd again with him : 
 You mall not hear 'em afk one a caft doublet 
 Once in a year, which is a modefty 
 
 5 + Ale is their eating and their drinking, furely.] Surely feems a 
 mere expletive here ; bur, I believe, the true word was folely ; /'. e. 
 Ale is the only thing they defire to eat as well as drink. 
 
 Mr. Steward. 
 
 Befitting
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 375 
 
 Befitting my poor friends : You fee their wardrobe, 
 Though (lender, competent. For fliirts, I take it, 
 They are things worn out of their remembrance. 
 Loufy they will be when they lift, and mangy, 
 Which mews a fine variety ; and then, to cure 'em, 
 A tanner's limepit, which is little charge : 
 Two dogs, and thefe two, may becur'd for three-pence. 
 Wid. You have half perfuaded me ; pray, ufc your 
 
 pleafure : 
 
 And, my good friends, fmce I do know your diet, 
 I'll take an order meat mail not offend you ; 
 You mail have ale. 
 
 Capt. We afk no more, let it be mighty, Lady -, 
 And, if we perifh, then our own fins on us. 
 
 To. Lo. Come, forward, gentlemen ; to church, my 
 
 boys ! 
 When we have done, I'll give you cheer in bowls. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 V. 
 
 Enter Elder Lovelefs. 
 ELLo. fTAH IS fenfelefs woman vexes me to th' 
 
 heart ; 
 
 She will not from my memory ! 'Would me were 
 A man for one two hours, that I might beat her. 
 If I had been unhandfome, old, or jealous, 
 T had been an even lay me might have fcorn'd me j 
 But, to be young, and, by this light, I think, 
 As proper as the proudeft ; made as clean, 
 As ftraight, and ftrong-back'd j means and manners 
 
 equal 
 
 With the beft cloth-of-filver Sir i' th' kingdom : 
 But thefe are things, at fome time of the moon, 
 Below the cut of canvas. Sure, fhe has 
 
 A a 4 Some
 
 376 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Some meeching rafcal in her houfe 55 , fome hind, 
 That ihe hath feen bear, like another Milo, 
 Quarters of malt upon his back, and fing with 't ; 
 Threfh all day, and i' th' evening, in his ftockings, 
 Strike up a hornpipe, and there Sink two hours, 
 And ne'er a whit the worie man. Thele are they, 
 Thefe fteel-chin'd ralcals, that undo us all. 
 'Would I had been a carter, or a coachman, 
 I had done the deed ere this time. 
 
 Enter fervant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, there's a gentleman without would fpeak 
 with you. 
 
 El. Lo. Bid him come in. 
 
 Enter Wclford. 
 Wei. By your leave, Sir. 
 
 ** Sure Jhe has fome meeching rafcal in her houfe.] This word is 
 generally fpelt micking ; it means, fecret, covered, lying hid. In this 
 fenfe Chapman, a coccmporary writer, ufrs it in the Widow's Tears, 
 Dodjtey's Old Plays, vol. IV. p. 291. L)fander, to try his wife's fide- 
 lity, elope: from Jier. His friends report that he is dead, and make 
 a mock funeral for him. His wife, to fhew exceffive forrow for the 
 lofs of her hufbind, ihuts herfelf up in his monument ; to which he 
 comes in dilguiie, and obtains her love, notwithflanding he had 
 afTured her, in the mean time, that he was the man who murdered 
 her huftnnd ; on which he exclaims, 
 
 1. Out upon thee t tnonjler ! 
 
 Go, tell the governor ; let me be brought 
 
 To die for that mojl famous <villany, 
 
 Nat for this mjchidg baj'e tranfgrejjion 
 
 Of truant negligence. 
 
 And again, p. 301, 
 
 My truant 
 
 Was micht, Sir, into a blind corner of the tomb. 
 
 In this fenfe it occurs in Philafter (p. 156) A rafcal miching in a 
 meadow. A paffage in an old Comment on the Ten Command- 
 ments, printed at London in 1493, illultrates the meaning of the 
 word : ' Commonly in fuch feyrs and markets ther ben many theyves, 
 * mytbers, and cutpurfe.' Mycbers, that is, lurking vagabonds. 
 Shakefpeare fays of^ Prince Henry, Shall the blejfed fun of Heaven 
 prtve a micher ? Mr. Warion. 
 
 El. Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 377 
 
 El. Lo. You are welcome. What's your will, Sir ? 
 
 WeL Have you forgotten me ? 
 
 El. Lo. I do not much remember you. 
 
 Wei. You muft, Sir. 
 
 I am that gentleman you pleas'd to wrong, 
 In your difguife , I have enquir'd you out. 
 
 El. Lo. I was difguis'd, indeed, Sir, if I wrong'd 
 
 you. 
 Pray, where and when ? 
 
 Wei. Infuchalady'shoufe, 
 I need not name her. 
 
 El. Lo. I do remember you : 
 You feem'd to be a fuitor to that lady ? 
 
 Wei. If you remember this, do not forget 
 How fcurvily you ufed me : That was 
 No place to quarrel in ; pray you, think of it : 
 If you be honeft, you dare fight with me, 
 Without more urging-, elfe I muft provoke you. 
 
 El. Lo. Sir, I dare fight, but never for a woman ; 
 I will not have her in my caufe ; fhe's mortal, 
 And fo is not my anger. If you have brought 
 A nobler fubjedt for our fwords, I am for you ; 
 In this I would be loth to prick my finger. 
 And where you fay, I wrong'd you, 'tis ib far 
 From my profeflion, that, amongft my fears, 
 To do wrong is the greateft. Credit me, 
 "Vye have been both abus'd, not by ourfelves 
 (For that I hold a fpleen, no fin of malice, 
 And may, with man enough, be left forgotten) 
 But by that wilful, fcornful piece of hatred, 
 That much-forgetful Lady : For whofe fake, 
 If we mould leave our reafon, and run on 
 Upon our fenfe, like rams, the little world 
 Of good men would laugh at us, and defpife us, 
 Fixing upon our defperate memories 
 The never-worn-out names of fools and fencers. 
 Sir, 'tis not fear, but reafon, makes me tell you j 
 In this I had rather help you, Sir, than hurt you. 
 
 And,
 
 37& THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 And, you mall find it, though you throw yourfelf 
 Into as many dangers as me offers, 
 Though you redeem her loft name every day, 
 And find her out new honours with your fword, 
 You fliall but be her mirth, as I have been. 
 
 Wcl. I afk you mercy, Sir ; you have ta'en my 
 
 edge off: 
 Yet I would fain be even with this lady. 
 
 EL Lo. In which I'll be your helper. We are two, 
 And they are two -, two fitters, rich alike, 
 Only the elder has the prouder dowry. 
 In troth, I pity this difgrace in you, 
 Yet of mine own I am fenfelefs : Do but 
 Follow my counlel, and I'll pawn my fpirit, 
 We'll over-reach 'em yet. The means is this 
 
 Enter fervant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, there's a gentlewoman will needs fpeak 
 
 with you : 
 I cannot keep her out ; fhe's enter'd, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. It is the waiting-woman : Pray benotfeen. 
 Sirrah, hold her in difcourfe awhile. Hark in your ear ; 
 Go and difpatch it quickly. When I come in, 
 I'll tell you all the project. 
 
 Wei. I care not which I have. {Exit Wei. 
 
 El. Lo. Away -, 'tis done ; me muft not fee you. 
 Now, lady Guiniver, what news with you ? 
 
 Enter Abigail. 
 
 Abig. Pray, leave thefe frumps, Sir, and receive 
 this letter. 
 
 El. Lo. From whom, good Vanity ? 
 
 Abig. 'Tis from my lady, Sir : Alas, good foul, 
 She cries and takes on ! 
 
 El. Lo. Does me fo, good foul ? 
 Would me not have a cawdle ? Does me fend you 
 With your fine oratory, goody Tully, 
 To tie me to belief again ? Bring out the cat-hounds ! 
 I'll make you take a tree, whore -, then with my tiller 
 
 Bring
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 379 
 
 Bring down your giblhip < 6 , an4 then have you cas'd, 
 And hung up in the warren. 
 
 Abig. I am no beaft, Sir ; 'would you knew it. 
 
 EL Lo. 'Would I did, for I am yet very doubtful, 
 What will you fay now ? 
 
 Abig. Nothing, not I. 
 
 El. Lo. Art thou a woman, and fay nothing ? 
 
 A\>ig. Unlcfs you'll hear me with more moderation. 
 I can ipeak wife enough. 
 
 El. Ij. And loud enough ? Will your lady love me? 
 
 Abig It feems fo by her letter, and her lamenta- 
 tions ; 
 But you are fuch another man. 
 
 El. Lo. Not fuch another as I was, mumps -, 
 Nor will not be. I'll read her fine epiftle : 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Is not thy miftrefs mad ? 
 
 Abig. For you me will be ; 'tis a fliame you mould 
 Ufe a poor gentlewoman fo untowardly : 
 She loves the ground you tread on j and you, hard 
 
 heart, 
 
 Becaufe me jelled with you, mean to kill her. 
 'Tis a fine conqueii, as they fay. 
 
 El. Lo. Haft thou fo much moifture in thy whit- 
 leather hide yet, that thou canft cry ? I would have 
 fworn thou hadit been touchwood five years fince. 
 Nay, let it rain ; thy face chaps for a mower, like a 
 dry dunghill. 
 
 Abig. I'll not endure this ribaldry. Farewell, i' th* 
 Devil's name ! If my lady die, I'll be fworn before 
 a jury, thou art the caufe on't. 
 
 El. Lo. Do, maukin, do. Deliver to your lady 
 from me this : I mean to fee her, if I have no other 
 
 56 Then ivith my tiller bring down your gibfhip, and then have you 
 caft, &c.] I have already explained the word tiller in th: i4th note 
 upon Philafter. GJ/?, Mr. Sympfon has ingenioufly reform'd to 
 cafed', i. e. flea'd, and hung up. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 We know not how old Mr. Sympfon was when he made this in- 
 genious reformation which we find in fome of the old quarto's, 
 confiderably more than an hundred years before that gentleman'* 
 ingenuity was difcovered. 
 
 bufmefsj
 
 380 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 bufmefs ; which before I will want, to come to her, I 
 
 mean to go feek birds' oefts. Yet I may come too : 
 
 But if I come, 
 
 From this door till I fee her, will I think 
 
 How to rail vilely at her ; how to vex her, 
 
 And make her cry fo much, that the phyfician, 
 
 If me fall fick upon it, {hall want urine 
 
 To find the caufe by, and me remedilefs 
 
 Die in her herefy. Farewell, old adage ! 
 
 I hope to fee the boys make potguns of thee. 
 
 Abig* Thou'rt a vile man. God blefs my ifiue 
 
 from thee. 
 EL Lo. Thou haft but one, and that's in thy left 
 
 crupper, 
 
 That makes thee nobble fo. You muft be ground 
 I' th' breech like a top ; you'll ne'er fpin well elfe. 
 Farewell, fytchock ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lady alone. 
 
 Lady. Is it not ftrange that every woman's will 
 Should track out new ways to difturb herfelf ? 
 If I mould call my reafon to account, 
 It cannot anfwer why I keep myfelf 
 From mine own wim, and ftop the man I love 
 From his j and every hour repent again, 
 Yet ftill go on. I know 'tis like a man 
 That wants his natural fleep, and, growing dull, 
 Would gladly give the remnant of his life 
 For two hours reft ; yet, through his frowardnefs, 
 Will rather chufe to watch another man, 
 Drowly as he, than take his own repofe. 
 All this I know ; yet a ftrange peevifhnefs 
 And anger, not to have the power to do 
 Things unexpected, carries' me away 
 To mine own ruin ! 
 
 I'd rather die, fometimes, than not difgrace 
 In public, him whom people think I love, 
 And do't with oaths, and am in earneft then. 
 Oh, what are we ! Men, you muft anfwer this, 
 
 That
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 381 
 
 That dare obey fuch things as we command. 
 How now ? what news ? 
 
 Enter Abigail. 
 
 Abig. Faith, madam, none worth hearing. 
 
 Lady. Is he not come ? 
 
 Abig. No, truly. 
 
 Lady. Nor has he writ ? 
 
 Abig. Neither. I pray God you have not undone 
 yourfelf. 
 
 Lady. Why, but what fays he ? 
 
 Abig. Faith, he talks ftrangely. 
 
 Lady. How ftrangely ? 
 
 Abig. Firft, at your letter he laugh'd extremely, 
 
 Lady. What, in contempt? \ 
 
 Abig. He laugh'd monftrous loud, as he would die ; 
 and when you wrote it, I think, you were in no fuch 
 merry mood, to provoke him that way : And hav- 
 ing done, he cried, ' Alas for her,' and violently 
 laugh'd again. 
 
 Lady. Did he ? 
 
 Abig. Yes; till I was angry. 
 
 Lady. Angry, why ? 
 
 Why wert thou angry ? He did do but well j 
 I did deferve it , he had been a fool, 
 An unfit man for any one to love, 
 Had he not laugh'd thus at me. You were angry ! 
 That fhew'd your folly ; I mall love him more 
 For that, than all that e'er he did before. 
 But faid he nothing elfe ? 
 
 Abig. Many uncertain things. He faid, though you 
 had mock'd him, becaufe you were a woman, he could 
 wifh to do you fo much favour as to fee you : Yet, 
 he faid, he knew you ram, and was loth to offend 
 you with the fight of one, whom now he was bound 
 not to leave. 
 
 Lady. What one was that ? 
 
 Abig. I know not, but truly I do fear there is a 
 making up there ; for I heard the fervants, as I paft 
 
 by
 
 382 THE SCORNFUL LADt. 
 
 by fome, whiiper fuch a thing : And as I came back 
 thro' the hall, there were two or three clerks writing 
 great conveyances in hafte, which, they faid, were for 
 their miftrefs's jointure. 
 
 Lady. 'Tis very like, and fit it mould be fo j 
 For he does think, and reafonably think, 
 That I Ihould keep him, with my idle tricks, 
 For ever ere he be married. 
 
 Abig. At laft he faid, it mould go hard but he 
 would lee you, for your fatisfadion, 
 
 Lady. All we, that are call'd women, know as well 
 As men, it were a far more noble thing 
 To grace where we are grac'd, t :nd give refpedl 
 There, where we are refpected : Yet we praftife 
 A wilder courfe, and never bend our eyes 
 On men with pleafure, till they find the, way 
 To give us a neglect , then we, too late, 
 Perceive the lofs of what we might have had, 
 And dote to death. 
 
 Enter Martha. 
 
 Mar. Sifter, yonder's your fervant, with a gentle- 
 woman with him. 
 
 / ady. Where ? 
 
 Mar. Clofe at the door, 
 
 Lady. Alas, I am undone ! I fear, he is betroth'd. 
 What kind of woman is me ? 
 
 Mar. A moft ill-favoured one, with her mafic on ; 
 And how her face mould mend the reft, I know not. 
 
 Lady. But yet her mind was of a milder ituff 
 Than mine was. 
 
 Enter Elder Lovdefs^ and Welford in woman's apparel. 
 Now I fee him, if my heart 
 S \vell not again (away, thou woman's pride!) 
 So that I cannot fpeak a gentle word to him, 
 Let me not live. 
 
 EL Lo. By your leave here. 
 
 Lady. How now ! what new trick invites you 
 hither ? 
 
 Have
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 383 
 
 Have you a fine device again ? 
 
 El. Lo. Faith, this is the fined device I have now. 
 How doft thou, fweetheart ? 
 
 WeL Why, very well, 
 
 So long as I may pleafe you, my dear lover. 
 I nor can, nor will be ill when you are well, 
 Well when you are ill. 
 
 El. Lo. Oh, thy fweet temper ! What would I have 
 
 giv'n, 
 
 That lady had been like thee ? See'ft thou her ? 
 That face, my love, join'd with thy humble mind, 
 Had made a wench indeed ! 
 
 WtL Alas, my love, 
 
 What God hath done I dare not think to mend \ 
 I ufe no paint, nor any drugs of art , 
 My hands and face will mew it. 
 
 Lady. Why, what thing have you brought to fliew 
 
 us there ? 
 Do you take money for it ? 
 
 El. Lo. A godlike thing, 
 
 Not to be bought for money ; 'tis my miftrefs, 
 In whom there is no pafllon, nor no fcorn ; 
 What I will is her law. Pray you, falute her. 
 
 Lady. Salute her ? by this good light, I would not 
 
 kifs her 
 For half my wealth. 
 
 El. Lo. Why, why, pray you ? 
 You mail fee me do't afore you : Look you. 
 
 Lady. Now fie upon thee ! a beaft would not have 
 
 don't. 
 I would not kifs thee of a month, to gain a kingdom. 
 
 El. Lo. Marry, you mall not be troubled. 
 
 Lady. Why, was there ever fuch a Meg as this ? 
 Sure thou art mad. 
 
 EL Lo. I was mad once, when I lov'd pictures , 
 For what are fliape and colours elle, but pictures ? 
 In that tawny hide there lies an endlefs mafs 
 Of virtues, when all your red and white ones want it. 
 
 Lady. And this is me you are to marry, is't not ? 
 
 El. Lo.
 
 384 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 El. Lo. Yes, indeed, is't. 
 
 Lady. Go'd give you joy ! 
 
 El. Lo. Amen. 
 
 Wei. I thank you, as unknown, for your good wifh. 
 The like to you whenever you mall wed. 
 
 El. Lo. Oh /gentle fpirit! 
 
 Lady. You thank me ? I pray, 
 Keep your breath nearer you ; I do not like it. 
 
 Wtl. I would not willingly offend at all ; 
 Much lefs a lady of your worthy parts. 
 
 EL Lo. Sweet, fweet ! 
 
 Lady. I do' not think this woman can by nature 
 Be thus, thus ugly : Sure, fhe's fome common ftrum- 
 
 pet, 
 Deform'd with exercife of fin. 
 
 Wei. Oh, Sir, 
 
 Believe not this ; for Heav'n fo comfort me, 
 As I am free from foul pollution 
 With any man -, my honour ta'en away, 
 I am no woman. 
 
 El. Lo. Arife, my dearefl foul -, 
 I do not credit it. Alas, I fear 
 Her tender heart will break with this reproach ! 
 Fie, that you know no more civility 
 To a weak virgin. *Tis no matter, fweet , 
 Let her fay what fhe will, thou art not worfe 
 To me, and therefore not at all ; be carelefs. 
 
 Wtl. For all things elfe I would j but for mine 
 
 honour, 
 Methinks 
 
 El. Lo. Alas, thine honour is not ftain'd. 
 Is this the bufmefs that you fent for me 
 About ? 
 
 Mar. Faith, fifter, you are much to blame, 
 To ufe a woman, whatfoe'er fhe be, 
 Thus. I'll falute her : You are welcome hither. 
 
 Wtl. I humbly thank you. 
 
 El. Lo. Mild yet as the dove, 
 For all thefe injuries. Come, mail we go ? 
 
 I love
 
 THE SCbRNFUL LADY. 385 
 
 1 love thee not fo ill to keep thee here, 
 
 A jetting (lock. Adieu. To the world's end ! 
 
 Lady. Why, whither now ? 
 
 El. Lo. Nay, you fhall never knowj 
 Becaufe you mall not find me. 
 
 Lady. I pray, let me fptak with you. 
 
 El. Lo. *T:s very well. Come. 
 
 Lady. I pray you, let me fpeak with you. 
 
 El. Lo. Yes, for another mock. 
 
 Lady. By Heav'n, I have no mocks. Good Sir, 
 a word. 
 
 El. Lo. Tho' you deferve not fo much at my hands, 
 yet, if you be in fuch earneft, I'll fpeak a word with. 
 you j but, I befeech you, be brief; for, in good faith, 
 there's a parfon and a licence ilay for us i' th' church 
 all this while ; and, you know, 'tis night. 
 
 Lady. Sir, give me hearing patiently, andwhatfo'er 
 I've heretofore fpoke jeitingly, forget: 
 For, as I hope for mercy any where, 
 What I ihall utter now is from my heart^ 
 And as I mean. 
 
 El. Lo. Well, well, what do you mean ? 
 
 Lady. Was not I once y6ur miftrels, and you my 
 fervant ? 
 
 El. Lo. Oh, 'tis about the old matter. 
 
 Lady. Nay, good Sir, ftay me out : I would but 
 hear you excufe yourfelf, why you mould take this 
 woman, and leave me. 
 
 El. Lo. Prithee, why not ? deferves me not as much 
 as you r 1 
 
 Lady. I think not, if you will look with an in- 
 differency upon us both. 
 
 El. Lo. Upon your faces, 'tis true : But if judi- 
 cially we Ihall cait our eyes upon your minds, you are 
 a thouland women off of her in worth 57 . She cannot 
 fwoon in jeft, nor let her lover talks, to fhew her 
 
 57 Tuu are a tboufand ivomen of her in worth ] Fjom the fimi- 
 larity of the words ^'and of, the copyifts, we gp^rebeod, have loft 
 gne of them ; which we have reftored. 
 
 VOL. I. B b peevifhnefs
 
 3 ~6 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 peevifhnefs and his affeftion ; nor crofs what he fays, 
 though it be canonical. She's a good plain wench, 
 that will do as I will have her, and bring me lufty 
 boys, to throw the fledge, and lift at pigs of lead. 
 And, for a wife, {he's far beyond you : What can you 
 do in a houfhold to provide for your iffue, but lie in 
 bed and get 'em ? Your bufmefs is to dvefs you, and 
 at idle hours to eat ; when fhe can do a thoufand 
 profitable things : She can do pretty well in the paftry, 
 and knows how pullen fhould be cramm'd ; fhe cuts 
 cambrick at a thread, weaves bone-lace, and quilts 
 balls admirably. And what are you good for ? 
 
 Lady. Admit it true, that fhe were far beyond 
 me in all refpecls, does that give you a licence to for- 
 fvvear yourfelf? 
 
 EL Lo. Forfwear myfelf, how ? 
 
 Lady. Perhaps you have forgot the innumerable 
 oaths you have utter'd, in difclaiming all for wives 
 but me: I'll not remember you. Goct give you joy ! 
 
 El. Lo. Nay, but conceive me-, the intent of oaths 
 is ever underfiood. Admit, I mould proteft to fuck 
 a friend, to fee him at his lodgings to-morrow , di- 
 vines would never hold me perjur'd, if I were ftruck 
 blind, or he hid where my diligent fearch could not 
 find him ; fo there were no crofs a<ft of mine own in't. 
 Can it be imagin'd I mean to force you to marriage, 
 and to have you whether you will or no ? 
 
 Lady. Alas, you need not : I make already tender 
 of myfelf, and then you are forfworn. 
 
 El. Lo. Some fin, I fee, indeed, muft neceflarily fall 
 upon me -, as whofoever deals with women mall never 
 utterly avoid it. Yet I would choofe the leaft ill , 
 which is to forfake you, that have done me all the 
 abuies of a malignant woman, contemn'd my fervice, 
 and would have held me prating about marriage, 
 till I'd been pail getting of children, 
 Rather than her thath^h fcrfook her family, 
 And put her tender body in my hand. 
 
 Upon my word 
 
 Lady.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 387 
 
 Lady. Which of us fwore you firft to ? 
 
 El. Lo. Why, to you. 
 
 Lady. Which oath is to be kept then ? 
 
 El. Lo. I prithee do not urge my fins unto me, 
 Without I could amend 'em. 
 
 I ady. Why, you may, by wedding me. 
 
 EL Lo. How will that fatisfy my word to her ? 
 
 Lady. It is not to be kept, 
 And needs no fatisfaction : It is an error, 
 Fit for repentance only. 
 
 El. Lo. Shall I live 
 
 To wrong that tender-hearted virgin fo ? 
 It may not be ! 
 
 I ady. Why may it not be ? 
 
 El. Lo. I iwear I had rathef marry thee than her , 
 But yet mine honefty 
 
 Lady. What honelty ? 
 
 'Tis more prelerv'd this way. Come, by this light, 
 Servant, thou ilialt I I'll kits thee on't. 
 
 El. Lo. This kifs, 
 Indeed, is fweet : Pray God, no fin lie under it ! 
 
 Lady. There is no (in at all , try but another. 
 
 Wei. Oh, my heart! 
 
 JMar. Help, filler , this lady fwoons ! 
 
 El. Lo. How do you ? 
 
 Wei. Why, very well, if you be fo. 
 
 El. Lo. Since a quiet mind lives not in any woman, 
 I mail do a moft ungodly, thing. Hear me one word 
 more ; which, by all my hopes, I will not alter. 
 I did make an oath, when you delay'd me fo, that 
 this very night I would be married : Now if you will 
 go without delay, fuddenly, as late as it is, 
 With your own minifter, to your own chapel, 
 I'll wed you, and to~bed 
 
 Lady. A match, dear fervant. 
 
 EL Lo. For if you mould forfake me now, I care 
 
 not: 
 
 She would not though, for all her injuries ; 
 Such is her fpirit. If I be not afham'd 
 To kifs her now I part, may I not live ! 
 
 B b 2 Wtl.
 
 3 88 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Wei. I fee you go, as flily as you think 
 To fleal away , yet I will pray for you : 
 All bleffings of the world light on you two, 
 That you may live to be an aged pair ! 
 All curfes on me, if I do not fpeak 
 What I do wifh, indeed ! 
 
 El. Lo. If I can fpeak 
 To purpofe to her, I'm a villain. 
 
 Lady. Servant, away ! 
 
 Mar. Siller, will you marry that inconilant man ? 
 Think you, he will not caft you off tomorrow ? 
 To wrong a lady thus ! Look'd (he like dirt, 
 'Twas bafely done. May you ne'er profper with him ! 
 
 Wei Now God forbid ! 
 Alas, I was unworthy ; fo I told him. 
 
 Mar. That was your modefty : Too good for him ! 
 I would not fee your wedding, for a world. 
 
 Lady. Choofe, choofe ! Come, Younglove. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady, El. Love, and Abig. 
 
 Mar. Dry up your eyes, foriboth; you mail not 
 
 think 
 
 We are all uncivil, all fuch beafls as thefe. 
 Would I knew how to give you a revenge ! 
 
 Wei. So would not I : No, let me fuffer truly ; 
 That I defire. 
 
 Mar. Pray walk in with me , 
 'Tis very late, and you mall flay all night : 
 Your bed mall be no worfe than mine. I wifh 
 I could but do you right. 
 
 Wei. My humble thanks : 
 God grant I may but live to quit your love ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Young Lovelefs and Savil. 
 
 To. Lo. Did your mailer fend for me, Savil ? 
 
 Sav. Yes, he did fend for your worfhip, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Do you know the bufmefs ? 
 
 Sav. Alas, Sir, I know nothing ; 
 Nor am employ 'd beyond my hours of eating. 
 My dancing days are done, Sir. 
 
 To, Lo. What art thou now, then ? 
 
 Sav.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 389 
 
 Sav. If you confider me in little, I am, with your 
 worihip's reverence, Sir, a rafcal : One, that upon the 
 next anger of your brother, muft raife a fconce by the 
 highway, and fell fwitches. My wife is learning 
 now, Sir, to weave inkle. 
 
 To. Lo. What doft thou mean to do with thy chil- 
 dren, Savil ? 
 
 Sav. My eldeft boy is half a rogue already : 
 He was born burden ; and, your worfhip knows, 
 That is a pretty ftep to mens' companions. 
 My youngeft boy I purpofe, Sir, to bind 
 For ten years to a gaoler, to draw under him, 
 That he may mew us mercy in his function. 
 
 To. Lo. Your family is quarter'd with difcretion. 
 You are refolved to cant, then ? Where, Savil, 
 Shall your fcene lie ? 
 
 Sav. Beggars muft be no choofers : 
 In every place, I take it, but the flocks. 
 
 To.Lo. This is your drinking and your whoring, 
 
 Savil : 
 I told you of it , but your heart was harden'd. 
 
 Sav. 'Tis true, you were the firft that told me 
 
 of it, indeed. 
 
 I do remember yet in tears, you told me, 
 You would have whores , and in that pafiion, Sir, 
 You broke out thus : Thou miferable man, 
 Repent, and brew, three ftrikes more in a hogmead : 
 'Tis noon ere we be drunk now, and the time 
 Can tarry for no man. 
 
 To. Lo. You're grown a bitter gentleman. I fee, 
 Mifery can clear your head better than muftard. 
 I'll be a fuitor for your keys again, Sir. 
 
 Sav. Will you but be fo gracious to me, Sir ? 
 I fliall be bound 
 
 To. Lo. You mall, Sir, 
 To your bunch again -, or I'll mifs foully. 
 
 Enter Morecraft. 
 
 Mor. Save you, gentleman, fave you ! 
 
 B b 3 To. Lo.
 
 399 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 To. Lo. Now, polecat, what young rabbit's neft 
 have you to draw ? 
 
 Mor. Come, prithee be familiar, knight. 
 
 To. Lo. Away, fox ! I'll lend for terriers for you, 
 
 Mor. Thou art wide yet : I'll keep thee company, 
 
 To. I o. I am about fome bufmefs, Indentures ! 
 If you follow me, I'll beat you i take heed ! 
 As I live I'll cancel your coxcomb. 
 
 Mor. Thou art cozen'd now ; I am no ufurer. 
 What poor fellow's this ? 
 
 Sav. I am pcor indeed, Sir. 
 
 Mor. Give him money, knight. 
 
 To. Lo. Do you begin the offering. 
 
 Mor. There, poor fellow ; here's an angel for thee. 
 
 To. Lo. Art thou in earnefl, Morecraft ? 
 
 Mor. Yes, faith, knight. I'll follow thy exam- 
 ple : 
 
 Thou hadft land and thoufands 58 , which thou fpent'il, 
 .And flung'it away, and yet it flows in double. 
 I purchas'd, wrung, and wiredraw'd, for my wealth, 
 Loii, and was cozen'd : For which I make a vow, 
 To try all ways above ground, but I'll find 
 A conftant means to riches without curfes. 
 
 To. Lo. I am glad of your con veriion, mailer More- 
 craft : 
 You're in a fair courfe ; pray purfuc it {till. 
 
 Mor. Come, we are all gallants now ; I'll keep 
 thee company. Here, honeit fellow, for this gentle- 
 man's fake, there's two angels more for thee. 
 
 Sav. Gcd quit you, Sir, and keep you long in 
 this mind ! 
 
 To. Lo. Wilt thou perfevere ? 
 
 Mor. 'Till I have a penny. 
 1 have brave cloaths a-making, and two horfes ; 
 Canil thou not help me to a match, knight ? 
 Pll lay a thoufand pound upon my Crop-ear. 
 
 58 Tbou hadft land and tboufands, thou fpettt'Jl, &C.] We have 
 added the word which here, it being requifite to both fgnic and verfe. 
 
 To. Lo.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 391 
 
 To. Lo. 'Foot, this is ftranger than an Africk mon- 
 
 (ter! 
 
 There will be no more talk of the Cleve wars 
 While this lalts. Come, I'll put thee into blood. 
 
 Sav. 'Would all his damn'd tribe were as tender- 
 hearted ! I befeech you let this gentleman join with 
 you in the recovery of my keys , I like his good 
 beginning, Sir; the whilft, I'll pray for both your 
 worfliips. 
 
 To. Lo. He mail, Sir. 
 
 Mor. Shall we go, noble knight ? I would fain be 
 acquainted. 
 
 To. Lo. I'll be your fervant, Sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Elder Lovelefs and Lady. 
 
 El- Lo. 'Faith, my fweet Lady, \ have caught 
 
 you now, 
 
 Maugre your fubtilties, and fine devices. 
 Be coy again now. 
 
 Lady. Prithee, fweetheart, tell true. 
 
 El. Lo. By this light, 
 By all the pkafures I have had this nighr, 
 By your loll maidenhead, you are cozen'd merely ^ 
 I have cad beyond your wit : That gentlewoman 
 Is your retainer Welford S9 . 
 
 Lady. It cannot be fo. 
 
 El. Lo. Your filler has found it fo, or I miftake. 
 Mark how me blufhes when you fee her next. 
 Ha, ha, ha! I mall not travel now. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Lady. Prithee, fweetheart, 
 Be quiet , thou haft angred me at heart. 
 
 El. Lo. I'll pleafe you foon again. 
 
 Lady. Welford? 
 
 LI. Lo. Ay, Welford. He's a young handfome 
 
 59 That gentleman is your retainer Welfcrd.} I think the Poets 
 certainly wiote^ra/Aot/oMM*. i.e. tiiat fcuning gentlevvtjm m ; for 
 Weifcrd was now in woman's habit. And fo, again, in the fubfc- 
 quent page, Nyw you may fee the gentlewoman : Stand clofe. 
 
 Mr. Iheohald. 
 
 B b 4 fellow -,
 
 392 THE SCORNFUL LADY, 
 
 fellow -, well-bred, and landed : Your fifter can jn- 
 ftrud: you in his good parts, better than I, by this 
 time. 
 
 7 ady, Ud's foot, am I fetch'd over thus ? 
 
 EL Lo. Yes, i'faith ; 
 And over fhall be fetch'd again, never fear it, 
 
 Lady. I muftbe patient, though it torture me ! 
 You have got the fun, Sir. 
 
 EL Lo. And the moon too ; in which I'll be the 
 man. 
 
 Lady. But had I known this, had I but furmis'd it, 
 You mould have hunted three trains more, before 
 You had come to th* courfe , 
 You mould have hank'd o'th' bridle, Sir, i'faith. 
 
 El. Lo. I knew it, and min'd with you, and fo 
 
 blew you up. 
 Now you may lee the gentlewomap : Stand clofe, 
 
 Enter Wdford and Martha. 
 
 Mar. For God's fake, Sir, be private in this bufmefs ; 
 You have undone me elfe. Oh, God, what have I done ? 
 
 Wei. No harm, I warrant thee. 
 
 Mar. How fhall I look upon my friends again ? 
 WitH what face ? 
 
 Wei. Why e'en with tfyat ; 'tis a good one, thou 
 can(t not find a better. Look upon all the faces 
 thou malt fee there, and you mall find 'em fmooth 
 (till, fair (till, fweet (till, and, to your thinking, 
 honeft ; thofe have done as much as you have yet, or 
 dare do, miilrefs -, and yet they keep no ftir. 
 
 Mar. Good Sir, go in, and put your woman's 
 
 cloaths on : 
 If you be feen thus, I am loft for ever. 
 
 Wei. I'll watch you for that, miftrefs : I am no fool. 
 Here will I tarry till the houle be up, 
 And witnefs with me. 
 
 Mar. Good dear friend, go in. 
 
 Wd. To-bed again, if you pleafe ; elfe I am fix'd 
 here till there be notice taken what J am, and what 
 
 I have
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 393 
 
 I have done. If you could juggle me into my wo- 
 manhood again, and fo cog me out of your company, 
 all this would be forfworn, and I again an afinego, 
 as your fitter left me. No , I'll have it known and 
 publifh'd : Then, if you'll be a whore, forfake me, 
 and be afham'd ; and, when you can hold out no 
 longer, marry fome caft Cleve captain, and fell bottle- 
 ale. 
 
 Mar. I dare not (lay, Sir ; ufe me modeftly j 
 I am your wife. 
 
 Wei. Go in } I'll make up all. 
 
 El. Lo. I'll be a witnefs of your naked truth, Sir, 
 This is the gentlewoman , prithee look upon him : 
 This is he that made me break my faith, fweet : 
 But thank your fitter, me hath folder'd it. 
 
 ' Lady. What a dull afs was I, I could not fee 
 This wencher from a wench ! Twenty to one, 
 If I had been but tender, like my fitter, 
 He had ferv'd me fuch a flippery trick too. 
 
 Wei. Twenty to one I had. 
 
 El. Lo. I would have watch'd you, Sir, by your 
 
 good patience, 
 For ferreting in my ground. 
 
 Lady. You have been with my fitter ? 
 
 Wei. Yes j to bring 
 
 El. Lo. An heir into the world, he means. 
 
 Lady. There is no chafing now. 
 
 Wei. I have had my part on't : 
 I have been chafe this three hours, that's the leaft ; 
 I am reafonable cool now. 
 
 Lady. Cannot you fare well, but you mutt cry 
 roaftmeat ? 
 
 Wei. He that fares well, and will not blefs the 
 
 founders, 
 
 Is either forfeited, or ill taught, Lady. 
 For mine own part;, I have found fo fweet a diet, 
 I can commend it, though I cannot fpare it. 
 
 El. Lo. How like you this dim, Welford ? I made 
 
 a fupper on't, 
 And fed fo heartily I could not fleep. 
 
 Lady.
 
 394 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Lady. By this light, had I but fcented out your 
 train, you had flept with a bare pillow in your arms ; 
 and kifs'd that, or clfe the bed-poft, for any wife you 
 had got tliis twelvemonth yet. I would have vex'd 
 you more than a tir'd poft-horfe ; and been longer 
 bearing, than ever after-game at Irim was. Lord x 
 that I were unmarried again ! 
 
 EL Lo. Lady, I would not undertake you, were 
 you again a haggard 6o , for the beft caft of ladies 
 i' th' kingdom : You were ever tickle-footed, and 
 -wow Id not trufs round. 
 
 Wei Is mefaft? 
 
 El. Lo. She v.?<? all night lock'd here, boy. 
 
 Wei. Then you may lure her, without fear of 
 lofmg 6l : Take off her creyance. You have a delicate 
 gentlewoman to your filler : Lord, what a pretty 
 fury me was in, when (lie perceiv'd I was a man I 
 But, I thank God, I fatisfkd her fcruple, without 
 the parfoh o'th' town. 
 
 El.Lo. What did ye? 
 
 Wei.. Madam, can you tHl what we did ? 
 
 El. Lo. She has a fhrewd guefs at it ; I fee it by her. 
 
 Lady. Well, you may mock us : But, my large 
 
 gentlewoman, 
 My Mary Ambr.ee 6i , had I but feen into you, 
 
 You 
 
 60 Ha?gard.~\ This is a term relative to a diversion, in our Authors* 
 time rnucn attended to, but now loit ; ixz. hawking. A haggard hawk 
 is a txild hawk, a hawk unreclaimed, or irreclaimable. R. 
 
 61 Then you may lure her icithout fear of lojing : Take off her 
 cranes.] A line, in falconry, is a machine competed of feathers and 
 leather ; which by being call up into the air, feems in its motion to 
 look like a fowl : Upon this, a young hawk is train'd up to be fed, 
 has a live dove given her ; and therefore forfakes not the lure. The 
 (rcyance is a line fmall long line of tfrong, and even twined pack- 
 thread, which is faitened to the hawk's leaih before (he is reclaim J, 
 or fully tamed. Mr. Theobald. 
 
 6? - J!/v Mary Ambree.] This was a virago who went a-voluntter- 
 ing in metis' cloaths in the reign of queen Elizabeth. She WHS cele- 
 brated in a ballad which Dr. Percy has printed at large in hisReliques 
 of Antient Poetry, vol. II. The time when (he performed this ex- 
 ploit .
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 395 
 
 You fhould have had another bedfellow, 
 Fitter a great deal for your itch. 
 
 Wei. I thank you, lady j methought it was well. 
 You are fo curious ! 
 
 Enter Young Lovtlefs, his lady^ Morecraft, Savil, and 
 two fervingmcn. 
 
 EL Lo. Get on your doublet j here comes my bro- 
 ther. 
 
 To. Lo. Good-morrow, brother ; and all good to 
 your lady ! 
 
 Mor. God fave you, and good-morrow to you all ! 
 
 EL Lo. Good-morrow. Here's a poor brother of 
 yours. 
 
 Lady. Fie, how this mames me. 
 
 Mcr. Prithee, good fellow, help me to a cnp of beer. 
 
 Ser. I will, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. Brother, what make you here? Will tfeis 
 
 lady do ? 
 Will me ? Is me not nettled ftill ? 
 
 El. Lo. No, I have cur'd her. 
 
 Mr. \\elford, pray know this gentleman-, he's my 
 brother. 
 
 Wtl. Sir, 1 mail long to love him. 
 
 'fo. Lo. I mail not be your debtor, Sir. But how 
 is't with you ? 
 
 El. Lo. As well as may be, man : I am married. 
 Your new acquaintance hath her filler ; and all's well. 
 
 To. Lo. I am glad on't. Now, my pretty lady fifter, 
 How do you- find my brother ? 
 
 Lady. Almoft as wild as you are. 
 
 ploit appears to have been about the year 1584 ; wi>en the Spaniards, 
 under the command of Alexander Farnefe, prince of Parma, began 
 to i^iri great advantages in Flanders and Brab;mt, by recovering 
 many ftrong-holds and cities from the Hollanders, as Ghent, Antwerp, 
 Mechlin, &c. See Stow's Annals, 711. Ben Jonfon often mentions 
 her, ;md calls any remarkable virago by her name. See his Epicane, 
 act iv. fcene ii. his Tale of a Tub, act i. fcene-iv. and his mafque en- 
 fitled the Fortunate Ifles. $ 
 
 Yo. Lo.
 
 396 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 To. Lo. He'll make the better hufband : You have 
 tried him ?. 
 
 Lady. Againft my will, Sir. 
 
 To. Lo. He'll make your will amends foon, do not 
 
 doubt it. 
 
 But, Sir, I muft in treat you to be better known 
 To this converted Jew here. 
 
 Ser. Here's beer for you, Sir. 
 
 Mor. And here's for you an angel. 
 Pray buy no land ; 'twill never profper, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. How's this ? 
 
 To.. Lo. Biefs you, and then I'll tell. He's turnM 
 gallant. 
 
 El. Lo. Gallant? 
 
 To. Lo. Ay, gallant, and is now caJPd Cutting 
 
 Morecraft ; 
 The reafbn I'll inform you at more leifurc. 
 
 JFel. Oh, good Sir, let me know him prefentVy. 
 
 To. Lo. You (hall hug one another. 
 
 Mor. Sir, I muft keep you company. 
 
 El. Lo. And reafon. 
 
 To-. Lo. Cutting Morecraft, faces about 6j ; I mult 
 prejgnt another. 
 
 Mor. As many as you will, Sir-, I am for 'ern. 
 
 Wei. Sir,. I mall do you fervice. 
 
 Mor. I mall look for't, in good faith, Sir. 
 
 El.Lo. Prithee, good fwcetheart, kifs him. 
 
 Lady. Who ? that fellow ? 
 
 Sav. Sir, will it pleaie you to remember me ? 
 My keys, good Sir ! 
 
 To. Lo. I'll do it prefently. 
 
 El. Lo. Come, thou fhalt kifs him for our fport 
 fcke. 
 
 63 Cutting Morecraft faces about.] Thcfe words are of the fame 
 import with our modern phrale, which, by dropping of a letter, is 
 corrupted to face about. We meet with the fame expreflion again in 
 the Knight of the Burning Pellle, where Ralph is exercifing his men ; 
 Double your files as you 'were ; faces about ; aft v. So in Ben Jon- 
 Ion's Every Man in his Humour, Wellbred fays, Good captain, faces 
 about to fame other difcourft ; aft iii. fcene i. K. 
 
 Lady.
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 Lady. Let him come on then -, and, do you ^ 
 do not inftruct me in thcfe tricks, for you may re- 
 pent it. 
 
 El. Lo. That at my peril. Lufty Mr. Morecraft, 
 Here is a lady would falute you. 
 
 Mor. She mall not loie her longing, Sir. What is 
 me ? 
 
 El. Lo. My wife, Sir. 
 
 Mor. She muft be, then, my miftrefs, 
 
 Lady. Muft I, Sir ? 
 
 El. Lo. Oh, yes, you muft. 
 
 Mo-r. And you muft take this ring, a poor pawn 
 Of fome fifty pound. 
 
 El. Lo. Take it, by any means ; 'tis lawful prize. 
 
 Lady. Sir, I fhall call you fervant. 
 
 Mor. I fhall be proud on't. What fellow's that ? 
 
 To. Lo. My lady's coachman. 
 
 Mor. There's fomething, my friend, for youi to 
 
 buy whips ; 
 And for you, Sir ; and you, Sir. 
 
 El. Lo. Under a miracle, this is the ftrangeft 
 I ever heard of. 
 
 Mor. What, mall we play, or drink ? What ihall 
 
 we do ? 
 Who will hunt with me for a hundred pounds ? 
 
 IVel. Stranger and ftranger ! 
 Sir, you mail find fport after a day or two. 
 
 To. Lo. Sir, I have a fuit unto you, 
 Concerning your old fervant Savil. 
 
 El. Lo. Oh, for his keys, I know it. 
 
 Sav. Now, Sir, ftrike in. 
 
 Mor. Sir, I muft have you grant me. 
 
 El. Lo. Tis done, Sir. Take your.kcys again : 
 But hark you, Savil ; leave off the motions 
 Of the flefh, and be honeft, or elfe you fhall graze 
 
 again : 
 I'll try you once more. 
 
 Sav. If ever I be taken drunk, or whoring, 
 off the biggeft key i'th' bunch, and open 
 
 My
 
 39 3 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 
 
 My head with it, Sir. I humbly thank your worfhips. 
 El. Lo. Nay, then, I lee we mutt keep holiday, 
 
 Enter Roger and Abigail. 
 Here's the laft couple in hell. 
 
 Rog. Joy be among you all ! 
 
 Lady. Why, how now, Sir, what's the meaning of 
 this emblem ? 
 
 Rog. Marriage, an't like your worfhip; 
 
 Lady. Are you married ? 
 
 Rog. As well as the next prieft could do it; madam. 
 
 El. Lo. I think the fign's in Gemini, here's fuch 
 coupling. 
 
 Wd. Sir Roger, what will you take to lie from 
 your fweetheaf t to-night ? 
 
 Rog. Not the beft benefice in your worfhip's gift, 
 Sir! 
 
 Wei. A whorfon, how he fwells ! 
 
 To. Lo. How many times to-night, Sir Roger ? 
 
 Reg. Sir, you grow fcurrilous. 
 What I mail do, I mail do : I mail not need your help; 
 
 To. Lo. For horfe-flem, Roger. 
 
 El. Lo. Come, prithee be not angry j 'tis a day 
 Given wholly to our mirth. 
 
 lady. It mall be fo, Sir. Sir Roger and his bride, 
 We mall intreat to be at our charge. 
 
 El. Lo. . Welford, get you to the church : By this 
 
 light, 
 You (hall not lie with her again, till y' are married. 
 
 Wei. I am gone. 
 
 Mcr. To every bride I dedicate, this day, 
 Six healths a piece; and, it mall go hard, 
 But every one a jewel. Come, be mad, boys J 
 
 El. Lo. Thou'rt in a good beginning, Come, who 
 
 leads r 
 
 Sir Roger, you mall have the van, and lead the way. 
 'Would every dogged wench had fuch a day ! 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 THE
 
 THE SCORNFUL LADY. 399 
 
 ' T H E fudden converfion of Morecraft, fays Mr. Theobald, 
 from a griping ufurer to a downright gallant, is quite extravagant 
 and oat of the rules and practice of the ilage t Efpecially, as there 
 is no fhadow of reafon for it ; unlefs he may be faid to look upon 
 the lofs he had fuftained from Young I.ovelefs to be a fcourge and 
 judgment upon him for his former rapacioufnefs.' 
 
 If Mr. Theobald, by ' out of the rules arid practice of the fhge' 
 means, that there is no fimilar circumftance to be met with, his objection 
 is trifling, his rffertion erroneous. Trifling, bccaufe, on fuch prin* 
 ciple, the moft pleafing ingredient in dramatic entertainment, Origi- 
 nality, mud be precluded the theatre ; erroneous, becaufe Terence 
 exhibits the fame change in the character of Demea, in his Adclphi. 
 Mr. Theobald afferts too, ' that there is no ftiadow of reafon for the 
 ' alteration, unlefs it be the lofs he had fuitained by Young Lovelefs.' 
 Morecraft himfeif affigns a much better ; one, indeed, which may go 
 far in perfuading us, that his difpofition is not altered, and that he 
 only affects profufion, in hope of gaining more by that than by over- 
 reaching and fcraping : ' Thou, fays he to Young Lovelefs, waft 
 ' rich 5 thou flung'lbaway ; and yet wealth flows in double : I wrung 
 ' and wiredravv'd; loft, and was cozen 'd : On which account, I 
 ' mean to follow thy example.' Goodnature, by laying much ftref? 
 on this paffage, may think the character confident : But, after all that 
 can be urged for or againft, the plain queflion being afked, ' Whether 
 ' fuch an alteration, either in fentiment or policy, is confonant to 
 Nature, the grand arbitrefs of propriety ?' the reply muft certainly 
 be in the negative. And it is pity a Comedy, fo replete with wit, 
 character, and conduct, fhould have fo Unking a blemifh. 
 
 Donatus remarks, that Terence ' (hews, how aukwardly a man of 
 * an oppofite difpofition endeavours to be complaifant ; and, that a 
 ' mifer, me;.nir.g to be generous, runs into profufion.' We think 
 our Authors do not fall fnort of Terence in this picture; fince what 
 Mr. Colman fays of Demea may, with equal propriety.be applied to 
 Morecraft ; * That his complaifance, gaiety, and liberality, arc 
 1 affumed ; and that his aukwardnels, in affecting thole qualities, is 
 4 truly comic.' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
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