THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 DRAMATISTS OF THE RESTORATION. 
 
 C R AA^ N E. 
 I.
 
 Printed for Subscribers only. 
 
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 THE DRAMATIC 
 
 WORKS OF JOHN CROWNE. 
 
 WITH PREFATORY MEMOIR AND NOTES, 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST. 
 
 MDCCCLXXIII. 
 
 EDINBURGH : WILLIAM PATEESON. 
 LONDON: H. SOTHEKAN & CO.

 
 TO 
 
 JOHN PAYNE COLLIER, ESQUIRE, F.S.A., 
 
 THE DISTINGUISHED REVIVER AND EXPONENT OF 
 
 THE EARLIER POETS AND DRAMATISTS 
 
 OP ENGLAND, 
 
 THESE VOLUMES ARE INSCRIBED, BY HIS FAITHFUL 
 
 AND OBLIGED FRIENDS, 
 
 THE EDITORS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Juliana, ...... 1 
 
 The History of Charles the Eighth of France, 117 
 
 Calisto, 219 
 
 Notices of Performers in Calisto, . . 327 
 
 Prologue to Horace, sroken by the Duchess of 
 
 Monmouth, ..... 341
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR 
 
 Langbaine, ill liis account of the English Dram- 
 atic Poets, Oxon. 1691, 12mo, although a contem- 
 porary, mentions Crowne as " a jierson, now 
 living, who has attempted all sorts of Dramatick 
 poetry with different success. ... If I may be 
 allowed to speak my sentiments," he continues, 
 "I think his genius seems fittest for Comedy, 
 though possibly his Tragedies are no ways con- 
 temptible, of all which, in my weak judgment, his 
 Destruction of Jerusalem seems the best." Then 
 follows a list of his plays to the above date, with 
 some notes as to the sources whence their plots 
 have been derived. 
 
 Subsequent biographers have for the most part 
 derived what little information they are pleased 
 to offer from the account of this poet given by 
 John Dennis in his Letters.* Following in the 
 wake of one another they simply indorse without 
 enquiry, as seems usual with book-makers, the 
 statements made by the original writer, copying 
 even his very words. In this way, they unite 
 in saying, as Dennis himself has it, that "John 
 Crowne was the son of an independent minister in 
 that part of America which is called Nova Scotia. 
 The vivacity of his genius made him soon grow 
 
 * Letters, vol. i., p. IS.
 
 X I'KEFATURY MEMOIR. 
 
 impatient of that sullen and gloomy education, and 
 soon oblig'd him to get loose from it, and seek 
 his fortune in England ; but it was his fate at 
 his first arrival here, to happen on an employ- 
 ment more formal, if possible, than his American 
 education." Oldys has these notes in M8. on his 
 annotated c<jpy of Langbaine, in the British 
 Museum : — " John Crowne was the son of William 
 Crowne, gent., who travelled under the Earl of 
 Arundel to Vienna, and published a relation of the 
 remarkable places and passages in the said Earl's 
 said Embassy to the Emperor Ferdinand II., 1637, 
 but full of imperfections and errors. This William, 
 afterwards succeeded H. Lilly as Rouge Dragon in 
 the Herald's office, and was continued in 1660; 
 but, selling to Mr Sandford,* went over with his 
 family to one of the plantations and there died." 
 " There is some order or paper of instructions I 
 once saw in the Harleian Library, from Charles II., 
 as I remember, either to the Lord Baltimoi^e or 
 some other possessors, or Governors in one of the 
 American settlements, to enquire into, recover, or 
 restore for or on behalf of Mr John Crowne or his 
 father." 
 
 On Crowne's arrival in England, his urgent 
 
 * The following notice of Mr Sandford is from a MS. of Dr 
 Farmer's : — " Francis Sandford, a younger brother of the Sand- 
 fords of Sandford, in Shroi3shire, a gentleman of good education, 
 and a lover of antiquities and mathematics. He was first made 
 Rouge Dragon, circa 1662, on the death [?] of Mr Crown, and 
 second, 1675, on the death of Mr Chaloner, was made Lancaster 
 Herald. He published many treatises in the way of Heraldry 
 of his own translation and composition, the principal whereof 
 was, his Genealogical History of the Kings of England, and the 
 History of the Coronation of King James H. ; in which last he 
 was jointly assisted by Mr King, Rouge Dragon. He resigned 
 his place of Lancaster in the beginning of William and Mary to 
 King William aforesaid, and died in low circumstances, a 
 prisoner to the Fleet, 16th Jan. l69o."—Se2mltiis in Cemiferio S. 
 Bi'iffettiv, Fleet Street, London.
 
 PREFATORY MEMOIR. xi 
 
 necessities obliged him to become gentleman-iislier 
 to ail old ludepeudeut lady of quality, but, so soon 
 as he was able to exist otherwise, he quitted this 
 most uncongenial employment, and launched into 
 the world of letters, for which he had evinced an 
 aptitude. His taste lay in favour of dramatic 
 literature, Avhich was the readier path to favour 
 and distinction, though not to power or fortune. 
 His writings ere long made him known to the 
 Court and the town, and the Earl of Kochester, 
 in order, as it is said, to mortify Dryden, at whom 
 he had taken umbrage, prevailed on the king 
 or his brother to lay commands on Crowne, in 
 preference to the Poet-Laureate, to write a masque 
 for performance at Court, which he duly executed 
 under the title of Calisto. The circumstance of 
 Crowne being set up in opposition to Dryden is 
 noticed by St. I^vremond in a letter to the 
 Duchess of Mazarine. 
 
 That the favour extended to our poet by Lord 
 Rochester was not owing, it has been asserted, to 
 any peculiar personal regard, for, in the short space 
 of two years, he incurred the envy and subsecpient 
 enmity of that nobleman, in consequence of the 
 great success of his two-part tragedy — the Destruc- 
 tion of Jerusalem — and the Earl went so far 
 as to endeavour to injure him at Court ; but in this 
 he was unsuccessful, Crowne standing high in the 
 favour of the King, as all those usually did who 
 contributed to his amusement. However this may 
 be, Crowne dedicated his tragedy of Charles VIII. 
 of France (1680) to Rochester, who in return thus 
 lampooned the author, in an imitatioii of Boileau's 
 Third Satire, which will be found in the collected 
 edition of his remains : — 
 
 ■' Kickiim for Crown declared ; said, in Romniice, 
 He had out-done the verv wits of Finance.
 
 Xll PREFATOKY MEMOIR. 
 
 Witness Pandion and his Charles the Eight ; 
 Where a young monarch, careless of his fate, 
 Tho' foreign troops and rebels shock his state, 
 Complains another sight afflicts him more. 
 {Viz.) 'The Queen's galleys rowing from the shore. 
 Fitting their oars and tackling to be gone. 
 Whilst sportive waves smil'd on the rising sun. ' 
 Waves smiling on the sun ! I'm sure that's new, 
 And 'twas well thought on, give the devil his due." 
 
 Rochester wrote some other verses upon Crowne 
 in which he characterized him as " Starch Johnny 
 Crowne." " Many a cup of metheglin have I 
 drank witli little starch Johnny Crowne," says the 
 author of a letter on the celebrated poets and 
 actors in King Charles II. 's time, in the " Gentle- 
 man's Magazine," vol. xv., 1745. "We called 
 him so from the stiff unalterable primness of his 
 long cravat." 
 
 After the discovery of what was called the 
 Popish plot, and the consequent antagonism of 
 the two parties, Crowne, from the favour he was 
 held in by the King, and the natural gaiety of 
 his temper, sided with the Tory party, and wrote 
 a comedy called the City Politiques, in ridicule of 
 the Whigs, the wit and merit of which even many 
 of his opponents acknowledged. AVhen written, 
 he found much difficulty in getting it performed. 
 Bennet, Lord Arlington, the then Lord Cham- 
 berlain, exerted all his authority to suppress it. 
 It would seem that Lord Arlington, in order to 
 support himself against the power of the Earl of 
 Danby, the Lord Treasurer, his declared enemy, 
 was secretly a supporter of the Whigs, who were at 
 that time potent in Parliament. The reasons for 
 prohibiting the performance of the play were 
 various ; at one time it was dangerous, at another it 
 was flat and insipid, and exception would have 
 been taken to it at every turn, had not Crowne
 
 PREFATOKY MKMOIH. xiii 
 
 exerted liis influeuce Avith tlic Kin<;- to cause tli<; 
 Lord Chaml)erlain not to delay it longer. This 
 command the King was pleased to impose in 
 person. 
 
 Crowne, though attached to his Majesty, disliked 
 the insincerity of the Court, aiul seldom made his 
 appearance there excepting when he went to receive 
 such sums of money as were from time to time 
 accorded him. 
 
 Towards the end of King Charles' reign, Crowne, 
 desirous to escape from the tedium of writing 
 combined with the uncertainty of theatrical suc- 
 cess, and at the same time to shelter himself from 
 the resentment of numerous enemies he had made 
 by the production of his City Politiques, applied 
 to his Majesty for an appointment to some per- 
 manent office. The King assured him he should be 
 provided for, but he must first produce another 
 comedy. Crowne begged to be excused in this, 
 stating that he was slow and awk^vard in devising 
 a plot. His objections were overruled by his 
 Majesty saying he would help him to a plot, and 
 immediately placed in his hands a Spanish comedy 
 called " No puede ser." He set at once to 
 work upon this, and was far advanced in his adap- 
 tation, when he discovered that the piece had 
 been previously translated by Thomas tSt Serfe, a 
 Scotchman,* under the title of "Tarugo's Wiles, 
 or, the Coffee House," and acted at the Duke's 
 Theatre without success. 
 
 Pepys has the following entry in his diary, 
 
 * He was son of the Bishop of Galloway, the only surviving 
 prelate, at the Restoration, of those removed at the famous, 
 or rather infamous, Assembly of 1638. See A Book of Scotish 
 Pasquils, 1.568-1715, Edin. 1868, p. 25, crown 8ro. The Bishop, 
 though a very old man upon the restoration of Episcopacy, was 
 translated to the richer benefice of Orkney, which he held until 
 his death in 16()3.
 
 xiv PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 from which it is evident that, Ijefore recom- 
 mending the play to Crowne, the King had 
 previously seen the performance of the adapta- 
 tion by Sidserflf— or St Serfe, as his name was 
 spelt — and had not been satisfied with it: — lf)th 
 October 1667. "My wife and I, and Willet to 
 the Duke of York's house, where, after long 
 stay, the King and Duke of York came, and 
 there saw the Coftee House, the most ridiculous, 
 insipid play that ever I saw in my life, and glad 
 Ave Avere that Betterton had no part in it." It 
 appears that Mrs Pepys suspected her husband of 
 paying too much attention to Willet, and began to 
 knag about it, a circumstance which would not tend 
 to put the worthy Secretary in a proper humour for 
 considering a performance, which was specially 
 reconunended by so competent a judge as the Earl 
 of Dorset, in verses addressed to the author on its 
 publication, in which he is styled Sir Thomas St 
 Serfe, " whence we may gather that he had been 
 honoured with a Knight Hood, though in the title 
 page of his play he is called Thomas St Serfe, 
 Gent."'* 
 
 Encouraged by the King, to whom he had read 
 his piece scene by scene, in so far as it had gone, 
 he completed it, taking for its title " Sir Courtly 
 Nice ; or. It cannot be," but, alas ! for his hopes of 
 gratifying the King, and obtaining the provision 
 for life which had been promised him. The very 
 morning of the last rehearsal of the play, his 
 IMajesty was seized with a fit, caused, as has been 
 
 * Jones' Biographia Dramatica, vol. ii., p. 624. The fol- 
 Ipwingis a correct copy of the title page: — Tarugo's Wiles, or the 
 Coffee House. A Comedy as it was acted at his Highness's the 
 Duke of York's Theater." Written by Thos. St. Serffe, Gent. 
 London. Printed for Henry Herringman, at the Sign of the 
 Anchor, on the lowei-w.alk of the New-Exchange. 1668. 4to
 
 PREFATOHV MEMUllt. xv 
 
 hinted, by some niysteriuus agency, which event- 
 uated in his death in three days, thereal'ttir. 
 
 The comedy of "Sir Courtly Nice" was, how- 
 ever, produced some short time after the King's 
 death, and was well received. It continued to be 
 a stock piece at many theatres for upwards of a 
 century. 
 
 Dennis, although he promises in his letter to 
 give further particulars of Crowne on another 
 occasion, does not appear to have done so. His 
 subsequent career is therefore uncertain, as well as 
 the period of his decease. It has been conjectured 
 that his writings were his only means of support, 
 for, after Sir Courtly Nice, he wrote other six 
 plays, which were pretty generally successful. 
 From Mr Coxeter's notes we learn that Crowne 
 was alive in 1703, and, being then advanced in 
 years, it is probable he did not thereafter long 
 survive. Jacob tells us that he was buried in St 
 Ciles's-in-the-Fields . 
 
 The following are his Dramatic works : — 
 
 1. Juliana. A Tragi-Coniedy . 1671 
 
 2. Charles VIII. of France . . 1672 
 
 3. The Country AVit. Comedy . 1675 
 
 4. Andromache. Tragedy . . 1675 
 
 This was merely a translation from Eacine, 
 wdiich he edited for a friend. 
 
 5. Calisto. A Masque . . . 1675 
 
 6. City Politiques. Comedy . 1675 
 
 7. The Destruction of Jerusalem. 
 
 Tragedy — 2 parts . . . 1677 
 
 8. The Ambitious Statesman. Tragedy 1679 
 
 9. Henry the Sixth. Tragedy — 2 parts 1681 
 
 The first part is called Henry the Sixth ; or, 
 the Misery of Civil War, under which latter title 
 it was acted and printed in 1680.
 
 XVI PREFATORY ME;\I0H!. 
 
 10. 
 
 Tliyestes. Tragedy 
 
 1681 
 
 11. 
 
 Sir Coiirtly Nice. Coiiifdy 
 
 168r) 
 
 12. 
 
 Darius. Tragedy 
 
 1688 
 
 13. 
 
 The English Friar. Comedy . 
 
 1690 
 
 14. 
 
 Reguhis. Tragedy . 
 
 1694 
 
 15. 
 
 The Married Beau. Comedy . 
 
 1 694 
 
 16. 
 
 Caligula. Tragedy 
 
 1698 
 
 17. Justice Busy. A Comedy (not printed). 
 
 In addition to these dramatic pieces, Crowne 
 Avrote : — 
 
 Pandion and Amphigenia ; or, the History of 
 the Coy Lady of Thessalia. Adorned with 
 Sculpture. London 1665, 8vo. 
 
 Dceneids ; or, the Noble Labours of the great 
 Dean of Notre Dame in Paris, for erecting 
 in his quire a throne for his glory, and the 
 eclipsing the pride of an imperious usurping 
 chanter. An heroic poem in four cantos, 
 containing a true history, and shews the 
 folly, foppery, luxury, laziness, pride, ambi- 
 tion, and contention of the Romish clergy, 
 1692, 4to. This is a burlesque poem partly 
 translated from the Lutrin of N. Boileau 
 Despreaux. It was subsequently reprinted 
 by Dryden under the title of " The Church 
 Scuffle," in the third part of Miscellany 
 Poems, p. 352, 1716, 12mo. 
 
 A Poem on the lamented death of our late 
 gratious Sovereign, King Charles the II., 
 of ever blessed memory. With a congratu- 
 lation to the Happy succession of King 
 James the II. London, printed for John 
 Smith, bookseller in Russel Street, near 
 Covent Garden, 1685, 4to. 
 In this " Poem " Charles is depicted, according 
 to the adulation of the day, as possessing every
 
 I'ltKFAToliV .MKMurii. .wii 
 
 virtue under the sun, and as being greater than 
 divinity itself. 
 
 Crowne also contributed a song or two, set to 
 music by Henry Purcell, to the '' Gentleman's 
 Journal, or Monthly Miscellany," edited by Mot- 
 teux, 1691-2. 
 
 Of Crowne and his merits as a dramatist, the 
 " Biographia Dramatica " advances this opinion, of 
 which our own is coniirmatory : — " As a man, he 
 seems to have possessed many amiable and social 
 virtues, mingled with great vivacity and easiness 
 of disposition. As a writer, his numerous Avorks 
 bear sufficient testimony of his merit. His chief 
 excellence lay in comedy, yet his tragedies are far 
 from contemptible. His plots are for the most 
 part his own invention ; his characters are in 
 general strongly coloured and highly finished ; and 
 his dialogue lively and spirited, attentively diversi- 
 fied, and well adapted to the several speakers." 
 
 As a Avriter of Comedies, he is the superior of 
 Dryden, who in no one instance has produced any- 
 thing to be compared to Sir Courtly Nice. 
 
 Warton, in a note upon a passage in one of 
 Pope's prologues to his Satires relative to the 
 public starving Dryden when alive, and burying 
 him munificently after his decease,* gives an account 
 of the Laureate's emoluments, so far as Tonson was 
 concerned, and instances the receipt upon the pub- 
 lication of his Fables of two hundred and sixty- 
 eight pounds, " for ten thousand verses, and to 
 complete the full number of lines stipulated for, he 
 gave the bookseller the Epistle to his cousin and 
 the celebrated Music Ode." It cannot be said that 
 this was an overpayment. It leads to a somewhat 
 interesting disclosure : " Old Jacob used to say, 
 
 * Bowles Pope, Vol. iv., p. 47.
 
 XVUl PREFATORY MEMOIR. 
 
 that Dryden was a little jealous of rivals. He 
 would compliment Crowne when a play of his failed, 
 but was very cold to him if he met with success. 
 He used to say that Crowne had some genius, but 
 then he added always that his father and Crowne's 
 mother were very well acquainted." 
 
 If this anecdote is true, which it probably is, the 
 explanation is not difficult. Born a poet, and con- 
 scious of the divinus afflatus, what pain Dryden must 
 have endured at the indignity of having such a miser- 
 able poetaster as Elkanah Settle set up as a rival, 
 and patronised by parties in power who preferred, 
 or seemed to do so, such wretched tragedies as the 
 Empress of Morocco, and the Illustrious Bassa to 
 his All for Love and Don Sebastian, in both of 
 which are passages worthy of the older dramatists. 
 Nor could the insult in transferring Calisto to 
 Crowne be pardoned. No doubt the latter, in his 
 address to the reader, yields the palm to Dryden 
 with a delicacy and propriety exceedingly to be 
 commended, but still the insult by Rochester would 
 not be forgotten, and when it is recollected that 
 neither an ancient pedigree, a titled wife, nor noble 
 relatives could supply the wants of a family or 
 exclude the presence of poverty, we are surely 
 entitled to overlook such ebullitions of temper as 
 Old Jacob has been the means of preserving for the 
 edification of posterity. 
 
 It has not been deemed essential to reprint 
 Crowne's Dramatic pieces in the exact chronolo- 
 gical order in which they were first presented to 
 the public, or to include such as cannot properly 
 be described as his own composition. 
 
 James Maidment. 
 W. H. Logan.
 
 J U L 1 A N A.
 
 Juliana, or tlie Priucesa of Poland. A Tragi-Comethj. 
 As it acted at his Roi/al Highness the Duke of York\'i 
 Theatre. By J. Croii:)ie, Gent. Presto, e bene, di rado 
 riesce bene. Licenced Sept. 8, 1671. Roger UEstrange. 
 London, printed for Will. Cademan, at the Pope\^ Head, in 
 the lower Walk in the A\'iv Exchange, and Will Birch, at 
 the lover end of Cheapside. 1G71.
 
 In his dedication to the Earl of Orrery the author 
 laments that his " iirst-born" had, iu the absence of the 
 Court, been left to the mercy of a common audience, " in 
 which unguarded condition" it might well be expected 
 to receive some woiuids, and so it did — though much 
 fewer than " I expected, yet such as it deserved" ;— ad- 
 missions which shew that the drama had only been 
 partially successful. It is not surprising that such had 
 been its reception, for the plot is somewliat confused, and, 
 without the explanations added to the names of the 
 dramatis personse, not very intelligible to spectators. 
 
 Although the events are represented as occurring at 
 Warsaw, before the meeting of the Diet for electiou of a 
 King, they have no foundation in reality, there never 
 having been a Princess called Juliana, and no Duke of 
 Curland, or Courland, bearing the Christian name of 
 Ladislaus, Avho was elected King of Poland upon his 
 marriage with tiie Princess of that kingdom. At no 
 period in the history either of that country or of tiie 
 Duchy of Curland was there a King or Duke called 
 Ladislaus. The list of Polish monarchs, and Dukes of 
 Courland, given in 169(3 by Dr Connor* in his inter- 
 esting letters from Poland, have been carefully gone 
 over to discover if any information could be procured 
 relative either to the parties or iucideuts in this Tragi- 
 comedy, but without success. 
 
 AVhy a Duke of Courland was selected as the hero may 
 have arisen from the fact that, in the early ])art of the 
 reign of Charles II., the ruler of that Duchy, a fief of 
 
 * " The History of Poland, in several Letters to Persons of 
 Quality, giving an account of the ancient and present state 
 of that Kingdom. London, 1696, 2 vols. 8vo." Published by 
 the care and assistance of Mr Savage. 
 
 This must have been the "J. Savage" who is rcpresentcfi 
 in the Biographia Dramatica as the "translator of Celcstina." 
 Fc. 8vo, 1707.
 
 4 JULIANA ; 
 
 Poland, became known to the peojile of England from a 
 contention in relation to the occupancy by the Dutch of 
 the Island of 'J'obago, which had been discovered by 
 James, the fourth Duke — a godson of James I. of 
 England — and named after his Majesty. The Duke 
 placed a colony there, and built a fort called James" Fort. 
 
 For a series of years the colony prosjjered, so much so 
 that it attracted the notice of a rich Dutchman of the 
 name of J.ambson, who, getting permission to settle on 
 a corner of the Island upon condition of paying a 
 yearly tribute, took the opportunity of the imprison- 
 ment of the owner by the Swedes, to dispossess him 
 of the Island, and refused, after his Highness had re- 
 covered his liberty, to restore it to him. Af rer ineffec- 
 tually endeavouring to induce Lambson and the States 
 of Holland to give back what had been so unfairly 
 taken from him, the Duke applied to Charles II. for 
 assistance, and offered to hold the Island off the Crown 
 of England. Accordingly, an agreement, dated 17th of 
 November 1664, was entered into between Charles and 
 the Duke, by which the former gave and granted " to 
 the said Duke of Curland, his heirs, and successors, all 
 and every that Island called Tobago, to be held and en- 
 joyed under the King's protection." 
 
 Their High Mightinesses the States of Holland were by 
 no means pleased with the interference of Charles in 
 endeavouring to procure restoration of a colony so un- 
 warrantably taken from the godson of his grandfather, and 
 by various artifices contrived to hold possession, so that 
 it was not until the year 1681, or about that time, that 
 Duke James, by compulsion, got back his Island, which, 
 during the occupation of the Dutch, had been held by 
 them as convenient for the ready pillaging of their neigh- 
 bours — its remote position and its accessible harbours 
 rendering it a suitable place for depositing the spoil 
 which they had obtained either by their own acts or 
 through the pirates whom they patronized. At this 
 date, the Amboyna massacres had not been forgotten in 
 England, and the Dutch were still unpopular. Thus the 
 name of this ill-used Prince would naturally find favour 
 with the London citizens, and Crowne, alive to this 
 impression, conferred the honours of Courland on the
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 5 
 
 hero of his drama as a means of drawing attention 
 to it. 
 
 As a first production tliis drama is entitled to more 
 credit than is accorded to it cither in tiie Biographia 
 Dramatica, or by Geneste in his history of the Enghsh 
 st.ige. The plot is apparently original, and not taken 
 from any of the Italian novelists, upon whom our old 
 dramatists were accustomed so frequently to draw. No 
 doubt the story is somewhat perplexing, and the marriage 
 in the dark of the supposed Ladislaus to the Muscovite 
 Princess Paulina rather improbable, — still, with judicious 
 pruning and curtailment, Juliana might yet be converted 
 into an attractive play — infinitely superior to the great 
 mass of modern sensational dramas of ephemeral existence 
 which appear for a season or two and then vanish and 
 are seen no more. 
 
 The character of the landlord is admitted by Geneste 
 to be an amusing one. He must have contributed 
 materially to such success as attended the original re- 
 presentation. 
 
 But Paulina in her male costume is infinitely more 
 calculated to please an audience than the Polish Princess. 
 The interest of the piece rests with her rather than 
 with Juliana; and her wild goose chase after an imaginary 
 husband is more interesting than the bold defiance of 
 the Cardinal by Juliana, or her grief for the supposed 
 infidelity of Ladislaus. 
 
 The piece was well cast. Mrs Saunderson, better 
 known subsequently as Mrs Betterton, a performer of 
 great merit, acted the Princess of Poland, and Mrs 
 Long, esteemed "a fine actress," was the representative 
 of Paulina.* She assumed the part of the Justice in 
 Betterton's comedy of " The Woman made a Justice " 
 — a play so successful as to be acted fourteen days 
 running. She afterwards appeared as Mrs Brittle in 
 " the Amorous Widow or the Wanton Wife," a character 
 in which she was succeeded by Mrs Bracegirdle. In 
 Lord Orrery's Henry V., 1688, she took the character of 
 the Queen of France. Geneste says the name of Mrs 
 Long does not appear after 1673. Downes commends 
 
 * See History of the English Stage. London, CurU, 1741, 
 8vo.
 
 6 JULIANA ; 
 
 lier greatly in Widow Rich, as well as in the characters 
 above mentioned. 
 
 Mrs Shadwell is named as Cleora the Queen of Hun- 
 gary's woman in Lord Orrery's tragedy of Mustapha, 
 1668. She must have been a vocalist, as, in her character 
 of Joanna, the attendant of Paulina, she is discovered, 
 upon the rising of the curtain, singing beside her mistress, 
 who is sleeping under a tree. 
 
 Geneste says : — " Mrs Shadwell's name does not occur 
 after the uuion of the two companies in 1682. She was 
 certainly the wife of [Thomas] Shadwell the poet, and 
 perhaps Mrs Williams before her marriage. The name 
 of Mrs Williams stands to the parts of Leandra in the 
 Slighted Maid, and Pontia in the Stepmother in 1663, 
 after which we hear no more of her. Mrs Shadwell's 
 name first appears in 1664." She survived her husband, 
 who died suddenly in 1692 in the fifty-second year of 
 his age at Chelsea, aud was interred in the church there. 
 In the Apotheosis of Milton, printed in the Ge)it/e7nan\s 
 Magazine, vol. 8, p. 235, a singular picture of Shad- 
 well's personal appearance will be found, which may be 
 presumed to be correct, as many pereons then alive must 
 have seen him often.* Mrs Shadwell was living in 1693, 
 as she dedicated to Queen Mary her husband's post- 
 humous comedy of the Volunteers, or the Stock-jobbers. 
 Tlie late Sir Launcelot Shadwell, the vice -Chancellor, is 
 understood to have been a descendant of the Dramatist. 
 
 Of the male performers, the important part of the 
 Jesuitical Cardinal was assigned to Joseph Harris, origin- 
 ally a seal cutter, a calling he abandoned for the 
 stage where he met with great success. Pepys was a 
 great friend of his, and makes mention of his agree- 
 able society. His portrait was painted as Henry V. by 
 Hales, and the Secretary of the Admiralty saw it in his 
 studio but '' did not think the picture near so good 
 as any yet he has made for me." This was not Shak- 
 speare's Henry V., but a rhyming tragedy by the Earl of 
 Orrery, first published by Herringhamin folio at London 
 1668, with the tragedy of Mustapha by the same noble 
 Earl, in which Harris is entered amongst the Dramatis 
 
 * See D'Avenant's Dramatic Works, vol. i. p. liv., Prefatory 
 Memoir. Edinburg-h, Pater.son, 1S72.
 
 OR, I'HK ri{l\(.'KSS (»K I'OLAMi. 7 
 
 Personse as Mnstaplia, the son of Solynian the nia<rnifi- 
 coiit. He was so successful in the Cardinal Wolsey of 
 Shakespeare that a mezzotint engraving was taken of 
 him in the character — now of extra-rarity — but of which 
 an impression is preserved in the Pepysian Library at 
 Cambridge. 
 
 In 1793 a print of him was published, probably from 
 the painting by Hales just mentioned, then in posses- 
 sion of Horace Walpole at Strawberry Hill — but whither 
 it has gone since the dispersion of the treasures, once 
 there preserved, has not been ascerta,ined. 
 
 Of Betterton, the representative of Ladislaus, so 
 nuich is known that, respecting his extraordinary talents 
 as a performer, it is unnecessary to say more than that 
 he has never been excelled either as an actor on the 
 stage, or as a gentleman off it.* 
 
 "Among the many fine players of this age," it is 
 remarked in "Betterton's History of the English Stage," 
 "Mr Sandford must be remembered, and sorry we are that 
 we can obtain no other notices of him than what we find 
 among the Dramatis Persouge prefixed to the plays in 
 which he acted." Sandford excelled " in such characters 
 as Creon, Malignii, lago, and Machiavel."t Necessity more 
 than choice forced him into this line of acting, his 
 stature being low and his person crooked. Cibber " had 
 often lamented that Sandford's masterly performance 
 was not rewarded with that applause which inferior 
 actors met Avith, merely because they stood in more 
 amiable characters." This gentleman's name apjiears 
 iu the list of Dramatis Personse appended to the present 
 play, set against two characters, " Count Palatines of the 
 Cardinal's faction." AYhich of the two he performed is 
 not apparent, but, from the fact of both of them being 
 on the stage at the same time, it is evident he did not 
 " double" the parts, as one might be induced to think. 
 
 Young, the Demetrius of the piece, took the part 
 of the Cardinal of Veradium in Lord Orrery's Mustapha, 
 and the Dauphine in his Lordship's Henry V. Of his 
 history or his histrionic merits the writers on the stage 
 have thrown no light. 
 
 * See D'Avenant. Life. Iviii., Ixviii., d acfj. 
 t C4eneste, vol. i. p. 493.
 
 8 JULIANA; 
 
 AVilliani Siiiitb, who played the part of Shainosky the 
 friend of Ladislaus, was a barrister of Gray"s Inn. After 
 .Sir William Davenant's decease he became a partner in 
 the Duke's Theatre, and, as such, appears as a party to a 
 memorandum of agreement between Dr Charles Davenant, 
 the eldest son of Sir William, Thomas Betterton and 
 himself, on the one part ; and Charles Hart and Edward 
 Kynaston, players of eminence, on the other, dated 14th 
 October 1681. The document was reprinted from the life 
 of Betterton, by Geneste, in his useful and generally 
 accurate " Account of the English Stage from the period 
 of the Restoration in 1660 to 1830." Smith performed 
 Zanger in Mustapha, and the Duke of Burgiindy in 
 ( )rrery's Henry V. 
 
 That facetious personage, the Landlord of the inn, on 
 whose clever acting so much dejjended, was allotted to 
 Mr Angel, who originally played female parts, but subse- 
 quently resumed his male habiliments, and became a 
 popular performer. His name does not appear after 1 673. 
 These lines, in which he is mentioned, occur in the Pro- 
 logue to the Amorous Prince, by Mrs Behn : — 
 
 " Now for the rest, 
 Who swear they'd rather hear a smutty jest 
 Spoken by Nokes or Angel, than a scene 
 Of the admired and well-penned Catiline." 
 
 Angel's name is among the Dramatis Persons in Mus- 
 tapha, where he is set down for Viche (a Hungarian 
 Lord), and in Henry the Fifth he represents the Earl 
 of Warwick. Both characters are short. 
 
 Crowne was self -interestedly judicious in his selection 
 of a patron who had the means and power to benefit him. 
 Roger Boyle, the fifth son of Richard, usually known 
 as " the great Earl of Cork," obtained the Irish Barony 
 of Broghill when only seven years of age. He was 
 educated at the University of Dublin, where he distin- 
 guished himself as a man of genius and ability. During 
 the Rebellion he was entrusted with the defence of his 
 father's castle of Lismore, where he behaved with the 
 courage and sagacity of a veteran soldier. After the 
 murder of Charles, he was inclined to leave his native 
 land, but was induced by Cromwell to remain, who not
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 9 
 
 only received him with kindness, but took him into his 
 confidence, and placed implicit reliance on his fidelity 
 and sincerity. The Protector had a good knowledge of 
 mankind, and was no doubt much influenced by the gallant 
 and honourable conduct of Lord Broghill when espousing 
 the cause of the Crown against the Roundheads. It has 
 been said that Broghill suggested to Cromwell a marriage 
 between one of his daughters and the exiled monarch, 
 which was met with this answer, — that it was not 
 possible Charles could forgive the death of his father, 
 and, if he could, he was unworthy of his daughter. 
 After the death of Cromwell he continued firm to the 
 interests of his son, whose gentle disposition was unable 
 to contend with the ambitious republicans around him. 
 AVhen Richard abandoned his high office, Broghill saw 
 that the restoration of the exiled family was the only 
 way to save his country from a new civil war and years 
 of anarchy and bloodshed. He then exerted himself to 
 effect Charles' return, and, upon the consequent restora- 
 tion of a monarchical government, he was created Earl 
 of Orrery. 
 
 Walpole, in his character of this noble Lord observes, 
 " He was a man who never made a bad figure but as an 
 author. As a soldier, his bravery was distinguished, 
 his stratagems remarkable. As a statesman, it is suffi- 
 cient to say that, he had the confidence of Cromwell. 
 As a man, he was grateful and would have supported 
 the son of his friend. Like Cicero and Richelieu, he 
 could not be content without being a poet." 
 
 A complete catalogue of the works of Lord Orrery is 
 given in the last edition of Walpole's royal and noble 
 Authors, by Thomas Park, Esq., F.S. A. His plays, with 
 the exception of a comedy called Mr Anthony, ascribed 
 to him, were collected in two volumes, 8vo, 1739. A 
 reprint of the omitted drama was published by T. 
 Wilkins at the end of the last century, London, 1794, 
 8vo. Lord Orrery died on the 18th of October 1G79. 
 
 In Lawes' "Ayresand Dialogues," 1663, the following 
 song by hi.s Lordship occurs : —
 
 10 JULIANA ; 
 
 THE EXCELLKNCY OF WINE. 
 
 'Tis wine that inspires, 
 
 And quencheth Love's fires. 
 Teaches fools how to govern a State. 
 
 Maids ne'er did approve it, 
 
 Because those that love it 
 Despise and laugh at their hate. 
 
 The drinker of beer 
 
 Did ne'er yet appear 
 In matters of any great weight. 
 
 'Tis he whose design 
 
 Is quicken'd by wine, 
 That raises all wit to its height. 
 
 We then should it prize. 
 
 For never black eyes 
 Made wounds that good wine could not heal. 
 
 \Mio then doth refuse 
 
 To drink of the juice. 
 Is a foe to our good commonweal. 
 
 Cromwell loved music, of which fact there is good 
 evidence, and had no dislike to wine, as his enemies say. 
 Might not Lord Broghill have composed this spirited 
 song for the gratification of the Protector? 
 
 Evelyn mentions in his diary, that he saw Mustapha 
 performed on the 6th of March 1G65-6 — but gives no 
 opinion of its merits in his entry of that date, but the next 
 time he witnessed its representation he remarks that it 
 was " exceedingly well written." This was on the even- 
 ing of the 18th October — there having been on the 16th 
 of the same month a general fast on account of the great 
 fire — the war — and the plague. The entry is so very 
 striking,* that we cannot refrain from bringing it under the 
 notice of our readers. " This night was acted my Lord 
 Broghill's tragedy called Mustajiha before their Majesties 
 at Couit, at which I was present, very seldom going to 
 the })ul)lic theatres for many reasons now, as they were 
 abused to an atheistical liberty, foul and undecent women 
 
 * Evelyn's Diary. Tjond. IS.^iO, vol. ii. p 18.
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 1 ] 
 
 now, and never till now, permitted to appear and act, who 
 inflaming several young noblemen and gallants became 
 their misses and to some their wives ; witness the Earl of 
 Oxford, Sir R. Howard, Prince Rupert, the Earl of Dorset, 
 and another greater person than any of them, who fell 
 into their snares to the reproach of their noble families, 
 and ruin of both body and soul. I was invited by my 
 Lord Chamberlain to see this tragedy, exceedingly well 
 written, though in my mind I did not approve of any 
 such pastime in a time of such judgments and calamities.'' 
 To explain Evelyn's statement respecting the actresses of 
 the time: — Peg Hughes became the mistress of Prince 
 ]\upert, by whom he had a daughter christened Kuperta. 
 The Prince died on the 29th of November 1682, having, 
 two days before, executed a settlement, by which he 
 amply provided for " Mrs Margaret Hewes" and his and 
 her daughter Ruperta, appointing the Earl of Craven 
 their trustee. Tlie young lady became the wife of Emanuel 
 Scrope Howe, Esquire ; from them descended Sir George 
 Bromley of East Stoke, Nottingham, Baronet, who in 
 1787 published a volume of Original Royal Letters 
 which had come into his possession in right of Ruperta, 
 witli a very good engraving of the lady and her hus- 
 band. Prince Rupert and the Queen of Bohemia, from 
 original paintings, — with a plate of autograph and seals. 
 Ruperta, judging from the engraving, must have been a 
 very beautiful woman. 
 
 Dorset, for a consideration, was so obliging as to hand 
 over Nell Gwyn to the King, who, by her, founded the 
 Ducal house of St Albans. 
 
 Moll Davis attracted the notice of Charles by singing 
 the ballad of " my Lodging is on the cold ground."* 
 
 * It is said that being- a very obliging person she success- 
 fully negotiated with Lord Buckhurst (Dorset) for a transfer of 
 Nell Gwyn to the King, upon Charles paying the expenses his 
 Lordship had been put to by her whilst under his protection, 
 Viesides creating him Earl of Middlesex. Pepys has this charac- 
 teristic anecdote of Nell. Becky Marshall, a well-known actress, 
 falling out with her, called her Lord Buckhurst's mistress. 
 Nell's reply is excellent, " I am but one man's mistress though 
 I was brought up in a brothel to fill strong water to the 
 gentlemen, and you are mistress to four though a Pi-esby- 
 terian's prnymg dau<,fhter." — Vol. iv., p. 246. By Moll Davis
 
 12 .H'LIANA; 
 
 Aubrey, Earl of Oxford, the last of the historical 
 race of De Vere, with whom the title became ex- 
 tinct in 1702, deluded by a false marriage Elizabeth 
 Davenport, a virtuous young actress. She had obtained 
 great popularity for her performance of Roxalana. 
 Evelyn's Note which follows is not exactly correct — 
 "Oth January 1661-2, I saw acted the third part 
 of the siege of Rhodes. In this acted the fair and 
 famous comedian called Roxalana from the part she per- 
 formed, — and I think it was the last. She being taken 
 to be the Earl of Oxford's miss — as at this time they 
 began to call lewd women. It was in recitative music." 
 The Lady was deceived by Lord Oxford, who had attii-ed 
 one of his servants as a clergyman and induced him to 
 perform the marriage ceremony. AVhen the cheat was 
 discovered, Charles II., by no means very fastidious him- 
 self, was exceedingly irate, and compelled Oxford to settle 
 upon the lady an annual income of £300 per annum. 
 She had a sister, who, after she left the stage, was an 
 unsuccessful performer of Roxalana — according to Pepys. 
 
 Mrs Uphill the actress vvas the lady patronized by Sir 
 Ivobert Howard, the author of the once popular Comedy 
 of the Committee. He afterwartls married her. 
 
 Lord Orrery's poetical merits have been unjustly under- 
 rated by Walpole. The chief defect of his Mustapha 
 is its having been written in verse, which, however well 
 adapted for French Tragedy, never became popular in 
 this country. Even Dryden's Plays, when written in 
 
 Charles had a daughter Mary Tudor, who, becoming the wife 
 of Francis RatcHffe, was the means of having the Earldom of 
 Derwentvvater conferred upon her husband by her uncle James 
 II. in 1887. Their grandsons James and Charles suffered for 
 rising against government in 1715 and 1746. The latter mar- 
 ried Charlotte Livingstone, in her own right Countess of New- 
 burgh, by whom he had issue. She obtained £150 per annum 
 from Government, and died in August 1755. She was suc- 
 ceeded by their son James in the Scotish Earldom ; he died 
 .Sd January 1786 leaving an only son, who died in 1814 with- 
 out issue, thus the male representation of the Earls of Derwent- 
 water failed. By this failure her Highness Cecilia, Princess 
 (riustiniani, as heiress of Charles Ratcliffe, the great grand.son 
 of Charles II. and Mary Davis, and who married Ciharlotte, 
 ( 'ountess of Newburgh, was adjudged to have right to that 
 Peerage on the 30th July 1858.
 
 OK, THH I'lUNCKSS OF I'OLAM). 13 
 
 rhyme, did not suit the taste of the public. Orrery seems 
 to have been more successful, for his tragedy, from its 
 frequent repetitions, must have proved attractive, and 
 excepting for the unceasing jingle, contains passages 
 of considerable power. Evelyn, although no great patron 
 of the stage, not unfrequently visited the Theatre, and 
 as previously mentioned had a very favourable opinion 
 of Mustapha. The drinking song we have ventured 
 to quote is a fair specimen of Orrery's lyrical powers, 
 and is equal, if not siiperior. to most of the convivial 
 songs of the reign of Charles the Second. 
 
 The character of the Eai'l, as depicted by Crowne in his 
 Dedication, is in all the essentials substantially correct. 
 
 His lordship's eldest son and successor, Roger, did not 
 long survive his father. He died iriUth March 1682,* leav- 
 ing his son Lionel a minor. In a letter 25th October 1(390, 
 from Mr Henry Bemde to Evelyn, he informs him that 
 the " Duke of Berwick, with 1500 horee. was upon the 
 march with a design to relieve it [Kinsale], but Lieu- 
 tenant-General Ginkelf having notice, had like to have 
 been in the rear of them with 3000 horse, and 1000 
 dragoons, but of this they had notice, and did return to 
 Limerick, burning many villages, and the Lord Orrery's 
 house, which cost but lately £40,000. The building was 
 the noblest j:)alace in h-eland. The Duke of Berwick sent 
 t\vice to Maxwell not to fire it, but could not prevail.'' 
 Lodge says that the Duke after dining there ordered the 
 castle to be set on tire. But the above extract shows it 
 was burnt against, and not by, the order of his Grace. 
 
 The honours of Orrery are now merged in that of 
 Cork, the elder branch of the Boyles having failed in 
 the male line. 
 
 * Lodge's Peerage of Ireland, Lon. 1789, vol. i. p. 193. 
 
 t Created Earl of Athlone by William and Mary, 4th of 
 March 1691-2. He had a grant of the forfeited e.states of 
 Lmierick from William, but Parhainent revoking the grant, 
 the Earl returned to Holland where his descendants continued 
 to reside, mitil his great grandson was deprived of his estates 
 by the French in 1793. He came to Ireland and took his seat 
 in the Irish House of Lords, 10th March 1795. Subsecjuently 
 the De Ginkel family returned to the continent, and the Peerage 
 came to an end in 1S44 upon the death of (ieoi-ge (Jodart 
 Henrv, the ninth Earl.
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT HOXOUllABLE 
 
 ROGER, EARL OF ORRERY, &c.* 
 
 My Loi:d, — AVlitit hath introduced the custom, I can- 
 not tell, whether the extraordinary favour and indulgence 
 that dramatic poetry hath found amongst persons of 
 the greatest wit and honour ; or the over-much confi- 
 dence of those of our scribbling tribe, who are willing to 
 assume to ourselves the utmost liberty any will give us, 
 or we can with any modesty pretend to : but so it is, that 
 of late, nothing of this kind, though never so incon- 
 siderable, appears in public, without some great and 
 illustrious name tixt before it ; like a gigantic statue at 
 the portal of some trifling building. Whether they 
 design by it, that the mighty name to whom iheir little 
 follies are consecrated, should, like the relics of saints, 
 work miracles on the unbelieving critics of our age, 
 make them distrust their own understandings, and have 
 an implicit faith in evei*y little priest of Apollo, I cannot 
 resolve ; but since it is grown a custom, I shall not be 
 so much a fanatick as not to conform to it ; or rather 
 shall approve myself one, in conforming to a custom 
 against my judgment, for interest sake. Xone of my 
 fraternity ever having more occiision to creep under the 
 shelter of some noble patronage than myself. For first, 
 my Lord, this unworthy poem, which I humbly pro- 
 strate here at your Lordship's feet, was the off-spring of 
 many confused, raw, indigested, and inunature thoughts, 
 pen'd in a crowd, and hurry of business and travel ; 
 interrupted and disorder'd by many importunate, not to 
 say insolent affairs, of a quite different nature, and 
 lastly, the first-born of this kind that my thoughts ever 
 laboured with to perfection. And though I will not 
 
 * In the old quai'to the Earl i.s called in the dedication "of 
 Ui'iorv."
 
 16 JULIANA; 
 
 undertake here to reflect anythiiiii- upon elder brotlici-s, 
 whose usu;d niist'ortune is, if the observation of some l)e 
 true, not to inherit all tiie wit, as well as all the estate, 
 but leave that as a thread- bare portion to the cadels ;* yet 
 I will be bold to affirm it true in these matters ; and I 
 think the experience of all that ever attemi^ed anything 
 in this kind, will second me. The flrst-born of some 
 most florid, and after most successful wits, having been 
 so rude and unshapen, as that they have been kept like 
 Avitless elder brothers, out of company, for fear of 
 shaming their parents. And thongh others have been 
 more fortunate in their early productions, yet few but 
 have had those slips from their prune, which their riper 
 thoughts either were, or at least had reason to be ashamed 
 of. And now, my Lord, I have told you the faults of 
 this Play, give me leave also to tell you the misfortunes 
 of it, for those two commonly go together. It had the 
 misfortune to be brought into the world in a time, when 
 the dog-star was near his reign, and my judges sat in a 
 hot bath, rather than a theatre, and were doubly per- 
 secuted by the heat of the weather, and the impertinence 
 of the poet ; and which was the worst mishap, when the 
 most candid, as well as the most illustrious Judges, I 
 mean the Court, were absent, and, excepting the presence 
 of some great and noble persons, this unhappy Poem left, 
 for the most part, to the mercy of a common audience; 
 in which unguarded condition it might well expect to 
 receive some wounds, and so it did ; though much fewer 
 than either I expected, yet such as it deserved ; whether 
 it will survive or no, I know not, nor am concerned at ; 
 if it will not, then it gives me good occasion to apologise 
 for this dedication, and to tell your Lordship, that it 
 receiving its first life and being in the world from your 
 Lordship's favour, and now dying in the corporeal part 
 of it, I mean the action, the sjjiritual and surviving 
 part of it, ought like its parent, the soul, to return to 
 him that gave it. And if I may have leave from our 
 rigid religionists, to prosecute the metaphor, as in that 
 abstracted state the soul is infinitely more happy than 
 in any it could attain to, whilst immersed in flesh and 
 blood ; so, my Loi'd, to have any the least residence in 
 
 * Cadets ?
 
 OR, THK i'ltlXCKSS OV I'OLAXD. 17 
 
 your I.oi'dshiij's tlioiights, will be a state of more felicity 
 and honour, than any this Poem, whilst embodied iii 
 action, could aiTive to by the private or general applause 
 of the wits of the world. But now I am fallen upon 
 the consideration of your LordshijD, I am plunged, me- 
 thinks, into a vast ocean, where I have nothing to 
 determinate my sight, but a bright and serene sky full 
 of light, at a vast distance from me, and as vast a height 
 above me, and no shore but that from whence I came, and 
 to which I must retire again, to take a safe and pleasant 
 prospect of that which I can neither fathom nor describe. 
 It is, indeed, the common practice of dedications, to 
 stuff their epistles full of panegyricks, not perhaps so 
 much to describe their patrons, who sometimes are as 
 obscure as themselves, as to sliew their own skill in 
 writing characters and essays. But the case is not the 
 same with me ; and what may be tolerable enough with 
 them, would be absurd in me, and I should fall into the 
 impertinence of those that would write large encomiums 
 on the sun, who certainly commends himself to us by his 
 own light and influence, much better than any man can 
 do by his wit. Not to say anything, my Lord, of the 
 soldier, and statesman in you, which have rendered you 
 both known and famous to all the valiant and politic 
 part of mankind ; that of your poetry is a large theme, 
 in which, perhaps, I could expatiate with more success 
 than on any of the former ; yet I shall not dare to do it 
 for want of art ; and if I could make your Lordship's 
 heighth, I should but discover the vast distance I am 
 situate in from so bright an orb ; as navigators that take 
 the heighth of the sun, only to find what degree of 
 latitude themselves are in. If there be any part of the 
 world so obscure as not to have heard your Lordshi2)"s 
 fame in that, as well as other respects, I shall refer them 
 to a character of your Lordship ; not to the praises and 
 applauses of the world in general, nor the panegyricks 
 of lesser pens, which have always waited on the triumphs 
 of yours, as the common soldiers in the Roman triumphs 
 did on their generals, but to the imcomparable issues of 
 your own thoughts, wherein they will see not only 
 a character of your Lordship, but of the present improvVl 
 genius of England, which, by the assistance of your 
 1 2
 
 18 JULIANA; 
 
 Loitlsliip, and many sublinif wits in other arts, begins 
 to be as famous in arts, as formerly it was in arms ; 
 ■witness tliose new academies and societies erected 
 amongst us for Philosophical commerce, and the im- 
 provement of language, wit, and arts ; coimnodities which 
 forreign virtuosoes would have engrossed to them- 
 selves, and till of late denied to be the native growth of 
 this, now in all respects, most happy, and most fertile 
 Island. It is from your Lordship's pen, that Solyman 
 may be truly stiled Magnificent, and you have made him 
 succeed to the civility and gallantry of the Greeks, as 
 well as to their Empire ; nor was Mustapha ever so 
 much the hopes of his barbarous nation, as in his image 
 and the generous character you have given him, he is 
 the delight of England, who weep the fate, not of 
 Mustapha, but of murder'd virtue. And, indeed, what 
 pen but your Lordshij^'s could have refined and softened 
 a story so barbarous, and made a people so remote from 
 friendship, honour, and religion, walk disguised in the 
 highest characters of them all ? It is your Lordship's 
 pen that hath assisted Henry the fifth in a second con- 
 quest of France, and in the noblest characters of valour, 
 love, and friendship, hath made the English wit and 
 language as triumphant as their arms : nor could a story 
 acted with so much glory and success, be attempted by 
 any pen beneath your Lordship's. In fine, it is your 
 Lordship that hath charmed up the ghosts of many 
 noble heroes, who otherwise would have lain unlamented 
 in their tombs ; and they have walked on the stage in 
 brighter shapes than ever they lived, and have been 
 conducted to their fates, with more sorrow of the 
 spectators than perhaps they had when they died. 
 And all this your Lordship hath done, not in the pleasure 
 of shade, ease, and retirement, and with the advantages 
 and assistances that meaner spirits are forced to make 
 use of for their compositions; but they are only the 
 sallies of your pen, and that during the uneasy intervals 
 Avhich i)ain sometimes borrows from State affairs ; and 
 what a fit of the gout snatches from the use and benefit, 
 your Lordship takes care to employ to the delight and 
 pleasure of the world ; and if your Lordship can do all 
 this, upon the rack of pain, and with some glances of
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 1'.) 
 
 your thoughts, whil'st the rest like scattered rays of 
 light, are dispersed on various objects ; what would you 
 do with all the freedom and ease of other men, and with 
 the united force of your soul ? But, I am sinking again 
 out of my depth, ajid must retreat once more to that 
 shore from whence I am insensibly wandeiing ; I mean, 
 my Lord, to the consideration ef myself, and of this 
 worthless present which I make to your Lordshijj. 
 Which, my Lord, I cannot but look with much con- 
 tempt upon, as being conscious to myself in what haste 
 and confusion it was composed, and of what ex-tempore 
 thoughts the greatest part of it consists. Nor should I 
 have presumed to have usher'd it into the world, under 
 so great a patronage, had not I first obtained your leave. 
 And now I hope, your Lordship, that at the hearing of 
 it whil'st it was in loose sheets was pleased to forgive 
 the faults of the poem, will now in this address pardon 
 those of the author, whose chief design is not to gain 
 the name of poet, author, wit, or critic, but that of 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's most humble 
 
 and most obedient Servant, 
 
 John Crownk. 
 Oct. 4, 1G7L
 
 THE NAME8 OF THE PERSONS. 
 
 \- Mr. Betterton. 
 
 Cardinal, Governor of Po- | 
 land, ex officio, during the ' Mr. Harris 
 Interregnum. 
 
 Ladislaus, Duke of Cur- 
 land, a Sovereign Prince, Fu'da- 
 tory to the Crown of Poland, oft 
 General of their Armies, con- 
 tracted to Juliana in her father's 
 life-time ; and in an exiiedition 
 against the Muscovite iras taken 
 prisoner, and carried to Moscoio. 
 
 Demetrius, a young Prince " 
 of the Imperial house (f Mus- 
 covy, in love icith Paulina, and 
 privately married to her by 
 deceit, she supposing him the \ 
 Duke. ' J 
 
 Sharnofsky, a Count Pa- y jyj 
 latine, friend to the Duke. \ 
 
 OssoLiNSKY, Lord Grand \ 
 Marshal of Poland, and of the \ Mr, 
 Cardincd's facUon. J 
 
 ( Count Pala-'] 
 
 }■ Mr. Young. 
 
 Smith. 
 Bamfield. 
 
 Cassonofsky, J tines of the 
 LuBOMiRSKY, 1 Cardincd's 
 
 \- Mr. Sandford. 
 
 COLIMSKY, a Count Palatine, 
 friend to Sharnofsky, and of 
 the Princess's faction. 
 
 Landlord of the hovse in ] 
 Warsaw, where the Duke lay \ Mr. 
 concealed. J 
 
 Theodore, servant to the 
 Duke. 
 
 - Mr. Norris. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Angel. 
 Metburn,
 
 JULIANA ; OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 21 
 
 Mr. Westwood. 
 
 Mrs. Betterton. 
 
 Alexey, a Russian Lord ] 
 that assists and acconvpanies \ Mr. Crosby. 
 Paulina in her flight. J 
 
 Battista, [Servant] to Dem- 
 etrius. 
 
 Juliana, Daughter of the 
 deceased King of Poland, in 
 love with the Duke of Curland, 
 and contracted to him before 
 her Father's death. 
 
 Paulina, Daughter of the ' 
 great Czar of Muscovy, in lore 
 v/ith tlie Duke; and, upon a 
 sup}posed marriage with him, [ Mrs. Long. 
 assists him in his escape, and 
 pursues him to Poland, in the 
 habit of a man. 
 
 Joanna, Maid of Honour to 
 Paulina. 
 
 FRANCISCA, \ t,t -1 r rr , T 1- 
 
 Emilia ( ^^^^^'^'^ v ^ionour to Juliana. 
 
 Soldiers, Servants, Guards, &c. 
 
 Mrs. Shad well. 
 
 The Scene : 
 
 JFarsaiv in Poland, at the meeting of the Ban, and 
 
 Arrier Ban, arm'd in the field for the Election 
 
 of a King.
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 Yoi: judges, critics, wits, and poets too, 
 
 And whatsoever titles are your due ; 
 
 As pretty features, each in proper place. 
 
 Put altogetlier make a pretty face, 
 
 So you good wits, and you that would be so, 
 
 I'oii all together make a pretty show ; 
 
 And when you thus in general council sit. 
 
 You are the body politic of wit : 
 
 Unto you all our poet bids me say, 
 
 Good faith ! you're kindly welcome to his play. 
 
 Tis a jjlain compliment, to speak the truth. 
 
 But you must know he is a modest youth ; 
 
 Like country gallant just, whom courtier brings 
 
 To see fine dainty Miss who plays and sings ; 
 
 Approaching to'r, poor gallant falls a mumping. 
 Scraping o' legs, and feign he would say something 
 And round about the room he flings and skips, 
 Whil'st tongue lies still i'th' scabbard of his lips. 
 Just so our poet usherVl to the door. 
 To court coy wits he'd never seen before. 
 Wits that have all the sparkish gallants known, 
 And tried th' abilities of all the town ; 
 Poor bashful poet, faith, li'ad got his play 
 Under his arm, and had run quite away. 
 Had not we promis'd him to use our skill 
 And in'trest we've to gain him your good will : 
 Then, faith, for once, since he's so eager for't. 
 Seem kind and coming, tliough it be for sport ; 
 Then like some cully on his wedding night, 
 Thinking his bride lies ravisht with delight, 
 Bestirs his simple self whil'st she lies still. 
 Laughs at the fool, and lets him work his will. 
 So will our poet to't, and work his brain 
 To try to entertain you once again ; 
 And if he mends, you that delight to range 
 With every youth, may use him then for change ; 
 H' not, e'en huff the fool, and give liim o'er, 
 Tlien he perhaps will trouble you no more.
 
 JULIANA; 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 
 
 Act the First. 
 
 The Scene a Grove and Gardens. 
 
 Paulina sleejjiwj nnder a tree, Joanna aif.tintj hij 
 
 and singing. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 L(j, Ijehiiid a scene of seas, 
 V luler a canopy of trees, 
 
 The fair new golden world was laid, 
 
 Sleeping like a naked maid. 
 
 Till alas ! she vfas betray'd : 
 In such shades Urania lay, 
 Till love discover'd out a way : 
 And now she cries, " some power above, 
 Save me from this tyrant love !" 
 
 Her poor heart had no defence, 
 
 But its maiden innocence ; 
 
 In each sweet retiring eye. 
 You might easily descry 
 Troops of yielding beauties fly, 
 
 Leaving rare unguarded treasure 
 
 To the conqueror's will and pleasure ; 
 
 And now she cries,— &c. 
 
 NoAv and then a straggling frown, 
 Thiough the shades skipt up and down ;
 
 24 JX'LIANA ; 
 
 Shooting sucli a })iercing dart, 
 As would make tlie tyrant smart, 
 And preserve her lips, and heart. 
 
 But, alas ! her Empire's gone, 
 
 Thrones and temples all undone : 
 
 And now she cries, — &c. 
 
 Charm ah:)ft the stormy winds, 
 
 That may keep the golden mines, 
 And let Spaniard love be tore 
 On sonie cruel rocky shore, 
 Where he'll put to sea no more ; 
 
 Lest poor conquer'd beauty cry. 
 
 Oh ! I'm wounded ! oh ! I die ! 
 
 And there is no power above 
 
 Saves me from this tyrant love. 
 
 .Jii. Oh ! cursed Duke ! Africa ne'er l)red 
 A monster like thee, to forsake my Princess 
 After th' a'dst married her, and thus entic'd her 
 From all the glories of her father's court, 
 To follow thee, vanquisht, wandering exile ; 
 Unhappy victory, that l)rought thee captive 
 To Muscovy, and more unhappy she 
 To sacrifice her heart, her life, her honour. 
 To one so false. But I shall wake her, see ! 
 
 She starts ! 
 
 Her soul is walking in a grove of dreams, 
 
 And there some mournful vision entertains 
 
 Her sad desj)airing thoughts. See ! see ! a ponyard ; 
 
 How came she by that fatal instrument 1 
 
 She stabs at something: oh ! she makes me tremble: 
 
 I'll snatch it from her ! 
 
 raul. Oh ! ungrateful man ! 
 And dost thou then deride at my misfortunes ? 
 Is this the recompense of my too fon<l 
 Hnfortunate love'? die in thy mistress' arms ! 
 Bleed ! fall ! Ha ! gone ! whither 1 where am I ?
 
 ni{, THK PRINCESS OF POLAND. 25 
 
 Was it a dream 1 
 
 Jo. She's bad some frightful dream 
 I see. 
 
 Paul. Joanna, did nothing pass that way 1 
 Yes, sure there did; 'twas Curland and his mistress ! 
 They embrac't, and smiled at me, and then tliey 
 
 vanisht ; 
 See ! there he stands all wrapt in white, that, tliat ! 
 
 Jo. Oh ! the good heavens, she is grown dis- 
 traught. 
 Madam, what is't you see 1 
 
 Paul. Look there ! there ! 
 Is not that he, that tall and shining thing ? 
 He's dead, and I have wrongfully accused him. 
 
 Jo. That! that's the moonshine, nothing else 
 indeed, 
 A stream of light that glances through the trees. 
 
 Paul. See, now it vanishes ! 
 
 Jo. And now a cloud 
 Covers the moon ; it is no more. Come, Madam, 
 The dewy vapours of the night are cold ; 
 The shade is melancholy, and the air unwholesome ; 
 Pray to your chamber. Madam. 
 
 Paul. Ah ! never, never 
 Was any so unfortunate as I. [ivee/is. 
 
 What shall I do ? and whither shall I go 1 
 
 Jo. Oh ! do not weep thus, you will break my 
 heart ; 
 I hope the Duke will prove a man of honour yet ; 
 You do not know what accidents have happened. 
 
 Paul. No, no, he's hid in his fair princess' arms : 
 But, perjur'd man, I'll chase thee from thy bowers 
 Of love. I'll steep thy joys in blood. Thy heart 
 
 I'll stab 
 Until the poisonous serpentine dew 
 Drops weeping at my feet. 
 Ah me ! unfortunate, what shall T do ? [urcp.-^.
 
 26 JULIANA 
 
 Elder Alexey nmiuiuj. 
 
 Jo. Poor lady 
 
 Alex. Madam 
 
 Jo. Who's tliat ? 
 
 Alex. 'Tis I ! the Princess — is she there 1 
 Jo. The Princess, blunderheaded old soldier ! 
 Thou wilt l:»etray us. 
 
 Paul. Who, Count Alexey ? 
 
 Alex. Oh ! Madam, I'm out of breath witli 
 
 running ; 
 
 The Duke's come ! 
 
 Paul. What is't thou say'sf? the Duke ! 
 
 Alex. Madam, for certain he was seen, tliis 
 evening. 
 To fling a letter in Count Sharnofsky's coach, 
 And upon this the troops are all alarmed ; 
 The Cardinal sits close in his cabal. 
 Orders are issued out to secure his friends, 
 Chiefly, Count Sharnofsky, and the Princess ; 
 The guards are drawing up about the palace : 
 In the interim, five thousand crowns are proff'er'd 
 To any one that will discover him. 
 
 Paul. Did I not say that I should hear some 
 news'? 
 I thought my dream was a forerunner of him. 
 This news congeals my blood. What shall we do ? 
 
 Jo. Had we not best go in '] 
 
 Alex. No, no, the guards 
 Are searching every house, and we being strangers 
 Perhaps may meet with incivility. 
 
 E^der GUARDS icdh lights, and drauw, svords, 
 folloived hy Landlord. 
 
 Hark, they're i'th' house already ' see, they come 
 To search the gardens. Madam, take no notice. 
 Guar. Come, sir, now we must catechise your 
 garden.
 
 OH, THE PRINCESS OF I'oLAXD. 27 
 
 Land. Ay, ay, do sir, my garden's a good boy, 
 he can say his catechise. 
 
 Guar. Nay, ben't so joculary, sir : we have power 
 To carry yon before the Cardinal if we please. 
 
 Land. Carry me and my house too afore the 
 Cardinal if you please, sir ; set us but here again 
 where you found us, and I am contented. 
 
 Gaar. Here are people ! whoare you,sir ^[roPftiJ. 
 
 Paul. A stranger, sir. 
 
 Guar. A stranger, sir ; what stranger, sir ? 
 
 Paul. A Eussian, sir! a pristaffe's son of Arch - 
 angelo. 
 
 Guar. Your name,, sir ! 
 
 PauL Basiliwich. 
 
 Jo. I see, my Princess hath a quick invention. 
 
 Gtiar. And who are these 1 
 
 Paul. My servants, sir. 
 
 Guar. 'Tis well ! keep in your lodgings, sir ; there 
 must be account given of you. Come to the next 
 house. [Ex. Guards. 
 
 Land. Go, and a good riddance on you. Here's 
 a pudder, ho ! see if none of my cups, or silver 
 spoons be missing. 
 
 Paul. Now all's over, I'll retire to my chamber. 
 Revenge appears to me in shapes so horrid, 
 It frights my soul. Call for a light ! 
 
 Jo. A light for my master's Landlord ! 
 
 Land. Ho, there ! a light for the gentleman ! 
 
 [Ex. Patd, Jo., Alex. 
 Well, how bravely were I made now, could I but 
 light upon the Duke ! five thousand crowns ! that 
 is to say, five times ten hundred crowns I most 
 monstrous, prodigious, gigantique, pedantique, un- 
 arithmetical sum ; why, this would make me a 
 Duke. Well, I'll go to a conjurer to find liim ; but 
 hold then, the rogue will find liim for liimself
 
 28 JULIANA ; 
 
 But then I'll make him believe I am a conjurer 
 as Avell as himself, and make him be glad to go 
 half shares. But hark ! I hear talking. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Battista, a porter wifh 
 a cloakhag. 
 
 Dem. Never was any thing so fortunate, 
 To hear of him just at my arrival. 
 I'll into the town and search for him immediately. 
 
 Bat. Hold, my lord, are ye mad ? whither do 
 you go ? 
 To rush into a town throng'd with arm'd men 
 So late at night, and all the guards about, 
 And you a stranger too 1 Come sir, 'tis time 
 We rather went somewhere to seek a lodging : 
 All inns and public houses are taken up, 
 And for ought I see we're like to lie i' th' streets 
 To-night. 
 
 Dem. I care not where I lie. 
 For I cannot rest in body or in soul, 
 Until I find this most ungrateful Duke. 
 
 Land. What do these joeople babbling in my 
 garden 
 All this while, and say never a word to me 1 
 This 'tis to let it lye unfenc't. 
 
 Dem. Look, I see a man ! 
 And I am got into a garden here : Who's there 1 
 
 Laml. Nay, who's there, an' you go to that 1 
 Here's one that hath authority to be here. 
 
 Bat. The master of the house I do perceive, 
 And by his tone a kind of letter of lodgings ; 
 I'll ask the question. 
 
 Sir, we are strangers, newly come to town. 
 Could you afford us any room in your house 1 
 
 Land. I cannot tell, sir, whether I can or no ; 
 According as I like you. Bring a light, here !
 
 OK, Till-: I'ltlNCKSS (»K I'ol.AXD. 29 
 
 Dem. Nay then w'are well enough. Take up 
 my ruoms, 
 Ne'er stand agreeing with him, give him twenty 
 Thirty, forty, a hundred crowns a week, 
 What he hath a mind to. 
 I'll into town — I grow impatient. \E.i-it. 
 
 Bat. Oh ! heavens, sir, whither do yon go 
 To rush in armed crowds so late, a stranger % 
 Curse on all rashness, I must follow him. 
 For fear some mischief happens to him. 
 Landlord, look to the things ! provide our rooms ! 
 We'll return within this half hour, or never. 
 
 Land. Ha ! gone and left their cloak-bags with me ; 
 AVhat kind of fellows are these? some high-way men 
 I know by their haste ; 
 
 But sure I'm in a dream ; is this a cloak-bag ? 
 Let's see what weather 'tis ; it doth not rain cloak- 
 bags ! 
 Come I'll go see what's in it. A light there I 
 
 Enter a Servant u-'tth a candle. 
 
 Scr. Here, sir : — 
 
 Land. Nay here, sir. 
 Here's a cloakbag dropt i' my mouth : 
 Come let's see the entrails of this beast. 
 A rich chesticore * with diamond buttons ; 
 Enough, enough, I'm satisfied 
 These are stolen goods as suie as I am here. 
 And now Avhat shall I do with this cloakbag ? 
 Shall I keep the cloakbag 1 or shall I cry the 
 cloakbag 1 or shall I sell the cloakbag 1 nay, then 
 I may chance to stretch for the cloakbag ; so I may 
 if I should keep the cloakbag, if the right owner 
 should come with an officer, and find the cloakbag ; 
 why then the devil take the cloakbag, for never 
 Avas any one so plagued with a cloakl^JK;. Well, if 
 
 * Waistcoat.
 
 30 JLLIANA; 
 
 nol)ody comes to claim the cloakbag, I'll sell tli< 
 cloakbag, buy land, and marry a lady with the 
 cloakbag, and then be dub'd a knight of the order 
 of the cloakbag. [Ex 
 
 Enter Ladislaus and Theodore. 
 The Scene continues. 
 
 Lad. Ungrateful men I and do they thus re- 
 ward me, 
 For all the blood I've shed in their defence ? 
 To set my head to sale, 
 That head which once these flatt'ring Poles would 
 
 cry 
 Their state could live no more without than I. 
 
 The. I wish your highness had not flung that 
 letter, 
 It seems you were discover'd — I'm amaz'd 
 Which way. 
 
 Lad. Sharnofsky hath betrayed me ! 
 Thus had he done had I expos'd my person 
 Instead of a trifling paper, or had sent thee, 
 He would have wrackt thee to discover me. 
 
 The. But I'd have been torn limb from limb first. 
 
 Lad. I doubt not thy fidelity, good Theodore ; 
 I've ever found thee generous and faithful ; 
 More generous than those, whose birtli and 
 
 grandeur 
 Obliges them to higher pretence of honour. 
 Good heavens, what's this world ! I should have 
 
 sooner 
 Suspected angels than the Count or Princess. 
 
 The. Good sir, do not discompose your soul 
 With these suspicions of your noble friends 
 Till you know more. 
 
 Lad. My noble friends ! ah, Theodore, 
 I have no friends. My fortune, fame, and honour, 
 Heaven, and earth, and she whom I adore
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS oF I'OI.ANI). 31 
 
 Al)ove 'uiu ;ill deserts me ; nothing adheres to ine 
 But my own courage. 1 see tlie Count and slie 
 Convert the news of my esca})e from Moscow, 
 By the generous kindness of tlie Russian princess, 
 Into pretences to disguise their fiilsehood, 
 To ruin my interests, and unite tlieir own. 
 To marry, and to aspire to the crown. 
 All Poland sees it ; and the Card'nal dreads 'um 
 Much more than me. And all this great alarm. 
 You'll find, aims at their lives, as well as mine. 
 
 Tlte. Ah ! do not credit, sir, the common vogue. 
 
 Lad. Come, Theodore, 'tis true. But that I've 
 learnt 
 How to command my passions as well as armies ; 
 And owe more reverence to my own memory. 
 Thau after death to have my head plac'd aloft 
 On some old tower, to feed the greedy eyes 
 Of my proud enemies, this very instant 
 tSharnofsky's soul or mine should Heet in air. 
 
 The. AVell sir, I say no more ; I only beg you 
 Take into some house. You see what danger 
 You're in ; the guards are searching all about. 
 And here we wander up and down i' th' dark. 
 Only what sickly light the moon will lend us. 
 But sir, I think we're got into a garden. 
 
 Lad. On the backside of a house : knock ! 
 Theodore. [^Iyiutrk:<, mid 
 
 Eider Landlord icith a light. 
 
 Land. Who's there ? well, this is not to be 
 endur'd, 
 Every one gets into my backside : 
 If my landlord will not fence it, I'll promise him 
 I'll do't, and stop it in his rent. Well, what's the 
 Business with you, now 1 more cloakbags I 
 
 Tlie. Sir, we are strangers — newly come to town 
 And are in great want of lodgings. 
 If you could furnish us, name your own price,
 
 32 JULIANA ; 
 
 By this gold we'll not refuse it you. [Gives him iiioiu'i/. 
 Land. Let's look on you, according as I like you : 
 By this gold you have good honest faces. 
 1 have a room for you. 
 
 The. Thank you sir ! pray, what other lodgers 
 have you 1 
 We ask you, 'cause we would be very private. 
 
 Land. I have none at present but some fiddling 
 women, that come from Cracow to see the choosing 
 of the new king, a young gentleman and a cloak-bag. 
 Lad. What doth this fellow mean by this cloak- 
 bag? 
 The. Your highness hath hap'ned very fortu- 
 nately. [Aside to Lad. 
 Land. Well, but how did you pass the guard so 
 late ] 
 For here's a heavy pudder about the Duke of 
 
 Curland. 
 He's come to town it seems in disguise ; 
 And here's five thousand crowns bid for his head. 
 Happy man be his dole that catches him ; 
 For my part, I don't expect so good luck, 
 Five thousand crowns and a cloakbag are too much 
 for one night. 
 The. I perceive this fellow's none of the 
 honestest. [Aside. 
 
 Ay ! here's a great alarm, what's the matter 1 
 Land. Why sir, the Duke of Curland, look ye, 
 you must knoAV, 
 Was a great favourite of the last King's, 
 And he contracted him to his daughter. 
 And intended to marry him to her, but then it 
 
 hap'ned 
 The^-Iuscov iters invaded us with a great army ; 
 The i)uke, sir, upon a simple quibble of honour, 
 Goes general of our army against 'um. 
 I was a corporal under him at the same time.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 33 
 
 The. D'ye hear, my lord 1, pray, keep your dis- 
 guise close. 
 
 Land. And thought forsooth to have come hack 
 in triumph, 
 And married the lady, and he was taken prisoner, 
 And ne'er comes back at all. 
 
 Lad. That was unfortunate. 
 
 Land. Now, sir, it seems he hath given 'um the 
 slip out of Muscovy, by the help o' the Russian 
 Princess, and they are run away together, and here 
 he lies lurking in Poland to fit his business ; and 
 now all the Ban and Arrierban are met armed in 
 the field, to choose a King, he's come to town in 
 disguise, and so there's a heavy bustle, the Cardinal 
 on one side, and the Princess on the t'other, and 
 between 'um both he's got into Lobb's pound,* and I 
 am very glad on't ; he's but a kind of a pitiful 
 whifiling small-beer Duke ; I ne'er was drank 
 thrice in his house, all the time he was here. I 
 can go into the Cardinal's cellar and tie my nose 
 to one barrel, and my horse to another, and tope 
 who shall tope most for a wager ; and he, a sneaking 
 hide bound Duke of a Diike, hates the sight of us 
 true spaniels, that will take water at any time, dive 
 o'er head and ears in liquor, and he would smell 
 a red nose as far as a teal would gunpowder. 
 
 Lad. How am I tormented with this fellow ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 The. He's not to be endured. 
 
 Land. And now he's come to town, to be King ! 
 yes, he shall be King, when I am Emperor of 
 Morocco, or Muster-master general of Bantam ; 
 we'll ha' no such thin-gut Kings, that shall in half 
 a year die o' the gripes, and, whilst he lives, shall 
 
 * Jocularly, a prison or place of confinement. The phrase is 
 still used, and applied to the prison made for a child between 
 the feet of a grown-iip person. 
 
 1 o
 
 34 JULIANA ; 
 
 starve the English beer-merchants, set a tax upon 
 the tap, and an excise upon rednoses : and there's 
 one Count Sharnofsky, too, such another ambitious 
 dry-chops, he hath not the grace to love good drink, 
 and yet he hath the impudence to aim at the 
 Crown. 'Tis true, he doth not goggle at it so 
 plain as Mr Mumpsimus o' Curland doth ; but he 
 doth as I do now, he squints at it fearfully, and he 
 hath an itch at the Princess too ; {Landlord squmts, 
 and makes grim-faces,) but I hope the Cardinal will 
 feage* 'um all. I hate such ambitious tantalizing 
 rascals ; a loyal boy I have been from my cradle. 
 
 The. This villain, I could kill him. [Aside. 
 
 Lad. Shall I be for ever tortur'd with this 
 fellow 1 [Aside. 
 
 You're not at leisure then to show us our chambers, 
 Landlord. 
 
 Land. Yes, yes ; come, come ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Ser. Sir ! here's the gentleman about the Cloakbag. 
 
 Enter Demetrius, and Battista. 
 
 Land. Oh ! INIr Cloakbag, you're welcome, sir. 
 Bat. Come, Landlord ! will you show us our 
 
 chambers 1 
 Lad. One of my fellow lodgers ! See if you know 
 
 him Theodore. 
 Dem. No news. [Theo. looks upon Dem. 
 
 Bat. What news can you expect, sir ? 
 Dem. That heaven would be so just to direct me 
 
 to him. 
 The. I do not know him, sir, [Aside to Lad. 
 
 And yet methinks I've seen a face like his 
 In Muscovy. 
 
 Lad. Come, let us to our chambers. 
 • "Whip" or "beat."
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 35 
 
 Landlord, well follow you. 
 
 Land. Stay behind, somebody! 
 And liglit the cloakbag. \Ex. Land., Lad., and Theo. 
 
 Bat. Come, good sir, conquer your impatience ! 
 You'll find him soon enough, perhaps on a throne ; 
 And speedily, he who in passion now 
 Is proclaimed traitor, shall shortly with applause 
 Be proclaimed King ; this is a feverish fit 
 Of the state-sick Cardinal ; nor doth the Duke 
 Come hither in disguise, on no design. 
 
 Dem. But hark thee ; when they make him King 
 of Poland, 
 They will not make him God of Poland, 
 And immortal ; will they 1 
 
 Bat. No sir, he'll be mortal 
 No doubt. 
 
 Dem. If he'll be mortal, I am satisfied. 
 Go, I am weary, light me to my chamber ! 
 I shall dream o' the Duke. [Exeunt. 
 
 The Scene a EooM in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Francisca. 
 
 Fran. Treason ! treason ! the Princess will be 
 murder' d ! 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Em: Oh, Francisca, what's the matter 1 
 Here's a noise of soldiers about the palace, 
 And every one runs shrieking up and down. 
 Oh ! my heart aches. 
 
 Fran. Oh ! there's the strangest news. 
 The Duke's come, and sent a letter to the Princess 
 By Count Sharnofsky, and all the town's alarm'd ; 
 The guards they say are come to search the palace, 
 And we're afraid the wicked Cardinal 
 Designs the Princess' death. 
 
 Em, Oh, horrid tyrant ! But see, she comes.
 
 3G JULIANA 
 
 Enter Juliana in her nightgear, with a flaming tajyer 
 
 in her hand, followed hy Hypolita, and 
 
 Sharnofsky with his sword drawn. 
 
 Jul. Ha ! must I die, for being abus'd, affronted 
 By that false man 1 hath he betray'd my honour, 
 And doth he now throw in his hand granadoes 
 To blow my life up too 1 thus in the flames 
 Thy scrawl shall die ; and, as it pines to ashes, 
 Then wanders in the Avind, so dies for ever 
 Thy memory in my soul ; and if thy image 
 Appear but to my thoughts but in a dream, 
 I'll hate that dream, and I will stab that thought 
 As I'll do thee, if e'er thou dost approach me. 
 Now call up all my servants ! bid 'um arm. 
 
 Sh. Ha ! fling a letter and disguise himself ! 
 
 What means this mighty caution of the Duke's 1 
 
 Dost thou mistrust my honour 1 if thou dost, 
 
 I may in just revenge distrust thine ; 
 
 And let me tell thee, if thou dost design 
 
 To wrong the Princess and surprise the crown, 
 
 I in this tempest will not fall alone. 
 
 Thou shalt destroy my fortunes and thy own. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman running. 
 
 Gent. Madam, the guards are broken into the 
 palace, the common hall glitters with naked swords, 
 and hither they are running in confusion. Escape ! 
 or you'll be murder'd ! hark ! they're come, they've 
 overtaken me. Madam, you're lost! 
 
 Jul. And let 'um come, I'll look the villains 
 dead. 
 And let me see who dares assassinate 
 The yet surviving majesty of their dead King. 
 
 Sh. Who dares, shall fall as victims to his shade. 
 But see, the Count Colimsky : ha ! our friends 
 Betray us.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 37 
 
 Enter Colimsky with his sivord drawn. 
 
 Col. Madam, for heaven's sake retire 
 With all the speed you can, yonr life's designed ; 
 My lord grand marshall hath orders from the 
 
 council 
 To seize you ooth ; the troops are drawing up ; 
 News of the Duke's arrival haunts each ear, 
 Just like a frightful spectre ; letters 
 Are intercepted by the Cardinal 
 Written by you, my lord, of horrid consequence. 
 
 8h. By me ! 
 
 Col. By you, to Dorosensko General of the 
 Tartars 
 To assist you with fifty thousand men. 
 Ten thousand cassacques should be sure to second 
 
 him, 
 That y'ad decreed upon a time perfixt 
 To fire the city, kill the Cardinal, 
 Dissolve the general diet in the tumult, 
 Seize the crown. 
 
 Sh. Monster of villany ! 
 Thou scarlet prodigy, Poland's glaring comet, 
 Barbarous idol, not content with blood 
 But must have kingdoms victim'd at thy altars ! 
 Almighty poAvers, I kneel, I kneel ! If ever. 
 Ever one thought 
 
 Col. No more, I do believe your innocence, 
 And therefore stole away from the cabal 
 To give you intelligence, what horrid spells 
 Are made, what sjiirits conjur'd up 
 Against you, in our magician's grotto, 
 And here I've brought a hundred resolute 
 Young gentlemen, Avhose swords shall cut the 
 
 charm, 
 And yet secure the Princess's i-etreat 
 And yours; if you'll accept their generous kindness.
 
 38 JULIANA; 
 
 Then, Madam, hasten ! let us lose no time. 
 Each minute now is precious as the Indies. 
 
 Jul. Pious Cardinal, my guardian angel,' 
 Heavenly tyrant, little thinks my royal father. 
 How he hath left me to the guardianship 
 Of dragons that devour me. 
 
 Col. Oh undone ! 
 We have lost time ! all, all, to arms ! 
 
 [Noise of aims without. 
 
 Sh. Call up the Princess's servants ! Arm, arm ! 
 
 Enter Ossolinsky, Cassonosky, and Lubomirsky, 
 and Guard. 
 
 Worn. Murder, murder ! 
 
 Casso. Now the long wish't for time o' my re- 
 venge 
 On the old tyrant that affronted me 
 Is come. But ha ! Colimsky here 1 
 
 Osso. Are you there, traitor ? 
 
 Col. Are you here, cheated bubbles 1 
 
 Casso. This too honest fellow hath prevented 
 us : [Aside. 
 
 You'll answer for this treason to the general diet. 
 
 Col. With my sword in hand in th' interim 
 My Princess shall not fall an Indian martyr 
 Under the chariot wheels of your great paged •; 
 Your idol shall not have such noble victims. 
 
 Sh. Let us not stand disputing. 
 
 Osso. 
 
 Luh. 
 
 Casso. Ay, you may say, seize the traitors. Long 
 enough you might have had the wit to have come 
 with a stronger party. [All fight, Osso., Casso., Luh. 
 retreat pursued hy Sharnofsky, and Colimshj. 
 
 Wora. Murder, murder ! 
 
 Jul. Oh ! bloody Cardinal. Royal shade 
 
 > Seize the traitors !
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 39 
 
 .Of my great father, hide thy glorious head, 
 And see not my oppressions. 
 
 Unfer Colimsky mid Sharnofsky as 
 from victory. 
 
 Col. Now, all's clear, 
 My lord convey the Princess by a private way 
 To the monastery of Sancta Clara ; there's a vault 
 Where you may lie perdu for an hour or two. 
 In th' interim I'll go place a guard in my house 
 And then conduct you thither : my gardens 
 Lie just opposite to the monastery, 
 "And there's a private way,, where you may pass 
 
 secure ; 
 And then for our greater preparations. [Exit. 
 
 Sh. Come, Madam, 
 The tempest is begun, let's bravely through. 
 
 Jul. Lead on, my lord ! 
 I'm none of those, who when the storm prevails, 
 Creep to the winds, and humbly strike the sails. 
 
 The Second Act. 
 Enter Cardinal, Ossolinsky, Cassonosky, 
 
 LUBOMIRSKY. 
 
 Card-. Escap't ! • 
 
 Osso. All betray'd by Count Colimsky. 
 
 Card. I fear'd as much. 
 
 Casso. My lord, you may remember 
 He gave us warning with mysterious words 
 He dropt at council ; I might have had the wit 
 To have seen it, but I am grown both fool and 
 knave" '
 
 40 JULIANA ; 
 
 AVith keeping knaves' and fools' company. [Aside. 
 
 Liih. With mysterious words 1 
 In plain terms he talk't both saucily 
 And like a traitor. 
 
 Casso. Well said, wisdom. [Aside. 
 
 Card. I observed him ; 
 And do repent we did not then secure him : 
 But I was unwilling to create 
 Too many enemies. Well, this news is bad. 
 The Duke arriv'd, the Count and Princess fled 
 To arms, Colimsky turn'd a partizan. 
 I now foresee a dreadful storm o' blood. 
 
 Casso. A storm of thy owii creating ; but yet I 
 love thee. 
 Because thou lov'st mischief, 'though these simple 
 
 lords 
 Have not the wit to see't. [Aside. 
 
 Osso. My lord, all places shall be strictly searcht, 
 Houses, vaults, churches, monasteries, 
 And then by break o' day we'll be ready 
 To bring our slaves arm'd into the field. 
 Then let the tempest blow, this storm o' fate 
 Shall overset the pirates of the state. [Ex. Osso.,Lub. 
 Card. Brave patriots ! may heaven succeed your 
 
 loyalty. 
 Casso. Oh ! most noble Cardinal ; I am almost 
 as cunning 
 A knave as thy self, and I have one knack more ; 
 
 [Aside. 
 To appear, what I am not, one of thy bubbles. [Exit. 
 Card. Good men, how easily they swallow down 
 The bait ; such honest men are the soft moulds 
 Wherein wise men do cast their great designs.* 
 Still crost ! what ill-natur'd star envies my glory 1 
 Oft have I built my great designs so high, 
 
 * " Honest men are the soft, easy cushions on which knaves 
 repose and fatten." — Oli'ai/.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 41 
 
 That they have dazzled each spectator's eye ; 
 
 When to the highest storey I should come, 
 
 Even just to have a prospect into Kome, 
 
 To view the conclave, and o'ertop thern all, 
 
 And catch the golden fruit, when it should fall. 
 
 Then some unhappy ball, at one rebound. 
 
 Hath thrown down all my projects to the ground. 
 
 And now, as all my policies were ripe. 
 
 And each thing fitted as I had design'd. 
 
 The Duke a captive, and his friends confin'd ; 
 
 And I had stole an interest in the state, 
 
 Enough to sell the crown at my own rate ; 
 
 Just on the sudden they are all got free. 
 
 And the whole storm is like to fall on me : 
 
 Such things as these would puzzle human sense, 
 
 And make one half believe a Providence ; 
 
 And I confess it staggers me, to find 
 
 My engines broke by one that stands behind. 
 
 But all this shall not my designs defeat, 
 
 It is a wise man's duty to be great 
 
 To save the helpless world. 
 
 For they above affect to show their powers. 
 
 And haughty wisdom, by confounding ours. 
 
 Then, heaven, we bow ; but if that will not do, 
 
 The sword shall give what I demand from you. 
 
 When beads and altars no relief afford, 
 
 The best devotion then is in the sword. \^Exit. 
 
 The Scene the Town. A noise icithin of 
 breaking doors. 
 
 Break down the doors, I care not for ne'er a city 
 cuckold of 'em all. [Within. 
 
 Murder, murder ! call up all our neighbours. 
 
 [Within. 
 Gu. Hold your l>abbling or I'll set a pellet in the 
 throat of you.
 
 42 JULIANA ; 
 
 I've authority to search your house for the Princess. 
 
 [Within. 
 
 Land. A Princess, sir ! I'd have you to know I 
 keep no such house, I keep no Princesses, and so 
 get you ft-om my doors. [JFoman ivithin. 
 
 Do I pay tax and contribution, and the devil and 
 all, to have my doors broken open at midnight to 
 search for Princesses ] I'll complain to the council. 
 
 [Man within. 
 Some scalding water there ! [Woman tvithin. 
 
 How ! do you threaten 1 fire upon 'um ! [Officer within. 
 Murder, murder ! [Within. 
 
 The seem the common hall in Landlord's house. 
 Enter Landlord striking fire with a steel. 
 
 Land. Murder ! murder ! there's murder cried 
 in the streets, we shall be all kill'd in our beds. 
 Ho ! where are you all 1 light a candle ; call up all 
 our lodgers ; ho, murder ! 
 
 Enter Paulina and Joanna, 
 
 Pa^d. Oh ! we shall be murder'd. 
 Land. Here's a steel hath as much fire in't as is 
 in my tooth. 
 
 Enter Alexey. 
 
 Alex. Oh ! Madam, madam ! I have seen the 
 Duke ; [softly to Paul,] he lies in this very house. 
 Coming by a chamber that had a light burning in't, 
 I had a curiosity to look through the key-hole, and 
 I saw the Duke walking without any disguise, and 
 talking to a gentleman, his servant I suppose ; 
 and instantly hearing a noise, slips on a disguise, 
 took his sword, and here he's coming. 
 
 Paul. Oh ! thou ha'st surpris'd me ; I faint ! 
 
 Jo. Strange, what a fortune's this 1
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 43 
 
 Alex. See ! tliis is he. 
 
 JEnter at one door Ladislaus rtw^ Theodore, 
 
 ■'} 
 
 at another Demetrius and Battista, 
 tuith drawn mwds. 
 
 Land. Why, ho ! : will yovi a bring a light here ] 
 Sleepy rascals, are you all dead ] 
 
 Om. Where is this murder 1 
 
 Land. Nay, what know 1 1 All the guards are 
 about, horse and foot. This is about the Duke of 
 Curland ; I would I had him by the nose with a 
 pox to him, I'd hold him as strong as mustard ; 
 he might smell to a crust long enough I' faith, nor 
 should it be four thousand nine hundred ninety- 
 nine crowns should excuse his head. 
 
 Theo. D'ye hear my lord ? This fellow's a rogue. 
 
 [Aside to Lad. 
 
 Lad. I hear him. . 
 
 Faid. A damp strikes to my heart at sight of 
 him. [Aside. 
 
 Dem. Where are these murders done 1 
 
 Bat. In the landlord's pate. 
 No other we shall meet withall to-night. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Ser. Master ! ' 
 . Land. Master, you rogue ! where's a light ? Shall 
 we all be killed in the dark here 1 
 
 Ser. All's over, sir ! 
 
 Land. Over or under, I'll have a light, sir. I 
 won't lose my life in the dark. A light I say ! whil'st 
 I go call up all my people. [Exit. 
 
 Dem. What an impertinent cowardly fellow is 
 this ! _ ' 
 
 Bat. Fear, sir, is natural to vulgar spirits. 
 
 Dem. What people are those in the room here ? 
 
 Bat. Your fellow lodgers, sir !
 
 44 JULIANA ; 
 
 Lad. I do suppose the guards are searching for 
 
 me ; [Aside to Theo. 
 
 Perhaps they may break into the house. 
 
 'Tis safer being abroad. Call for the key of the 
 
 garden door ; I'll go walk in the grove. [Exit. 
 
 Alex. Follow, follow, madam ! he is going out. 
 
 Bat. Come, my lord, y'ave slept but little : will 
 you to your chamber, or walk abroad 1 
 
 Bern. 'Tis too early yet, hardly day, and I feel 
 my eyes a little heavy : I care not if I take the 
 t'other slumber, and finish the remainder of my 
 dream. 
 
 Bat. Had you a dream 1 I thought you slept so 
 little, you had no time to dream. 
 
 Dem. 'Twas a confus'd one of the Duke, and 
 my Princess. Methoughts I met 'um in a grove ; 
 and in a house I wounded him ; she fainted, 
 and they both vanisht : and a thousand such wild 
 things. 
 
 Bat. This busy soul of ours cannot be idle ; 
 It must be doing, and doth, it knows not what. 
 
 Dem. Come ! I'll to my chamber, take t'other 
 slumber, and then in chase of the Duke ; and I'll 
 find him if all the arts of hell can discover him. 
 
 Scene, the Gardens. 
 Enter Ladislaus, Theodore, and Landlord, 
 folhwed by Paulina, Joanna, and Alexey. 
 
 Land. Now, you may venture to walk in the 
 garden, all's over ; beshrew me, I tremble like a 
 quaking pudding. 
 
 Lad. How comes your grove and gardens to lie 
 open 1 
 
 Land. How comes a Avench to lie open, and 
 common, when nobody will fence her 1 Your 
 grandfather : you wonder to hear me say, your
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OK I'dL.VM). 45 
 
 grandfather, I warrant. You nnist know, I call all 
 my lodgers my sons ; and so I being your father, 
 my landlord is your grandfatlier. Now, sir, your 
 grandfather is in law about it with the monastery 
 of Santa Clara ! And did you never see a couple of 
 hectors fight for a wench 1 here I tickle thee, and 
 there I tickle thee, so, sa, sa ! Co' your grandfather, 
 a homethrust ! Co' the monastery ! and so they fetch 
 one another with whiscum, whascums, and I know 
 not what ; and neither of 'um will suffer it to be 
 fenc'd, and so my garden lies stark naked, without 
 ever a rag to her back ; but I keep the poor jade 
 as private as I can, and suffer none to pass, but 
 those that go between the Count's gardens and the 
 monasteines. 
 
 Paul. There is no speaking whil'st this fellow's 
 here. [Aside. 
 
 Lad. What gardens are those, yonder 1 
 
 Land. One Count Colimsky's gardens ; a very 
 brave man, he hath a gallant house at the 
 t'other end ; ah, many sousing soakings have I had 
 in his cellar ! there have I sail'd top and top- 
 gallant, all sails aloft, and bravely boarded the 
 French-man, the high Dutcher, the Spaniard, the 
 Grecian ; then, sir, there hath made up to me a 
 fleet of Algerines, Tunis, and Sally* men, (for so I 
 call the drunken dogs). A sail, a sail ! quoth I ; 
 strike for Algier, quoth they ! strike for Dantzick ! 
 quoth I ; then to't we go, and board one another 
 with small shot, pint glasses, and the like ; from 
 them we go to cuddy-guns, and so to demy-cannon, 
 whole caiinon, and all our lower tier, romers of an 
 ell ; and then there's bloody work ; here sinks a 
 galley, there a galleass ; there a stout frigate turns 
 up his keel ; then high for the main, boys ! cry I. 
 
 The. What a tedious impertinent fellow is this 1 
 
 * Sallee.
 
 40 JULIANA ; 
 
 Lad. And wliat high wall is that, that faces to 
 the Count's gardens "? 
 
 Land. That's the monastery wall I told you of. 
 
 Paid. Will this fellow never ha' done ? 
 
 Lad. You don't know who those young gentle- 
 men are that lodge in your house, do you 1 
 . Land. Not I. They are pretty youths, strangers, 
 speak but bad Polish ; I askt 'um when they came, 
 Rosmepopolsky 1 said I, no Eosmepopolsky, quoth 
 they : but one may make a shift to understand 'um. 
 
 Lad. How came you to have any room in your 
 house, at so great a concourse as this of all the 
 nobility and gentry of Poland with their trains, 
 for the election of a King 'f 
 
 Land. How came my neighbour's wife to have 
 any room in her 1 she was delivered of a boy, and 
 my big-bellied house of a man ; and both were 
 brought to bed yesterday morning. The great 
 Count Palatine of Smolensko, if you know him, 
 lodged here ; and he whipt out o' town upon some 
 bickerings betwixt him and the Cardinal : he told 
 the Cardinal his own, he made a most brave 
 mutinous speech in the Diet, which is highly 
 applauded. I have a copy on't in my pocket. 
 
 Lad. No matter for the copy. Landlord. 
 
 The. This fellow's tongue hath the perpetual 
 motion ; 
 Good my lord, rid yourself of him ! [Aside to Lad. 
 
 Lad. Well, Landlord, I have a little business 
 with my servant ; you'll excuse me. 
 
 Land. I think I ha' lost the copy of this same 
 speech. I must run in to find it. I'll be back pre- 
 sently. [Exit 
 
 Thco. Heaven be prais'd ! 
 
 Faul. So now Pll venture to him. 
 
 Jo. Do, and we'll stay behind. [Lxit Jo and Alex. 
 
 Thco. Ha ! who's this follows the Duke 1
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 47 
 
 My lord, retire ! here's some one follows you. 
 
 [To Lad. 
 
 Lad. Some of the lodgers for the morning air. 
 
 Iheo. No, no, my lord, he makes directly to you. 
 
 Lad. I think he doth, as if he'd speak with me. 
 
 Paul. My lord ! [Goes up to the Duke. 
 
 Lad. To me, sir 1 
 
 Paul. Yes, to you, my lord. 
 Come make it not so strange, I know you well 
 enough. 
 
 Lad. Oh ! heavens, betray'd ! 
 
 Paul. Nay, be not startled, sir ! 
 I've no design but what is honourable. 
 
 Lad Surely you do mistake your person, sir ; 
 I'm but a stranger here. 
 
 Paul. I know you are not, sir, 
 You lately came out of Muscovy ; you were a 
 
 prisner there. 
 Sir, were you not 1 Yes, sir, I'm sure you were, 
 And your name is Ladislaus, Duke of Curland. 
 
 Lad. Ha ! he names my name, 
 How came I thus discover'd 1 
 
 Paul. So, 'tis he ; 
 Now I have borne him down with confidence. 
 
 Lad. I know him not, but since he names my 
 name, 
 Let him be man or devil, friend or enemy, 
 I'll not disown it. Sir, I am Ladislaus 
 Duke of Curland ! what's you business with me ? 
 
 Paul. That letter, sir, that letter will tell you. 
 
 [Gives the Duke a letter. 
 
 Lad. Whence is this 1 
 
 Paul. Read, and you'll see it. 
 
 Lad. Ha ! subscribed Demetrius : [Peruses it. 
 What ! is this from Muscovy 1 where's the Prince l 
 
 Paul. The letter, sir, will tell you. 
 
 Lad. (Beads) I am now at the frontiers of Poland;
 
 48 JULIANA 
 
 my errand you yourself may conjecture, and I had 
 rather tell you with my sword than my pen ; which 
 I had done, if an unhappy accident had not con- 
 fin'd me to a small village, and my chamlier ; and 
 enforc't me to make use of the kindness of the 
 bearer, my cousin, the Duke of Novogrod, to seek 
 you. The acquaintance you have had of my 
 temper will easily give you to believe, that I had 
 rather fight ten battles than write six lines ; and 
 therefore you must not expect long epistles from me. 
 Then, in short, you have abus'd me with dissembled 
 friendship ; affronted and ruin'd me, by stealing 
 away my Princess ; your crimes are unexpiable by 
 anything but your life, which I expect you tender 
 me on the point of your sword. The circumstance, 
 as of time, place, and weapon, I refer to yourself; 
 and you may acquaint my cousin, the Duke, whose 
 return from you I expect with impatience. 
 
 Demetrius. 
 
 Lad. The prince is very severe, and his charge 
 is high. 
 
 Paul. Sir, I suppose he hath reason. 
 
 Lad. That he ought to have been assur'd of, ere 
 He had condemned his friend. 
 
 Paul. Well sir, in short, your answer. 
 
 Lad. My answer is, sir, that the Prince hath 
 wrong'd me, 
 I've not abus'd him with dissembled friendship, 
 Nor stole his Princess ; she remains with him 
 For ought I know, so may my frieudship too. 
 If t pleases him. 
 
 Paul. Oh heavens ! how unfortunate 
 Am I in my love. See, he disowns my flight, 
 And he'll disown the marriage too, and I 
 Shall pass for some base prostrate thing. \^Aside. 
 
 Lad. You seem disorder'd, sir. 
 
 Paul. I am disorder'd sir, at what y'ave said. I
 
 OK, THK I'Kl.NCKSS (iF I'ol.ANb. 49 
 
 only thouglit before, tlie Princess lost to all her 
 friends and fortunes ; but now 'tis Averse, I see 
 she's lost to honour, and fallen into the hands of 
 one that basely disowns her. 
 
 Lad. You are too quick and fierce in your asser- 
 tions, sir. 
 
 Paul. No fiercer, sir, 
 Then the case merits. Had you own'd her flight, 
 And own'd a marriage too, it had been honoural)le ; 
 For upon other terms she would not fly. 
 But let me tell you, sir, in the same breath 
 In which you disown her flight, you little less 
 Than call her strumpet. 
 
 Lad. Do you come here, young Duke, to talk or 
 fight ? 
 
 Paul. Sir, which you please, — 
 To fight. 0, that I had a fury's whip 
 To tear thy heart, and scourge thy perjur'd soul ! 
 . Lad. Must it be so ] \^Draws, amh'. 
 
 Elder Joanna and Alexey. 
 
 Jo. Oh ! murder, murder ! 
 
 Alex. Hold, hold your hand, sir ! save that 
 tender life, 
 Here is an enemy more fit for thee. 
 
 Then. ^Yhat villains are these 1 [Drairs. 
 
 Lad. Ha 1 an ambush. 
 
 Pavl. Begone ! what mean you to betray me 
 thus 1 [A.'iide to Jo. and Alex. 
 
 I am but humouring my part ; retire I 
 These are my .servants, sir ; regard 'um not, [7o Lad. 
 I'll play you no foul play. Ketire ! I say. 
 
 [To Jo. and Alex. 
 Come, come, my lord ! let us put up our anger; 
 The time and place are not convenient [Piif.^ up. 
 For this : besides I exceed my commission int. 
 I should displease the Prince to take your life, 
 1 4
 
 50 JULIANA ; 
 
 And grieve him to lose my own. Come, let us talk ! 
 
 By all that's good, I honour you. 
 
 And do believe you'll tell me sacred truth. 
 
 Then tell me truly, by the faith and honour 
 
 Of a brave man, do you know where the Princess 
 
 Is fled 1 And are you married to her, or no 1 
 
 Lad. Then by these sacred things, by which 
 you so conjure me. 
 By any thing that's more Divine then they, 
 I know not of her flight, nor am 1 
 Married to her. 
 
 [Pmd. walks up and doivn in a passion and disorder. 
 
 Paid. Oh ! horrid, horrid ! I shall sink and die. 
 
 \^Aside. 
 
 Lad. Sir, you look pale : how do you 1 
 
 Paul. I could find in my heart to stab him. 
 
 [^Aside. 
 
 Lad. Your countenance changes, sir; I fear you're 
 
 ill, 
 And but dissemble it in complaisance. 
 
 Pray, let me wait upon you to your chamber. 
 
 Paul. No, good my lord ! no ceremony pi'ay. 
 
 Sweet-natur'd devil ! [Aside. 
 
 Enter Sharnofsky conducting Juliana, folloiced 
 
 by Hypolita, Emilia, and Francisca ; 
 
 the women all vizarded. 
 
 Lad. Ha ! what is't I see 1 It is a vision ! Count 
 Sharnofsky conducting a lady out of yonder 
 monastery, she and her train all mask'd, what 
 should it mean 1 my lord, I beg your pardon, I'll 
 wait on you instantly. 
 
 Pa,ul. Oh ! my sweet lord ! [Ironice. 
 
 Ho, there ! [To her, Jo. et Alex. 
 
 J J V Madam, the news ? 
 
 Paul. Curland's a monster!
 
 OR, THE PFvINCESS OF I'OLAND. 51 
 
 Jlex. I'll run and kill him ! 
 
 Paul. No, let me alone ! 
 I'll kill him, but it shall be with torments ! 
 Steel, poison, fire, racks, scorpions, hell ! 
 Oh, me unfortunate ! 
 
 Jo. She's grown distracted. 
 
 Faul. Lead me ! I faint ! 
 
 Jo. She swoons ! help, help ! [Thei/ cam/ her out. 
 
 Al. Who should these be ? 
 
 Thco. Who're these my lord is gazing on so 
 earnestly % Ha, it should be his friend, the Count. 
 But wliat's that vizard, lady ? See, she unmasques. 
 
 Jul. ^^llere are we now, my lord 1 
 
 Shar. I'm sure not far from Count Colimsky's 
 gardens. 
 
 Theo. It is the Princess I 
 
 Lad. Heavens ! 'tis my Princess ; 
 'Tis she, 'tis she ! my guilty soul retires 
 At th' apparition of that bright divinity 
 Which my soul whispers I have now offended. 
 Just so a suffering saint that long had been 
 Triumphant over all the arts of sin ; 
 And in all combats made a brave defence, 
 And still preserv'd entire his innocence ; 
 But yet at last, before he is aware, 
 Begins to slide into some pleasing snare ; 
 By heaven surpriz'd, his soul is then afraid 
 Of joys for which he had endur'd and pray'd. 
 
 Shar. I see the garden gate. This, this way 
 madam ! [Exeunt Shar., Jul., &c. 
 
 Lad. Ha ! vancpiish't thus ! heavens unfold this 
 mystery; 
 It is too dark for me, and I must follow 
 To see the opening of this cloudy scene. [Exit. 
 
 Theo. See, my lord chases 'um, I dread the event ! 
 I wish some mist had screen'd this horrid vision 
 Prom his sight. [Exit.
 
 02 JULIANA; 
 
 The Scene, a Garden, at the one evd a pdluce. 
 
 Enter Sharnofsky, Juliana, Hypolito, Emelia, 
 
 Francisca. 
 
 Jul. Heavens ! in wliat shady paths my fortunes 
 lead me. 
 And must I hide ray head in nature's nunnery, 
 Among these vii'gin flowers to save myself 
 From him, who now though he so proud can be, 
 Hath often for his safety fled to me ? 
 Nor would it grieve me, if I did but know 
 For what it is he persecutes me so ; 
 Or how I ever did off'end this proud 
 Aspiring man, that he should seek my blood. 
 
 Shnr. The tyrant, madam, thinks the Duke and you, 
 Do all his towering policies undo ; 
 And then his active brain Avants no design 
 The strongest innocence to undermine : 
 Then for the State, he doth bewitch their sense 
 With the love-2:)owder of his eloquence : 
 His sliding tongue doth with its charming strains. 
 Like a smooth serpcnit, coil about their brains, 
 And with its sting not only taints the blood 
 Of fools and bigots, but the wise and good ; 
 But yet in spite of all such arts as these, 
 We'll darken his proud stars, and on his knees 
 Yet make him, ere w' have done this fatal strife, 
 At these fair hands thus humbly ask his life. 
 
 [At the instant that Shar. kiieeh to Jdss her hand, 
 
 Ladislaus arul Theodore enter. 
 Lad. Heaven blast my eyes rather than see this 
 sight. 
 Fm abus'd ; villain ! [Draws. 
 
 Theo. Oh, my lord, what mean you 1 [Holds the 
 
 Duke. 
 Lad. Loose me, Theodore ! or thou diest. 
 Theo. I die ! ah, sir, 'twill be a fate too glorious
 
 OR, THE PKIXl'ESS OF PoLAMt. 53 
 
 To die by your hand I thus saving of your friend. 
 
 Shar. Hark, I liear a noise ! 
 
 Hyj}. See, see, the guard ! 
 
 Jul. Fly, I command you, fly ! We are betray'd. 
 [Jill, pulh Shar., icho ref reals irilh his sicord in 
 
 hand; Ihc icomen run off shrieking. 
 
 Lad. See, she entices him, and the coward flies ! 
 And hast thou lost thy courage with thy honesty ? 
 This mnu was valiant once, I've now done nrore 
 Than I have seen whole armies do before : 
 But guilt now so unmans him, that he flies 
 What once he had the courage to despise : 
 But I'll pursue thee to thy base retreats. 
 Ha ! the gates fastened ! are they barricadoed ? 
 Fetch me a torch, I'll fire my way to 'um, 
 And kill him in the arms of that false woman : 
 Yea, rage perhaps may tempt me to destroy 
 Her, Avhom I once thought heaven to enjoy. 
 
 Then. Oh ! how his passion, like a clap of thunder, 
 Rends her great soul. But ha ! they fire upon us. 
 My lord ! you will be shot, a shower of bullets 
 Flies from each corner. 
 See some musqueteers upon the battlements. 
 The fatal hail falls thick. 
 
 Lad. Poor men, how dangerously 
 They stand against so numerous an army ! 
 How bloodily they wound the drooping flowers ! 
 
 Theo. A flight of arr(jws 
 Covers the garden with a poison'd shade ; 
 And one just glanc't your side : you're shot ! you 
 bleed ! 
 
 Lad. I feel it not. 
 
 llieo. 'Tis fallen at your foot ; 
 Shot from some Tartar's bow. Curse on the slave. 
 The horse-fed dog! oh, let me suck the wound, 
 For fear the dart was venom'd. 
 
 Lad. Ha, I l^leed !
 
 54 JULIANA ; 
 
 Indeed these are Juliana's darts of love : 
 
 Thank you, kind Piincess. Come then, Theodore, 
 
 I will retire, I ought not to resign, 
 
 T' each common shaft, a life so great as mine ; 
 
 No, perjur'd woman ! I will live to have 
 
 Such a revenge as shall be great and brave ; 
 
 Suiting thy birth, and mine, and be above 
 
 My injured honour, and attronted love : 
 
 And when I've done I'll make my last retreat 
 
 To her, that never hath deceiv'd me yet, 
 
 Honour, a mistress worthy of my mind, 
 
 Both fair and great, as thou, and far more kind. 
 
 [^Ex'it. 
 
 The Scene, a room in Colimsky's palace. 
 Enter Juliana, Sharnofsky, Hypolita, 
 
 /?/i. Fire on 'um still ! 
 
 Shar. I can descry but two from the terrace walk. 
 
 Jul. They're behind the trees. 
 
 Enter Franoisca and Emilia running. 
 But see, the affrighted maids ! 
 
 Em. Oh ! out of breath. 
 AV'ave been pursued by such a crew o' rogues ! 
 Era. Ay indeed, madam, there was horse and 
 foot. 
 I was pursued at least by tAventy pikemen. 
 Em. And sixteen musqueteers ran after me. 
 Jul. The Count ! My lord, did you not meet 
 the guards 1 
 
 Enter CoLiMSKY. 
 
 Col. Not I. 
 
 Jul. Then sure we are pursued by phantoms. 
 
 Col. Well, madam, I've had fortunate success, 
 And rais'd a force very considerable 
 For the small time I had to do it in ; 
 I find the young nobles, and many commons.
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 55 
 
 And almost all the ladies, highly sensilde 
 Of your great wrongs, and ready to engage with you. 
 Madam, in short, fear not the Cardinal's threats ; 
 But, al)ove all things, trust not his promises. 
 Hell's not so false, madam ; you can but die, 
 And you had better bravely give your life, 
 Than be deluded out on 't ; but I hope 
 You'll be constrain'd to neither, if a waW 
 Of fifty thousand 1:)ucklers can protect you. 
 
 Jul. Blest news ! lets arm ! I will have Poland see 
 My father's royal soul survives in me. [Exit. 
 
 The Third Act. 
 
 Enter PAULINA, JOANNA. 
 
 Paul. Marry a lady o' my quality, and then 
 Deny the marriage ! oh, perfidious ungrateful man ! 
 And was it then for this [I] trampled on 
 My self, my honours, fortunes ; 
 Ran on the pikes of my great father's anger, 
 Bestow'd thy life, when all thy friends abandon'd 
 
 thee, 
 And for thy sake am now l^ecome a poor 
 And wand'ring exile ; and thou thus reward me, 
 Basely abandon me 1 oh, horrid, horrid ! 
 Weep, bleed, die, fall at my feet thou tyrant, 
 Quick, quick ! or see this steel is in thy heart. 
 
 Jo. How wild she looks, and talks ; oh, my poor 
 Princess ! 
 How deadly pale she is ! now weeps again. 
 
 Faid. What shall I do 1 in a strange country 
 here 
 Exposed to shame, yet strangled if I return. 
 Death waits me at home, disgrace and ruin here ;
 
 50 JULIA XA ; 
 
 Like a poor ship thus lab'ring in a stonn, 
 
 I view the angry ocean o'er and o'er, 
 
 And see a thousand waves, l)ut not one shore. 
 
 Jo. Oh, tliat I were a witch to torture him ! 
 
 Paul. To-night, he dies ! wliere is Alexey gone "? 
 
 Jo. Gone out to see what mean these stranire 
 confusions. 
 Shouts, cLamours, cries, hillows and tides of people 
 Fh)wiiig i)i the streets, calling to arms, to arms ! 
 
 Poitl. Alexey knows his chamber. Then to- 
 night, 
 AVhen weariness betrays him to his rest. 
 And he lies coffin'd in the vaults of sleep. 
 Haunted with mournful dreams, I'll to his bed. 
 Unwrap his lireast, anatomize his heart ; 
 Here runs a vein of courage, there of falsehood, 
 This fibre shows him man, but that a devil ; 
 Then if he groans, or else, with cast up eyes. 
 Shall sigh a prayer, I'll stab it as it flies, 
 And lieg of heaven both soul and prayer may 
 To those blest regions never find their way : 
 But then lest heaven shoidd deny my prayer, 
 I'll kill myself, even to toiiuent him there. 
 Enter Alexey. 
 
 Alex. Oh, Madam ! there's the strangest news 
 abroad. 
 The Princess and the Count are up in arms, 
 Poland's in a blaze, all's in confusion, 
 The general Diet's equally divided, 
 And millions of rejiorts fly to and fro : 
 Some say they design to crown the Duke ; 
 ( Hliers to murder him, and ci'own themselves. 
 The Duke lies sick of an iuvenom'd wound, 
 But more of jealousy ; I listened at his chamber. 
 And heard him groan of both ; his soul is bulibling, 
 A litth^ heat would l)oil him to a height. 
 
 riuil. I'll go, I'll go, I'll sting his poison'd soul,
 
 OK. I'lIK I'lMNC'ESS OF POLAND. 57 
 
 Put iire under lii.s heart, I'll l)oil him, hoil him. 
 Till in his rage he runs and kills his friend, 
 His mistress, and himself ; then we'll be merry. 
 Be jolly, carouze, drink healths in their blood. 
 
 Jo. Our Landlord too's a talking newsmonger, 
 I'll go and stuff the fool's cranny with all the 
 rascally news T can invent. 
 
 Faid. Do ! all tools shall help ; there's nothing 
 noAV 
 So base I would not do to have revenge : 
 Revenge to me doth even seem above 
 Celestial joys, or the delights of love. 
 Ye powers ! 
 
 Let but revenge give me one minute's ease, 
 And cast your other joys to whom you please. 
 
 The, Scene, THE Town. 
 Enter Ossolinsky, Cassonosky, Lubomirsky, 
 and tJieir trams, at several doors, runninr/ in confusion. 
 Two Gentlemen. 
 
 Om. To arms, to arms ! 
 
 Osso. Not mounted yet, my lords ? the Cardinal 
 is ready to march into the held. 
 
 Casso. Heaven speed his Eminence, I hope he 
 is in his coach ; for if he was a horseback, and his 
 horse trotted as high as his designs, he would jolt 
 the old man's bones. [Aside. 
 
 Lull. I thouglit what would become of these 
 violent proceedings. 
 
 Casso. So, here's Machiavel, policy in the 
 abstract ; the wind of to'ther party blows a little 
 dust in's teeth, and he wheels about. [Aside. 
 
 Osso. You thought ! were not you as forward as 
 any one ] 
 
 Casso. So, blunderbuss, my lord grand luliber ; 
 be sure if there Ije any simple knavery, thou wilt 
 be forward enough in it, but thou wantst wit to
 
 nS JULIANA ; 
 
 be an ingenious knave. And yet this foul got the 
 marshal's baton from me, thank tlie good King. 
 
 [^Aaide. 
 
 Ltd). As forward as any one 1 no, I was not as 
 forward as any one, sir. 
 
 Osso. I hate this. 
 
 Lub. Well, and I hate, sir. 
 
 Osso. Nay, sir, ben't so passionate ! farewell to 
 you ; I'll stand by the Cardinal my self 
 
 Casso. So, these Lords will go to cuffs about 
 state, you shall see ; come, my lords, no dissensions, 
 we have enemies enow. 
 
 Lab. Sir, I am as ready to draw my sword i'th' 
 Cardinal's defence, as he can be. 
 
 Casso. No doubt, no doiibt, my sweet noble 
 lord ; all the world knows you're loyal, wise, and 
 valiant. My sweet Count Simpleton, all the world 
 knows you to be a coxcomb, and so do I : well, I 
 am so out o' humour, I could hate all mankind. 
 
 fts.so. Then Avliat lu^ed all this quarrelling among 
 ourselves 1 
 
 Casso. Enough o' this, my lord. I must reconcile 
 'um for my own ends, or else they might fight and 
 hang [aside]. Well, what shall we do with these 
 impertinent women that are engaged against us 1 
 
 Lub. Is your lady amongst 'um, my lord 1 
 
 Casso. Ay, I have an impertinent hen amongst 
 'um, that would crow o'er all the cocks in the 
 Kingdom, if she could. 
 
 1. Gent. Sh'as reason, for half the cocks in the 
 kingdom have crowed o'er her. [Aside. 
 
 Osso. They'll have the wit to keep out o' danger. 
 By this time the Cardinal is ready. Bid 'um sound 
 t(j horse. [Ex. Osso., Lub. 
 
 Casso. So, thus am I forc't to solder 'um 
 together to keep our rotten building from falling 
 in pieces, till I requite the kindness of the King
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 59 
 
 upon his daughter, for opposing me in all the 
 offices of state I stood candidate for, great seal, 
 gold key, preferring these, and every phlegmatick 
 fellow before nie ; and now 'tis I have rais'd all 
 this storm, and the overwise Cardinal thinks to 
 make me a tool in his design, and I make him an 
 instrument in mine. [Exit. 
 
 2. Gcitt. This is pretty, the Avomen in arms : 
 ha, ha I is thy mistress amongst 'um, she with the 
 high Roman nose ] 
 
 1. Gent. Ay, and thine too, she with the low 
 flat French nose. 
 
 2. Gent. Ha, ha ! how I shall laugh to see the 
 little pretty uptails come to make a home-thrust at 
 a man. Prithee, let's follow our lords, and see this 
 desperate camp. 
 
 1. Gent. But first let's arm, hack and breast, 
 bodkin proof. 
 
 The Scene, A Large Pavilion. 
 Enter Juliana, Hypolita, Emilia, Francisca, 
 and ladies in hats, feathers, vests ; with gilded pole- 
 axes in their hands, followed by Sharnofsky, 
 CoLiMSKY, a7id Guard at a distance, Demetrius 
 and Battista as among the crowd. 
 
 Bern. Not one face here that doth resemble his. 
 
 Bat. My lord, you'll be observ'd. 
 
 Dem. Stand back, Battista ! I'll view 'um all ; 
 and if thou dost provoke me, I'll fight 'um all. 
 
 Jul. Let all the gazing crowds withdraw, and 
 place strict guards about the tents ! 
 
 Bat. Come, let's withdraw in time among the 
 crowd. 
 
 Dem. I'll not withdraw : Curland is among 'um, 
 And I will make their close cabal deliver him. 
 
 Bnt. Yes, yes, be cut in pieces by the guards. 
 
 Guar. Avoiil the tent, all, all !
 
 60 JULIANA ; 
 
 Ticiii. Slave, wlio do you speak to? yDivirs. 
 
 Guar. Ha, sir, who are you 1 
 
 2. Guar. Cleave his head ! 
 
 Bat. Hold, sir, for heaven's sake ! [TnferjJoses. 
 
 ^/ij' MVhat matiny's that ? 
 
 Guar. A traitor comes to murder the Princess. 
 
 Jul. A traitor 1 
 
 Dem. A traitor, you mercenary slaves 1 
 
 Bat.'^.Oli ! gods, what work is here 1 
 
 iShar. Deliver, sir ! [Disarms Dem. 
 
 Jul. Who employ 'd yon, sir, on so wise an 
 errand 1 
 
 Dem. A thing, which I'm afraid Poland ne'er 
 heard of yet, call'd honour. 'Tis to seek a jierson 
 hid in your false cabals, as false as they. 
 
 Jal. The youth's distracted. 
 
 Bat. This generous person is but a stranger, one 
 of high quality, and only comes in curiosity to see 
 th' election. 
 
 Dem. Sirrah, you lie ! I come to seek the Duke, 
 and I will have liim here, or fire their tents al)out 
 their ears. 
 
 Jul. He is a little craz'd : he hath his lil)erty. 
 Convey him home, and send for one of my 
 physicians to him. 
 
 Bat. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Dem. Am I your buffoon, then 1 send your 
 physicians to me ! 
 
 Shar. Go, young sir, anothei- time you shall be 
 Avelcome hither ; at present, sir, indeed you must 
 excuse us. 
 
 Dem. Take notice, sir, I will revenge th' aflFront 
 wlien y'are a King ; at })resent you are all beneath 
 my anger. [B.t. Dem., Bat. 
 
 Col. What a mad fiery youth is this ! 
 
 Jill. And now must 1 with liunddc })atience wait
 
 UK, THE PKINCESS OF POLAND. 61 
 
 Upon tliis scarlet minister of fate, 
 
 Who comes with slow and a majestic pace 
 
 To speak a Prince's doom Avith greater grace, 
 
 And with a specious gravity to hide 
 
 His traitorous design, and haughty pride. 
 
 Yes : To his grandeur I owe more esteem, 
 
 I at his own cabals should visit him : 
 
 And, if he stays, perhaps I shall prevent 
 
 With fifty thousand swords his compliment. 
 
 In th' interim I'll divertize my self and these 
 
 noble ladies. Command my music to sing a song 
 
 of Triumph : 
 
 Fierce and heoric tempers cannot stay 
 
 To court a victory with long delay, 
 
 Like a dull bridegroom for his wedding night, 
 
 But con<(uer and triumph, and then they fight. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 . Awake, awake ! thou warlike genius of our state, 
 Who once didst glorious things ; 
 But hast of late 
 Lain sleeping under drowsy Kings ; 
 Arise ! and on triumphant beauty wait : 
 See, see, he comes, 
 Kous'd with the noise of trumpets and of drums. 
 The air all fiaming wheresoe'er he went, 
 And now he hovers o'er our Prince's tent. 
 
 Fair Amazon, the day's thine own. 
 Thine enemies look pale to see thy warriors stand 
 Im})atient for thy great command, 
 
 \Vhose looks do make the fainting villains groan ; 
 And by and l)y 
 Shall on the altar of the field 
 
 Ten thousand victims lie.
 
 G2 JULIANA 
 
 Then church and state 
 
 Shall on thy triunii)hs wait, 
 Mitre and crown 
 
 Shall at thy feet lie down 
 To flatter thy victorious charms ; 
 Away ! to arms ! to arms ! 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Off. Madam, the Cardinal's come into the field, 
 And all the lords that join with him. 
 
 Jul. The lords ! and doth his piety distrust 
 Heaven's protection of a cause so just 1 
 But he, good man, though he is arm'd with prayer, 
 And hath battalions marshall'd in the air, 
 Yet will make use of other guards beside. 
 And rather will in temp'ral arms confide : 
 My Lord Sharnofsky, draw up the squadrons of 
 horse into battalia. Ill head "um myself in person. 
 
 Col. We have a braver appearance than could 
 b' expected on so little warning. 
 
 Enter another Officer. 
 
 Off. Madam, the Cardinal desires to treat in 
 person with you, and demands caution, for the 
 security of himself and those that shall attend him. 
 
 Jul. Let sufticient caution be given. 
 
 Shar. Open to the right and left to make way for 
 the Cardinal. 
 
 Enter CARDINAL, OSSOLINSKY, CaSSONOSKY, 
 
 LuBOMiRSKY, and train. The Cardinal 
 looks about and smiles. 
 
 Card. The women arm'd ! then sure Av'are all 
 mistaken ; 
 This preparation's only made 
 For some great Masquerade. 
 
 Jul. A play ! 'tis only to divert you, sir,
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 63 
 
 And call'd, The downfall of the Cardinal. 
 
 Card. And was it this, you and your mighty 
 
 poets 
 Have so long studied on 1 The plot's too mean 
 For such great wits, and such a mighty scene : 
 An usurp't crown a better plot Avould be 
 For arm'd tragedians, such as here I see ; 
 And if we make inquiry, we shall find 
 T'was such a plot your poetry design'd : 
 And to deny it, madam, is in vain, 
 For we have searcht your vaults, and found your 
 
 train ; 
 And 'twill but set you higher on the score 
 To justify your ills, by doing more. 
 But if in this contempt you will proceed. 
 Then thank your own ambition if j^ou bleed ; 
 You are'an orphan, so is the Kingdom too. 
 And no less trusted to my care than you. 
 
 Jul. How blest am I, with this great state to share 
 In such a holy guardian's pious care. 
 Whose thoughts are busied for me night and day. 
 That my good angel may have leave to play : 
 Whose love to that romantic height is flown, 
 That he to save my soul would lose his own : 
 For though in compliment he seem'd t' approve 
 The little youthful vanities of love ; 
 And did my marriage with the Duke advance, 
 To show the King and me his complaisance ; 
 Nay more, did to my dying father swear, 
 Our mutual loves should be his chiefest care : 
 He had a far more heavenly intent. 
 And swore in courtship what he never meant : 
 For he, who from his youth hath understood 
 The pleasing mysteries of flesh and blood. 
 And knows how seldom those that are in love 
 In their eml^races think of joys above : 
 He therefore charitably breaks his oath,
 
 (U .in.lAXA; 
 
 And becomes perjur'd to presem-e us both. 
 
 Card. I am not ignorant what you design 
 By ironies like these, so sharp, so fine ; 
 'Tis true, I promis'd I would ever bear, 
 Even of your loves, a most religious care ; 
 And tliat I would endeavour to I'edeem 
 The captive you did then so much esteem, 
 And faithfully engag'd when that was done, 
 I would complete the vows you had begun; 
 Things good and just like these I vowed to do. 
 But not to uphold you in all evil too ; 
 I did not swear if you should l)oth comlnne 
 T' o'erturn the state to share in the design ; 
 Though wath my honour you so pleasant be, 
 And, think to laugh me into perjury ; 
 Spoi't with me, madam, as your scorn thinks fit, 
 We can distinguish innocence from wat ; 
 And, if I'm perjur'd, Poland then shall know 
 Their safety did recjuire it to be so : 
 For know, my lords, th' ambitious Duke and she 
 
 [Turning to the Lords. 
 Whom I have injur'd, as she charges me, 
 Have sought tliis crown by treason to obtain, 
 AVhich by just ways they did despair to gain ; 
 And to all Princes have addresses made 
 The connnonwealth l)y fire and sword t'invade. 
 Seeking that throne which they despair t' enjoy 
 By mean revenge and envy to destroy ; 
 And here their partizans do seek by stealth 
 To gain u]ion the sleeping commonwealth. 
 And now to stop so evil a design, 
 Stepping to take the actors in the mine ; 
 Enrag'd their enterprise should liinder'd be. 
 They strive to blow^ up both themselves and me. 
 
 Sh((r. No more, proud priest 1 how dar'st thou at 
 this rate 
 Sport with a Princess, and a Kingdom's fate 1
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF I'OLAND. G5 
 
 And charge ns boldly with this black intent, 
 
 "When as thy conscience knows w'are innocent 1 
 
 But thou whose valiant conscience never fears 
 
 To rifle urns, and sell an orjDlian's tears, 
 
 To break thy oaths made to a dying King, 
 
 Must have a soul debauch't for any thing. 
 
 Alas, poor man ! here are ten thousand eyes 
 
 That see thy plots through all their vain disguise : 
 
 Poor vulgar spectacles can sit at home, 
 
 And read thy darkest policies at Rome ; 
 
 At Rome, the market for thy royal ware, 
 
 Thou chaffer'st Poland for the Papal chair. 
 
 And here thou striv'st to beat that interest down, 
 
 "Which spoils thy trading for the triple crown : 
 
 Nay more, for fear thy chapmen there should fail, 
 
 Thou to all Princes set'st this crown to sale. 
 
 'Tis plac't upon thy private stalls. 
 
 And cheap'ned in thy dark cabals : 
 
 No pacquets come, nor envy doth resort. 
 
 But brings thee pelf from every Christian court : 
 
 And not a Princely suitor sends to woo. 
 
 But thy good will must first be courted too ; 
 
 Each royal youth of Europe panting lies, 
 
 For fear the Cardinal his consent denies. 
 
 And now because some cannot bear to see 
 
 A priest make merchandize of royalty ; 
 
 That money should the throne invade, 
 
 And turn the crown into a trade ; 
 
 He all impending evils to prevent. 
 
 Accuses us, to be thought innocent. 
 
 Card. Well, sir, then since you have so good a 
 cause. 
 Repose your life and honour in the laws. 
 Deliver yourself unto the State, and 1 
 "Will lay my maces and my scarlets by. 
 And from my office, waving all pretence, 
 W ill to the State submit my innocence : 
 1 5
 
 66 JULIANA ; 
 
 Then let the Diet freely try 
 
 Which is the traitor, you, or I. \Card. parti/ slwat. 
 
 Osso. 'Tis bravely spoken. 
 
 Lvb. Greatly, like himself ! 
 
 Casso. Knavishly, like liimself. [Amle. 
 
 Shar. Agreed ! Here, bind my hands. 
 
 Jul. My lord, you shall not. 
 
 Shar. His proposition's fair ; the Cardinal 
 Never preach't any thing so much divine. 
 And let no blood be shed but his or mine ! 
 
 Jul. 'Tis all deceit, through you he aims at me, 
 That he my father's throne might freel' invade. 
 And proudly triumph o'er his royal shade ; 
 But that he shall not do whil'st I've a hand 
 To hold a spear, and armies to command. 
 
 Card. And, Madam, do you think that fate is 
 amorous 1 
 Or to find any courtship from a bullet ? 
 They, like rav7 travellers, court all they meet ; 
 Nor can we send a guide to give advice 
 Whom to respect, but let 'um take their choice. 
 
 /«/. Their rugged courtship, sir, I shan't deny, 
 Send them abroad, and give them all supply 
 That may defray the charges of their flight, 
 Draw bills of death, they shall be paid on sight ; 
 I will your faithful correspondent be. 
 And pay as fast as you can draw on me. 
 
 Card. Madam, I'm sorry you resolve t' expose 
 Yourself, and such a lovely guard as those, 
 To all the sad uncertainties of fate. 
 To try your skill in fencing with the State ; 
 For justice at a traitor's life doth fly. 
 And when it makes a pass you put it by ; 
 But if the sword doth hap' to run astray, 
 Then thank your self for standing in the way. 
 
 [Exeunt Card., Osso., Casso., Lub., sJiouling 
 and waving their fauchio7is.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. (i7 
 
 Jul. Come, viiliant friends ! the talking pro- 
 logue's done ; 
 The curtain's drawn, the mighty play's begun ! 
 The music of the field in martial rage 
 Calls us to enter on this fatal stage, 
 Where each brave man shall doul)ly have applause, 
 Crown'd by his courage, and his glorious cause ; 
 A cause more glorious there cannot be, 
 I for the kingdom die, and you for me. 
 Ex. Jul. and train shouting and leaving their poh-axes. 
 
 The Scene the Dukes chamber. 
 Enter Theodore, and a Surgeon. 
 
 Thm. Offer to let my master go out in this 
 condition 1 
 
 Sur. I could not hold him, sir, he would go out 
 whether I would or no. But there's no danger, his 
 wound's not great, nor was the arrow venom'd, as 
 first you fear'd. 
 
 Theo. Oh ! he'll hear all the news, {Aside. 
 
 And then I tremble at the consequence. 
 Now comes this babbling rascal. 
 
 , Enter Landlord. 
 
 Land. Nay, I thought 'tAvould be as I said : the 
 Count is to be King, and marry the Princess. 
 How, now, where's your master ? I've news for him. 
 
 Theo. Get you gone with your news, you prating 
 bufflehead, or I'll set you down stairs. Come here 
 with your news % 
 
 Land. Pi-ating bufilehead ! and you'll set me 
 downstairs 1 Do you know who you speak to, 
 sirrah] Come, come, you lie, you lie! you don't 
 know who you speak to, and you're drunk, sirrah, 
 you would not talk to me at this rate else, sirrah ; 
 get me down stairs with my news, sirrah '] I'd have 
 [you] to know, the best men in the kingdom are 
 glad of my intelligence, you drunken rascal, you.
 
 68 JULIANA ; 
 
 Theo. Yes, no doubt you have all the intelli- 
 gence. Pray Mr. Corantoe-Master-General, what 
 may your envoys and spies in foreign courts cost 
 you yearly ? 
 
 Land. What may they cost me, sir ? pray Avhat 
 may your envoys and spies which you maintain 
 with the Duke o' Gally-pots, Count Palatine o' 
 Glister-pipes, Marquess o' Mouth-glue, and Baron 
 o' Bathing-tubs, for the support o' your rotten body 
 politic, cost you yearly "? Ha, Sir Ragmanners, 
 my intelligence comes from better men than you 
 or your master either. I met no less now (because 
 you prate) than six lords of my old acquaintance 
 coming out of the field together all of a knot. 
 
 Thco. What knot 1 a bow-knot ] 
 
 Land. A bow-knot, saucy-chops ! when did you 
 see six lords tied of a bow-knot % Ha ! can you tie 
 your nose of a bow-knot 1 You had not best pro- 
 voke me, sirrah. But so, here comes my man, now 
 it shall be seen whether I am a liar or no. 
 
 Enter Joanna and Alexey jyeejmig. 
 
 Jo. How, not here ! where did we lose her? 
 
 Alex. I'll hold a wager the person we met in 
 the cloak was the Duke, and she went after him 
 somewhere, and is lost in the crowd. 
 
 Land. Come, come, sir ! you Mr Peagoose that 
 stand peeping there, pray, sir, thrust in your nose 
 a little further : I have some employment for you. 
 
 [Pulls in Jo. 
 
 Jo. The rogue will discover all my design, and 
 render us suspicious to the Duke's servant, I am 
 afraid. Come in, Alexey, and help me to out-face 
 the fool. [Aside to Alex. 
 
 Land. Come, sir, did not you hear in the field, 
 as much as to say, as if the Count was to be made 
 King, and to marry the Princess ? Come, answer 
 directly to the point ; why don't you speak, sir ?
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 69 
 
 Jo. Who, me do ye mean ? 
 
 Land. Ay, you, sir. Who shoiikl I mean else ? 
 
 Jo. I hear it ! how should I hear it 1 was I in the 
 field to-day 1 
 
 Land. Why you impudent stinking lying rascal ! 
 you won't tell me such a lie, will you ? 
 
 Alex. You mistake me, Landlord, and ha' met 
 somebody like him. 
 
 Land. No, sir, I don't mistake ; I can see when 
 I see, surely; I don't carry my eyes in a hand- 
 basket, and more than that, 'cause he goes to't, 
 he's the very man, and no other, from whom I'd 
 all this news now. 
 
 The. Is this your six lords of a knot, you ninny 1 
 I see you can invent for a need. 
 
 Jo. Oh, a most grievous impertinent lying 
 fellow ! I'm so plagued with him sometimes. 
 
 Alex. Hark you. Landlord, are not you 
 troubled with a dizziness in your noddle, a megrim 
 sometimes 1 I am afraid you eat too much mustard, 
 and such hot things. 
 
 Jo. Some snush* would purge your simple' brain. 
 
 Land. A little more would make me run dis- 
 tracted. Don't you tell me o' your megrims, your 
 snush, and your mustard; a company of rascals ! 
 sirrah, did not I meet you coming out o' th' field, 
 and I ask't you what news, 'cause I was loath to 
 go farther, 'cause I was to go buy a pole o' ling 
 for the women's dinner that lie in my house here ; 
 and you told me all this bibble babble, and bid me 
 go no farther, but go to my lodgers with it : deny't 
 if you dare, sirrah ! I'll promise you if you do, I'll 
 churn those buttermilk-chops o' yours, and let 
 your master take it off". I care not if you and your 
 master both get out o' my house, I can ha' customers 
 for my rooms. 
 
 Akx. Come, enough o' this Landlord. 
 
 * Query: Snuff? .S'co^Vv, " Sneishin."
 
 70 JULIANA; 
 
 Land. I han't enough, sir. I won't be made a liar on. 
 The. Why, what a troublesome fellow art thou. 
 Land. And what a troublesome fellow art thou. 
 I wont be borne down by a company o' saucy valets 
 that are good for nothing but to twirl a whisker, 
 and a shave the crown o' some Sir Nicolas 
 Emptipate, his master ; and be kickt thrice a day 
 for a cast suit and bread and cheese. 
 
 Alex. Come, Landlord, I perceive you are 
 abusive ; this is not to be endured. You must be 
 corrected out o' this humour, it will be for your 
 good another day; and now our masters' backs 
 are turn'd, we'll make bold to give you a taste of our 
 parmesau.* 
 
 The. And I'll give him one lick for the sake 
 of his Corantoes. Come, sir, since you're so good at 
 Corantoes, pray, let's see how you can dance a 
 Coranto. Come, up with your news quickly. t 
 
 Land. Rogues, you won't murder me, will you ? 
 
 The. On the fourteenth instant, at the Port of 
 Hucklebone, was drove in by storm a vessel call'd 
 the Royal Cudgel, bound for back, bum, belly, 
 noddle, or any part of the kingdom of coxcomb. 
 
 Jo. And near the same port another. 
 
 Alex. And another laden with snush, for the 
 cure of the megrim. 
 
 Sur. They'll kill their Landlord. 
 
 Land. Rogues, rascals, thieves ! Will you murder 
 me ? 
 Why, Surgeon, wilt thou stand by and see me 
 Murder'd ] I'll lay my death to thee. 
 
 * Also "Parmesan," sometimes "Parmasent." 
 t Coranto, from the French " Courante," means a nimble 
 dance, or anything that runs quickly, such as a paper of news. 
 Thei-e have been many newspapers called "Courants" in 
 Great Britain within the last two hundred years. At the 
 pi'esent time there exists in Scotland a deservedlj' popular 
 Conservative newspaper, which originated about the com- 
 mencement of the last century, called Tlic FAiiihvnih Courant.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 71 
 
 Sur. Pray, gentlemen 
 
 Alex. How now, sirrali 1 do you prate, shaver 
 o' shin-bones, drawer of gum-stakes, grafter o' 
 broken stilts, trapanner o' crackt coxcombs 1 I'll 
 teach you more manners. 
 
 Land. Murder, murder ! 
 
 The. See, our lords ! 
 They heat Landlord and Surgeon off o' th' stage ; and 
 Enter Ladislaus and Paulina. 
 
 Lad. And is it thus % Come, Theodore, my sword ! 
 
 The. Oh, heavens ! what is't I hear % 
 
 Paul. Come, sir, I know they're wrong'd by 
 the fond talking Avorld : they're constant, generous, 
 they're angels ! angels, not a pound a flesh about 
 'um, sir; and doth it sting thy soull \askle'\ Crawl, 
 crawl, about his heart, thou serpent jealousy, until 
 he foams with poison. 
 
 Lad. [aside'] Heavens ! I fear something is 
 strangely amiss Avith the young Duke : he hath 
 talked all day at this distracted rate. What should 
 the reason be ? Some secret sorrow sets heavy on 
 him ; but I'll take no notice. Come, Theodore ! 
 
 The. My lord ! upon my knees 
 
 Lad. No more, I'm wrong'd, abus'd, by my false 
 friends, 
 And I will in, and die in their defence, 
 Since they have lost their guard of innocence : 
 If in a cause so bad my blood is spilt, 
 I have revenge by adding to their guilt. 
 My noble lord, farewell ! a thousand lilessings 
 
 [Lad. turns to Panl. 
 Crown your sweet youth ; and, when you see tb 
 
 Prince, 
 Do me the right t' inform hiu) (^f my story, 
 And recommend me to his noble thoughts ; 
 Tell him the dying Duke o' Curland bogs 
 A place, a monument to his fair soul ; 
 And so, heaven bless you botli !
 
 7 2 JULIANA ; 
 
 Paul. Oil ! oh, I faint. [She sivoons. 
 
 Lad. Now, Theodore 
 
 Farewell to thee, if I ne'er see thee more, 
 Here, take these jewels, they are all I have 
 At present to reward thy love and faithfulness. 
 And now, dear Theodore, when the day is done, 
 And with it me, seek out my lifeless carcass 
 Among the dead, and give it a private monument : 
 Let not my Princess's insulting eye 
 Find out where injured Curland's ashes lie; 
 Lest she in scorn should visit him, and there 
 Profane my tomb with a dissembled tear. [Exit. 
 
 The. My lord ! be sure I shall do this and more, 
 Ten thousand times, if Pm not dead before. [Exit. 
 
 Paul. Ha, is he gone 1 and hath he left me 
 thus ? 
 Ne'er was false lady so belov'd as she, 
 Nor any so unfortunate as me ! 
 But see, he is not gone ; there, there he stands ! 
 Come here, my kindest lord, and kiss me once. 
 But once before I die, for I am going 
 Where poor Paulina '11 trouble you no more. 
 
 Jo. Oh, heavens ! her grief mislays her noble 
 reason, 
 What shall we do ? 
 
 Alex. I'll run and kill the villain. 
 
 Paul. Alexey, see what shadow's that 1 
 Is't not a coffin 1 'tis ! Come, lock me in ! 
 I know not whether I am dead or no. 
 But if I am not, I would feign be so. 
 
 Alex. Oh, I shall run my sword into myself. 
 
 Jo. And I shall break my heart. 
 
 Paid. Sirs, lead me in ! 
 Well, since th'art gone, brave Ladislaus, adieu ! 
 I'd not have dealt thus cruelly by thee ; 
 But I forgive thee, and when no one's by, 
 I'll pray for thee, then fetch a groan and die.
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF I'ULAND. 73 
 
 The Fourth Act. 
 
 The scene AN Open Field Covered with Tents. 
 
 Enter Ossolinsky, Cassonofsky, Lubomirsky : 
 
 After, shouts and acclamations icithout. 
 
 ^ ) All's our own. Victory, victory ! 
 
 n ' > Come, for the plunder of the Princess' 
 Lasso. ( i i. I 
 
 ) tent ! 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Battista. 
 
 Lnh. But see, Prince Radzeville, Commander of 
 the Transilvanian horse ! what news from the dead ? 
 Did not I see thee fall under thy horse feet 1 
 
 Casso. Come ! for the plunder of the tent, brave 
 Prince. 
 
 Osso. Move, sloAV devils. 
 
 [Exeunt Osso., Casso., Liib., shouting. 
 
 I)em. Never did such a gale of fortune blow. 
 I'll sail in tides of blood vip to their tents, and 
 take the Duke o' Curland's mistress prisoner, 
 carry her to Moscow, and keep her captive till 
 Poland ransoms her with Curland's blood. Follow ; 
 brave men ! \_Exit. 
 
 Bat. Go, 'tis in vain to hinder thee 
 When honour calls, nor will I stop thee now. 
 Although he fights, he knows not where, nor how. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Colimsky. 
 
 Col. Must we not only fight with men, but 
 devils 1 Eadzeville, Commander of the Transil- 
 vanian horse, who fell by my sword, is mounted 
 afresh, hath broke through all our troops and 
 stands o' pikes, and flies like lightning to the
 
 74 JULIANA ; 
 
 Prince's tent, and doth greater things, now dead, 
 than living. Pursue the warlike ghost ; all, all to 
 the Prince's tent ! But see, whole troops of flame ; 
 [a flame flashes through the tents'\ a thousand fieiy 
 spears pierce every way, and a bright cloud of 
 fire breaks from the town ! What should it mean 1 
 
 Enter an Officer running. 
 
 Osso. My lord, to the Princess' tent, or she is 
 lost. 
 
 Col. Teach me my duty, you slave ! 
 
 [strikes him with his sword. 
 What means this flame ? 
 
 Osso. It is some valiant stranger, but who I 
 know not, that hath flown about just like a fire- 
 ship in seas of blood to grajiple with whole fleets : 
 and seeing the enemy flow all in tides up to the 
 Princess' tent, hath set the tents and all the town 
 on fire ; and here with five hundred resolute 
 cavalry he comes to force his passage. 
 
 Col. Brave men, I'll lead the way to glory ! all, 
 all to the Princess' tent ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Ladislaus, TheodoFvE, and followers with 
 flambeaux in their hands. 
 
 Lad. Come, valiant men ! let's give 'um brave 
 
 diversion, 
 Let's set their tents afloat in blood and flames. 
 And fill the air with clouds of human ashes ; 
 Set all on fire, the town, the tents, the temple ; 
 Sj^are not the very houses of religion. [Exit. 
 
 The. Brave Prince, how generous thy actions 
 
 are ! 
 Unseen he changes all the scenes of war. 
 And with a nol)le scorn he fights for them 
 Who both his courage and his love contemn ; 
 These glories must at last themselves betray,
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS uF POLAND. 75 
 
 And through all gloomy clouds must pierce a way. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 The scene is cJiang'd to the Princess's ])avilion ; a 
 noise of arms, the women shriek within : And enter 
 Hypolita, Emilia, Francisca, running. 
 
 TT -^ ■ I Murder, murder ! the Princess will be 
 
 Fran. 
 
 ( murder'd. 
 
 E7iter Sharnofsky, defending the Princess, pursued 
 by Demetrius, Ossolinsky, Cassonosky, 
 LuBOiNiiRSKY, Battista, and Guard ; the 
 
 uwnen run about shrieking and crying murder. 
 
 Jul. Stand by, Sharnofsky ! I'll defend my self. 
 
 Shar. Madam, for heaven's sake do not deprive 
 me in the last moment of my life of that which 
 I have liv'd and fought for all this while ; 
 For if without defending you I'm slain, 
 I lose my honour, and I die in vain. 
 
 Jul. That honour you shall have, but not alone, 
 Nor rob my courage, sir, to crown your own. 
 
 Shar. Oh ! whither doth she rush 1 For shame, ye 
 cowards, set not your swords against a lady's 
 breast, your princess too : she bleeds ! You saucy 
 villains, y'ave wounded a divinity tli' Americans 
 would have kneeled and prayed to. Ye powers! 
 what, are ye all asleep above the clouds 1 If ye are, 
 lend me your thunder. Oh ! she's lost. 
 
 Osso. You are my prisoner, sir. [To Shar. 
 
 Dem. You, Princess, are mine. [To Jul. 
 
 Casso. So now shall I have a full draught of 
 revenge. 
 
 Dem. Now know, fond Poles, T have deluded 
 you ; I am not Radzeville, but Demetrius, a Prince o' 
 the Imperial house o' Muscovy ; a mortal, an eternal
 
 76 JULIANA ; 
 
 enemy to you all. I come to search [out] youi* 
 General, the Duke of Garland, who like a treach- 
 erous Pole, after I had took him prisoner, shew'd 
 him kindness, hath stole my Princess, and I'll 
 enslave his, and, the next time I come, enslave you 
 all. And now stand by me, valiant Transilvanians ! 
 I'll give you all a hundred crowns a man. 
 
 Bat. Oh ! the good heavens, he betrays himself. 
 
 Osso. ^ 
 
 Casso. > Ha ! what saith Eadzeville 1 
 
 Luh. ) 
 
 HJiar. This is distraction. 
 
 Jul. Must I be carried then a slave to Moscow 1 
 
 7^-^^ ■ I Oh, the Princess ! oh, this Russian 
 „/ ( slave ! [Dem. drags her along. 
 
 Osso. ) 
 
 Casso. V He's mad ! he raves ! 
 
 Lub. I 
 
 Casso. Hold, sir ! Cleave the rebel's head, slaves ! 
 
 Fran. Heaven ! what stupid lethargy hath 
 seiz'd thee 1 Assist, unbind me, or else strike me 
 dead rather than torture me with such a sight. 
 
 Osso. J 
 
 Casso. ^ Hold rebel, villain ! 
 
 Lub. ) 
 
 Osso. My lords, command all your men, horse, 
 and foot, to surround the Transilvanian troops, and 
 make 'um fling down their arms, or die. [Exit. 
 
 Lub. Let all the cossacques wheel. 
 
 Dem. Fire, give fire ! a hundred of you stay, 
 and guard the prisoners. 
 
 Bat. Oh ! the unruly fire that governs thee, 
 Where will it lead thee 1 [Exit. 
 
 Casso. Now, to guard the prisoners shall be my 
 work. 
 
 Jul. How am I made the sport and scorn of
 
 OR, THE I'RINCESS Oi^ TOLAND. 77 
 
 fortune ! abiis'd by Curland, trampled on by slaves ; 
 and now led bound to follow the triuin{)liant 
 chariot of scarlet perjury. 
 
 Shar. My soul is torn with grief and rage. 
 
 Casso. Come then, I'll ease you both ] Alas ' I 
 pity you ; but chiefly you, good Princess. Your 
 kind father, I thank him, eas'd me of many a 
 bui'thensome employment, and I in gratitude will 
 ease your shoulders of such a weighty head laden 
 with sorrow. [Call Osso., Dem., Bat, hound* 
 
 Hyp. ) 
 
 Em. > Oh, bloody villain ! 
 
 Fran. I 
 
 Jul. Insolent slave ! dares such a thing as thee 
 threaten a Princess' life 1 
 
 Shar. Barbarous dog ! bring me but to him, I'll 
 kick his dirty soul out of his body. 
 
 Casso. I'll snap thy saucy head from off thy 
 shoulders first. Guards, kill the prisoners ! I'll not 
 allow the formality of praying ; and he that asks 
 what orders I have for it, let 'um know I wear my 
 orders by my side ; this is my Cardinal, Senate, and 
 my King, [she ivs his naked faulchion,] Off with their 
 heads, his crooked majesty commands it. 
 
 Shar. Thou monster of mankind, hast thou no 
 sense of pity or humanity, nor of thy own, nor of 
 thy country's honour, which such a horrid act will 
 render infamous to all the world "? Here cjuench thy 
 barbarous thirst of blood with mine, open all my 
 veins, take my life, my fortune, honour, all I have, 
 but spare, oh, spai'e the daughter of thy King ! 
 
 Jul. No more, my lord, swell not the villain's 
 pride by falling prostrate to it. Quick, Hypolita, 
 give me a poinard ! 
 
 Casso. Fetch a wrack, an engine, I'll torture him 
 
 * i.e., "Instructs Osso, to have Demetrius and Battista taken 
 away and bound.
 
 78 JULIANA ; 
 
 to death. But ha ! more sport, de'e come to put 
 affronts upon the Kingdoms 1 
 
 Enter Ossolinsky and Guard, witli Demetrius, 
 and Battista hound. 
 
 Osso. In the face of the whole army, sir, I'll 
 cool your fiery insolence. 
 
 Dem. Yes, murder me, you slaves ! 
 I do deserve this punishment, and more. 
 That my revenge should be so low and poor ; 
 I ought t' have set it at no lower rate 
 Than the whole ruin of your Polish State, 
 All of you huddled in one common doom, 
 Curland the cij^her to make up the sum. 
 
 Casso. Tame the proud rebel ; Guards, off with 
 his head ! 
 
 Osso. Hold ! strike who dares, till I give the 
 command ! 
 
 Dem. Come, villains, level me right against the 
 clouds. 
 And then give fire, discharge my flaming soul 
 Against such saucy destinies as those 
 As dare thus basely of my life dispose ; 
 Then from the clouds relwunding I will fall. 
 And like a clap of thunder tear you all. 
 
 Osso. Well then, sir, since your spirit is so high. 
 Your head shall be as lofty by and by ; 
 Yes, your exalted thoughts shall have their due, 
 Your head shall stand in both the armies' view. 
 
 Casso. Guards, are you asleep 1 Cleave all their 
 lieads at once. 
 
 ^r- \ strike ! 
 Casso. j 
 
 All the luomen give a. shriel:, and at that instant 
 
 Enter LUDOMIRSKY rimning. 
 
 Lub. Hold! 
 
 ^i ' } Count Lubomirsky, the news 1 
 Casso. j '' '
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 7i) 
 
 Luh. All's lost ! I am in .such a confusion I can- 
 not speak. Some devil in human shape hath (juite 
 turn'd all the fortune of the day, hath firVl the 
 town, the tents, and here he's coming on waves 
 of blood and flame. 
 
 Laitso. Hell take thee for thy news ! Where is 
 this devil ? 
 
 Casso. \ The Guards retire ; stand, villains, or 
 
 Osso. j you die. 
 
 Luh. Stand, cowardly slaves ! 
 
 Bern. Is fortune penitent ? Battista, loose me ! 
 
 Bat. I am bound too, sir. 
 
 Dem. Are your teeth bound too, sir 1 
 
 Shar. Ha ! is the scale turning 1 
 A thousand crowns but for one hand loose. 
 
 Jul. Deliverance swift like lightning ! Heaven, 
 I thank thee. 
 
 Enter Ladislaus driving the Guards before him, 
 followed 1)1/ Theodore, and Cavaliers. 
 
 Lad. Stay, flying cowards ! Disparage not my 
 sword. 
 Let it be said at least I fought with men. 
 
 Osso. I 
 
 Casso. > We are lost ! [They are taken prisoners. 
 
 Lid). I 
 
 Dem. And must I stand to be a thing of pity. 
 To receive the charity of this man's sword I 
 
 Shar. I blush at our own chains, and this man's 
 glory. 
 
 Lad. Secure the lords ! Madam, tin; scene is 
 chang'd. 
 You're all at liberty. 
 And now my next great deed shall be 
 To set my heart at liberty from thee. [Aside. Exit. 
 
 The. My noble lord 
 Thus through the field with unseen triumphs flies.
 
 80 JULIANA ; ' 
 
 As souls make their entradoes in the skies ; 
 Sure heaven some mighty glory hath design'd, 
 At last to crown such an illustrious mind. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. What prodigy's this ? 
 
 Hjip. 'Tis your angel, madam. 
 
 Jul. A thousand crowns to know him. 
 
 Shar. A warlike phantom, 
 By heaven created for this exigence. 
 
 Dem. His haughty valour hath affronted me, 
 I'll out and kill him for his insolence. 
 And, when he's dead, I'll hug him for his bravery. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bat. To arms again ; thus doth his active soul 
 Leap from one danger to another ; 
 Here we destroy, and there we save, 
 As vessels tost from wave to wave. [Exit. 
 
 fihar. Let's out, and help to reap this glorious 
 harvest ; 
 But hark, a loud volley of martial shouts. 
 
 All ■within. Long live Juliana, our Queen ! 
 
 SImt. Blest noise ; your name is bandied in ihe 
 clouds ; 
 There's a victorious tempest in the air. 
 And see a thousand lights approach the tent. 
 
 Casso. Oh, cursed sight ! and cursed noise. 
 
 Enter Colimsky. 
 
 Col. Now, madam, all's our own ! Your enemies 
 have all flung down their arms. Some come to crave 
 your pardon, others fly in multitudes to the 
 Cardinal's tent ; the Cardinal, in transports of rage 
 for his misfortune, confest his horrid villanies, and 
 fled. I sent an officer to conduct him to a private 
 grotto in a neighbouring grove, pretendingly for 
 his security ; in the interim the crowds rifled his 
 tent, and found the crown conceal'd, and here
 
 OR^ THE PRINCESS oK I'oLAND. yl 
 
 tliey're coming sailing along with shouts and 
 acclamations, resolving to repose it on your l)row. 
 
 Jul. The weight's too great for me. 
 
 All, ivithin. Secure the distracted State ! 
 
 Col. The people grow impatient. 
 
 Jul. I'll sacrifice myself t'appease the crowds. 
 Heavens ! never was such a turn of fortune known. 
 From a scaffold to a throne, 
 In one moment to be seen, 
 A dying captive and a Queen. [Exit. 
 
 Col. So now, my good lords, you may be all at 
 leisure for holy contemplations. 
 
 Shar. Guards, see especially 
 To that malicious Count. [Ex. Shar., Col. 
 
 Casso. I know your kindness, I need not go to 
 an astrologer to know my doom : what a long neck 
 shall I have when my head's set upon a pole on 
 one of the city gates. 
 
 £^^'^' ^ This is the giddiness of fortune. 
 
 [Led away with Guard as prmners. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Battista. 
 
 Dem. This way the spirit went, and as it walk't 
 I saw a kind of shape resembling Curland. 
 
 Bat. My lord, your fancy in the heat of passion 
 forges a thousancl images. 
 
 Bern. If 'twas his ghost, I'll find out his abode ; 
 let it be air, earth, or fire. 
 
 IJat. If it walks any where, 'tis there amongst 
 the Queen's triumphant train. 
 
 Dem. I hear 'um shout, I'll amongst 'um. 
 
 Bat. Hold, sir ! pray let 'um not discover you 
 for fear the Poles revenge th' aff"ront you did their 
 Princess. 
 
 1. 6
 
 82 JTLIANA ; 
 
 Dem. Tlieu I'll revenge th' affront the Tolcs diu 
 
 me. [ExJi. 
 
 Bat. Heavens I what a task have I. it is the 
 same, 
 
 To bridle a tempest, or to steer a tiame. \_ExH. 
 
 The SCENE, A HOLLOW ROCK IN A GROVE. 
 
 Enter the Cardinal conducted hi/ an Officer. 
 
 Card. Heaven ! have mercy ! whither dost thon 
 
 lead me 1 
 Osso. I was commanded to conduct you hither ; 
 The Count will come to you here, and bring the 
 news. 
 Card. He is a Avorthy friend. 
 Osso. 'Tis dark and private, 
 
 Here you may lie with safety. 
 
 Card. Thus in a moment is my sun gone down. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman running. 
 
 Gent. My lord, convey your self away with 
 speed, all's lost ! your men are fled, your tent is 
 plunder'd ; the Princess crown'd, and all your 
 friends betray you. My Lord Grand Marshall's 
 coming with a guard from the Queen to secure you. 
 
 Card. Then, there's no trust in man. 
 
 Gent. This way, sir ; hasten ! 
 
 Osso. Hold, sir, not so fast. 
 
 Card. Art thou set here to betray me too % 
 
 Osso. To guard you, sir. 
 
 Card. To guard me as a victim for sacrifice ! I 
 am at last outwitted in villany. 
 
 Gent. Oh, heavens ! sir, you're lost, [Shout 
 
 The Queen approaches ; hark, the dreadful shouts. 
 A thousand streaming lights flow all this way. 
 
 Card. And let 'um come, I have a friend in 
 private will not betray me. 
 
 [Piilh ovt a handkerchief.
 
 OK, TlIK I'lMNCKSS OF I'OLAND. 83 
 
 (lent. A poisoiu'd liaudkerchief, I fear. 
 
 Ciinl. The little winding-sheet of all my glories ; 
 Ah ! had I studied l)ut as much to gain 
 Heaven, as this world, I had not sweat in vain : 
 Instead of horrors that pursue me now, 
 Ininiortal crowns had waited for my hrow ; 
 But my amazing miseries now are 
 Beyond the aid of penitence and prayer : 
 To my own idols I too long did bow, 
 To put that fawning ch(\at on heaven now ; 
 For he hath made my religion understood 
 To be but craft, and my devotion blood. 
 My heaven was t'ascend. the Papal throne,. 
 Where to save other's souls, I've lost my own. 
 And now, alas ! 'twere folly to deny 
 Myself the pleasure to despair and die. 
 May all great men learn by my wretched fat(^, 
 Never to stake their soids at games of State ; 
 For though a while perhajis they seem to win, 
 They'll hnd at last there is no cheat like sin. \^L)ies. 
 
 Gent. He's gone ; irrecoverably gone ! his great 
 soul's fled, 
 And see a thousand lights usher the Queen ; 
 She comes to see her mighty enemy 
 Lie a cold statue prostrate at her feet. 
 
 [The scene shuts upon the Card., <fv. 
 
 Enter Juliana erowricl, Hypolita, Emilia, Fran- 
 ciscA, Sharnofsky, Colimsky, (Did Guards, 
 ((/ one end of the theatre, Paulina, as laixt with 
 the crowd. 
 
 Om. Long live Juliana, Queen of Poland ! 
 
 Jul. My lords, I thank you for all this great 
 
 honour. 
 Paul. I've stole from Count Alexey and Joanna 
 
 [Aside. 
 To seek my lord, and I'm afraid to find him,
 
 84 .JULIANA; 
 
 Or with my rival here, oi- with the (h-ad ; 
 
 If liere I find him, Fm resolved he dies, 
 
 Only to spoil the triumphs of her eyes ; 
 
 But see, my servants come ! I'll get away. [A'.'vY. 
 
 Eiiter Alexey, Joanna, and Landlord. 
 
 Jo. Heavens ! where is she wander'd ; and how 
 came we to lose her % 
 
 Al. What do'st thou do erowdinc; in here ? Idle 
 boily, come help us to look our master. 
 
 Land. I look your master ! Go ! hang yourself 
 with your master. 
 
 Jul. What murmuring's that 1 
 
 Col. See, guards, what means that noise ? 
 
 Land. No, rascals, I remember your megrim, 
 your snush, and your mustard. I'll make you pay 
 dear for that mustard ; it shall be costly mustard. 
 
 Gtcar. Oh ! is it you, sir 1 [Lays hold on Landlord. 
 
 Col. Guards, keep off the rabble ! Take that 
 rude fellow, clap him neck and heels. 
 
 Ale.r. [Begone, quick, quick! and leave the 
 
 Jo. j rogue i'th' bilboes. [Ex. Alex., Jo. 
 
 Land. Oh, good your honour, I beseech your 
 sweet honour. 
 
 Col. Sirrah, what's your business here 1 
 
 Land. Nothing, an't like your honour, but a 
 couple of idle quarrelsome rascals that lie at my 
 house ha' lost their master, and they'd make me 
 look for their master. Now, if they ha' lost their 
 master, I'm not bound to make good their master 
 by no law in Poland. I refer it to your honour. 
 
 Col. Get you about your business, sirrah, and 
 make no references to me. 
 
 Land. I thank your honour, I believe your 
 honour knows me. Don't you remember where you 
 lay when your honour kept the fat lady, the Lady
 
 OH, I'HK IMMNCIiSS OF POLAND. 85 
 
 Cluiusky '] You couUl iii;ikc references to her t'oi- 
 all your i)ri(le. [Aside. 
 
 Col. Begone, sii'rah ! 
 
 Land. I thought I should })ut you in mind of a 
 reference. [Aside.] I've done, au't like your 
 honour. 
 
 Jul. Now, my lords, what news of the Cardinal I 
 
 Col. Nigh to this part of the field is the grotto 
 where I commanded him to be convey'd ; and see ! 
 the officer I sent to guard him. 
 
 Entei' an Officer. 
 
 Otf: My lord, the Cardinal— 
 
 Ossn. Where is he 1 
 
 Off. Dead! 
 
 Om. Dead^ 
 
 Off. He lies so near, torches may show him you. 
 
 The scene is draivn, the Cardinal, presenled dead in 
 a grotto, a Centleman waiting by him. 
 
 Land. Oh, 'bominable ! kill'dl and is the Council 
 o' Trent, and Pope Paul come to this 1 Thou must 
 know, honest guard, I'm a merry man, and I us'd to 
 visit this good man's back cellar o' Rhenish, and then 
 I calld it the Council o' Trent, and there was a 
 great tun, great grandfather or gossip at least to 
 the great tun o' Heydell)urgh, and that I us'd to 
 call Pope Paul the third, and there did the Beef- 
 eaters o' the guard and I 
 
 Guar. Beef-eaters, you rascal ! 
 
 Land. Sit in council about the good o' Christ- 
 endom, till at parting Ave did our reverences to 
 Pope Paul, fall down and kiss his great toe, the 
 spigot, and let the heavenly benediction drop into 
 our mouths. 
 
 frnar. You'd have my hall)ard drop into your 
 mouths, would you Beef-eater, you saucy curl
 
 86 JULIANA ; 
 
 Jid. A mournful spectacle ! How died the 
 
 Cardinal 1 
 Off. Proudly, as he liv'd ; he would not stoo}) to 
 
 Or if he pray'd, 'twas so, as he would seem 
 
 He ex])eoted heaven shoidd first pray to him ; 
 
 He gave ups glory, but with such a pride. 
 
 He scorn'd to keep it, since lie was denied ; 
 
 And though with death he found some little strife, 
 
 Rather tlian ask, he would resign his life. 
 
 Land. What a wicked fellow was this ! Oh, fie 
 upon him ! not say his prayers when he died ! how 
 doth he ever think to come to good 1 My lord, he 
 "was as arrant a • 
 
 Col. Guard ! 
 
 Land. I ha' done, an't like your honour. 
 
 Guar. Sirrah, I could find in my heart to beef- 
 eat you. 
 
 J'td. I'm sorry for his soul, but heaven's merci- 
 ful ! Ah ! had this great man's piety been equal to's 
 wisdom, and his many other noble virtues he had 
 been a man too glorious. 
 
 Lami. Nay, truly, he had as good a study of 
 books, I'll say that for him, good old authors. Sack 
 and Claret, Khenish and old Hock. Come, said 1, to 
 tlu! library keeper, tap ine St. Gregory, or that 
 good old father a tilt that looks like St. George a 
 horse-back ; take his nag by the spigot, and give 
 our brains a leap, said I. 
 
 Guar. Thou hast a mind to be laid by th' heels 
 Avith thy Pope Paul. 
 
 Land. I ha' done, honest Guard. 
 
 SJmir. He was too self admiring and conceited ; 
 The Church and we did to his wisdom owe 
 All honours Rome or Poland could Ix'stow. 
 
 Lavil. He was sompthi)ig self-conceited indeed, 
 that's th<' truth <iirt.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 87 
 
 Col. He had a soaring spirit. 
 
 Shar. Reachiiia- wisdom. 
 
 Col. Unsatiably ambitious, and inexorable. 
 
 Land. He was a notaljle man. 
 
 Jul. No more, my lords ! What he hath done, 
 he's gone to answer for ; then for the reverence we 
 owe religion, let him be interr'd with decency. 
 
 [They take iq) the Car. 
 
 Land. And for the reverence I owe burnt Claret, 
 I'll be at's funeral. 
 
 Jid. 'N'ow all the storms are past, the winds are 
 down, 
 Tlie waves transport me gently to a crown : 
 Kind heaven smiles, and I am got above 
 All other tempests l3ut the world and love : 
 And now I'll seek religion's flowery shore, 
 And be expos'd to all these storms no more. 
 My lords attend me, and you all shall know 
 How I'll my person and the crown bestow. [EM. 
 
 Laud. Well, I swear this is a delicate woman. 
 I'd give all I am worth in the world I were a 
 young Prince for her sake. I'd so jumble her and 
 tumble her, I'd set her upon her head, and her 
 heels, and kiss this end, and that end, and all in 
 an honest way too. 
 
 Col. These words are of dubious and mysterious 
 sense. 
 
 Sliwr. To a cloister, I fear. 
 
 Hijp. My lords, prevail with her, 
 I can assure you she designs a cloister. 
 
 Col. Let's attend her to the palace, and then 
 meet in council. [Ex. Om., Manet Land. 
 
 Land. Well, it's a lovely creature ; I love her so 
 well, I could be contented to a little shock for her 
 sake, that I might lie in her lap, lick her lips, and 
 be strok't. But hang't, it would but puff me up, T 
 should bo too jiroud and self-conceited. But here's
 
 88 JULIANA; 
 
 a devilish fall in my wishes, now I think on't, from 
 
 a Prince to a puppy-dog : but love is humble. Well 
 
 now, there's a harvest a coming, a coronation ; oh, 
 
 what a crop of dollars will I reap for my Avindows, 
 
 and balcony : I'll have a rix dollar for every 
 
 quarry in my Avindow, and a hundred for my 
 
 balcony ; that is to say, fifty for my bell, and fifty 
 
 for my coney. 
 
 In all, I'll have in current Polish money, 
 
 A hundred rix dollars for my bell-coney [Exit. 
 
 Enter Battista. 
 Eat. Heavens ! I've lost him : whither is he 
 wander'd 1 
 What new fury hath transported him 1 
 But ha ! the glittering of a naked sword ; 
 A person tall, and of my Prince's stature. 
 Walking about ! and hark, I hear a voice ! 
 
 Enter Paulina. 
 
 Paul Heavens ! I walk about here in the dark. 
 And hear the labours of departing souls ; 
 A thousand aiery forms fly round about me, 
 And fan me into cold and dewy sweats : 
 Oil ! if my lord be dead, would I were with him. 
 
 Bat. The place is enchanted. 
 
 Enter Demetrius with his naked sword. 
 
 Bern. There the dying voice fainted away, by 
 tliat old wall — — no, liar, that was an echo. 
 
 Bat. My Prince ! some frightful apparition leads 
 him about. 
 
 Bern. What art thou that usurp'st the sacred 
 name of my divinity 1 
 .Speak, or I'll turn a ghost as thin as thee, 
 And torture thee. 
 
 Paul. Hark, the Cluards are near! I will iunid 
 'um, and go fetch a torch, and seek my l<>nl .imong
 
 OR, THE IMtlNCKSS (»K I'OLAND. S<) 
 
 the dead, in those pale groves he is uukiiidly 
 waiider'd t'avoid liis poor Paulina. [E.rit . 
 
 Bat. Hark, the voice cries Paulina. 
 
 Dem. Paulina, still ! what saucy spirit mocks nie 
 with that name 1 could I but find thee, I'd tear 
 thy aerial body into atoms ; and I'll have light, or 
 I'll fire this grove. Ay, and set thee on a r.ick of 
 fiame to make thee confess, who, and what thou 
 art ! And a light comes from behind that wall 1 a 
 youth with a torch, I'll run and fetch it. 
 
 Bat. He's grown distracted ! I must speak tt) 
 him, sir. 
 
 iJein. And dost appear at last 1 \Buns at Bat. 
 
 Bat. 'Tis I ! Battista, Sir. 
 
 Dem. I know I might have kill'd thee so ; I'm 
 led about with voices, groans, illusions. Fetch nie 
 that torch. 
 
 Bat. A fair and lovely youth walking among 
 the dead ! sure 'tis some spectre. 
 
 Dem. Fetch me that torch ! 
 
 [Jo. and Alex, run over the stage. 
 
 Jo. There she is alone walking with a torch. 
 
 Alex. Where? 
 
 Jo. Under that tree. 
 
 Alex. I see her : let's run, let's run to her I 
 
 Dem. Hark, a concert Of voices. 
 
 Bat. Let's leave this dismal place ! there's a 
 cabal of melancholy spirits that haunt it. See two 
 fiying shapes come towards this youth. 
 
 Dem. I think the dead hold here their rendez- 
 vous ; hark, there are some come from yonder grove ! 
 I'm tortur'd, plagu'd. Fetch me the torch, I say. 
 
 [Bat. Ex., and 
 
 Enter Ladislaus ami Theodore. 
 
 Lad. Now, Theodore, press me no more, 
 I now renounce her and her sex for ever.
 
 90 JULIANxV ; 
 
 And now I've steer'd her safely to a throne, 
 1 11 leave her in her ports, and to my own, 
 From whence the war she hath on me begun, 
 Shall now on all the world be carried on ; 
 And captive Monarchs shall of her complain, 
 And curse my injuries and her disdain, 
 Whil'st I shall still by blood and slaughter prove 
 The scorn and hate I bear to her, and love. 
 
 Dem. Ho ! stand, what are you ] Battista, come 
 with a torch ! 
 
 Lad. Hark, the perdues call to the guard ; I'll 
 in my chariot to town ; do you ride before, 
 Theodore, and get post-horses ready this night. I'll 
 onward on my way to Curland. [Ej., Lad., Tlteo. 
 
 Dem. To Curland ! Ye powers, stand, stand ! 
 Come with the torch, you slave. 
 
 Enter Battista running and lays hold on Dem. 
 
 Bat. Sir, sir ! 
 
 Dem. I see a chariot, villain ! Stand by, or I'll 
 kill thee. 
 
 Bat. Are you distracted, sir 1 Yonder's. your 
 Princess. I've overheard their talk. 
 
 Dem. Yonder's Curland's chariot, and the slave 
 holds me. 
 
 Bat. Ha ! I see a chariot, I'll after it. Do you go 
 to your Princess. Here, here, sir ! 
 
 Enter Paulina, Joanna, Alexey with a torch. 
 
 Paul. Hark, I hear a voice ! 
 
 Alex. It is the guards. 
 
 Bat. Here, sir, by all that's good, this is your 
 Princess. 
 
 Dtm. After the chariot then, fly ! Sir, a word 
 with you. [To Paul. 
 
 Paul. The guards call to us. Out with tlie torch, 
 Ale.x.
 
 OK, THE J'KINCK.S.S ul'' PuLAxM). 91 
 
 Paul. \ Run, run ! murdor, murder ! \Jo. Paul. 
 Jo. ( I'/ie torch is put out. run off. 
 
 Alex. Fly, madam, I'll make good your retreat. 
 
 [Draws. 
 Dem. Curse on my folly ! I've lost 'um in the 
 dark. 
 
 Bat. Ha, lost them and the chariot both 1 Curse 
 on this rashness ; here, here they flee. 
 
 \_Both run confusedly crossing each other, and 
 know not which luaij to take. 
 Dem. Here, here's a path. 
 Bat. I see the chariot going straight to town. 
 Deal. I see the shape flying on the wind before 
 me. [Both run off'. 
 
 The L.\st Act. 
 
 The scene A Hall. 
 Enter Battista. 
 
 Bat. With much ado I've overtaken the chariot, 
 and I'm so out of breath I cannot speak. Ha, 
 stop't her, by that balcony ! this is our lodging ! it 
 is, and see the persons coming out of the house 
 with a light. Where do they go 1 I'll watch 'um. 
 
 [K.dt. 
 
 Enter Paulina and Joanna. 
 
 Paul. Oh ! I am faint with running, and the 
 fright. Where's Alexey ] 
 
 Jo. He stay'd behind to guard us : Init see ! lie 
 hath been here l)efore us. 
 
 Enter Alexey. 
 Alex, (^)li ' mad.-iiii, tlic I)id<(' i,s newly alighted
 
 92 JULIANA ; 
 
 at the door, au<l on some news, I know not wliat 
 it is. lie's j^one stniiglit to tlie palace. 
 
 I'aal. Heavens ! what should it be 1 
 
 Alex. They talk, the Queen is gone into a 
 ch^ister, some say to marry. 
 
 Paul. Oh ! what comes into my head 1 Joanna, 
 slip to my chamber, and get a feather and a 
 better periwig, and follow the Duke with all the 
 speed you can. 
 
 Jo. I I'un, I run 1 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. 'Twas here they came, this was the house 
 I'm sui-e. Ho, ho, the house ! 
 
 Enter Landlord, heating his servant. 
 
 Dem. Ha ! my Landlord ! what, am I at home ? 
 
 Land. You rogue, you dog, I'll kill you, sirrah, 
 I'll murder you ; would not you tell me this before. 
 
 Ser. Murder, murder ! 
 
 Dem. Hold, come along with me quickly, shew 
 me all your rooms. Here's a Princess lodges here. 
 
 Land. Don't tell me o' Princess. The rogue 
 hath undone me. 
 
 Dem. Sirrah, come along ! or I'll send your soul 
 before me. 
 
 iM.nd. Sirrah, hold your prating. I've lost more 
 than thee and all thy generation are worth ; I've 
 lost five thousand crowns, and I'll stop it out of 
 his wages, I'll not pay one of 'um a farthing. But 
 what will that do 1 that's some fifty dollars ; what's 
 that to five thousand crowns 1 undone, undone ! 
 
 Dem. Dog, I'll set fire on's house. 
 
 Land. Will you so, sirrah 1 a brave amends foi- 
 my loss ; but, sirrah, I'll keep you f;\st enough for 
 that, do (juickly, boy, run and fetch a constable. 
 
 Dem. A constable, rascal ! [Jfrans.
 
 OH, llli; I'lWNC'KSS oi' I'OI.AN'I). 93 
 
 Land. Miinlci'. imii'dcr ; ho I tlicre, siiT;ili, conic 
 l)ack agjiiii, 1 shall be killd : you bloody I'ogiic, 
 will yovi imirder me '\ 
 
 Ser. Oood, sir, don't kill my master. [Hali/s Dem. 
 
 Land. Hold liim whilst I go run and fetch a 
 constal)le and secure his cloak-hag, and then 1 
 must to the palace, after this base cheating 
 Duke. I've a pack of brave lodgers : here's one 
 yonng blade, that I'm much mistaken if he or his 
 man be n't a whore ; and the Duke's run away and 
 paid me no rent ; and this vapouring Jack would 
 kill me, and then set fire to my Iiouse ; brave 
 doings, is't not 1 but I'll feage * you all. [Exit. 
 
 Vein. What Duke's that 1 
 
 Ser. The Duke o' Curland. an't please you, sii-. 
 
 Bern. Curland ! where, where 1 quickly slave. 
 
 Ser. I chanc't to spy him, and came and told 
 my master, and for this he would ha' kill'd me. 
 
 Dem. Where, I say, villain 1 
 
 Ser. Sir, he is just gone to the palace ; a young 
 gentleman that lodges here brought a courtier that 
 told him the Queen was to be married to-night, 
 and they are all run to the palace together. 
 
 Dem. I'll make one o' the company. His soul 
 shall dance levaltoes in the air at the Qu«?en's 
 wedding. [Erif. 
 
 Ser. Well, I was a fool he did not let this 
 gentleman kill my master, or fire his house. I 
 would he had ! — teach him to belabour me for my 
 good will. [E.rit. 
 
 The scene A Palace to the street. 
 Enter Ladislaus, Paulina, Joanna, drest like a 
 courtier, Alexey, Theodore, at a distance — • 
 Battista. 
 Bat. So, I have overtaken 'um, [. Isiile. 
 
 * Censure, cha.stise.
 
 94 JULIANA ; 
 
 And liere's sonie great mysterious thing in luind, 
 The Duke has some design about the (•r(jwn. 
 
 Lul. Knock at the gate, Tlieodore. 
 
 The. Indeed, my lord, this courtier is mistaken ; 
 all say positively the Queen's resolved t' resign the 
 crown, and go into a cloister, and that she spends 
 this night among her priests and women in 
 devotion to prepare for it ; and now all the Lords 
 of the Council are gone in to dissuade her. 
 
 Lad. Knock ! when I bid you. 
 
 Paul. Come, good my lord, do not expose your- 
 self to so much danger ; the gentleman's misin- 
 form'd. 
 
 Jo. Perhaps so, sir, I only told you what my 
 sister, who is a Maid of Honour to the Queen, told 
 me. 
 
 The. Your sister ! 
 
 Lad. My lord, let it be true or false, 
 I am resolv'd to be conceal'd no longer : 
 Thus to the sinful world revenge divine \^Af<ide. 
 Moves gently on with paces slow as mine ; 
 And heaven stands behind the clouds awhile. 
 And lets deluded man himself beguile ; 
 And seems as if his law he did not own. 
 But with brave scorn to let the world alone, 
 Till man, grown impudent, begins to play 
 His villanies in open scenes of day ; 
 Then strikes, strikes home, and then his arm dotli 
 
 fall 
 With such a weight, one blow may serve for all : 
 Thus my revenge I do a while retain. 
 That when I strike, I may not strike in vain. 
 Why dost not knock, Tlieodore ] 
 
 The. I do, my lord, and none will answer 
 Avithin. Ho there, open the gate ' 
 
 Porter [in.thhi\. What would you have tliere 
 Here can none come in.
 
 OK, 'I'lii', I'lnxcKss OF i'oi,.\\i>. 95 
 
 IakI. (live the fellow foi'ly crovviis. 
 
 Th,e. Here are i)cr,sonH o' great ([iiality, you 
 shall have forty crowns to open the gate. 
 
 J'orter [nnthiii\. Bear back there 1 guard, keep 
 off the crowd. 
 
 People [iriihin]. Oil, pray, Mr Porter. 
 
 Paul. I dread th' event. 1 wish I had not done 
 this. _ [Exit. 
 
 The. Take notice, sir, if any mischief befalls 
 my lord, you, and your Duke's lives shall answer 
 for it. [To Jo. Ex. Then. 
 
 Jo. Do you threaten, sir 1 Alexey ! 
 
 Alex. I hear the slave. Let him have a care T 
 don't cut his throat, and his master's, the worthy 
 Duke. [Exit Jo. At. 
 
 Bat. I'll after you all to see the meaning o' 
 this. [Exit. 
 
 Enter LANDLORD. The scene continned. 
 
 Land. Now I warrant shall I ha' much ado to 
 get into the gate after this cheating knave the 
 Duke, I must speak 'um fair. Porter ! honest old 
 crony, friend and fellow soldier in the wars o' 
 Bacchus, open the door, my drunken bulley. 
 
 Porter [withirt]. What saucy fellow's that 1 get 
 you from the gate, sirrah, or the guard shall lay 
 you by the heels. 
 
 Land. Oh, the rogue, he pretends not to know 
 me, he knows me well enough ; why honest bulley 
 Cerberus, corporal-turnkey, squire o' the house, 
 nointer o' page-bums, engineer general o' double 
 locks, spring-locks, pad-locks, and mouse-traps, 
 open the placket o' the house, call'd the wickets, 
 and let's in, boy. Dost not remember the Council 
 o' Trent, and Pope Paul the third 1 
 
 I^orter [iritlmi\. Pi-ating rascal ! vou'\'e a mind to 
 be laid bv th' heels ?
 
 90 JULIANA; 
 
 Ldiid. O til' cunning rascal ! he thinks! ha' com- 
 pany with uie now, he's as cunning ! but here come 
 my slaves ; what ha' you set fire on my house yet 1 
 
 Enter Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. How now, the gate barr'd 1 open the door 
 here. 
 
 Land. Nay, if I can't get in, 1 believe you'll 
 hardly get in, for all your brave cloak-bag. 
 
 Dem. Open the door, or I'll set fire on't. 
 
 Porter \ii-ithii{\. De'e threaten, sirrah ! Guard, 
 out cpiickly, here's a traitor threatens to fire the 
 ])alace gate. 
 
 Guar. Bear back there ! let's come out. 
 
 People \ivithm\ Oh, you crowd me. 
 
 Land. So, so, you have done finely, we shall 
 have our brains knock't out ; come, come, a spell 
 quickly afore they come. I know the rogues as well 
 as if I were in the bottom of their bellies ; come, 
 half a dollar or so 
 
 Dem. Open the door, fellow, thou shalt have 
 fifty dollars. 
 
 Pmier \yDithin\ If I do let you in, you can't 
 get into the presence — the guard-rooms are all 
 crowded. I let in a gentleman just now, and he 
 stands in the crowd still. 
 
 Land. The rogue begins to be pliable. 
 
 Dem. Open the door, I say ! here's thy money. 
 
 Porter [tvithin']. Bear back there ! keep off the 
 crowds. [Ktit Devi. 
 
 Land. Now, you can bear back with a pox to 
 you, now, you hear o' money ; well, I see this 
 money will make every thing bear back, and fly 
 open. [^Exit. 
 
 One iviihin. Ah, Mr. Porter, we'll give a rix- 
 dollar, betwixt four of us. 
 
 J'orfer [irithin\ A rope between four of you.
 
 Oi;, THE PRINCESS OF I'OLANl). 1)7 
 
 Tlie scene, a room in the palace ; <t fable with the 
 crown, sceptre, and regalia at one eiaJ, and 
 heads and hoohs at the other. 
 
 Enter Juliana, Hypolita, Emilia, Francisca, 
 CoLiMSKY, Sharnofsky, and a Priest. 
 
 Col. Well, Madam, since we mu.st despair t" 
 obtain, 
 "We'll cease those pray'rs, which we tlnis make in 
 
 vain ; 
 For to oui' sori'ow we confess it ti-ue. 
 This Kingdom hath not glory enough l\)r jou, 
 In those celestial crowns you'll only find 
 Exalted glories equal to j'our mind : 
 We only beg you'll help the shrinking throne, 
 And save ten thousand souls besides your own. 
 For, madam, whatsoe'er your priests pretend, 
 You may by crowns to other crowns ascend : 
 And cells on earth Avill cells in heaven hnd, 
 Large crowns for mighty bounties are design'd. 
 
 Shar. And, madam, one thing I would beg, that 
 when 
 You at the sacred altar stand again 
 80 to address yourself, think on what score 
 You at those very altars stood before. 
 When vows with vows, altars with altars jar. 
 It seems to breed in Heaven a civil war ; 
 It is not for the Duke I intercede, 
 I now in the l^ehalf of honour jilead : 
 Though to the sacred church I freely bow. 
 No doubt, they can absolve you from your vow ; 
 Yet with the reverence to their power is due, 
 Methinks, I would have honour do it too : 
 In other worlds devotion may have IjHss, 
 I'm sure 'tis honour that must save in this ; 
 And generous honour passes doom on none, 
 I 7
 
 98 JULIANA ; 
 
 Till first their crimes are clearer than the sun. 
 
 Jul. My lords ! on either side I've heard your 
 pleas, 
 And very much regard your kindnesses : 
 But now my soul's employ'd on things above, 
 Concerns of empire, and much more of love. 
 As for the Duke I cannot censur'd be, 
 I quit not liim, but he renounces me ; 
 Nor for the throne, I found it in distress. 
 And mildly leave it in the calms of peace : 
 And now eternally I bid adieu 
 To love and empire, to the Duke and you : 
 And here, my lords, I do your crown restore, 
 And now retreat to what I was before. 
 
 Confessor. Great victory ! you saints above make 
 room, 
 A mighty spirit doth in triumph come. 
 
 Col. Hold, madam ! ere you fall so great a 
 weight. 
 And break in pieces our disjointed State ; 
 Rather than we will rush again once more 
 In the wild chaos we were in before ; 
 'Tis voted by us all, that you alone 
 Shall fix some person in our shaking throne. 
 We swear allegiance to whomsoe'er you choose, 
 Yea, and the death of him that shall refuse : 
 'Tis all our votes. 
 
 Om. All, all ! 
 
 Jul. The trust is high, and great, and needs 
 many solemn thoughts, and you must give me some 
 time to pause. 
 
 Con. Madam, the better to compose your mind, 
 And fortify your soul in these last conflicts 
 With earthly glory ; please to rest a Avhile, 
 We'll use the devout arts of holy church.
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 99 
 
 The Queen seats herself 'hi a throne ; the ladies staid 
 
 in order on her right hand, and the lords on her 
 
 left, luhU'st a chorus of voices sing. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 How nobly heaven doth receive 
 Whate'er a pious mind 
 
 Is in devotion pleas'd to give, 
 As if he crowns resign' d ; 
 
 The sacred vaults with joy resound, 
 The altars all with roses crown'd, 
 And the poor saint in triumph brought 
 To offer up one holy thought. 
 
 And if to that such honour's due, 
 
 What glories wait, great Queen, for you ! 
 Chorus, — And \i to, &c. 
 
 If heaven thinks an humble bow 
 To him devoutly meant, 
 
 Then we whole hecatombes bestow 
 In one devout intent ; 
 
 When Queens lay youth and glory by, 
 To seek our crowns of chastity , 
 Some brighter stars must sure compound 
 The wreath wherewith her head is crown'd 
 
 For more than common honour's due 
 
 To royal saints, great Queen, like you : 
 Chorus, — For more, &c. 
 
 Then blest be all my storms of love. 
 
 Though they discourteous were. 
 That on our peaceful shore hath drove 
 A saint so great, so fair : 
 
 Now let the boy, with all his train 
 Of griefs, go weeping back again ; 
 AMiil'st you set sail before the wind, 
 And leave this floating world behind.
 
 100 JULIANA; 
 
 Till Spooning * gently on, and fair, 
 You turn an angel unaware. 
 Chorus, — Till spooning, &c. 
 
 Con. Now, that your royal soul is flown aloft 
 Upon the wings of divine harmony ; 
 We'll keep it there by holy representation, 
 First of the vanishing glories of the world, 
 Its splendid entrances, its shady exits. 
 
 Enter two Queen s/oZ/oiferf by two Ghosts. Theij pass 
 slowly over the stage. Soft music. 
 Con. Saw you those royal shadows pass the 
 
 round 
 With all the charms of power and beauty croAvn'd ? 
 Would not the glory which they did display. 
 Make the world think none are so blest as they 1 
 Alas, had they but look'd on either side. 
 They might have seen what would have dami)'t 
 
 their pride : 
 Two pining spirits that were once as fair. 
 Showing with sighs where they must all repair : 
 Such are th' unseen shadows that attend 
 All earthly glory, and in those they end. 
 Now the next thing that we shall represent, 
 Is chaste devotion, recluse piety. 
 It's humble entrances, its glorious exits. 
 
 Enter tivo Nuns dad in ivhite, followed by two 
 Angels crown d. They pass as the former. 
 
 Con. Saw you those virgins pass in holy state 
 Observe how angels on their triumphs wait : 
 
 * " To spoon," says Johnson, quoting Bailey, " in sea langiiage 
 is when a ship, being under sail in a storm cannot bear it, but 
 is obliged to put right before the wind." "To spoom" bears 
 nearly the same signification. 
 
 " When virtue spooms before a prosperous gale 
 My heaving wishes help to fill the sail." — Urt/drn.
 
 OR, THE rillNCKSS OF lM)LA\r). 101 
 
 Their souls are as their beauties fair and briglit ; 
 Their thoughts are as their garments pure and 
 
 white : 
 Their dreams are visions, and their breath is pray'r ; 
 They're fasted into spirits thin as air ; 
 Nor can you them from holy angels know. 
 Since these are nuns above, and they below. 
 And now, you in a solemn dance shall see, 
 How all these move to divine harmony ; 
 Confus'dly mixt each in their several states, 
 Walking around the changes of their fates ; 
 The world is a great dance in which we find 
 The <i;ood and bad have various turns assia;n'd ; 
 But when th' have ended the great masquerade. 
 One goes to glory, t'other to a shade. 
 
 [The II all dance. 
 Col. What tumult's that l 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 2d. Gent. My lords, here is a person of unknown 
 quality desires admission ; by's habit we conjecture 
 'tis the same that fought to-day i'th' head of all 
 our troops, and sav'd the Count and Princess in 
 the field. 
 
 Osso. He's highly welcome ; let him have 
 admission. 
 
 Enter Ladislaus disgtiisd, follotved by Paulina, 
 Joanna, Alexey, Theodore, at a distance, 
 Battista. All the Lords how to Lad. 
 
 Lad. It seems the bridal masque is done. [Aside. 
 
 Bat. So, I ha' crowded in among the rest, [Aside. 
 To see the event of this mysterious business. 
 
 Jul. I have considered on't, my Lord Shai-- 
 nofsky ! heaven and your own merits design you for 
 the crown.
 
 102 JTTLIANA ; 
 
 »b'/<e takaa the cruirn off the table, and presents it to 
 
 Shaknof&ky, who seems to refuse it, and the 
 
 Lords to constrain him. 
 
 Lad. Ye jjowers ! [Aside. 
 
 The. What tragedies will here be straight ? Aside. 
 
 Paul. She's false, indeed ! Aside. 
 
 Shar. Great madam ! \Seems to refuse. 
 
 Lords. Kneel, and receive the crown. [Sh. kneels. 
 
 Lad. Ha ! is it so 1 
 Then now I see, I have not been deceiv'd, 
 Sharnofsky, as thy glory so thy fate 
 Is very near, and thus successful villany ; 
 Heaven let's it to the top of glory come. 
 Then strikes it dead with unexpected doom. 
 Sharnofsky, draw ! there's one obstruction more 
 Lies in your way to all your glories ; - 
 
 The Duke o' Curland's sword. 
 
 Om,. The Duke of Curland. 
 
 [Lad. draivs and discovers. 
 
 Jul. Ye powers ! the Duke ! I faint, Hypolita, 
 Emilia, hold me ! [Sicoons in her woman's arms. 
 
 Theo. Help the Princess ! 
 
 Shar. The Duke of Curland's sword ! and can 
 that sword 
 Be set against my breast ? for what is this 1 
 
 Lad. That shall afford us talk in th'other world. 
 
 Shar. 1 fall ! [Shar. falls: the Guards ccdl ^^ trea- 
 son," and run at the Duke : Colimskij interposes. 
 
 Col. Hold, villains ! 'tis the Duke, your General ; 
 what cursed devil poison'd the Duke's soul with 
 jealousy of his brave friend ? 
 
 Tde. What fatal work is here 1 
 
 Paul. Oh, heavens ! Joanna, what have we 
 done 1 
 
 Bat. What should this tragical confusion mean? 
 
 Jul. What vision have I seen? where am I?
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OE ROLAND. 1(J3 
 
 Am I awake 1 or is't a martial dream ? 
 See, the Count bleeding ! who hath done this deed 1 
 Lad. And dost thou then lament him to my 
 
 face? 
 Oh, thou apostate ! shame of royal blood ; 
 Is this thy gratitude for all the martyrdoms 
 I've suffered for thy love '? 'Tis I have done it, and 
 
 done it 
 To revenge my injur'd love. And I but just 
 
 should be, 
 Now I have punished him to punish thee ; 
 But that, alas ! 'twould be so poor a deed, 
 My very sword would scorn to make thee bleed ; 
 And if my passion should the thing request, 
 'T would turn in rage against his master's breast. 
 No, I shall leave thee to a higher doom. 
 And now, go wait thy lover to his tomb. 
 
 Jul. Ha ! doth he go '? and leave me thus in 
 
 scorn, [Proffers to go. 
 
 Guards, stop the traitors ! I'll revenge my honour. 
 And the Count's blood. In the interim. 
 Carry him out, and use your utmost skill 
 And care about him. 
 
 Col. Madam, he breathes, and Avhilst there's life 
 There's hope. Guards, stop the Duke ! 
 
 [I'hey carry out Shar. 
 Theo. She'll kill the Duke ; but 111 not long 
 
 survive him. 
 Jul. Curland, thou diest ; but first thou must 
 
 explain 
 The mysteries of this thy proud disdain ; 
 Say then, what fury did thee hither send. 
 To wound my honour, and destroy thy friend ; 
 For none in Poland hath this treason wrought. 
 Nor dare they wound my hojiour with a thought. 
 Lad. None dare ! 'twere sacriledge to make it 
 
 bleed,
 
 104 .TT'LIANA; 
 
 None but your valiant self dare do the deed, 
 And you are grown to that insulting height, 
 You scorn the modest whispers of the night. 
 Trumpets must speak, and banners must display, 
 And to your lover's arms you fight your way. 
 Jul This is distraction ! 
 Col. His Russian bondage hath mislaid his 
 
 reason. 
 Jul. He's mad ! 
 I once to punish liim had an intent. 
 And now I pity him, and those thoughts repent : 
 And yet it may be those distractions are 
 Only th' effect of pride, and wild despair : 
 The sinner finds he's damn'd, and prays in vain, 
 And now by blasphemy wovdd ease his pain. 
 
 Lad. Yes, as a man damn'd by a false religion. 
 When he finds all his piety in vain, 
 Doth curse his gods, and wish he had liv'd profane, 
 So all my merits lost, I now repent. 
 That I have been so fondly innocent, 
 That I in Muscovy so vain should prove. 
 In seeking crowns and armies for thy love ; 
 And cruelly my heart refused to give 
 To one who wanted it that she might live. 
 
 Jul. What, then ! it seems thy killing eyes have 
 there 
 Done many murders too, as well as here ; 
 And what if I thy triumphs should disgrace, 
 And in a grave should hide thy conquering face, 
 AVhere ladies' hearts it might no more surprise. 
 Nor women be in danger of thine eyes 1 
 Sharnofsky's blood forbids to let thee live : 
 Yes, Curland, thou shalt die ! it shall be seen. 
 In this one glorious act, I am a Queen ; 
 And let thy "sovereign title plead thy cause, 
 Let Poland talk of privilege, or laws 
 
 I'S, 
 
 In this great doom I uncontroul'd will be, 
 
 e
 
 Oi;. T[[K PHINCKSS OF rOT.AXD. TO.") 
 
 And trample on the State, their hiws, and thee : 
 
 And let the glory of thy fate contain, 
 
 And sum up all the glory of my reign. 
 
 Guards, kill the Duke ! hold, but kill him so, 
 
 That he may live within an hour or two. [Aside. 
 
 Methinks I now a little weakness find. 
 
 And my heart tells me, I would f;xin be kind : 
 
 Fool that I am ! I weeping melt away 
 
 Even all the crowns, and triumphs of the day : 
 
 The conqueror doth quit the field and Hy, 
 
 Whil'st the j^roud captive stands insulting by ; 
 
 That ever I should play so weak a part, 
 
 To be entic't thus to resign my heart ! 
 
 A heart, design 'd for tilings so far above 
 
 The petty troubles and concerns of love : 
 
 Yet now led captive, can so prostrate be 
 
 To worship him, Avho ought to worship me : 
 
 But for these follies 111 myself dethrone, 
 
 Forgive his sins, but will chastise my own. 
 
 Lead to the chapel ! I'll to-night 
 
 Con. Hold, madam, your soul's disorder'd, it 
 must be calni'd with penitence and prayer, before 
 you can be fit. 
 
 Jtil. I cannot help it, I am but woman. \JFeeps. 
 
 Lad. Ha ! and have I wrong'd her % 
 What cursed charm hath led me in this maze 1 
 Surely I have been abus'd ! YoungDukeof Novogrod, 
 
 [To Paul. 
 Have you not told me lies 1 I fear you have, 
 And done it to revenge your friend, the Prince. 
 
 Bat. Hark, he calls my Princess, Duke of 
 Novogrod. _ [Aside. 
 
 Jo. Discover to him 
 
 Alex. Madam, undisguise ! and let the Duke 
 Aff"ront you if he dares. 
 
 Paul. Yes, sir, I've led you in this maze of 
 jealousy ;
 
 106 JULIANA ; 
 
 And done it to revenge my injur'd honour. 
 
 [Discovers. 
 
 Om. A woman ! 
 
 Jul. A woman ! 
 
 Paul, Yes, and a Princess, madam. 
 Great as yourself by birth, greater in misfortunes ; 
 The daughter of the mighty Czar of Muscovy, 
 Become a wandering pilgrim, hidden lies 
 In the poor hermitage of this disguise ; 
 By Curland's treachery, now brought so low, 
 I even am asham'd myself to know. [JFeeps. 
 
 Bat. Now, I perceive the mystery. [Aside. 
 
 Lad. The Princess, Paulina! 
 
 Paid. And dar'st thou mention then Paulina's 
 name, 
 And proudly stand without remorse or shame 1 
 Because in war thou hast a captive been, 
 Wilt thou, in spite thy victories, begin 
 On virtue, on religion, love, and me, 
 And hate my name because I pitied thee 1 
 When all the world forsook thee, I alone 
 Bestow'd thy life, and made thy chains my own, 
 Yea, more, so fondly I betray'd my flame, 
 At thy petition, I thy wife became. 
 When crowns lay at my feet, I married thee, 
 Who hadst no armies, crowns, nor liberty ; 
 Yet promis'd one, but meant in that above, 
 A crown of martyrdom, for injur'd love. 
 Yea, after all, perfidious man ! to fly 
 And leave me in thy chains condemn'd to die 1 
 And when I found thee basely to disclaim 
 Thou hadst relation to Paulina's name. 
 Know, Duke, I do abhor thee, and to-day. 
 This hand, this steel, had ta'ne thy life away. 
 But that some power did the l)low withstand, 
 And, when I profl'er'd, did withhold my hand ; 
 But my revenge now alters its design.
 
 OK, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 107 
 
 Tlie death it aini'd at thee now shall be mine,' 
 
 Not that I die becanse I grieve to part, 
 
 But thus to punish my rebellious heart. 
 
 [Offers to kill herself, hut Jo., Alex, snatch the dagger. 
 
 Jo. \ Oh, she hath hurt herself ; oh, madam ; 
 
 Alex, j madam ! 
 
 Paid. What means this cruelty 1 oh, let me 
 die! 
 
 Bat. I now perceive the maze in which they 
 wander ; 
 Oh, I have been too slow in my discovery. 
 
 Jid. And have I wept and bled for this ? 
 
 Lad. What cursed phantom did abuse my shape 1 
 As ever, heaven, thou'st regard to truth 
 Or innocence, now by thy thunder show 
 If it was I that wrong'd this lady so. 
 
 Jo. Oh, horrid, horrid ! 
 
 Alex. Oh, immortal powers ! and can you suffer 
 this 1 
 
 Jid. Prodigy ! 
 
 Con. Oh ! Madam, rule your haughty passions, 
 There is a ring of angels made about you, 
 To see how you'll come off in this great combat. 
 
 Jid. And let 'um make a ring — they to them- 
 selves 
 The pleasure of revenge would not deny, 
 Were they but flesh and blood as well as I. 
 
 Bat. I must reveal in time, before more mischief 
 ensues. Royal madam 
 
 Jid. Ha 1 what art thou 1 
 
 Bat. I'm one, whom if you please 
 Can in one word rectify all mistakes. 
 'Tis a deceitful marriage then breeds this 
 Confusion : the Princess was not married 
 To the Duke, but to my Prince Demetrius, 
 He who to-day was. Madam, in your tent [To Jul. 
 Condemn'd to die
 
 108 .lULlANA; 
 
 LoiL My iimocence is cleared by miracle. 
 
 PiUtl. Is Prince Demetrius here? and did lie 
 abuse me so 1 
 
 Bat. Madam, he ventur'd on so grand an enter- 
 prize, 
 Partly t' allay the torment of his love, 
 And partly fur revenge upon your father, 
 Who, having promis'd you, as a reward to him 
 For taking the Duke prisoner, slighted his royal 
 
 word. 
 Upon the news of the King o' Poland's death, 
 And proffers you to the Duke, with a great 
 
 army. 
 Only in hopes to make you Queen o' Poland. 
 The Duke, indeed, did nobly slight the proffers. 
 
 Jul. So Count Sharnofsky said. 
 What have T done to wound that gallant man "? 
 
 Bat. My fiery Prince resenting the affront. 
 As proudly as the Emperor did his, 
 'Twixt rage and love did by a wile entice you 
 Unto the castle, where the Duke was pris'ner, 
 Pretending danger, penitence, and love, 
 And, if you remember, married you in the dark, 
 Because he would not trust, as he pretended, 
 The priest himself with such a dangerous secret. 
 
 Om. Amazement ! 
 
 Bat. And ere you could discover the mistake, 
 You fled away in fright, and ere you went 
 Brib d the (,*ipier* for the Duke's liberty ; 
 Then he, in innocence forsaking you, 
 And you, as innocent in pursuing him, 
 Occasion'd this unhappiness. 
 
 Col. Heavens ! 'twas this the Cardinal took 
 advantage on to breed all this disorder. 
 
 * Halliwell, in his Archaic Dictionary, has " Cippus, the 
 stocks or pillory." "('ipior'" probably means "jailor" or 
 keejier of the stocks.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF I'OLAM). lO!) 
 
 Out. Now all's come to light. 
 Paul. How have I been abus'd 1 uuliappy I, 
 Born to misfortunes. 
 
 Bat. See, my Prince is here ! 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Landlord, stniggling ivith 
 the Guard. 
 
 Lad. I think, my Landlord, the Prince porliaps 
 was the other stranger lodg'd in the same house : 
 petty humour of fortune ! 
 
 Land. Come, honest Cardinal Bembo, dost tliou 
 not remember [To the Guard. 
 
 I made thee a Cardinal at the Council o' Trent 'I 
 Hast thou forgot Pope Paul's great toe, boy 1 
 
 Dem. Slave, shall I stay here all night 1 
 
 Guar. AA'ell, what would you see 1 all's done ! 
 
 Land. Nay, I told you I'd get you in, if any 
 body could ; the rogues id) know me as well as a 
 beggar knows his clap-dish.* 
 
 Dem. Curland, have 1 tound thee ? 'tis not thy 
 friends, [Draws. 
 
 Nor the Queen's guards that shall protect thee. 
 
 Bat. Hold, sir ! all's well. [Holds Dem. 
 
 Dem. Not till Curland or I fall. 
 
 Land. Why, what a mad fellow's this ; draw in 
 the presence! why, sirrah, do you know where 
 you are, you malapert lad you '] I shall be hang'd 
 for bringing in a quarrelsome jackanapes. If I had 
 known I would ha' kept him at home, I warrant 
 him. 
 
 Bat. Oh ! hold, and turn your eyes on that sad 
 
 * " Clap-dish," or " clack-dish," a box with a lid to rattle and 
 make a noise when shaken, carried by beggars to attract notice 
 and bring people to their doors. Forby mentions that there 
 is a phrase still current, "His tongue moves like a beggar's 
 clap-dish." In Kenneth's time the term was apphcable to 
 "a wooden dish wherein they gather the toll of wheat and 
 other corn in markets. "
 
 110 JULIANA, 
 
 object that tliei-e lies weeping, bleeding for your 
 crimes. 
 
 Dem. My Princess ! I'm in a trance ; oh, bloody 
 vision ! 
 AVhat cursed hand hath done this wretched deed ? 
 
 Paid. 'Tis you have done it. Oh, Demetrius, 
 How have you injur'd me '? what horrid dangers 
 And miseries have you expos'd me to % 
 
 Land. This young man hath been in a scuffle, I 
 see. 
 
 Paid. I'd lost my life under my father's anger, 
 Had it not been for this good Count Alexey, 
 Who had the charge of me, and help't me away ; 
 And now in passion I have chas'd the Duke, 
 Thinking him guilty of forsaking me 
 His lawful wife, and made him kill his friend, 
 Injure his Princess ; and had fallen himself 
 By my revenge, this steel had pierc't his breast. 
 But Heaven to whom his innocence was known. 
 Thus made me turn the blow against my own. 
 
 Land. What's the meaning of all this blind 
 story 1 
 
 Dam. And have I injur'd thus the Duke, and you 1 
 AVhat miseries, what torments are my due 1 
 First by some slave, or villain, let me die, 
 And, when I'm dead, then stab my memory. 
 By my own hand, or your's, to die, would be 
 A death too brave for such a fiend as me : 
 And, when I'm buried, to my grave repair, 
 And throw in scorn my ashes in the air : 
 But lest you prove unjust, and pardon all 
 My horrid crimes, thus at your feet I fall. 
 
 [Proffers to fall on his swoirl, and 
 is prevenft'd hi/ Lad., Paid., But. 
 
 Land. What ! art mad ] wilt thou kill thy self, 
 sweetheart 1 bless me, he makes my heart ake ; 
 take the sword from him, fie upon't I who let's such
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 1 1 1 
 
 young fools ha' SAVords, that don't know how to 
 use 'um 1 
 
 Paul. Hold, Prince Demetrius, live ! your wife, 
 Paulina, doth beg it of you. 
 
 Land. Your wife, Paulina ! what, I warrant this 
 young man is that young man's wife ; wliy, sure 
 my house was enchanted to-day, lodge! Princes, 
 and Dukes, like mummers and masqueraders ; and 
 women and wenches in men's cloathes, and cloak- 
 bags, and scufflings, and they kill one another, and 
 they're alive again, and this, and that, and I know 
 not what. Here's work indeed ! 
 
 Dem. And, can you pardon me, my kindest 
 Princess 1 
 
 Paul. Yes, my dear Demetrius, I have charity 
 enough to pardon you, and virtue enough to love 
 you. 
 
 Dcm. Blessed minute ; I shall die with happiness. 
 
 Alex. And I with joy. [A I tveeps. 
 
 Dem. Now, generous Ladislaus, can you for- 
 give me 1 
 
 Lad. My princely friend. 
 
 Land. Ay, hug, — — but you're but a 
 
 couple o' knaves both on you. 
 
 Paul. Great madam, may not we embrace, as 
 well as our dear lords 1 
 
 Jul. Yes, madam, and perhaps with an aft'ection 
 as generous as theirs. 
 
 Om. Celestial sight ! 
 
 Col. The charm that rais'd this tempest o' con- 
 fusion 
 Is now undone, the horrid spectre's vanisht ; 
 All ends in friendship, let it end in glory ; 
 Love now is crown'd, let honour l)e so too ; 
 Let's place the crown upon the liead of him 
 Who in a thousand fields hath purchas'd it. 
 
 Land. With all my heart, truly, though I must
 
 112 JULIANA; 
 
 tell you, you're none of th' honestest to run away 
 and pay me no rent. [Aside. 
 
 Col. Great Duke, it is decreed you are our king, 
 And you our queen. [To Jul. 
 
 Om. Long live Ladislaus, King of Poland, and 
 Duke o' Cui'land ! 
 
 Om. Long live Juliana, Queen of Poland, and 
 Duchess of Curland ! 
 
 ] My Lords, Ave thank you for all this 
 
 Lad. ! great honour, 
 
 Jul. I And shall endeavour still to make this 
 J crown 
 
 Katlier the kingdom's glory than our own. 
 
 Land. Your humble servant ; nobody questions 
 it. Well now, an't please your majesty 
 
 Lad. Go, I forgive thee. 
 
 Land. Forgive me ; thank you heartily : I come 
 to dun him for money, and he cries, he forgives 
 me ; right courtier, i'faith ; but if you forgive me, 
 I won't forgive you : in the first place, for cheating 
 me of five thousand crowns, but that Lll take no 
 notice of. [aside] Why, sir, for my rent, and 
 several other couitesies, as procuring, conniving, 
 angling for fronts ; no courtesy in this age ; come, 
 come, sir, a feeling, a feeling, and I'll take no 
 notice, otherwise my tongue doth naturally hang- 
 so loose, but nothing is better for it than a 
 
 little Aurum Potabile."' 
 
 Lad. This fellow is strangely impertinent. 
 
 Land. Besides, do I deserve nothing for my 
 honesty for concealing you 1 I knew you well 
 enough. 
 
 Lad. I doubt. Landlord, if you had, my head 
 had not stuck fast upon my shoulders. 
 
 Land. It may be, sir, if I had been put to a 
 
 * See Daveiiant's Works, vol. i., p. 72.
 
 OR, THE PRINCESS OF POLAND. 113 
 
 great strait indeed, I might have borrowed a 
 little money upon your nose, or so 
 
 Lad. Rid me, Theodore, of this fellow, and give 
 him a hundred dollars. 
 
 Land. Thank your majesty ! 
 
 Enter one of the Guard, who ichispers Colimsky. 
 
 Col. Sir, the Grand Marshal and the otlier 
 Lords desire to have admission to your majesty, 
 t'implore your grace and pardon. [To the King. 
 
 Enter Guard with Ossolinsky, Cassonosky, and 
 LuBOMiRSKY, as prisoners. 
 
 Osso. \ Heaven crown your majesty witli a 
 
 Casso. j long and happy reign ! 
 
 Jid. Oh, my good Lords ; Avhat ha' you chang'd 
 your tunes 1 
 But you, poor men, sung but the Cardinal's notes : 
 My lord, forgive 'um. Thou malicious Count 
 
 [To Casso. 
 That wouldst have murder'd me in my tent to-day 
 And mixt my blood with my great father's ashes, 
 Know, slave, some of my guards shou'd strike thee 
 
 dead, 
 But that thy very baseness saves thy head. 
 Who merits my revenge and hate, must prove 
 As brave and great, as he who gains my love. 
 
 I pardon thee : retire out of my sight 
 
 And now go home, repent thy crimes and see 
 If heaven will be generous like me. 
 
 Lad. My lords, you have your pardons ; your 
 lives and fortunes we shall not touch, your offices 
 and governments we must bestow on men of better 
 maxims. Count Colimsky, the baton of Grand 
 Marshal we confer on you. Their Governments and 
 Palatinates we shall ctjnsider of. 
 1 8
 
 114 JULIANA. 
 
 Paul. I'll beg a command of the King for you, 
 good Count Alexey. 
 
 Alex. No, madam, I'll serve none but your 
 Highness. Let me but live in your favour, 'tis all 
 the glory I am ambitious of. 
 
 Casso. Now will I go home and hang one-half 
 of my slaves, starve the other, kick my wife out 
 o' doors, be drunk nine and fifty hours together, 
 breed a mutiny at home, and a rebellion in the 
 Kingdom ; and at last lose my head for my pains, 
 and there's an end of good Count Cassonosky. 
 
 Lad. Now, let us all go visit my brave friend. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. Great sir, I now came from him. His 
 wound is search't, and is found not so dangerous 
 as first was fear'd. At his return to sense, he seem'd 
 amaz'd, as having lost all memory how he came 
 wounded so ; nor was he concern'd, but only 
 enquir'd about the Queen's health. 
 
 Lad. Brave friend ! 
 
 Jid. The Count was ever generous. 
 
 Om. Lights for the King and Queen ! 
 
 Lad. Thus do our fortunes lead us blindly on. 
 And to be happy we are first undone ; 
 And thus the mighty storms have all combin'd 
 To cast thee on the shore which I design'd. 
 Now I am blest with happiness above. 
 My own ambition with a crown and love.
 
 THE EPILOGUE. 
 Spoken by Paulina and Landlord. 
 
 Land. Now, gentlemen, a word. 
 
 Paul. How now, you lout, 
 
 What are you speaking 1 
 
 Land. Ha, th'ast put me out, 
 
 I know not what it was. 
 
 Paul Oh, I can tell ! 
 
 The Epilogue ; yes, it becomes you well, 
 You gentlemen ! and why, I pray, to them ] 
 What, do the ladies merit no esteem 1 
 Good sirs ! I know not whether 'tis your due, 
 But poets still direct themselves to you : 
 
 [Tuniing to the audience. 
 Don't the fops know in this and every age, 
 'Tis beauty rules the Avorld, much more the stage. 
 When you ha' done your best, the scribbling clowns 
 Lie at the mercy of the ladies' frowns : 
 And not a critic of you all but knows, 
 No repartees are half so sharp as those. 
 
 Land. Why, prithee, 'twas the women wits I 
 meant, 
 'Tis not the men I'm sure that pay my rent ; 
 For they are grown so hect'ring now-a-days, 
 They kick my customers, and damn their plays, 
 That I am ruin'd by your critic blades ; 
 What, d'ee think I keep fiddlers, men, and maids 
 For nothing ? and, besides that dreadful charge, 
 I'm building a new house, that's brave and large ; 
 If you're so curious as y'ave been before, 
 I must e'en lay the key under the door. 
 
 Paul. Prithee, ha' done ! 
 
 Land. No, sir, I've more to say ; 
 Then if the liq^uor I ha' broaclit to-day
 
 HG THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 Be good, commend it, but if it be dull, 
 I'faith e'en damn, and ram your belly full. 
 
 Paul. Away, rude fool ! fair English Diet then, 
 Senate of ladies, lower house of men, 
 I humbly pray, decree before you go 
 If marriages like mine be right or no, 
 At least resolve in pity of my pain, 
 To sit to-morrow on the same again.
 
 THE HISTORY OF CHARLES THE 
 EIGHTH OF FRANCE.
 
 The History of Charles the Eighth of France, or the 
 Invasion of Naples by the French, as it is acted at his 
 Highnesses the Duke of York's Theater. Written by ]\Jr. 
 Crowne. Honestum est secundis tertiisve consistere. Qu. 
 London. Printed hy T. K. and N. T. for Ambrose Isted, 
 at the sign of the Golden Anchor, over against St. Dun- 
 Stan's Church in Fleet Street. 1672. Ato. 
 
 lb. 4:to. 1680. With the difference of a fresh title page.
 
 The first new play broiirfht out in Dorset Garden was 
 the History of Charles VIII., or the Invasion of Naples 
 by the French. It was performed, accoi'dingto Geneste, 
 " six days together and now and then afterwards.'* 
 Adopting the fashion of the writers of tragedies in 
 France, and aware of the prejudice of Charles II. in its 
 favour, Crowne, following the example of Dryden in 
 his siege of Grenada and other tragedies, and of Lord 
 Orrery, in his successful dramas of Mustapha and Henry 
 the Fifth, has ventured to woo Melpomene in rhyme. 
 
 As Betterton performed the character of Charles VIII., 
 Harris that of Ferdinand, son and successor of Alphonso 
 the King of Naples, Smith the Prince of Salerne, and 
 Mrs Betterton Isabella, widow of John Galeazzo, Duke 
 of MOan, it is not surprising that the piece so well cast 
 was successful ; indeed, more so than some of Dryden's 
 tragedies in verse, the absurdities of which were at the 
 time admirably satirized by the Duke of Buckingham 
 in his comedy of the Rehearsal, of which Sheridan's 
 Critic, a century later, was a clever but inferior 
 imitation. 
 
 Alphonso, king of Naples, was represented by Mathew 
 Medbourne, who was author of Tartuffe, a translation of 
 Moliere's comedy of the same name, of which there are 
 two editions, one 1670 and the other 1707, 4to. This 
 drama, of which a favourable opinion is expressed in the 
 Biographica Dramatica, was represented at the King's 
 Theatre with very great applause. In 1718, Gibber's 
 Nonjuror appeared, taken from the same source, ''and the 
 principal character in it, Dr. AVolf, is a close copy from 
 the same original." In 1 768, Bickerstaffe's Hypocrite was 
 performed at Drury Lane with great success. It is an 
 alteration of Gibber with the addition of the character 
 
 * Historj' of the Stage, vol. i., p. V2i.
 
 120 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 of Mawworm. It still holds its place among the acting 
 plays ; and fortunate indeed are they who have had the 
 gratification of witnessing the inimitable impersonation 
 of Dr. Cantwell and Mawworm by Dowton and Liston. 
 
 ]\Iedboiirne is believed to have written another drama, 
 a tragedy entitled Saint Cicily. He was a zealous Ko- 
 man Catholic, and was caught in the meshes of Di*. 
 Titus Gates. He was committed to Newgate, November 
 26, 1678, wherehe died the 19th March following. He was 
 an actor of great eminence, and deserved a different fate. 
 
 Although the conquest of Naples by Charles \ 'HI., 
 the abdication of Alphonso in favour of his son Ferdin- 
 and, and some other circumstances, are true, still the 
 greater portion of the incidents in the present play have 
 little historical foundation, and appear to be either the 
 fruits of the author's own imagination, or taken from 
 some old Italian novelist. 
 
 Charles was the son and successor of Louis XI, whose 
 character has been given in Quentin Durward with such 
 perfect accuracy by the autiior of that admirable rom- 
 ance, that it may be accepted as the most comjjlete and 
 truthfid portrait of that monarch extant. Charles came 
 to the throne in the year 1483, at the age of thirteen 
 years and two months.* "The king his father," says 
 Commines, "had brought him up at Amboise in such 
 solitariness, that none beside him besides his ordinary- 
 servants could have access unto him : neither permitted 
 he him to learn any more Latin than this one sentence, 
 He tliat cannot dissemlde cannot reign, which he did not 
 that he hated learning, but because he feared that study 
 would hurt the tender and delicate complexion of the 
 child. Notwithstanding, king Charles, after he came 
 to the crown, grew very studious of learning, and gave 
 himself to the reading of stories and books of humanity, 
 written in the French tongue, and attempted to under- 
 stand Latin." t Unlike his father, Charles was a man of 
 high and honourable principles, and of great personal 
 
 * Henault's History of France, by Nugent, vol. i., p. 326 — 
 5th edition, London, 1782, 8vo. 
 
 t History of Plillip de Commines, Knight, Lord of 
 Argenton — 4th editiou, London, 1674, folio, page 225. Tran.s- 
 lated by Thomas Danett. Origmally printed in 159(i, and ded- 
 icated to Lord Burghlej-.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH (»F FRANCE. 1:^1 
 
 courage. His reign, although short, was a beneficial one 
 to his country, and his demise on the 27th April 1498, 
 before he attained the age of twenty-seven, was deeply 
 regretted, although his successor, the Duke of Orleans, 
 his cousin, obtained as Louis XII., the title of "The 
 father of his people." 
 
 The right of Charles to the kingdom of Naples was by 
 no means clear, being founded on a testament or will of 
 Joanna, queen of Naples, the existence of which was 
 questioned. His Holiness the Pope, who assumed a 
 right to all monarchies that could not find owners, espe- 
 cially claimed Naples as coming under the papal power, 
 and, as he wished to propitiate the pious Louis XI., ob- 
 ligingly proposed to make it over to him, but the cau- 
 tious monarch would have nothing to do with the tempt- 
 ing offer, which was renewed to and accepted by his son. 
 Accordingly, so soon as Charles had arranged with in- 
 finite success many matters of great importance to France, 
 and settled his quarrel witli Britany, by his nuptials 
 with the Lady Anne, in 1-191, thus permanently uniting 
 that valuable principality to France, he proceeded to 
 enforce his claim to the Neapolitan diadem in direct op- 
 position to tlie advice of his councillors, who desired 
 that he would content himself with his own dominions. 
 He invaded Italy, and within a period of time not 
 exceeding six months, came, saw, and conquered. Upon 
 the 21st of February 1495-6, Charles VIII., clad in 
 imperial robes, made his triumphant entry into Naples, 
 where he was received with enthusiasm by the citizens. 
 
 Alphonso, the Neapolitan ruler, becoming unpopular, 
 had, previous to the French occupation, prudently abdi- 
 cated in favour of his son Ferdinand, a young prince of 
 great courage, and beloved by the people, whose detesta- 
 tion of his father, coupled with a terror of the French 
 arms, had so completely paralysed them that no opposi- 
 tion was offered to the invaders. 
 
 Time usually works wonders, and it did so in this in- 
 stance. An union of potentates, including Pope Alex- 
 ander VI., who succeeded, Pope Innocent VIII., in 1492, 
 the Venetian Republic, Henry VII. of England, and the 
 Emperor Maximilian, who had designed to marry Anne 
 of Britany himself, the youthful and gallant ruler of
 
 122 THE HlSTOllY OF 
 
 France compelled Charles to retire from his conquests. 
 He had great difficulty in retracing his steps ; but de- 
 feating the allied army, commanded by the Marquis of 
 Mantua, at the battle of Fornova, on the 6th of July 
 1496, where Charles displayed the most signal proofs of 
 valour, his return home was comparatively easy. 
 
 Charles, having recruited himself, was anxious once 
 more to try his fortune in Italy, but was dissuaded by his 
 cousin of Orleans, who dreaded the consequence of his 
 demise in a foreign country, — an event which, from his 
 indifferent health, was far from improbable. The ap- 
 prehensions of his subjects were soon realized, as he 
 died in July 1498. "Charles VIII.," says Commines, 
 "was but a little man, so good natured that it was 
 impossible to meet with a better creature." Upon his 
 decease, his wife, Anne of Britany, put a black knotted 
 lace round her coat of arms, a custom which prevailed 
 until the first Revolution. She became the wife of his suc- 
 cessor, Louis XII. in 1499, and died 8th of January 15l;3.* 
 
 The departure of Charles from Naples having removed 
 all difficulties, Ferdinand recovered his kingdom, but 
 he did not long enjoy this return of his prosperous 
 fortune, for dying soon after without issue, he was 
 succeeded by his uncle Frederick. Thus, says Guiciardini, 
 in the space of three years, the kingdom of Naples had 
 five kings — Ferdinand I., Alphonso, Ferdinand II., 
 Charles VIII., and Frederick. 
 
 Lewis, Duke of Orleans, is a prominent character in 
 the play. According to Brantome, Anne, the sister of 
 Charles, was fond of him but he did not return her love. 
 He was thrice married. His first marriage with Joan, 
 the daughter of Louis XL, was not consummated ; his 
 second, with Anne of Britany, was a happy one, and 
 his third, with the Princess .Mary of England, is said 
 to have caused his death, as he had, for her sake, en- 
 
 * This lady's matrimonial adventures were singular enough. 
 She had married the Emperor Maximilian by proxy ; but she 
 broke the contract, and espoused Charles VIII. On his death 
 Louis XII. became her husband ; but to bring this about he 
 had to divorce his wife Joan, the daughter of Louis XL, who 
 had forced him to marry her. By the obliging aid of the 
 Pope he obtained a declaration of nullity of the marriage, 
 and by means of it was enabled to marry his cousin's widow.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH 0¥ FRANCE. 12;} 
 
 tirely altered his manner of living, "for before lie used 
 to dine at eight o'clock, and now he was obliged to dine 
 at noon ; it had been likewise his hour of going to bed 
 at night, and now he frequently sat up till midnight." * 
 
 He died on the 1st of January 1515, aged fifty-three, 
 having reigned seventeen years, and was interred at 
 St. Denis. His death was the cause of general lamen- 
 tation — the bellmen went about ringing their bells, and 
 crying along the streets, "the good king Louis, the father 
 of his people, is no more." f 
 
 The French Commander Montpensier, a nobleman of 
 high position, was appointed Viceroy of the Kingdom of 
 Naples by Charles VIII. In 1496, at Fozzuolo, he fell 
 a victim to the plague. 
 
 Isabella was the widow of John Galeas, or Galeazzo, 
 Duke of Milan, who was poisoned in 1494 by his uncle 
 Ludovico, or Lewis Sforza, usurper of the duchy, in the 
 possession of which he was confirmed by the Emperor. 
 Sforza, after exercising great influence in the affairs of 
 Italy, changed sides in a manner worthy a man of 
 liberal views. Ultimately he was taken prisoner by the 
 French, and confined to the castle of Loches, where 
 he died in 1510. He was surnamed the Moor, not 
 from his complexion, for he was rather fair than swarthy, 
 but from an allusion to the Italian word Mora, which 
 signifies a mulberry tree, and which he had taken for his 
 device, considering this tree as a symbol of prudence. J 
 
 The love passages alluded to by the Duchess Isabella, 
 in the play, as passing between her and Charles are 
 pure fictions, besides, she was not a widow when 
 Charles invaded Italy. Commines says, that when 
 the French monarch was at Milan, before he entered 
 Naples, John Galeas, the Duke of Milan, was alive, 
 but confined in the castle of Pavia, with his " wife, 
 daughter of King Alphonso, in a very piteous estate, 
 her husband being sick," and that husband and wife 
 were held in this castle, "as under guard, and her 
 son who is yet living with a daughter or two. The child 
 was then about five years old, and him every man might 
 see but no man might see the Duke ; for myself passed 
 three days before the King, and by no means could be 
 * Henault, p. 352. t lb. 339. t lb. 342.
 
 124 THE IIISTOHY OF 
 
 suffered to come within." The KiDif, however, saw him, 
 but would not speak on his behalf, for fear to offend 
 liord Ludovic. " At the same time the duchess fell upon 
 her knees before tlie said Ludovic, desiring him to have 
 pity upon her father and brother. He answered that it 
 could not be. But to say the truth, she might better 
 have entreated him for her husband and herself, being 
 at that time a goodly young woman." * This statement 
 of Commines nearly fixes the time when Duke John was 
 " done to death " by his strong-minded uncle, and it could 
 not have been very long after the conversation with 
 Charles, who proceeded to Naples, never imagining that 
 the murder of the Duke would follow. Probably, the 
 prudent Ludovic was apprehensive that the success 
 of Charles at Naples would be followed by tlie liberation 
 of his victim. As it was, this versatile Prince very soon after- 
 wards, with his associate, Pope Alexander Borgia, a poten- 
 tate alike distinguished for vice and villany, assisted by 
 the Venetians and the Emperor Maximilian, futilely 
 attempted to cut off Charles on his return to France. 
 
 Although a real personage, the Prince of Salerne, 
 except to the effect of spurring up the P^rench monarch 
 to invade Naples,t had little concern with what was 
 doing in the city, as represented in the drama. He 
 was a Neapolitan, chief of the noble family of St. 
 Severin, and had been banished from his native country 
 for rebellion. Trivultio the turncoat, despised equally 
 by Charles and Ferdinand, Ascanio,Cornelia, the widowed 
 Queen of Cyprus, and Julia, are, we suspect, indebted 
 for their existence to the author himself. 
 
 Of the merits of this tragedy in rhyme it may be 
 fairly said that it is just as good as any other of the 
 time. "Where Dryden failed it is not very likely Crowne 
 would succeed. No one would suppose that the author 
 of All for Love and Don Sebastian, tragedies of tlie first 
 rank, would have wasted his powers upon such exagger- 
 ated extravagances as Ahnanzor and Almaliide, or 
 Tyrannic Love. But such was fashion— the King admired 
 rhyming plays, and his courtiers were bound to do so 
 also. It is a remarkable instance of the low ebb to which 
 the public taste had descended, when the vigorous 
 
 * Commines, page 257. t Commines, page 276.
 
 CHARLES THE EKiHTH OF FRANCE. 125 
 
 language of Shakespeare, Jonson, and their contem- 
 poraries was in a manner banished from the EngHsh 
 stage, to make way for the insipidity of French feeble 
 rhythmical declamation. It was to Buckingham's Re- 
 hearsal, that we owe the cure of this Gallic malady. 
 
 The patron to whom Crowne dedicated his tragedy 
 was a nobleman of good descent, the grandson of Cliarles 
 Wilmot, created an Irish viscount and English baron by 
 Charles I. He defeated Sir William AValler, at Round- 
 way Down in Wiltshire, in July lG4o. His son Henry 
 received the higher dignity of an Pkrl from Charles II., 
 and was the first Earl of Rochester of the name of Wil- 
 mot. Dying in 1659, he was succeeded by his son John, 
 the last Earl, who married Elizabeth Mallet, daughter of 
 John Mallet, Esquire, of Enmore, by whom he had one 
 son, Charles, who predeceased his father, upon whose 
 death in July 1680, before he had completed his thirty- 
 second year, the Earldom and inferior dignities came to 
 an end in the name of Wilmot. 
 
 Of the life and conduct of this well-known ornament of 
 the dissolute court of the merry monarch it is unnecessary 
 to give an account. The Earl has been placed by Dr. 
 Johnson amongst the poets of England, and to that ac- 
 count of Rochester the reader is referred. Suffice it to 
 say, he lived a profligate, and died a penitent. 
 
 In the ' Biographica Dramatica,' Rochester has been 
 accused of ridiculing some hues by Crowne in the pre- 
 sent drama. It is asserted that in an imitation of the third 
 satire of Boileau, called Timon, Rochester wrote as follows : 
 
 Kickum for Crown declar'd, that in Romance 
 He had outdone the very wits of France. 
 Witness Pandion * and his Charles the Eight, 
 Where a young monarch, careless of his fate, 
 Tho' foreign troops and rebels shook his state, 
 Clomplains another sight afflicts him more. 
 Viz., the Queen's Galleys rowing from the shore 
 Filling their oars and tacking to Idc gone, 
 Whilst sporting waves smil'd on the rishig sun. 
 Waivjs smiliiKj on the Sun ! I am sure that's new 
 And 'twas well thought on, give the devil his due. t 
 * Pandion and Amphigenia, or the History of the Coy Lady 
 
 of Thessalia, adorned with Sculptures, London, 1665, 8vo. 
 
 of which there is a copy in the British Museum, 
 t p. 148.
 
 12G CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 
 
 Referring to the "Works of his Grace, George Yilliers, 
 Duke of Buckingham, third edition, London, 1713, vol. 
 first, page 164, it appears that the satire called Timon 
 is said to be by the Duke of Buckingham and the 
 Earl of Rochester. It thus is by no means certain that 
 the extract just quoted is from the pen of the last men- 
 tioned nobleman, who is also asserted to have assisted 
 in the composition of the 'Rehearsal,' — to what extent, 
 it would be desirable to ascertain. It is not safe always 
 to hazard an opinion, but we are much inclined to sus- 
 pect that Buckingham not Rochester penned the lines in 
 question, which, whoever was the author, are not be- 
 yond the bounds of fair criticism. 
 
 Flatman, notwithstanding his unpoetical name, has 
 some verses on the death of Rochester, with whom he 
 was cotemporary, from which we quote the following, 
 which certainly possess great elegance : 
 
 As on his death-bed gasping Strephon lay, 
 
 Strephon ! the wonder of the plains, 
 
 The noblest of the Arcadian swains. 
 Strephon, the bold, the witty, and the gay, 
 
 With many a sigh and many a tear he said. 
 
 Remember me, ye shepherds, when I'm dead. 
 
 Ye trifling glories of the world Adieu, 
 
 And vain applauses of the Age ; 
 
 For when we quit this earthly stage, 
 Believe me, shepherds, for I tell you true. 
 
 The pleasures which from virtuous deed we have, 
 
 Produce the sweetest slumbers in the grave. 
 
 These stanzas are quoted by Park, in his edition of 
 ' Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors,' from the third 
 edition of Flatman, to whom Po^je owes obligations 
 which he repaid by censure. It is to Flatman he 
 is indebted for the most striking lines in his celebrated 
 short poem of ' the Dying Christian to his Soul.'
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 JOHN, EARL OF ROCHESTER, 
 One of the Gentlemen of His Majesty's Bed-Chamber, &,r.. 
 
 My Lord, — Perhaps your lordship may admire to see 
 your name fixed before this trifle ; but it is the fate of 
 persons of your obliging temper to receive persecutions 
 of this nature, in return of candour and indulgence ; 
 which I must confess is so ill a requital, as it may make 
 your lordship cautious henceforwards of bestowing your 
 favours, since this must be the troublesome consequence. 
 But greatness like beauty attracts all on Avhom it smiles, 
 and we frail writing sinners cannot content ourselves 
 with the secret enjoyment, but think half the pleasure 
 lost if we do not boast of it to the world. This vanity 
 occasions your lordship the present trouble ; and, next 
 to this, a design to overawe with your name any the 
 briskest enemies this poem may meet with ; for when I 
 tell 'em your lordship thinks it not much unworthy 
 your favour, they will judge moderately of it, — at least 
 not be too forward in censuring anything which you 
 are pleased to defend. The enemies it has already met 
 with have been fewer than a play in verse (and an ill 
 one too) could expect ; considering how many there are, 
 that exclaim against rhyme, though never so well writ. 
 Some of them I am afraid do it from the same unjust 
 pique that Women of cruel hearts, but peaceable 
 Beauties ever have against a Mode, wherewith they 
 despair to kill. But I shall not much concern my self 
 Avith their little quarrel ; I am fortunate enough in your 
 Lordship's approbation, and can dispense with the rest 
 of mankind. And this I am bold to attirm though I
 
 128 CHAKLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE, 
 
 have not the Honour of much acquaintance with your 
 Lordship ; for it is sufficient that I have seen in some 
 little sketches of your Pen, excellent Masteries and a 
 Si^irit inimitable ; and that I have been entertained by 
 others with the wit, which your Lordship with a gentile 
 and careless freedom, sprinkles in your ordinary converse, 
 and often supplies vulgar and necessitous wits where- 
 with to enrich themselves, and sometimes to treat their 
 friends ; and when your Lordship is pleased to ascend 
 above us, you do it with a strange readiness and agility 
 of mind, and by s\v-ift and easy motions attain to heights, 
 which others by much climbing, dull industry, and con- 
 straint cannot reach. Nor is this vast wit crowded 
 together in a little Soul, where it wants freedom, and is 
 uneasy, but fills up the spaces of a large and generous 
 mind, infinitely delighting to oblige all, but especially 
 to encourage any blossoming merits ; and ready to for- 
 give large and voluminous faults for the sake of any 
 one thing tolerably said or done. And now the world 
 sure will not blame me that I esteem my self extremely 
 happy in Your Favour, and secure in Your Patronage ; 
 and this being to me, like some great and sudden 
 Fortune to the poor, I know not how to manage my 
 own transports, but must make my brags to my friends. 
 This, my Lord, is a great infirmity, but it is incident to 
 human nature, and very common with all of our tribe ; 
 and I do not doubt but your Lordship will pardon it 
 among other defects to, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Lordship's most humble 
 
 and most obliged Servant, 
 
 John Crowne.
 
 THE 
 
 PEOLOGU E 
 
 TO KING CHARLES THE EIGHTH. 
 
 Now the rough sounds of war our ears invade, 
 Some think the Muses should retire to shade, 
 And there, like mournful birds with hanging wing, 
 Alone and sad some doleful ditty sing : 
 For now our gallants all to sea are gone. 
 Muses as well as Misses are undone. 
 And both of 'um must to their grief allow 
 They can expect but sorry trading now ; 
 But though kind Miss may sit at home and whine 
 For some brisk airy Sir, that kept her fine ; 
 Wit has not so much reason to complain. 
 And wit no more than beauty can abstain. 
 Hot English mettle must to working fall, 
 And do for love ere they'll not do at all. 
 Let dull Dutch jilt over a smokey stove. 
 Sit sighing for the loss of some fat love ; 
 
 Let frighted burgers 
 
 Shut up their shops, and to their fate submit. 
 Whilst we keep ope' both shops of trade and wit. 
 Whilst our brisk critics are become their fate. 
 And damn the farce of their mechanic state, 
 You, gentle sirs, that here behind remain, 
 We with a martial play will entertain ; 
 You shall see wars and death as well as they, 
 But it shall be in a much safer way : 
 Nay, now their backs are turn'd, we'll watch ourtime, 
 And be so bold to fight and die in rhyme ; 
 I 9
 
 130 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 
 
 For our dull author swears he but asph-es 
 
 To please the city wives and country squires ; 
 
 And all the sober audience of the town, 
 
 Those of the long robe and the talking gown, 
 
 With serious men of trade, who well or ill, 
 
 Seldom good men protest a poet's bill ; 
 
 'Mongst whom all stuff does find such present vent, 
 
 We durst ensure our plays at three per cent. 
 
 With these our author's dull insipid rhyme. 
 
 He durst not have produced another time, 
 
 He hojies is safe, and if his sense is low, 
 
 He can compound for't with a dance or show. 
 
 And to conclude, he swears — 
 
 He does not doubt but he shall feast to day 
 
 Your sober palates with a serious play.
 
 THE NAMES OF THE PERSONS. 
 
 Alphonso, King of Naples . Mr. Metbourn. 
 Ferdinand, Son to Alphonso . Mr. Harris. 
 Prince of Salerne, a fierce \ ^ ^ 
 
 and val'umt young EebeL . ) 
 Ascanio, Friend to Ferdinand Mr. Young. 
 Trivultio, an old General, and) 
 
 Commander of the Neapolitans Mr. Sandford. 
 
 Army . . . ) 
 
 Gonsalvo, Admiral of Queen \ ^^ ^^^^^^j,^ 
 
 Cornelias Galleys . . j 
 
 Ghost, of Galeazzo, Duke of ) ^^ cademan. 
 Mil lane . . . .J 
 
 Charles the Eighth, King ) j^^^^^^^^n. 
 
 of J" ranee . . . . j 
 Lewis, Duke of Orleans . . Mr. Crosby. 
 
 'orris. 
 
 Mompensier, a Freneh Com- ] ^^ at 
 
 > MR. i\ ( 
 
 mander . . . . j 
 
 Isabella, Daughter to Al- 
 phonso, and IFidoiv to Gale- 
 azzo, the young Duke of \ Mrs. Betterton. 
 Millane, who was poisoned 
 by his Uncle Sforza 
 
 Cornelia, Widow Queen of ) ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Cyprus . . . . j 
 
 Irene, her Friend and Con- ) ^ir^ , c,^-.,rT.xr 
 ,. , ' , > Mrs. Shad well. 
 
 jidant . . . . j 
 
 Julia, Sister to Isabella . . Mrs. Dixon. 
 
 Portia | ( Isabella. 
 
 Euphemia !> Maids of Honour to -^ Julia. 
 Sylvia ) (Cornelia. 
 
 Officers, Guards, Attendants. 
 The Scene : Naples.
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 CHARLES THE VIII. OF FRANCE : 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE INVASION OF NAPLES BY THE FRENCH. 
 
 The First Act. 
 
 After several shouts and noises without, 
 
 Enter Isabella, Julia, Portia, as from their beds. 
 
 Isa. Oh heavens ! what mean these sad dis- 
 tracted cries, 
 This confus'd noise, which through the palace flies, 
 And puts a horror on the face of night, 
 Dreadful to th' ears, as visions to the sight 1 
 
 Jul. The city hath receiv'd some strange alarms ; 
 For in the streets they call, to arms ! to arms ! 
 The palace echoes with a dreadful sound. 
 And martial noises from the streets rebound. 
 
 Isab. Portia, enquire the news ! — 
 
 For. Madam, I go ; 
 
 And yet I dread to ask. — [Exit For. 
 
 Jid. And I to know. 
 
 Isab. What can w' expect 1 The enemy is come ! 
 Although last night some said he was at Rome. 
 
 see the slave, who the false news did bring. 
 Came with those tidings to betray the King. 
 When once a shaking monarchy declines, 
 Each thing grows bold, and to its fall combines.
 
 Jul. Oh heav'ns ! how strange a dream I had to 
 night ! 
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 133 
 
 had to 
 [Aside. 
 Visions of glory walk'd before my sight ; 
 Crowns, Cupids, bowers, and, in my pleasing trance, 
 I thought my self no less than Queen of France. 
 "What the presage should mean I fain would know. 
 And yet I dare not let the secret go. 
 
 Isab. Does haughty Charles his anger still retain, 
 
 [Aside. 
 To come from France with armies in his train ; 
 To ruin Naples, and usurp the crown ; 
 'Cause his feign'd passion I did once disown 1 * 
 I'll make him know, by sad experience too, 
 AVhat a wrong'd Princess in despair dare do ! 
 Perhaps he thinks I am grown humbler since, — 
 Th' atflicted widow of a murder'd Prince : 
 But the proud King shall find, when 'tis too late, 
 My mind hath grandeur, much above my state. 
 Since darts of beauty could not wound his pride, 
 Those darts shall now with daggers be supplied. 
 
 Jitl. These sad confusions will disturb, I fear. 
 Our Royal stranger drove by tempests here, 
 The distress'd Cyprian Queen, who will conclude 
 By her hard fortunes she is still pursued ; 
 That she in vain took refuge from the winds, 
 AVhilst in the port she a new tempest finds ; 
 Which though for Naples 'tis alone design'd, 
 Will have impression on her generous mind. 
 
 Isah. The distress'd fortunes of that beauteous 
 Queen, 
 Have by my soul deeply resented been ; 
 And I the more for our confusions grieve, 
 In that no aid we can her fortunes give. 
 But see, she comes ! 
 
 * This is fiction. Charles was to have married Margaret the 
 daughter of the Emperor Maximilian, — but broke the contract 
 and married Anne of Brittany, thereby securing to France her 
 Duchy.
 
 134 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Enter Cornelia, Irene, Sylvia. 
 
 Cor. Ah madam, what shoidd mean, 
 The sad distractions which I now have seen ? 
 Wak'd from a gentle slumber soft as those 
 Of lovers charm'd with music to repose ; 
 I rose, and in confusion went to see. 
 What 'twas that had divided sleep and me ; 
 And to my window straight I did repair. 
 And setting wide those sluices of the air, 
 I in the streets saw waves of people flow, 
 Like the sea billows when fierce tempests blow. 
 Among the surges of th' unruly throng. 
 Came fleets of armed troops sailing along. 
 Like ships pursued hy angry winds, and straight, 
 They all were landed at the palace gate. 
 
 Jul. Heavens ! we shall be murder'd ! 
 
 Iscib. — W are betray'd ! 
 The enemy is got into the town, 
 Villains have sold my father's life and crown. 
 
 Cor. Madam, you judge too soon, and judge the 
 worst, 
 Forbear till you have heard the story first. 
 Then, Madam know, the Guards opposed awhile ; 
 But 'twas like reeds upon the banks of Nile, 
 Weakly resisting an impetuous flood, 
 Of armed troops, and of a floating crowd. 
 The King your father then in person came, 
 Compass'd with lights, that he seem'd arm'd with 
 
 flame. 
 When from the terrace first he did appear, 
 Their awful silence shew'd a general fear ; 
 Till some more insolent than all the rest, 
 Presum'd to set their pikes against his breast : 
 But when the Prince appear'd, the martial ring 
 Proclaim'd aloud, that he should lie their King. 
 By the respect they did your brother shew. 
 Judge if they were your enemies, or no.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 135 
 
 Jul. Oh heavens ! How durst you stand in dead 
 of ]iight, 
 So unconcern'd, to see that dreadful sight ] 
 
 Iren. I saw all this the Queen doth now relate, 
 From my own room which views the palace gate. 
 And the fierce tumults fiU'd me with such dread, 
 That in a fright I here for safety fled. 
 
 Imh. And could the traitors find no fitter time, 
 But this the more to aggravate their crime ? 
 When heaven abandons a declining King, 
 Rebellion then grows a religious thing. 
 Though on heaven's party they devoutly fight. 
 To whom all Kings must bow their sovereign right ! 
 And this with vnlgar heads succeeds so well. 
 Success seems heaven's commission to rebel. 
 
 Jul. Hark, hark, the shouts increase ; — They're 
 louder yet. 
 
 Iren. And now they nearer to the palace get. — 
 
 \Shoiits. 
 
 Isah. The rebels still are insolent and loud. 
 The King will fall in the rebellious crowd. 
 Madam, you're cast upon a fatal shore, 
 
 [Turning to Cornelia. 
 Where you meet tempests greater than before. 
 The noises and unruly croAV'ds appear 
 Less civil then the storms that forc'd you here. 
 But heaven, that judges these misfortunes due 
 To us, designs no share of them to you. 
 
 Cor. Heaven to us all doth equal share design. 
 Since friendship makes all your misfortunes mine. 
 
 Jul. But Portia comes! Andsee she comes in haste. 
 
 Enter PORTIA. 
 
 Ah ! Portia speak. Is all the danger past. 
 Or cloth it still increase "? 
 
 Pw. Madam, this noise 
 Is but the people's loud tumultuous cries.
 
 136 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Jul. The Queen already hath the story said ! 
 Tell us th' event, is my great father dead ] 
 What have the traitors done ? and can we fly, 
 Or must we tarry and prepare to die '? 
 
 Por. It is in vain the fatal truth to hide ! 
 Madam, we are beset on every side, 
 Your enemies are come, the French are here, 
 All round the walls their warlike troops appear, 
 And their approach such terror doth display, 
 As almost frightens back the infant day. 
 
 Cor. ] 
 
 Isab. \ ,r , 
 
 Iren. J 
 
 Pen: And every minute comes a post. 
 With news of towns surrendered, cities lost : 
 With this the people are distracted grown. 
 Some would have straight deliver'd up the town ! 
 Others that had with wrongs been much opprest. 
 Now seek revenges whilst the King's distress'd. 
 The public dangers they do all contenni, 
 Crying, all tyrants are alike to them. 
 And tlius the city did with clamours ring, 
 The French besiege the town ; the town the 
 King. 
 
 Isah. What would the villains have ? 
 
 Jul. My father's life 
 
 I fear will be th' event of all this strife ! 
 
 Por. The King retir'd in a profound despair. 
 And left the people to the Prince's care. 
 Then did the armed crowds the Prince surround. 
 And in the noise and tumult he was crown'd ! 
 
 Cm\ [Aside.'] I feel within my heart a sudden 
 flame 
 Rise at the mention of the Prince's name : | 
 Not all the noise that doth his reign begin, ,- 
 Exceeds the tumult which I feel within. j
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 137 
 
 Iren. Of brave Ascanio still I nothing hear, 
 
 [Aside. 
 Heaven grant he meets with no misfortune there ! 
 For in his King's concern his passion's high, 
 And his ungovern'd zeal too far will fly. 
 
 hah. Then I perceive the Kingdom is undone. 
 The crown of Naples from our line is gone : 
 For these convulsions in a dying State 
 Some high and dangerous ills prognosticate. 
 Come, madam, let us go I [To Cor. 
 
 And since the worst that fate designs, we know, 
 If it be day, let's on the western tower 
 View this dark cloud which threats so fierce a 
 shower. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Alphonso, Ferdinand, Ascanio, 
 Trivultio. — Guard. 
 
 Jljyh. Depose their King, and fly from his defence 
 When they've the highest need of innocence ! 
 T'engage all Kings and fortune of their side. 
 To guard their wealth, and prop their falling pride : 
 But since my son they've seated on my throne, 
 They in some measure do their sins atone. 
 Dear Ferdinand, thou hast thy people's voice, 
 And art thy father's and the kingdom's choice. 
 Like blind idolaters they worship thee. 
 With dark devotion by blaspheming me. 
 They finding my dim glories to decline. 
 With torches of rebellion light up thine : 
 But like a God, their ignorance disdain. 
 And shine upon 'em with a glorious reign. 
 
 Ferd. Ah ! sir, I humbly crave — 
 You'd not such orders on my duty lay. 
 Which I must be disloyal to obey ; 
 Nor by resigning up to me your throne, 
 Force me to make the people's guilt my own.
 
 138 THE illSTUKY OF 
 
 I'll not such favour to rebellion shew, 
 To wear a crown the people do bestow, 
 Who, when their giddy violence is past, 
 Shall from the King tli' ador'd revolt at last ; 
 And then the throne they gave, they shall invade, 
 And scorn that idol which themselves have made. 
 No, — live and govern, to revenge on them 
 Those crimes which only now you caii contemn. 
 
 Alph. No, Ferd'nand, I the choice of heaven 
 allow, 
 And to my fate, not to my vassals bow, 
 In all the changes that to crowns befall. 
 There is a power unseen that governs all, 
 Orders the moves, and plays the mighty game, 
 Whilst only Kings and Kingdoms have the name. 
 'Twas heaven for Naples safety did decree, 
 By all those tumults to make choice of thee. 
 I freely then the Royal power resign. 
 Proclaim your King. [Ferdinand seems to oppose. 
 No more ! the Crown is thine ! 
 1 Avill for ever quit that glorious weight, 
 And now retire from all the toils of State. 
 Long live Ferdinand King of Naples ! [All shout. 
 
 Ferd. What guilty acclamations do I hear I 
 'Tis known to heaven how small a part I share 
 In that disloyal joy the people shew. 
 
 Asc. Accept the crown, sir, since it must be so. 
 Our ruin'd kingdom tiies to your defence 
 As to a Prince fram'd for this exigence. 
 With sublime courage to support the weight. 
 Disperse these clouds, rebuild the falling State. 
 
 Alph. Now, son, the glories of my life are done ! 
 But ah ! thy troubles are but now begun ; 
 For know this crown to that distress is come, 
 Abroad 'tis pitied, and betray' d at home. 
 Thy subjects mutining, and thy allies 
 Fly from their own approaching destinies.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 139 
 
 The less Italian States that us'd to ride, 
 In calms of peace close by each others' side, 
 Have with this tempest bi'oken every chain, 
 And now are tost like gallies on the main, 
 That to unite again, they seek no more, 
 Each flies for safety to a several shore. 
 Venice and Eome, on whom I did rely. 
 Buy their own peace, and from the tempest fly ; 
 Which swells this Monarcli with no less design. 
 Than the world's ruin to begin with thine. 
 
 Ferd. He on the world hath past a haughty 
 doom ; 
 But we may make his thoughts contain less room. 
 
 Alph. 'Tis true, ray son, but thou art left alone, 
 And hast no sword to trust to but thy own. 
 And that with high rebellion's broke in two, 
 That none, my son, dare manage it but you. 
 Those that should serve thee in this high contest, 
 Turn all their swords against the Monarch's breast, 
 That in this exigence 'tis hard to say, 
 Which are more dangerous, the French or they. 
 
 Asc. The Prince of Salerne heads the rebel 
 crew. 
 
 Ferd. He does, — and I the villain will pursue 
 In his fierce chase of power with so much flame. 
 He shall let fall his prey, and change his game. 
 And curse his pride which his ambition led 
 To play with thunder till it strook him dead. 
 
 Alph. Yes, Ferdinand, thou must the slave 
 destroy, 
 On that young traitor first thy arms employ. 
 He thinks his bold pretence is just and good. 
 Thus to revenge his rebel father's blood ; 
 Nay, his successful pride so high doth swell, 
 He dare demand thy sister IsalDel : 
 But make him know it is a safer thing 
 To blaspheme Heav'n, than to depose a King.
 
 140 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Between the French and him thy arms divide, 
 The war is just and brave on either side ; 
 Rather than by a shwe in triumph led, 
 Throw down thy falling kingdom on his head, 
 Blow up the French, the villain, and the town ; 
 And if thou canst not save, thus lose the crown. 
 Thou wilt be brave and glorious in thy fall ; 
 But thou hast courage to subdue them all. 
 
 Triv. The King revengeful grows when 'tis too 
 late, 
 Thus mighty spirits struggle with their fate. 
 
 Asc. Had this great counsel been pursu'd in time, 
 T'had sav'd our ruin, and that rebel's crime. 
 
 Ferd. In these expressions of your Royal mind, 
 I both my duty and my glory find. 
 And, sir, I'll pay them such sublime respect, 
 To your reveuge I altars will erect ; 
 Where I will consecrate my sword, and he 
 With all his train shall the chief victims be. 
 Then for my other foes I will prepare, 
 And with devotion thus begin the war ; 
 And if I conquer, prostrate all my fame 
 And glory at your feet, from whence they came, 
 
 Asc. Brave Prince ! 
 
 Triv. But this devotion, I'm afraid, [Aside. 
 
 Will sacrifice the crown upon your head. 
 
 Alph. Ah son! thou fill'st my heart with secret 
 
 joy, 
 
 My high prophetic thoughts my fears destroy. 
 
 Some mighty glories treasur'd up by fate, 
 
 For virtues that attain so great a height, 
 
 When thou hast through a thousand glorious toils, 
 
 Trode on rebellion, and hast reapt the spoils 
 
 From the ambitious French ; the news to me 
 
 Will even a second coronation be : 
 
 Then, freed from all these cares, enjoy thy throne, 
 
 And raise the glorious name of Arragon.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 141 
 
 And now, my son, farewell ! this painful hour 
 Presses me more than e'er did weights of power. 
 But I shall conquer it. The powers divine 
 Take to their guard, a virtue great as thine ! 
 Now let thy galleys to the Asian shore 
 Conduct thy father hence — thy King no more. 
 
 Ferd. This flood of sorrow let me first unlade, 
 Then, sir, your sad commands shall be obey'd. 
 
 [Ex. AIjjL, Ferd. 
 
 Asc. Tragical sight ! the brave Alphonso's gone! 
 Despoil'd by rebels of that glorious throne, 
 In which his soul whilst living was enclos'd : 
 For kings are truly murder'd when depos'd. 
 When they the souls of power from Empire fly. 
 They turn a wand'ring regal shade, and die. [Ex. 
 
 Triv. And art thou gone, brave Prince 1 Thy 
 short-liv'd reign 
 Hath been of troubles one continued scene. 
 The giddy multitude, who never fear 
 A threat'ning danger, till they see it near, 
 Do fondly from their own protection fly, 
 And just assistance to their King deny. 
 Oppos'd by some, forsaken by the rest : 
 All will be conquer'd, rather than ojjprest. 
 But when destruction on themselves they bring. 
 They then revenge their follies on their King. 
 This scene once past, the next thing I must 
 
 know. 
 Is how my fortunes I had best bestow. 
 Ere since the armies of this crown I've led, 
 Laurels have never wither'd on my head. 
 The State is wholly at my devotion grown. 
 And as I please, I can dispose this crown. 
 And I therein shall fortune's smiles pursue ; 
 All my allegiance to my self is due. 
 As fortune favours, so shall I advance 
 The interest of Naples, or of France.
 
 142 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Enter PRINCE OF Salerne. 
 
 But ha ! the fierce yonng Prince of Salerne here, 
 How dares he thus among the guards ajjpear 1 
 
 Sal. Trivultio, seek not to retrieve the guard, 
 I will from no accesses be debar'd. 
 
 \_Shciv several men armed. 
 Nay, my unbounded power to let you see, 
 The King shall have no other guards but me. 
 'Tis to my interest ye high honours do, 
 Those who make idols must preserve 'um too. 
 
 Tri. I know your interest, sir, and wish your 
 power 
 Were something less, or loyalty were more. 
 
 Sal. My loyalty! 
 Go talk of that to dull obedient fools, 
 Whom laws and tame pedantic virtue rules. 
 My honour's safe in that my cause is good. 
 And I am loyal to my father's blood : 
 And shall be bold, in such a glorious cause, 
 To tread on Kings, and loyalty, and laws. 
 By nature's high commands my sword I draw. 
 And nature's dictates are the highest law. 
 
 Tri. No doubt, to nature's universal sway 
 
 [Ironice. 
 All laws must bow, and Kingdoms must obey. 
 But, sir, imperious nature might have chose 
 A fitter time for her commands than those. 
 When King and Kingdom are embroil'd in war. 
 That for the crime of one all punisht are ; 
 If 'tis a crime for Monarchs to defend 
 Their crowns from every sacrilegious hand. 
 But power it seems can change the names of 
 
 things, 
 Call treason, virtue ; and make rebels, Kings. 
 But grant your father's blood unjustly spilt. 
 Must Naples suffer for their Monarch's guilt 1
 
 CHARLES THE EKiHTH OV EKANCE. 143 
 
 Sal. Sir, I'll revenge my father's blood on all 
 That saw, and dares survive his funeral : 
 On all that to his execution came. 
 And did not set all Naples in a flame. 
 Blaspheme the Heavens, and, in transports of rage, 
 'Gainst Kings and Gods in some high act engage. 
 
 Tri. No doubt 'twas ])ity when he lost his head, 
 But all mankind had suff'er'd in his stead. 
 
 [Iro7iice. 
 But I must wait a more important care. 
 
 Sal. Stay, sir, and to the King this message 
 bear. 
 Tell him, that now his father I've chastis'd, 
 My high revenges are in part sufiic'd : 
 That when h'ath Avip't his eyes, which for a while 
 Must drop some tears for the old King's exile, 
 I am content my passion to subdue, 
 And if he please our friendship to renew. 
 And that th' alliance may eternal prove, 
 I've thought his sister worthy of my love, 
 And shall descend t' accept her as my bride. 
 If I'm petition'd for 't on every side. 
 But if my alliance he dares disesteem, 
 Tell him, I both his sister scorn, and him. 
 To wear his cro^vn were to descend too low ; 
 Him and that trifle I'll on Charles bestow. [Exit. 
 
 Tri. To Avhat prodigious heights his spirit flies, 
 The fates and crowns of Monarchs to despise. 
 These are portentous signs, and I'm afraid 
 The crown will fall from our young Monarch's head. 
 And with its heavy fall 'twill ruin those. 
 Who fondly in its support their lives expose. 
 Too long I've borne the weight for no reward, 
 Now ti::.ie calls loud my fortunes to regard, 
 
 And leave this barren place, 
 
 Which for this twenty years with blood I've sown, 
 And nothing reapt but beggarly renown. [E.vit.
 
 144 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 The Scene, a fair Country before the Walls of Naples. 
 
 Enter Charles, Lewis of Orleans, 
 MoMPENSiER, Guards. 
 
 Ch. The day draws on, the sun appears in view, 
 And we to-day have much brave work to do. 
 Send, in my name, a herald to the town, 
 Tell King Alphonso I demand the crown ! 
 That crown his ancestors usurpt from mine. 
 And he, the third- usurper of his line. 
 
 Detains if he refuse bid him prepare 
 
 For all the worst calamities of war. 
 
 Leiv. They dare not, sir, oppose your mighty 
 claim, 
 The world's subdu'd already with your fame. 
 The Italian States like herds to covert fly. 
 Whilst you are like a whirlwind passing by. 
 Yes, Rome her self declines her sacred head. 
 And by obsequious fawning shews her dread. 
 But this lost Kingdom, upon whom the ball, 
 Folded in clouds of fire, designs to fall, 
 Shakes with the fears of its approaching doom. 
 Whilst smoking a far off they see it come. 
 
 Man. Yes sir, your power, like an impetuous tide. 
 Breaks down their yielding banks on every side ; 
 That raving with despair, they wildly run 
 I'th midst of all those dangers they would shun. 
 Our spies within have all disorders found. 
 The King is banisht, and his son is crown'd. 
 Hurried into the throne by crowds of those. 
 Whom now instead of guarding, they oppose. 
 Within their city's of a blazing fire ; 
 Without their army ready to retire. 
 Nor town nor army will their King obey, 
 Tliat you w411 meet no enemy to day. 
 
 Ch. Yes, sir, the rebels are my enemies, 
 And every King's concern as well as his.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 145 
 
 Rebellion is a monster would devour 
 The Kingly dignity, and Sovereign j^ower. 
 A sort of atheism, that doth crowns blaspheme, 
 And styles the sacred power of Kings a dream. 
 And as blasphemers call the heavenly powers 
 To arm their thunder ; this awakens ours. 
 Go to the King then e'er it proves too late, 
 
 [To Momp. 
 And if you find the rebels desperate. 
 The party strong, and the young King afraid 
 He cannot conquer 'um, I'll lend him aid. 
 When that is done, tell him the crown's my right, 
 And I expect that he resign or figlit. 
 
 Mon. Great sir, I shall oJDey. 
 
 Chu. Next to the town 
 
 Proclaim, that I all rebels shall disown, 
 For though 'tis true I am their lawful Prince, 
 To whom they all allegiance owe ; yet since 
 Titles of Kings are mysteries too high 
 Above the reach of ev'ry vulgar eye, 
 They must the present shrines of power adore. 
 And jjry into their duty, and no more ; 
 For those with new religions will be bold. 
 Who dare with high contempt profane the old > 
 And he Avho doth his own false God despise, 
 And with atheistic pride and scorn denies 
 That worship, which he thinks is but his due, 
 Would do the same if he ador'd the true. 
 Bid 'um be loyal then, whilst we dispute. 
 And their false worship I with arms confute. [Exit. 
 
 I. 10
 
 146 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Act II. 
 
 The Scene a Room in the Palace. 
 
 Ferdinand, Mompensier, Ascanio, Trivultio. 
 
 Ferd. Your master's haughty message I despise, 
 Who knows not how to conquer, but surprise. 
 He owes his victories to my distress. 
 As he derives his title from success ; 
 And has my vassals into fears beti*ay'd 
 With th' empty noises which his feme hath made : 
 But they are ready, by a brave defence. 
 To cloud his fame, and blast his false pretence. 
 Tlien let him know his prolfer'd aid I slight. 
 And dare retain my crown, if he dare fight. 
 Perhaps his army is in some distress 
 With tedious marches, want, and weariness : 
 To pay the debt he on my fame hath laid, 
 I'll send the rebels forces to his aid. 
 
 Mon. I shall acquaint him, sir. 
 
 Ferd. Trivultio — go ! 
 To the proud enemy my standards show, 
 And, in the form that I my army drew, 
 Advance my troops, and fix'um in their view. 
 
 Triv. The armies, sir, already are so near. 
 That now they in each other's view appear ; 
 And only want their King's commands to join. 
 
 Fred. Let all my squnrdrons stand prepar'd for 
 mine ! [Exit Tri. 
 
 Ah ! my Ascanio ! Heaven doth still provide 
 New ways and arts to have my courage tried. 
 I do not mean by all those angry stars. 
 Which thus begins my reign with various w^irs ; 
 By all the clouds that o'er my crown impend, 
 And in black tempests ev'ry hour descend 
 Threatening my life, my father, and my tlirone 
 Beset witli foes and reliels, left alone
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 117 
 
 T' encounter all, whilst fearful spirits fly 
 In panic terror from their loyalty. 
 These meaner griefs my courage can remove ; 
 But I am tortur'd with despairing love ! 
 
 Jlsc. Why, sir, should you afflict your royal mind 
 With griefs, for which you soon redress may find 'I 
 Time and some little patience will destroy 
 Those griefs which lie but in your way to joy : 
 Your own despairs, the blushes of the Queen, 
 And all the other guards which stand between, 
 Will soon remove their stations, and be gone ; 
 When all the empty forms of love are done. 
 
 Fercl. Alas ! thou speak'st as if the piercing dart, 
 That wounded me, had toucht her gen'rous heart. 
 No, her unconquer'd heart is too severe ; 
 For all the happy time she hath been here, 
 Too much, I fear, against her will confin'd 
 By the kind force of an obliging wind, 
 With all my services I ne'er could gain, 
 The least allay to my insulting pain. 
 
 Asc. Love in her sex must some resistance make 
 To a brave enemy for honour's sake. 
 But, sir, to better news I can pretend, 
 From the fair mouth of her own beauteous friend ; 
 For I, who in my confident address 
 To her fair friend, have met with more success. 
 Do find by her, that, sir, your noble flame 
 Is not contemn'd, nor doth she hate your name ! 
 
 Ferd. What is't thou say'st ] 
 
 Asc. Yes, sir, I say the Queen, 
 With eyes betraying love, hath oft been seen 
 To glance on yours, but with such caution move, 
 As poets make the gods in stealths of love : 
 Watching with care the motions of your eyes, 
 To guard her timorous honour from surprize ; 
 And then retreating ere she Avas betray'd. 
 Falls into tlio ambush Avhich her blushes made.
 
 14^ THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Nay, once- 
 
 Pursu'd to her retreats by her fair friend, 
 
 She was o'er lieard to sigh Prince Ferdinand ! 
 
 And to the private echoes of the grove, 
 Intrust the dang'rous secrets of her love. 
 
 Fcrd. Prithee no more such pleasant tales as 
 these. 
 As hard to faith as heavenly mysteries. 
 Thou think'st, with golden clreams and pleasing art, 
 To fan this burning fever in my heart ; 
 And blindly lead'st me to the wars of love, 
 With tales of Paradise, and joys above 
 My hope or faith, as Turkish priests delude 
 To war and death their cheated multitude. 
 Yet if 'twere true, and I in vain have mourn 'd. 
 The inconstant wind is with my fortune turn'd, 
 At the same view in which I saw to-day 
 The French their standards on the hills display, 
 Another sight appear'd which griev'd me more. 
 All the Queen's galleys rowing from the shore, 
 Fitting their oars and tackling to be gone. 
 Whilst sporting waves smdd on the rising sun.* 
 
 Asc. Your Royal orders may remove that fear, 
 And for a while confine her galleys here ; 
 And though in honour she displeas'd may seem, 
 All her lost favour you may soon redeem. 
 And clear the guilt contracted on that score ; 
 For, sir, perhaps you can't oblige her more. 
 
 Ferd. No more, my friend ! these flatteries are 
 vain ! 
 Thou like an artist doth delude my pain 
 With gentle promises, and hopes of cure. 
 When the anguish grows too violent to endure. 
 But since 
 
 All ways are fled to in a desp'rate case, 
 Thy dang'rous counsels Pll for once embrace, 
 
 * Ridiculed in "Timon" — the satirical poem mentioned in the 
 Introiluction.
 
 CHAIILES THE EKiHTH OF FIIANCE. 149 
 
 And will resume my courage. Prithee, go 
 And let the Adin'ral of her galleys know, 
 I must confine him in the port to-day ; 
 But then from me assure him that his stay 
 Not the least damage to the fleet sliall l)ring, 
 And his comi)liance will ohlige a King. 
 
 AsG. Sir, J sliall hasten on the l)less'd design, 
 Since the concern is both my King's and mine. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Fen/. I'll to the Queen and by confession own 
 The devout crime my trembling love hath done ; 
 Like those who still in hopes of pardon sin, 
 And all their crimes with penitence begin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Isabella, followed by Salerne. 
 
 Imh. Rebel, begone ! Thy passion I disdain. 
 »SV{/. And I those frowns which you employ in 
 
 vain. 
 The debt which to my fathers' blood I owe, 
 I yet have paid with a revenge too low. 
 The abject blood of vassals I liave spilt, 
 And Idush that fame on such mean crimes I've 
 
 built. 
 To kill your brother were I'evenge sublime, 
 And the' great cause would consecrate the crime ; 
 But yet that debt I shall in part forgive. 
 And for your sake shall let your broUier live. 
 The regal style I'll suffer him to bear ; 
 But I shall ease him from the regal care. 
 I have another eiu^my beside. 
 
 The hopes of Charles which nourishes your pride : 
 But from those flames I shall your heart redeem : 
 For I'll at once both kill your hopes and him, 
 i^nd pull your pride and all his gloi'ies down, 
 And fetch that Monarch's head, or lo.se my own. 
 
 [Exit Sal
 
 150 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Isab. Who ever heard an insolence like this *? 
 But this is rather fortune's crime than his ; 
 He finds successes smile on his offence, 
 And now he swells to all this insolence; 
 And does so proud of his rebellion grow, 
 He thinks all virtues must to treason bow. 
 
 Enter Portia. 
 
 Pm\ Madam, the Cyprian Queen is coming here ! 
 Isab. To take her last adieus of us I fear. 
 
 Enter Cornelia, Julia, Irene, Sylvia. 
 
 Cor. Madam, I come with sorrows to complain 
 Of my hard fate, with which I strive in vain. 
 My friends, the winds and seas have all combin'd 
 To make me both ungen'rou%s and unkind -^ 
 And force me from you in your great distress. 
 The only time my friendship to express. 
 
 Isab. Madam, in this your friends do faithful 
 prove, 
 And act like Heav'n, who always doth remove 
 The souls he loves from evils he fore-knows. 
 And kindly takes them to their blest repose. 
 
 Cor. Madam, this sacred truth I can't deny. 
 
 It is the same to part with friends, or die. 
 
 [JVeeps. 
 
 Iren. I find it so ; yet, must my joys resign, 
 
 [Aside. 
 Ere by possession I can call 'em mine. 
 That I the brave Ascanio ne'er had seen. 
 Or could command my friendship to the Queen. 
 My love and loyalty my soul divide, 
 I flatter both aud dare take neither side. 
 
 Isab. Madam, this death you safely may embrace, 
 Since you will only leave a mournful place, 
 Which seems like some wild melancholy shade, 
 For the dark walks of guilty spirits made.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 151 
 
 Nothiiii; hut terror haunts us every where ; 
 Pale sighing cowards turn'd to ghosts with fear. 
 Shouts of the valiant, fainting women's cries ; 
 All intermixt with the loud martial noise 
 Of guns and swords, and, which is yet more loud, 
 The saucy clamours of the rebel crowd : 
 Wliich like the groans of spirits in the night, 
 Women and cowards with the noise affright. 
 
 Jul. This is ourdismal state, and yet I find \Aside. 
 The last night's dreams of love so haunt my mind 
 AVitli bright and glorious shapes, that I'm afraid 
 My heart will be insensibly betray'd. 
 I feel an inward flame I dare not own. 
 And love a Prince which seeks my father's crown. 
 If nature doth his passion disapprove. 
 Oh ! nature pardon my ambitious love ! 
 
 Cur. I by this death to strange Eliziums go, 
 Not joys and crowns to gain, but to bestow. 
 That I the better world forsake I fear. 
 And leaving you, leave joy and angels here : 
 But I must yield to my imperious fate. 
 For my kind fathers, the Venetian State, 
 Do at their wills dispose my crown and me ; 
 But I've reserv'd my self this liberty ; 
 Nor winds nor seas shall intercept the share, 
 I'll in your sorrows, and misfortunes bear. 
 
 Isah. All ! Madam, you such generous kindness 
 shew, 
 You seem like a bright angel sent below, 
 To comfort us in our dejected state ; 
 Or like a vision to foretell our fate. 
 Such lightnings some have had when near the 
 
 grave. 
 Why may not dying Kingdoms visions have 1 
 
 Iren. My Queen great friendship has to her 
 
 exprest, [Aside. 
 
 Whilst still her thoughts are to the King addrest.
 
 152 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Like one that praying would his saint conceal, 
 To a wrong image does devoutly kneel. 
 
 Jul. Do visions death foretell ] What do I 
 
 hear 1 [A>iidc. 
 
 Then I'm afraid my death for love is near. 
 Oh heaven ! If I from life so soon must fly, 
 Grant me one vision more before I die. 
 
 Cor. Could I your fate foretell, I would not own 
 Any ill news to you, nor to this throne : 
 But Madam, if wlrat fame has said is true, 
 Crowns and not sorrows are design'd for you. 
 'Tis said, if Charles shall this fair Kingdom gain. 
 'Tis he shall triumph, but 'tis you shall reign. 
 
 Isah. Of Princes' honours fame makes small 
 esteem, 
 And speaks low things of me, and false of him. 
 He scorns his ancient passion to retain, 
 And I as much a crown from him disdain. 
 
 Jul. Ye heavens ! Avhat power doth my heart 
 surprize 1 
 For I as much adore what you despise. [Aside. 
 
 My inward grief I can no longer bear, 
 To my fair friend I must impart a share. 
 
 [She ichispers Irene, and they both go out. 
 
 Cor. But love oft hovers long Avithin the breast, 
 Which is by beauty upon youth imprest. 
 I've heard the King receiv'd his first alarms 
 Of youthful love from your victorious charms. 
 
 Isab. Madam, 'tis true, fame made a large report. 
 Whilst I i'th' glories of the Gallic Court 
 Sometimes consum'd, of that young Monarch's 
 
 tlame ; 
 He shewing me all the gallantry became 
 A youthful Monarch, but ere that pretence 
 Was well discover'd, I retire! from thence. 
 
 Coi'. Against your will I fear.
 
 (JHAKLES THE EHiHTH oF FKAXCE. ]')?, 
 
 Isab. By a command 
 I durst not disobey, of Ferdinand 
 My grandftitlier, 
 
 Who then design'd me a less glorious throne ; 
 And the young Duke of Millane being grown 
 
 To man's estate, he sought alliance tliere ■ 
 
 Confining me within that narrow spliere. 
 
 Cor. And this great King, finding his passion vain, 
 Comes to revenge himself on your disdain. 
 
 Isab. Some would that compliment on me bestow, 
 But his ambitions do not aim so low. 
 I can derive it from a truer cause : 
 For, Madam know, when to obey the laws 
 Of Heaven and nature I subdued my mind, 
 To fix my self where the old King design'd, 
 I found the Duke of Milane, when I came 
 T'enjoy of Sovereign nothing but the name. 
 His youth was not so tender as his soul. 
 He and his scej)tre under the control 
 Of wicked Sforsa, Avho, with the pretence 
 Of being guardian to liis innocence, 
 Betray'd th' unguarded Prince, and hourly sought. 
 Which way his death might be with safety 
 
 wrought. 
 When I the treason came to understand, 
 I speedy aid from Naples did demand, 
 The villain lest we should his plots surprise. 
 And his unfinish'd villanies chastise. 
 Raises these storms of war on Naples' throne. 
 To sink the power he fear'd and save his own. 
 
 Cor. Would France, that does so much atgloryaim, 
 At such a traitor's call pursue his claim 1 
 
 Isab. Princes in eager chase of crowns ne'er mind 
 The way they take ; but ride o'er all they find. 
 
 Cor. Since France this war had to the world 
 declar'd. 
 How came th' old King thus strangely unprepar'd 1
 
 154 THE TIISTOIIY OF 
 
 hah. The good old Monarcli of a peaceful mind, 
 More to devotion then to arms inclin'd, 
 Grown credulous and dull with age and sloth, 
 Lov'd all those fjilse reports that flatter'd both. 
 And so by Sforza was with lies betray'd, 
 That France some other crown design'd t'invade. 
 And till the French in Italy were come. 
 Was unprepar'd for all things but his tomb, 
 Tlien when his life and crown he could not save, 
 He quitted both and crept into his grave. 
 And left my father in a ruin'd state ; 
 Opprest with wars, and with the people's hate. 
 Whose most unhappy reign was scarce begun 
 Ere he resigu'd the Kingdom to his son. 
 
 Cor. But what becomes of wicked Sforza still. 
 Durst he proceed in his intended ill 1 
 
 Isab. The rest, like a dark secret from the dead, 
 Told l)y some walking discontented shade, 
 Too full of direful guilt and horror grows, 
 Safely to hide or freely to disclose. 
 The villain, having rais'd by magic skill. 
 These throngs of martial spirits at his will. 
 To fill with noise of war th' Italian air. 
 Whilst near his circle no one durst repair, 
 Now takes th' occasion of this cursed time. 
 When he with safety might pursue his crime, 
 When none might hear his dying Sovereign groan, 
 Or could revenge the murder when 'twas done, 
 To bring the poor young Duke to his command, 
 And wring the sceptre from his tender hand ; 
 And to acquaint you with a fatal truth, 
 Poisons at last the sweet and princely youth. 
 
 Cor. Oh monster !^ 
 
 What will not some men do high power to gain, 
 And wear a while a guilty crown with pain 1 
 
 Isab. I must retire, my grief imperious grows. 
 And on my reason doth too much impose. [JEx. Isab.
 
 CHARLES THE EKillTII OV FRANCE. 155 
 
 Isabella goes out weeping : As Cornelia is following, 
 Sylvia enters. 
 
 Si/l. Gonsalvo, iiiarlam, does your pleasure Avait. 
 
 Cor. I know the haste of the Venetian State 
 To have my crown. But, since I must away, 
 My master's haughty pleasures I'll obey. 
 Admit him in ! 
 
 Enter Gonsalvo. 
 
 Your galleys, sir, prepare. 
 Gon. Madam, they're ready, and the wind is fair. 
 The storms, that lately rag'd upon the coast. 
 Are out o' breath, and all their fury lost. 
 But whilst the sea is smooth, and air is clear, 
 Madam, we meet another tempest here. 
 A storm not from the sea, but from the Court, 
 The King has stopt your galleys in the port. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. Yes, madam, seeing my just accuser 
 come, 
 I came to own my crime, and know my doom ; 
 For on my honour I have wars begun. 
 And own the great offence my love hath done. 
 
 Cor. Am I your subject, sir 1 Doth Naples own 
 Dues from my Kingdom, yet to me unknown 1 
 
 Ferd. Naples, its crown, and Monarch claims no 
 due; 
 But as they're conquer'd to be ruled by you. 
 
 Cor. Am I by laws of nations captive made, 
 'Cause without leave I did your siiores invade 1 
 
 For so 'tis said 
 
 When unarm'd Princes to strange lands betake 
 Themselves they voluntary captives make. 
 
 Ferd. Madam, 'tis true ! But you come arm'd 
 with power. 
 Which makes me captive and you conqueror.
 
 ISG THE UISTOUV OF 
 
 A power so charming all things must obey, 
 And where 'tis seen Avill have Imperial sway. 
 
 Cor. Nor subject, nor a captive ! then from whence 
 Arises, sir, this high and great pretence 
 Of power, t'imprison here a sovereign Queen 1 
 
 Ferd. From that 
 
 Whence all rebellions in the world have been. 
 
 From flaming zeal, 
 
 Which to all order we destructive find, 
 And loves a zealous rapture of the mind. 
 
 Cor. You act those things of which you are 
 ashamVl, 
 Then zeal and love must for your crimes be blam'd ; 
 So to those virtues you injurious prove. 
 And bring an ill repute on zeal and love. 
 But, sir, you better reasons can relate, 
 Some secret cause or interest of State, 
 Or pride to let your Kingly power appear, 
 You exercise it first on strangers here. 
 And you make wars, as you have well expi'est 
 On those, who, sir, are like yourself distrest ; 
 But you had enemies enough before, 
 First conquer those ere you make wars on more. 
 
 Ferd. Madam, perhaps 'twas interest of State, 
 Since on your aid depends my Kingdom's fate ! 
 For what can a despairing Monarch do. 
 To save his crown, who is condemn'd by you % 
 
 Cor. I know not what despair "tis you pretend, 
 Nor yet what aid a depos'd Queen can lend. 
 Did I enjoy my crown, perhaps I might 
 Suppoi-t another injur'd Prince's right : 
 But then I never would afford my aid 
 To those by whom I was a prisoner made. 
 
 Fer. You with the same devotion are detain'd, 
 As Heav'n with prayers and incense oft is chain'd, 
 Who seldom frowns on a devout offence, 
 And ne'er chastises sacred violence.
 
 CliAilLES THE ElUilTJl OF i'ltANCE. 17)7 
 
 Ciir. AVluit is 't I hear 1 His lovo too generous 
 
 gl'OWS, 
 
 And like rasli valour doth itself expose 
 To mighty dangers which it can defeat, 
 And from which honour suffers no retreat. \_Asicle. 
 
 These trilling follies, sir, you may forbear, 
 
 [To Ferd. 
 Your kingdom rather does require your care, 
 And if your cause and title, sir, are just, 
 You may your life and crown to Heaven entrust ; 
 Whom in your aid I often shall implore, 
 And in my state you can expect no more. 
 
 [Exit Cor., Si/L, Gon. 
 
 Fer. Are they too trifling 1 Yes, fair Queen, with 
 
 you, 
 Who those tormenting follies never knew ; 
 HoAV shall I bear this pang ? It is above 
 My strength tendure, or courage to remove. 
 
 Enter a Messenger in haste. 
 
 1. Mes. Your army, sir, with high impatience 
 waits 
 
 Your presence, whilst the French approach the 
 gates. 
 
 Enter a Second. 
 
 2. Mes. The crowds once more, sir, are rebellious 
 grown, 
 
 Threat'ning to let the French into the town. 
 Fer. Let city, army. Kingdom, perish all. 
 And share in their unhappy Monarch's fall ; 
 Insulting love Avill no compassion learn. 
 And nothing else is worthy my concern. 
 But since the fair Cornelia w.U be gone, 
 111 guard her Ikmicc, and haste to be undone.
 
 158 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 And see ! her Admiral. 
 
 Enter Gonsalvo. 
 
 Your fleet convey 
 
 From hence no longer for my orders stay. 
 
 Gon. Y'oblige ns, royal sir^ with your consent, 
 But we are still confin'd ; for, since I went, 
 A fleet of galleys row'd in with the tide. 
 And fill the harbour's mouth on every side. 
 And the Admiral, that doth his flag advance, 
 In his main top displays the arms of France. 
 
 Fer. ila ! from my enemies shall I receive 
 
 [^.-Iskle. 
 That kindness which the Queen disdains to give. 
 The pow'rs of all mankind shall ne'er detain 
 Those glories here my service cannot gain. 
 Eemain a while I will your passage clear, 
 I'll send to sea, and first I'll fight 'em there. 
 
 [_Ex:it Gons. 
 
 Ferdinand is going out, and is met by Ascanio, 
 who enters in haste. 
 
 Asc. Ah ! Sir, Avith speed this trait'rous town 
 forsake, 
 And to some place of strength yourself betake ! 
 The Mse Trivultio to the French is fled. 
 And hath some thousands of your army led. 
 The citizens within once more rebel. 
 And your guards side with those whom they should 
 
 cpiell ; 
 And whilst we wait your orders to engage, 
 City and army both are in a rage ; 
 Nay, seek your life, and are resolv'd to buy 
 With their King's blood the Kingdom's liberty. 
 
 Ferd. How ! With my blood the rebels safety 
 bought ? 
 The slaves dare die, ere entertain that thought.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF EllANCE. 159 
 
 No, my brave friend ! Let not thy loyalty 
 
 Betray tliy soul into kind fears for me. 
 
 Anny and rebels both shall at the sight 
 
 Of me 
 
 Fear their own thoughts, and shall not dare but 
 
 fight. 
 As for Trivultio, if Charles is brave, 
 From him he'll the rewards of treason have : 
 If not, let Charles and all the traitors join, 
 'Twill from his glory take and add to mine. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 The Scene a fair Country before Naples. 
 
 Enter Charles, Trivultio, and Guard. 
 
 Ch. And is my fiime so little in this place, 
 Thou dar'st adventure on an act so base ? 
 I thought my deeds my temper might have shewn, 
 And that my character was better known. 
 But thou in malice would'st be entertain'd. 
 To stain the many laurels I have gain'd ; 
 Thy King, despairing to preserve his crown. 
 Would thus by arts make war on my renown. 
 
 Tri. Sir, I came here on no such false design, 
 Nor is that Monarch any King of mine : 
 Though I have serv'd that Kingdom twenty years, 
 But of that long apprenticeship appears 
 No fruit, but loss of blood and many scars, 
 And some small fame got by success in wars, 
 And now grown old and poor, if I desire 
 To serve some other Monarch, or retire. 
 May n't I my service as I please bestow 1 
 Hard fate of soldiers if it must be so. 
 
 Ch. And had'st thou such a low esteem of me. 
 That I would entertain thy villany ? 
 And doth thy mercenary treason dare 
 Thy fortunes with the falls of Kings repair ]
 
 160 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 If from that service did no profit spring, 
 It was reward enough to serve a King ; 
 And for a King 't had been a soldier's pride 
 For no reward but glory to have died. 
 But since for gain, th'ast to my banners fled, 
 Thy treason I'll reward, and send thy head 
 
 To Ferdinand unless thou dost from hence 
 
 Withdraw thy troops, and fight in his defence. 
 
 TrivuUio goes out, and enters in haste the Duke of 
 
 Orleans. 
 
 Leiv. Sir, they have made a sally from the town. 
 And all the force they have is pouring down. 
 The fierce young King doth in the head appear, 
 Dispensing death, and slaughter ev'rywhere. 
 And Avhat success he finds he doth pursue. 
 Through all your squadrons, sir, to seek out you. 
 
 Enter Mompensier. 
 
 Mom. The enemy, sir, doth your guards assault, 
 And all those men that lately did revolt 
 Repent their crimes, and do your guards betray,. 
 Whilst through your troops King Ferdinand cuts 
 his way. 
 
 Ch. Go, sacrifice the villains at my feet ! 
 Let 'em my anger feel : whilst I go meet 
 The brave young King, and, since he's hither flown, 
 Aff'ord him yet one trial for his crown. 
 
 [Ex. Om.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTJl OF FRANCE. I CI 
 
 Act III. 
 
 The Scene of the field contimces. 
 Enter Trivultio and an Officer. 
 
 Tri No liopes my ruin'd lionour to regain ! 
 
 Off. No liopes ! your men are eitlier fied or slain! 
 
 Tri. This was the ambush of some cursed star, 
 That envied all the fame I got in war. 
 Both Kings disdain me, and I've lost the day. 
 And all my hopes, — my fame's damn'd every way. 
 One scorns my sword, the other my defence, 
 Charles slights my aid, Ferdinand my penitence. 
 But ah ! there's yet some hopes, on yonder hill 
 I see King Ferdinand's banners waving still. 
 
 Off. And I descry on yonder rising ground, 
 A Prince with armed throngs encompast round ; 
 And lion like he strives to get awa}^. 
 Or make the hunters to become the prey. 
 By all that at this distance I can see. 
 By habits, plumes, and courage, it is he ! 
 Here's one that can inform us. 
 
 Enter a Second Officer. 
 
 Tri. Where's the King 1 
 
 2. Off. Lost without aid, — encompast with a 
 ring 
 Of hot French cavalry, in yonder grove. 
 Where for defence he did his troops remove, 
 Finding his passage to the town oppos'd. 
 And now with all their troops he is enclos'd. 
 
 Tri. The King is safe, for to his aid I come, 
 With those few troops I'll yet reverse his doom. 
 And now the bloody fate of Charles is near, 
 And see, the valiant Prince of Salerne here ! 
 I 11
 
 162 THE HISTORY UF 
 
 Enter Prince of Salerne. 
 
 Tri. Welcome, thou fate of Kings ! What power 
 divine 
 Sent thee to raise thy own renown and mine ? 
 Our stars are penitent ! In yonder shade 
 They've laurels for us hid in ambuscade, 
 To crown us if we bravely fetch 'em thence. 
 Both Kings have there refer'd their great pretence 
 To our decision, as we please we may 
 Give crowns, and rule the fortune of tlie day, 
 And Kings destroy or save. Let's, ere we go, 
 Resolve on which we Naples will bestow. 
 
 Sal. On neither : on myself. 
 
 Tri. I do agree. ■ 
 
 Sal. They are both equally contemn'd by me ; 
 Nor do I fight to give 'em crowns, but tombs. 
 
 Tri. They both shall die ; we will decree their 
 dooms ! 
 We'll fall on Charles to raise our sinking fame, 
 And save young Ferdinand for an after-game. 
 
 Sal. Pursue thy fortune. I'll destroy or save. 
 As I, and not as men or gods would have. 
 In the high chace of fame I'll not be shewn 
 What way to take, but will pursue my own, 
 I hate both Kings and firmly have decreed. 
 Both by my sword successively shall bleed. 
 But in the field, I'll a brave death afford 
 To Charles, who seems most worthy of my sword : 
 The other is by fortune brought too low, 
 His life on Isabel in pity I'll bestow. [Exit. 
 
 The Scene is dra/wn, and there is 2^'>'6sented a thick 
 Grove filled with armed men, Batallions surrounding 
 it at a distance, out of which comes Ferdinand and 
 Ascanio with a party. 
 
 Ferd. All the remainder of my army gone ! 
 And left me in this high exigent alone ]
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 1G3 
 
 Asc. Sir, they are all revolted, slain or fled, 
 Mixt with tlie French, the rebels or the dead. 
 
 Ferd. Then I perceive 
 I've tempted my high destiny too far. 
 Wading too ]>oldly in the depths of war ; 
 And 'tis but valour's heresy to fly 
 At mysteries of fame that are too high, 
 And Monarchs, though high priests of fame they be. 
 Have not, in arms, infallibility. 
 But if I have err'd in courage, 'tis to you. 
 My brave Ascanio, all the blame is due. 
 
 Asc. To me, sir ! 
 
 Ferd. Yes, thou fought'st with so much flame. 
 Thou mad'st thy Monarch jealous of his fame ; 
 Rushing where e'er I could most danger see, 
 Only in honour to out-rival thee. 
 
 Asc. I only fought in duty, sir, to bear 
 Of all those wounds you sought some little share. 
 
 Ferd. In this thy King thy courage disapproves ; 
 Thou ought'st to save the man thy Monarch loves. 
 And not so easily expose to fate. 
 What Monarchs value at the highest rate. 
 
 Asc. Subjects or Kingdoms are but trifling things, 
 When laid together in the scale with Kings. 
 
 Ferd. In this despair what shall's resolve upon, 
 To stay or cut our passage to the town 1 
 
 Asc. Sir, their whole army doth the grove 
 surround ; 
 All we can do is to maintain our ground. 
 
 Ferd. Why are they at a stand, and make us stay 
 Guarded like hunted lions at a bay 1 
 
 Off. 'Tis said, their King commands 'um to 
 forbear. 
 He saith your person is too great a share 
 For common swords, a purchase so divine 
 As a King's due, to's own he doth design, 
 And see, he comes !
 
 164 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Enter Charles, Lewis, Momp., tmt^ Guard. 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis he ! stand by me all ! 
 In this great hour shall France or Naples fall. 
 
 Charles stops and vieivs Ferdinand. 
 
 Ch. Ha ! my fierce enemy thus left alone, [Aside. 
 And by wild fortune at my mercy thrown 1 
 Me thinks a braver man I have not seen, 
 He views his fate with an undaunted mien, 
 And with such pride maintains his fatal ground, 
 As if my army came to see him crown'd. 
 Heav'n I That I could recall that fatal breath. 
 Which rashly swore so brave a Prince's death. 
 
 Ferd. Ha ! is this he that must enjoy my throne? 
 
 [Aside. 
 Ye powers ! your favours have been well bestown : 
 Could I have chose the Prince that must invade 
 My throne, no other choice I would have made ; 
 Scorning that any Prince less brave than he 
 Should e'er asjjire to be my enemy. 
 
 Ch. King Ferdinand, your fate hath been severe. 
 Through all my sc{uadrons to conduct you here 
 With feign'd successes to deride your sword, 
 An<l then no safety to your life afford ; 
 For now you must with speed your sword resign. 
 Else as I've won your crown your life is mine. 
 
 Ferd. My fate in this what I desir'd hath done, 
 Here I enjoy the contpiest I have won, 
 And here triumph, and, whilst I this retain, 
 
 [SheU'S his Sword. 
 Our lives and crowns on equal terms remain ; 
 But by the care you of my life have shewn, 
 You seem to doubt the safety of your own. 
 Glad if I would this dang'rous sword resign, 
 AVhich threats your life, whil'st you are begging 
 mine.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. lUT) 
 
 Ch. King Ferdi naiid, 'twere more generous to spare 
 These haughty words to him, who shall forbear 
 To use his sword on one he can chastise, 
 And tread on him who at his mercy lyes. 
 Were y' in the head of armies you should see, 
 In half this time I'd try your gallantry ; 
 But for that high contest you're brought too low. 
 And now, say what you will, I'll pity show. 
 
 Ferd. How, j^ity me ! whence does this baseness 
 spring. 
 To talk of childish pity to a King 1 
 Kings' falls are glorious like the setting sun. 
 And crowns are splendid when they 're trampled 
 
 on ; 
 And since this secret is to thee unknown, 
 Thou merit' st not the glory of thy own. 
 And for the blasphemy thy tongue has said. 
 To revenge Kings I'll snatch it from thy head. 
 
 Ch. Are you some god that you can wonders do 1 
 
 Ferd. Can none but gods the mighty Charles 
 subdue 1 
 
 Ch. That human valour must be strangely great, 
 Whose single sword whole armies can defeat. 
 
 Ferd. You'll to the refuge of your army fly ! 
 
 Ch. A King may shun an angry deity ; 
 But, valiant Ferdinand, do not tempt your fate ! 
 Let's find some way to end this high debate : 
 Princes like you unfortunately brave. 
 It is my glory to oblige and save. 
 
 Ferd. If you're inclined to end this fatal strife. 
 And return ho-me in safety, beg your life. 
 
 Ch. I must not this high insolence forgive, 
 Heav'ns ! He'll not suff'er me to let him live. [Aside. 
 A generous pity long has held my hand ; 
 But my wronged fame does now your life demand. 
 Though 'gainst my glory you have nought to stake, 
 Yet of these odds I'll no advantage make,
 
 16G THE IIISTUUY OF 
 
 But end the warlike game I have begun, 
 And for this crown, which I have fairly won. 
 Here in the face of the whole Kingdom fight, 
 And, till the combat's done, disclaim my right. 
 
 Asc. Rather than tribute pay to his renown, 
 Sir, let us force your passage to the town. 
 
 Ch. Yes, you shall die, for I have sworn 
 
 Who e'er I find possest of Naples crown 
 Shall die, if of the house of Arragon. 
 This vow I in my father's life-time made, 
 When I decreed this Kingdom to invade. 
 
 Nay, and this sword, 
 
 Was then made sacred to the high design 
 Of rooting out the Arragonian line: 
 And now you die, and die by none but me, 
 Out of respect to Kingly dignity. 
 
 Ferd. If you have made that vow 
 To your dead father, and the j^ow'rs above, 
 Employ your army lest you perjur'd prove. 
 
 Ch. Let fall your braving vein, lest all that hear 
 Suspect y' endeavour to disguise your fear. 
 
 Ferd. My fear ! Wer't thou a god I would not bear 
 So rude a word, and none that mortal are 
 Sliall dai^e to think it. — ■ — 
 
 Ch. Now, I find you're brave ; 
 But after all, mayn't I your friendship have 1 
 
 Ferd. Yes, Charles, I give it thee, and as to him, 
 Whom only upon earth I can esteem : 
 And if thy valour dooms me not to live, 
 I freely shall thy generous sword forgive, 
 And die thy friend, and thank the Heav'ns and thee 
 For my brave fate, and braver enemy. 
 
 Ch. Let's with embraces then, my valiant friend, 
 Begin that friendship which too soon must end. 
 
 Lew. The King too grand excess of honour shews. 
 [Charles and Ferdinatid einhrace. 
 
 Mom. He doth, but yet I dare not interpose.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 167 
 
 Asc. Can there no way be thought on to unite 
 These two great rival Monai'chs, ere they fight 1 
 Whose sacred blood, that must profusely flow, 
 Out-values all the crowns the earth can shew. 
 
 Ch. Command my troops some distance to 
 remove : [To Momp. 
 
 And let my guards of horse surround the grove ! 
 On pain of death let not a man presume 
 To interpose, what e'er may be my doom : 
 And if my fortune does my fall decree, 
 Pay him the loyalty you owe to me. 
 
 [Lewis and Mom.p. go out. 
 
 Ferd. With what large wings his glory takes lier 
 flight, 
 And leaves my fainting honour out of sight. 
 
 The two Kings are preparing to fight, and are 
 
 interrupted by a noise of arms tvithout, and 
 
 Mompensier re-enters. 
 
 Mom. Great sir, a noise of arms from yonder hill 
 Doth all your squadrons with disorder fill. 
 
 Ch. Haste ! meet 'um with my troops, whilst we 
 conclude. 
 Ere these new fighters on our ground intrude. 
 
 Enter Lewis in haste. 
 Lew. Sir, from the vaults of yonder spreading 
 wood, 
 0' th' sudden opes new scenes of war and blood, 
 Their rallied troops new courages display. 
 And demand back the triumphs of the clay. 
 Some th' old revolted General does head ; 
 But the most daring are by Salerne led ; 
 He and the General unite their force. 
 And break through all your pikes and guards of 
 horse. 
 Ferd. Sliall 1 my crown to slaves and lehels 
 owe ]
 
 168 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Villains ! [Proffers to go out and is stayed hy Charles. 
 Ch. Hold, valiant friend ! I beg you stay ! 
 Ferd. Your life's in danger, sir, with tliis delay. 
 Ch. And so is year's : those horrid slaves design, 
 No doubt, to take your life as well as mine ; 
 For all their rage from desperation springs. 
 And they hate all that bear the name of Kings. 
 Ferd. My sword shall teach 'um what to Kings 
 
 they owe. 
 Ch. Eather that "duty to my troops allow. 
 Ferd. Perhaps 'tis more than all your troops 
 can do. 
 Kather I'll out, and save your troops and you. 
 Ch. Fear not I my army can their force withstand. 
 Ferd. And I'm their King, and can the slaves 
 
 command. 
 Ch. You may command 'um then. Leave me to 
 
 fight ! 
 Ferd. You've had your turn t' oblige, now 'tis 
 my right, 
 Which you in justice ought not to invade. 
 
 Ch. We shall contend till we are both betray 'd. 
 Ferd. My sword shall from that danger set you 
 free. 
 The glory of your death's design'd for me ; 
 But now your life in honour I'll defend, 
 Till we with equal fame our high debate shall end. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Ch. End it you shall, for I'll perform my vow ; 
 But I'll not take your life till glories shall allow : 
 Till then this little friendship I'll receive ; 
 But I'll protect your life, without your leave. 
 Go, aid the King, and cut the rebels down ! 
 
 [To an officer. 
 Then with my army guard him safe to town. 
 
 Lev\ He may get safe to town, but, sir, I fear 
 He will but small security find there;
 
 CHARLES TlIK KIGUTIl OF FRANCE. 169 
 
 For trembling Naples, of your arms afraid, 
 
 On their high walls your banners have display d, 
 
 Willing to pay you the allegiance due 
 
 To th' Crown of France, and own no King but 
 
 you. 
 
 Ch. Sir, you mistake, 'tis to my sword that they 
 All their submission and allegiance pay. 
 Those, who are rais'd to glorious heights of power 
 The vulgar with implicit faith adore. 
 Whilst noble spirits oft dispute too late. 
 And so become the Martyrs of the State. 
 I'll go receive the town in my command. 
 Punish the traitors, and save Ferdinand, 
 Lest he mistaken to their refuge fly, 
 And by some base mechanic villain die. 
 
 The Scene changes to a Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Julia and Irene. 
 
 Jul. You see how all my follies I declare ! 
 Oh, do not trust 'um to the moving air : 
 For here I kneel, and vow if e'er they're known, 
 rie kill my self, and will the truth disown. 
 
 Iren. Why so? Is't such a vile and abject thing 
 To love a youthful conqu'ror, and a King ] 
 'Tis generous love, and shews your courage high, 
 Tliat you disdain for less than Kings to die. 
 
 Jul. I but to love a shape, a flying thought, 
 A dream, an image in the fancy wrought ! 
 
 Iren. 'Twas strange indeed ! But oh ! I long to 
 hear 
 In what bright shape this vision did appear. 
 
 Jul. 'Twas late last night, 
 
 When various noises flew in ev'ry room 
 Throughout the palace, crying, Oharles is come ; 
 And with the mournful sound of news so bad. 
 All eyes were weeping, and all hearts were sad : 
 I to my a])artment wont.
 
 170 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Iren. And so did I. 
 
 To such misfortunes who could tears deny 1 
 
 Jul. Where, for a while contending with my fears, 
 My soul o'er flow'd with grief, my eyes with tears, 
 My heart with love, my courage with disdain, 
 My tongue with pray'rs and vows, my head with pain. 
 My mind with Charles' glory and renown ; 
 Opprest with all these weights, I laid me down, 
 And listened to a gentle slumber's call, 
 Which husht the noise, and reconcil'd 'um all. 
 
 Irm. And whither tlien did gentle sleep entice 
 Your wand'ring thoughts 1 
 
 Jul. To a fair Paradise, 
 
 Planted with bright abodes for heavenly powers. 
 Shaded with pleasant groves, perfum'd with 
 
 flowers, 
 Cool'd with soft winds, which gently walk'd the 
 
 round. 
 Still dancing to their own harmonious sound, 
 And to each grove and palace did repair. 
 And as they danc'd fan'd odours through the air. 
 
 Iren. From these abodes the shadow did appear^ 
 
 Jul. Yes, in a shape too bright for mortal eyes 
 to bear. 
 From his fair brows the glories of a crown, 
 Like dazzling streams of day, came flowing down 
 To pay their shining tribute to his eyes. 
 And then rebounding with more glory rise. 
 In his stern looks, beauty and courage strove. 
 Both threatening war, and yet inviting love ; 
 In all his stature, beauty, garb and mein, 
 Something so charming and divine was seen ; 
 Revelling gods might in those beauties play. 
 Or dress themselves on some triumphal day. 
 
 Iren. Oh ! I am charm'd ! Heav'ns, I can hear 
 no more, 
 And did vmi not the Ooddike shape adore ?
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 1 7 1 
 
 Jul. In a soft qualm, I fell upon my knees, 
 Fainting with love and dying by degrees, 
 My sinking spirit ready to withdraw ; 
 Which when, me thought, the royal shadow saw. 
 With a soft voice he cried, see, see, she dies, 
 And gently came, and kist my closing eyes. 
 
 Iren. Oh heav'ns ! that I could such a vision see. 
 Or dreaming so, dream to eternity. 
 
 Jul. Then rais'd with words and kisses so 
 divine, 
 Me thought he clasped his royal hand in mine. 
 And in my rapture led me all along, 
 O'er flowry greens, and through a martial throng, 
 To a fair temple in a shady grove, 
 Where pilgrims visited the shrines of love. 
 Without, 'twas all beset with shades of night, 
 Within, bespangled with celestial light, 
 Me thoughts I sigli'd ! 
 
 Iren. But sure you would not wake, 
 You would not such a pleasant dream forsake ] 
 
 Jttl. Not till a sacred Priest, by his commands, 
 Had at a chrystal altar join'd our hands. 
 
 Iren. Love courted you, disguised in masquerade; 
 But yet 
 
 How came this mask Avithin your fancy played. 
 Where no machines of love before were brought. 
 To move and raise the pleasant scenes of thought ? 
 
 Jul. I had been frail before. I oft had sate 
 And heard my sister Isabel relate 
 The glories of that King : — Had seen his picture too, 
 And my heart snatcht new flames at every view. 
 But see ! Euphemia comes, and in her eyes 
 Discovers grief, and in her mein surprize. 
 
 Enter Euphemia. 
 
 Ah ! thy unhappy message quickly say. 
 
 Evph. ^ladam, undone, the King has lost the day !
 
 172 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 And now distrest, and hy his foes snlxlu'd, 
 Is l)y his own rebellious slaves pursu d. 
 
 Jvl. Oh Heavens ! where will my royal brother 
 
 flyl 
 Euph. Heaven knows ! This cursed city does deny 
 To save their King', nay, rather are at strife 
 Which way they shall dispose his sacred life. 
 Jul. Oh, cursed traitors ! oh, I faint with fear. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Iren. Be not disturb'd so much at what you 
 hear ; 
 Angels will be his guard : But see, the Queen ! 
 
 Enter Isabella, Cornelia, Portia, Sylvia. 
 
 I fear she is preparing to be gone. 
 
 Euph. All her retinue, madam, left the town 
 Some hours ago. [Exit. 
 
 Iren. That I had left it too, when first I came, 
 Or going now could leave behind this flame, [Aside. 
 
 Isab. How, not a letter, not a message yet, 
 
 [Aside. 
 From the proud King 1 Doth he my name forget 1 
 Unconstant diaries 1 th'ast made my honour bleed. 
 To take thy life were an heroic deed. 
 
 Cor. The Duchess highly doth her state resent, 
 Her soul is fill'd with haughty discontent. 
 
 Isab. Madam, my grief is troublesome, I fear, 
 I beg your pardon if I leave you here, 
 My sorrow doth a share on you impose. 
 And sorrow flatter'd more imperious grows. 
 
 For. My Princess is disturb'd, and I perceive 
 For what it is her swelling heart doth grieve. 
 
 Imb. Portia, the jewels which from France I 
 brought, 
 And those were sent from thence, let "um 1)6 
 sought. 
 
 For. Madam, they shall 1 [Exit Isab.
 
 CHARLES THE KKillTII oK I'ltANCE. 173 
 
 I tliouylit from wlience tliis mighty grief did spring, 
 She does resent the luikindness of the King. 
 
 [Aside. Exit For. 
 Cor. Now, to allay her sorrows she is gone, 
 I have got freedom to discourse my own. 
 Ah ! Ferdinand, how much I pity thee ; 
 And though my kindness thou slialt never see. 
 To my own bleeding heart is sadly known 
 Those pains which honour now forbids to own. 
 Unhappy storm that did me here convey, 
 And sav'd my fleet, but cast my heart away. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Ascanio, and G-entlemen with 
 drawn swords, vizurded, and muffled in their cloaks. 
 At their entrance the King and Ascanio fling off 
 their cloaks and vizards. 
 
 Cor. But see ! the King is here ! and in disguise, 
 At his own gates afraid of a surprize ! 
 
 [Ascanio discourses with Irene. 
 And now my last and fixtal hour is nigh, 
 Which will my love and all my courage try. 
 
 Ferd. Madam, my fate hath my hard sentence 
 past, 
 And now I come to offer up my last 
 Devotion to the shrine which I adore. 
 And where perhaps I ne'er shall offer more ; 
 For all those glories I am doom'd to lose, 
 ^^'hich might my high asj^iring flame excuse : 
 But, now uncrown'd, I must no more pursue 
 The envied glory of adoring you. 
 
 Cor. Sir, since you first was pleas'd to talk of 
 love, 
 You know I all occasions did remove 
 From treating wi' you, on a design so vain, 
 Which I in honour ne'er could entertain ; 
 For though as Sovereigns we equals are. 
 And so you had no reason for despair ;
 
 174 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Yet as a widow Queen, that lately paid 
 Her solemn sorrow to the royal shade 
 Of her dead lord, I surely must reprove 
 All new addresses of a second love. 
 
 Fer. These forms of sorrow may a while remain : 
 But shall the dead over the living reign 1 
 They in the other world their joys receive. 
 Must we not share in this without their leave '\ 
 
 Cor. The dead but absent are, and out o' sight, 
 Shall they for a short absence lose their right 1 
 If to your memory my tears were due, 
 You would not have me be unjust to you. 
 
 But 
 
 'Tis not my temper, sir, this may convince ! 
 T'insult at all o'er a dejected Prince. 
 
 \_Puts her Handkerchief before her face. 
 No, sir, I've found a shelter in your port. 
 Respect from you, and honour in your Court. 
 For which I would in gratitude restore 
 Your ruin'd fortunes, Avere it in my power : 
 But how can she support another's throne, 
 Who is depos'd and banisht from her own 1 
 A distrest Queen, who since the old King died, 
 Have been too much opprest on every side. 
 The Egyptian Sultans threating every hour 
 T'invade my kingdom with their mighty power. 
 And none to guard me from this threat'ned fate, 
 But my good fathers, the Venetian State. 
 
 [Ironice. 
 "Who wisely did adopt me in design, 
 ]VIy falling crown t'entice me to resign. 
 Thither I go, forc'd by a fate so rude, 
 To spend my days in pious solitude. 
 Then, sir, since I shall never see you more. 
 May Heav'n your royal family restore ! 
 And that I may a little grateful seem. 
 You shall not want my prayers, nor my esteem.
 
 C'HAULES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 175 
 
 Ferd. Ah, inadaiu ! now you shew your generous 
 mind, 
 You pity most where most distress you find. 
 Your timely bounties succour the forlorn, 
 "When all his dying patience was out-worn. 
 I feel a pleasing extasy of joy, 
 Which does all present sense of grief destroy. 
 But, ah ! how soon Avill all my pain return 
 When I shall think I must for ever mourn 1 
 To air its wings love takes a soaring flight. 
 And then must fall in endless shades of night. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman in haste. 
 
 Gen. The King ! The King ! You're lost, sir, if 
 you stay, 
 The ti^aitrous rahble will your life betray ; 
 Or else in chains your royal person bring 
 A present to the new triumphant King. 
 
 Ferd. Alas, poor men ! It is no news to find 
 Fear, driving all the herds of lower mankind ; 
 The timorous hare will o'er the hunters leap. 
 When sh'as no other Avay for her escape. 
 Could there no other means for safety be 1 
 These would betray their God as well as me. 
 
 Iren. And will you have poor wanderers in mind 1 
 No, my Ascanio, Avhen the fleeting wind 
 Has snatcht us hence, my soul may bid adieu 
 To this fair shore, to hopeless love and you. 
 
 Asc. Dye think I will commit a crime so great? 
 Can humble votaries their saints forget, 
 To whose fair images they hourly pray. 
 Whose ador'd shrines they visit every day 1 
 My dear, my fairest saint, to think of thee 
 Shall all my pleasure and devotion be : 
 But why should we despair to meet again 1 
 
 Iren. Yes, we may meet, but Heav'n knows 
 where or when I
 
 176 THE HISTOKY OF 
 
 Asc. Tlieii you may stay behind. 
 
 Iren. And you may go ! 
 
 Asc. What, to forsake my King 1 That were 
 below 
 The faithful subject I have ever been. 
 
 Iren. And 'twere as bad for me to leave my 
 Queen ; 
 But when I'm gone I shall lament in vain, 
 Your heart some happier love will entertain. 
 I die to think 1 
 
 Asc. By all that's good I swear ! 
 
 Iren. 0, my imperious grief I cannot bear ! 
 New pangs of sorrow do besiege my heart, 
 Like those of death, — when soul and body part. 
 
 Asc. She swoons ! [She swoons in his arms. 
 
 Ferd. I now like tortur'd souls look up with pain 
 On joys of angels which I can't obtain. 
 They from those visions fly to deep despair, 
 
 And I from joys of love to blood and war ; 
 
 [Aside. 
 For if from friends I any aid can find, 
 In some brave death I'll ease my wounded mind. 
 
 Come, madam, since my heavy doom is past, 
 
 [To Cor. 
 As men condemn'd to execution haste. 
 To ease their souls of weight they cannot bear 
 Of griefs unknown, which more than death they 
 
 fear ; 
 So give me leave to haste those joys away, 
 Which are but torment whilst they vainly stay. 
 And thus that wealth I to the winds restore 
 They lent awhile, and ne'er will lend me more. 
 
 [Ex. Om.
 
 CHAKlj;S TIIK KKiHTIl OK FKAXCIi. 177 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 The Scene the Town of Naples. 
 
 Enter Prince of Salerne and Trivultio, muffled 
 in their cloaks and disguised. 
 
 Sal. How ! March in pomp and triumph through 
 the town, 
 Wliilst I that name, which threatened Kim's 
 
 disown 'I 
 Must I be buried thus alive, whilst he, 
 Advanc'd by fortune's servile flattery, 
 Marches in State to meet the haughty charms 
 Of her I love, and revel in her amns '? 
 
 Damn'd be this tame disguise, 1 will appear. 
 
 And Charles from tli' arms of love and fortune tear. 
 
 Tri. Hold ! let not valour, sir, your life betray ] 
 
 [Sal. offers to go. 
 Nor demand debts which fortune cannot paj^ 
 I know his triumphs to your sword are due : 
 But, 
 
 Sal. But what 1 do'st thou adore his fortune too 1 
 
 Tri. How, I adore it I No sir, curs'd be he, 
 
 That shall deny by any treachery 
 To take that life he to our swords does owe. 
 When fortune shall a fair occasion show : 
 But I'd not dun my stars when they are poor, 
 And so gain nothing but enrage 'um more. 
 
 Sal. If bankrupt fortunes poor, I'll fall on 
 those, 
 On whom profusely she my wealth bestows. 
 Charles has my mistress, does my triumphs wear, 
 My wealth's in's hands, and I'll arrest it there. 
 I'll kill hmi. 
 
 Only to let th' imperious woman see 
 The arrogant folly of disdaining me. 
 
 [Offers again fn qo. 
 I. 12 ■ '
 
 178 THE HISTOKY OF 
 
 Tri. Hold ! since you'll go, let us our fortunes join, 
 I'll share i'th glory of this great design ; 
 Besides th' revenge to my lost fame is due, 
 I've some concerns of love as well as you. 
 For Julia I a long hid flame have borne, 
 
 Though I've supprest it ; 
 
 Knowing too well the Arragonian scorn. 
 Who to my sword have paid so small regard. 
 They thought their service was its own reward. 
 But now I'll clear tlie scores another way ; 
 Her beauty all my old arrears shall pay. 
 
 Sal She's thine ! there's nothing shall be left 
 undone, 
 That may bring down the pride of Arragon. 
 
 Tri. Let's go, then, whilst our raging blood does 
 
 boil, 
 
 Whilst the French guards, wearied with this day's 
 
 toil, 
 Disperst in quarters to their rest betake 
 All but Avhom lust and wine may keep awake ; 
 Whilst they in pleasure, or repose engag'd. 
 Our friends alarm'd and the town enraged, 
 We'll go to th' palace in secure disguise. 
 
 Sal. No more ! I scorn to kill him by surprise ! 
 What I'll attempt, I'll do in oj^en day, 
 
 And let his guards and genius stop my way : 
 
 Then if I live or die, destroy or save, 
 
 Success or death I equally will brave. [Exit. 
 
 Tri. This high ungovern'd flame I must allay. 
 I seek revenge I 
 
 But then I'd seek it the securest way. 
 
 But heav'ns ! Which way shall this great deed be 
 
 wrought. 
 My soul is lost in a wild maze of thought ! 
 
 But yet I'll boldly on. 
 
 He who through dang'rous ways does fate pursue, 
 Must not the depths of precipices view :
 
 CHAULKS TMK KKiHTH OF FRANCE. 179 
 
 But with high courage, and a bold address, 
 Spur on, and leave to fortune the success. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 The Scene changes to a Boom of State. 
 
 Enter Charles, Lewis, Mompensier, Guard. 
 
 Ch. Gone to attend the Queen 1 
 
 Leu: To guard her hence ! 
 
 &■■ 
 
 Ch. What need of guards, where there's no 
 violence 
 Design'd ^ 
 
 3Iom. He fear'd lest the Venetian fleet 
 Might from your galleys some obstruction meet. 
 
 Ch. Going to serve a Queen, regain his crown, 
 To raise my honour, and repair his own, 
 Could he suspect my fleet would stop his way 1 
 
 No, rather all my galleys shall convey 
 
 The King to any port, where he intends 
 To try his fortune, or has hopes of friends. 
 
 Leu: Going with those, whose masters have 
 declar'd 
 Themselves your enemies, he justly fear'd 
 Your anger, sir ! 
 
 Ch. He did ? That treacherous State 
 
 Has disoblige! me at the highest rate. 
 
 Have broke their faith with me, and out of fear, 
 
 And envy to my rising glories here, 
 
 Creep into leagues, and private friendships court, 
 
 That I might tire their galleys in the port : 
 
 But since they attend the Queen 
 
 I'll spare their galleys, and reprieve the doom 
 Of that false State, till my returning home ; 
 
 But to the Queen 
 
 Command my Admiral that he honours pay. 
 
 And whilst she stays her orders to obey. 
 
 \_Tn ail Officer ivJiu goes out.
 
 180 THE HISTOKV OF 
 
 Mom. But dares, great sir, the false Venetian 
 State 
 
 Abiise your friendship 1 
 
 Ch. That we'll now debate ! 
 
 Charles seah hinv^elf, and enter a Secretary icith 
 Papers and Despatches. 
 
 Ch. Not only they, but all 
 
 Th' Italian Princes are in Council sate, 
 
 Each fears to lose his little coronet. 
 
 Nay, by th' intelligence I've now receiv'd, 
 
 All Kings and States with my success are griev'd, 
 
 Doubting themselves, and knowing not hoAv high 
 
 Ambition raised, with victory may fly. 
 
 Kome, Millane, Venice, Germany, and Spain, 
 
 With all the little Princes they can gain. 
 
 Are all in bonds of strict alliance tied. 
 
 To check, as they pretend, my growing pride, 
 
 That I must now make war on half mankind. 
 
 And gain that Empire which I ne'er design'd. 
 
 Mom. Rome perjur'd too 'I 
 
 Ch. Yes, Venice, Millane, Rome, 
 Agree to intercept my passage home. 
 Are arming frontiers, raising troops with speed ; 
 Which the fam'd Duke of Mantua must lead. 
 The great Gonzaga, one whose fame is high. 
 And on his conduct they do all rely. 
 
 Lew. Sir, that an envious and mechanic State, 
 Whose nature is crown'd heads to fear and hate, 
 A Prince's glory thus should undermine, 
 I not admire ;-— but such a low design, 
 That Rome should aid 1 — ■ — 
 
 Mom. And join with Sforza too ! 
 A barb'rous Prince, who did his hands embrue 
 
 In his young master's blood, and basely made 
 
 Our wars his opportunity, to invade 
 His life and crown, and act his villanies !
 
 CHARLES THE EKiHTH OF FRANCE. 181 
 
 C'A. That l)loody traitor 8forza I'll chastise 1 
 But now that Rome shoukl join in league with 
 
 these, 
 When for his fame had given me hostages, 
 Enrages me ! 
 
 Leiv. You must betimes disperse 
 These gathering clouds that threaten storms so 
 fierce. 
 
 Mom. First shake your rods o'er th' Ecclesiastic 
 chair 1 
 That busy-headed priest, you must not spare. 
 He is Heaven's usher in the world's great school. 
 Only to teach, for Kings have highest rule. 
 
 Ch. Whate'er his office or commission be, 
 I'll make Rome know his duty now to me. 
 He shall not baffle Kings, under pretence. 
 With all Heaven's laws his office can dispense ; 
 He swore me faith 1 and, if the powers divine 
 Slight their own honour, none shall sport with mine. 
 Cousin of Orleans march to-night away, 
 With all my choicest men ! 
 
 Lew. Sir, one night's stay 
 
 Your wearied men for rest would lunably crave. 
 
 Ch. Then let 'um short and gentle marches have : 
 Bnt move this evening, though you march not far; 
 For expedition is the life of war ! 
 
 Mom. Send not too many for your safety sake, 
 Lest this rebellious town advantage take. 
 And what's so desp'rate as an angry slave. 
 When by adventuring he revenge may have 1 
 
 Ch. Leave fifteen thousand foot. Your march 
 direct 
 
 To Rome I'll follow and no time neglect. 
 
 \_Exit Leiv. 
 What, did you visit yet as I desir'd. 
 The Duchess Lsal:)el ? 
 
 Mom. Sir, she retir'd
 
 182 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 To her apartment, and Avith haughty pride 
 Retains her State, and visitants denied. 
 
 Ch. Alas ! she well might have that pride 
 forborne, 
 To one that values not her love or scorn. 
 She, that had such a Monarch in her chain. 
 
 Would a young petty rival entertain, 
 
 Makes me contemn the name of royal slave, 
 And slight the little wounds her beauty gave : 
 But now we've settled all our grand affair. 
 And the declining day begins to wear 
 His milder beams, let's out, and taste a while 
 The fresher air ; for I with this day's toil 
 Am weary grown ! 
 
 Mom. The gardens, sir, are nigh, 
 From hence they open to your prospect lye. 
 
 Charles and Mompensier go out, and the Scene is 
 drawn and a fair garden is p-esented. JULIA sitting 
 as asleep in an Arbour : EUPHEMIA laiiting by. 
 
 A Song within. 
 
 Whilst the Song is sung, Charles and Mompensier 
 
 Enter. Charles gazes on Julia. 
 
 The Song sung to Julia in the Garden. 
 
 Oh love ! if e'er thou'lt ease a heart, 
 
 That owns thy power divine, 
 That bleeds with thy too cruel dart, 
 And pants with never ceasing smart ; 
 
 Take pity now on mine. 
 Under the shade, I fainting lye ! 
 A thousand times I wish to die ; 
 But when I find cold death too nigh, 
 
 I grieve to lose my pleasing pain, 
 
 And call my wishes back again.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 183 
 
 But thus as I sat all alone, 
 
 I'th shady myrtle grove, 
 And to each gentle sigh and moan, 
 Some neighbouring echo gave a groan. 
 
 Came by the man I love. 
 Oh ! how I strove my griefs to hide ! 
 I panted, blush'd, and almost died, 
 And did each tattling echo chide. 
 
 For fear some breath of moving air, 
 
 Should to his ears my sorrows bear. 
 
 Yet oh, ye powers ! I'd die to gain 
 
 But one poor parting kiss ! 
 And yet I'd be on racks of pain. 
 Ere I'd one thought or wish retain, 
 
 Which honour thinks amiss. 
 Thus are poor maids unkindly us'd, 
 By love and nature both abus'd, 
 Our tender hearts all ease refus'd ; 
 
 And, when we burn with secret flame, 
 
 Must bear our griefs, or die with shame. 
 
 Ch. I'm startled, see ! What divine shape is 
 there ? 
 
 Some angel sure, no mortal is so fair ! 
 
 Minn. Some airy vision does deceive our eyes. 
 Ch. Heavens ! like a bright unbodied soul she 
 lyes 
 Wrapt in a shape of pure setherial air, 
 To some fair body ready to repair. 
 Know'st thou whom this bright shape resembles 
 most ? 
 Mom. None but the Princess Julia, sir, dare 
 boast 
 
 These angel beauties 
 
 She to the Duchess's apartment came. 
 
 Whilst I was there : these beauties are the same.
 
 liS4 THE HISTUltY OF 
 
 Ch. The Princess Julia ! 
 
 Mom. How his eyes are fixt ! [/isids. 
 
 Sir! 
 
 If any knowledge of your heart I learn, 
 
 You view this lovely shape with some concern. 
 
 Ch. I do ! and must acknowledge 
 I feel within my heart a passion move, 
 Like the soft pantings of approaching love. 
 And if from war I could the leisure gain, 
 Th' insinuating gue.st to entertain. 
 My heart might be seduc'd by one so fair 
 
 To love, and fix my roving passion there ! 
 
 But to 
 
 Remoter parts o'th' gardens let's repair. 
 
 To take [our] breathings of the evening air. 
 
 They go out betwixt the Scenes, as into the garden, and 
 enter Salerne, and Trivultio, followed by several, 
 all habited like the French G'liards. 
 
 Tri. So, we 've securely past in this disguise, 
 
 Let's watch a fair occasion for surprize. 
 
 Sal. Surprize ? — make an alarm, — for he shall 
 die, 
 "Were all his guards, and his whole Kingdom bv. 
 
 Tri. But let us wait for the approach of night — 
 
 Sat. Let night be damn'd, 
 
 I'll kill him now in Isabella's sight, 
 That every Avound I give him she may feel ! 
 And, when he's fallen by my revengeful steel, 
 She wild and raving may his death bemoan, 
 Tear out his bleeding heart and stal) her own. 
 
 See there ! — He walks 
 
 [Looks within the scenes- 
 
 Tri Silence ! — for Heaven's sake. 
 
 Sal. Nor Heaven 
 
 Nor hell shall hinder the revenge I'll take,
 
 CHAKLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 185 
 
 Were death 'twixt him and me I wouhl not stay. 
 
 [Goes Old 'firi.rt the Scenes. 
 Tri Ye powers, he'll our designs and lives betray! 
 Haste ! let the garden avenues be barr'd, 
 
 [To one of his foUoivers. 
 
 Before we give suspicion to the guard. 
 
 Thou to the postern run, where our men wait, 
 
 [To a second. 
 On a sign giv'n t' aid, as in our retreat, 
 Unloclv it with tliis key, and then remove 
 Part of our men, to th' private myrtle grove. 
 Placeum i' the grotto, by the dark descent, 
 AVhere we may Hy, if the Frencli guards prevent 
 Our other passage ! Heavens ! what is't I see ? 
 The Princess here ! — blest opportunity ! 
 Now ! — now's the time ! you run and aid the Prince, 
 You stay and help me to convey her hence ! 
 
 lliejj go Old several ways, Trivultio and a party 
 toimrds Julia, tvho shrieks and rims of the Stage, 
 crying, murder I At the same time clashing of 
 swords tcithin is heard, and immediately enter 
 Charles defending Jidia, and pursued /^//Salerne, 
 Trivultio and his party ; Salerne beating down 
 the sivord of Trivultio, and the rest. 
 Sal. Villains retire ! 1 don't your succours need, 
 
 The tyrant by my hand alone shall bleed ! 
 Ch. Thou 'rt brave ! who e'er thou art ! 
 
 As Salerne and the rest are going ahoid to assault 
 Charles ; Eider Mompensier and a Guard, 
 rushing on all sides of the Stage, crying treason I 
 and assist Charles, all assaulting Scderne, who with 
 Trivultio are forced off the Stage by Charles and the 
 Guard, after ivhich Julia recovers herself from her 
 surprize. 
 Jul. Oh heavens ! in what confusions have 1 been. 
 
 With what my heart has felt, my eyes have seen ?
 
 18G THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Sav'd by the King 1 my ruin'd heart's betray'd 
 Into an ambush which my stars have made. 
 Punisht for doting on an airy shape, 
 My enslav'd heart must never hope to 'scajje ! 
 
 Evph. Fate seems not, 
 By this surprize, your flame to disapprove, 
 Rather exalts it to a generous love. 
 
 Jul. But all in vain. 
 
 Enph. A Princess young and fair ! 
 
 Such youth and beauty's yours should ne'er despair. 
 
 Jul. But when T love a Prince I ought to hate, 
 What passion can be more unfortunate 1 
 
 Enter Charles as from, the Chase of Salerne, dr. 
 
 Jul. But see, he comes ! My yielding spirits fly ! 
 Help me Eupheniia ! or I faint, and die ! 
 
 Cli. Madam ! How much am I asham'd, you find 
 Such barbarous treatment here, where I design'd 
 You with all honour should be entertain'd ? 
 Giving commands, that whilst you here remain'd 
 My slaves the same respect to you should bear. 
 As if the King, your father, govern'd here. 
 
 But since my guards 
 
 Did not this horrid villany prevent. 
 
 Your own fair mouth shall name their punishment. 
 
 Jul. Sir, rather let 
 Those slaves of ours, if they are fled, be sought. 
 Who 'gainst your life have this bold treason 
 
 wrought ; 
 For, sir, the horrid villany th'ave done, 
 I know my royal brother will disoAvn; 
 
 And punish too if he had so much power. 
 
 And though from the obliging conqueror. 
 By all brave ways he will his crown redeem, 
 
 For this great act 
 
 He will his gen'rous enemy esteem.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 187 
 
 Ch. All, madam ! tliough by my unhappy fate 
 I've been too much expos'd to your just hate, 
 And in pursuit of fame have been betray'd 
 
 To all those wars, 
 
 I with the house of Arra2;on have made. 
 I now acknoAvledge I so vanquisht am, 
 That I for ever do renounce the name 
 
 Of enemy, 
 
 And do repent the crimes my sword has done, 
 
 And at your feet will lay the croAvn I've won. 
 
 Jul. Sir, you know best your guilt or innocence, 
 I shall not judge you for your wrong pretence. 
 Let heaven do that to whom our right is known : 
 But if my brother e'er regain his crown. 
 The obligation, now on us you have laid, 
 Shall be, some gen'rous Avay, by him repaid. 
 
 As Julia is going, Charles proffers to lead her I»j the 
 hand, which she seems to refuse, and withdraws her 
 hand : At the same time enter Isabella. 
 
 Isah. As from my close retirement I withdrew, 
 Methoughts wild iioises from the gardens flew, 
 
 And horrid cries loud echos did repeat. 
 
 Has the proud tyrant some disaster met 1 
 
 Discovers Charles leading Julia tuithin the Scenes. 
 
 Isab. But, ha ! the tyrant, and my sister 
 there ! 
 
 Oh ! cursed vision quickly disappear I 
 
 I'll charm you, be you spirits bad or good, 
 
 I'll rend your shapes, I'll circle you in blood. 
 
 JuLTA goes, — and Charles turns and sees Isabella. 
 
 Ch. Ha! 
 The Duchess Isabel ! 
 
 Isab. Yes, sir, 'tis I ! 
 I fear I have disturb VI your privacy ;
 
 188 THE HLSTURY OF 
 
 If SO, great sir ! I do your pardon crave. 
 
 Ch. Madam, for that you need no pardon have, 
 Since all the palace is at your command ! 
 
 Isah. I'm glad my liberty I understand ; 
 
 But pray, sir, 
 
 On your fair Princess to'r apartment wait, 
 Tliis kindness then we farther will debate. 
 
 Ch. Madam, — your counsel I do well approve ; 
 
 But none need teach me 
 
 What duty I should pay to those I love ! 
 
 Isab. Thou lov'st ! — Immortal powers ! with un- 
 mov'd brows 
 Dar'st thou relate how thou contemn'st thy vows 1 
 
 Ch. The vows 
 To Isabel of Arragon I made, 
 To ]\Iillane's Duchess ought not to be paid. 
 
 Isah. ButMillane's injur'd Duchess shall chastise 
 Th' inconstant Prince, that dares her love despise. 
 Heavens ! thou inflamest me to so great a rage, 
 That nothing but thy blood shall it assuage. 
 
 Ch. Good madam, what should this great i:)assion 
 mean 1 
 Is it because you have inconstant been. 
 And now into a fit of rage are Hown, 
 To hide those fjiults which you disdain to own ] 
 
 Isab. Tyrant, I never did a crime commit, 
 But when my heart did to thy love submit. 
 Thy love 1 thy hate ! thy scorn ! for which I now 
 Would stab that heart which would so poorly bow, 
 And with fiilse meteors so deluded be, 
 But that I live to have revenge on thee. 
 
 Ch. Madam, first seek revenge on your own 
 scorn, 
 Which vainly slighted crowns you might have 
 
 worn. 
 And your preposterous pride, did in my stead. 
 Advance a puny loxev to y(»ur Ix-d,
 
 CHARLES TllK EKJHTII OF FRANCE. 181) 
 
 Whose little coronet 
 
 hah. Prei)osterous pride ! 
 
 Ch. Yes, when for Millane, France should be 
 denied. 
 
 Isith. Tliou fir'st my blood ! Vm rackt witli 
 grief and .shame, 
 Wouldst thou have had me stay, and court tliy 
 
 flame ? 
 Thy feign'd addresses did not I receive. 
 And for thy loit'ring flame in silence grieve, 
 Waiting the motion of thy painted fire, 
 Till modesty compell'd me to retire 1 
 Then by a thousand differing passions led. 
 Was I not forc'd into that Prince's bed. 
 By such commands I durst not disobey. 
 And by distractions of more power then they ? 
 And now of him and all my friends bereft, 
 The kingdom lost, and no assistance left, 
 Opprest both by thy falsehood, and thy sword. 
 Dost thou such recompence as this afford ? 
 
 Ch. Madam ! 
 
 Isah. No more, — no more, insulting Prince ! 
 Treat not a lady with this insolence ! 
 Is this your valour, mighty King ! t oppress 
 A poor afflicted Princess in distress 1 
 Go hide thy head with shame, and with some fear! 
 For know thy fall ! — thy fall, — proud King, is near ; 
 
 Th'ast robb'd me of all my friends, 
 
 Thou shalt not rob me of my courage too ; 
 
 I will do more than all our troops could do. 
 
 The glory of our house I'll yet regain. 
 
 And all thy laurels in thy blood I'll stain. [Exit. 
 
 Ch. Alas poor lady ! I her pain perceive, 
 She sees 'tis vain for her old scorn to grieve ; 
 And now, to soften her remorseless fate. 
 
 Flatters herself with pride, revenge and hate. 
 
 But see Mompensier here,
 
 190 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Enter Mompensier. 
 
 And by his looks do some ill tidings bear. 
 
 Mom. Ah, sir ! 
 
 The bearer of ill news I'm forc'd to be. 
 
 Not only the actors of this villany 
 
 Have scap'd our hands, and made a safe retreat, 
 
 But in the harbour the Venetian fleet 
 
 Ch. How ! does my Admiral my orders slight. 
 Or without leave dares he presume to fight, 
 Or stop the fleet 1 — his boldness I'll chastise, — 
 Fire on my Admiral fr(jm the batteries I 
 On him, and all my galleys till they cease. 
 And of King Ferdinand humbly beg for peace. 
 Fire on 'um ! Haste ! 
 
 M(ym. Alas ! sir, all's too late, 
 Both Princes have already met their fate. 
 The Queen — is lost. 
 
 Ch. What wast thou saidst, the Queen 1 
 
 Mom. Yes, sir, her galley in distress was seen 
 Bowing to land, but, ere it gain'd the shore, 
 Sunk in the billows, and was seen no more. 
 
 Ch. Oh ! fatal accident ! which way shall I 
 
 Make satisfaction for this villany 
 
 To Heaven, and all that will her blood demand. 
 And which is more to injur'd Ferdinand % 
 
 Mom. Sir, 'twas the King himself did first 
 engage, 
 Fir'd with a haughty and ungovern'd rage. 
 To see his fleet confin'd, and yours controul 
 The shore along the channel, and the Mole, 
 And he must at your Admiral's pleasure stay, 
 He fought through blood and flame to make his 
 
 way. 
 And had destroy'd your fleet. 
 Had not the news of the Queen's loss done more 
 Than bullets could to save it from his power ;
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. lUl 
 
 For with the news he fell, and with him . 
 
 Victory fell, his galleys sunk with fear. 
 And all his scenes of triumph disappear! 
 And fortune, whom his valour had constraint. 
 
 Stole from his sword, and liberty regain'd, 
 
 And now 
 
 After the wonders which his sword had wrought, 
 He is among guards ashore a prisoner brought. 
 
 Ch. A prisoner ! My Admiral dies for this ! 
 With a strict guard ashore the villain brinff ! 
 
 [To one that waits. 
 Thou with a train go meet the injur'd King, 
 
 [To Moinp. 
 Wait his commands, pay all submissions due 
 To his high quality and valour too. 
 Declare my innocence, his pardon crave. 
 And, whilst he stays, let him all honours have. [Exit. 
 
 Mom. With how much glory these two Kings 
 contend, 
 Each other's generous enemy, and friend. 
 My'King 
 
 To Ferdinand's crown and friendship does lay 
 
 siege. 
 And strives at once to conquer and oblige : 
 But Ferdinand judges it a greater thing. 
 To subdue Heaven and fortune than a King. 
 But see ! he comes, — and ha ! 
 
 Enter Ferdinand a/2(^ Ascanio brought as prisoners 
 by the guard. 
 
 A weighty grief hangs on his royal brow. 
 His mighty soul does to his sorrows bow ! 
 
 Ferd. Cornelia dead ! what is't I have done '? 
 My fair Cornelia, Avhither art thou gone 1 
 Celestial shade ! If yet there may not be 
 Too many clouds 'twixt my dark soul and thee,
 
 192 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Look down, and see my grief, and oh ! forgive 
 
 That fatal pri(h\ which wouhl not let thee live ; 
 
 But rather would to fate thy life expose. 
 
 Than take one kindness from my conquering foes : 
 
 I am thy murderer, and at my hand, 
 
 Fair Queen ! thou must thy guiltless blood 
 
 demand ; 
 Nor'shalt thou ask in vain, and be denied 
 His wretched life by whom Cornelia died ; 
 Rather new torments for myself I'll find, 
 And, dying, beg the curse of all mankind. 
 
 Mom. His sorrow does his royal soul oppress, 
 
 \_Monvp. beckons ainiy the Guard. 
 That 'tis no time I find for my address. 
 
 Asc. Now he begins his passions to disclose. 
 And now, alas ! I dare not interpose ! [Aside. 
 
 Ferd. For the Queen's body let all search be 
 made. 
 And, when she's found, and Fve appeas'd her shade, 
 
 Inter us in such decent state, 
 
 As may our royal qualities become, 
 And lay us both together in one tomb. 
 This kindness to thy care I recommend — — 
 
 [To Asc. 
 The last thou e'er shalt pay thy King and friend. 
 To stoop to Charles my spirit is too high. 
 Though, if I ask'd it, he would not deny 
 That friendly act ; for I have found him brave, 
 And this is all the recompense I crave 
 Of him, or of the angry pow'rs above, 
 For my lost crown, and unsuccessful love. 
 
 [E.vonif Omiu'S.
 
 ClIAKLIvS THK KICllTH OF FltANfE. 19^ 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Enter Euphemia, with a tiyht, conduct iiuj Julia. 
 
 Euph. Oh, madam I Fly from hence, I've over- 
 heard 
 Your sister's dark designs, and now a guard 
 Of her own slaves are coming here with speed, 
 To bring you to her hands, alive or dead. 
 
 Jul. Oh heavens ! What shall I do 1 
 
 Euph. This,— This way fly ! 
 
 I'll shew you where you may in safety lye, 
 And over-hear her talk aloud, and rave, 
 And vow to Heaven what deep revenge she'll have. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Several pass over the Stage, as in search of Julia : 
 The Scene changes to Isabella's apartment. Enter 
 IsABELLA/o//o/rerf hijthe same that past over the Stage. 
 
 Isah. How, fled 1 Then, I'm betray'd ! 
 
 Which on you, villains, have this treason wrouglit ? 
 I'll have your bloods if she's not quickly brought. 
 
 [r/i^y go out. 
 
 But Heavens, I see ! 
 
 All vermin from a falling palace run, 
 And love to sport in the warm rising sun. 
 Though I to flatter fate have stoopt so low. 
 To seek Trivultio's aid and Salerne's too, 
 
 They now despise me, 
 
 And I, who was obey'd, ador'd by all. 
 Must helpless stand and see my temples fall. 
 
 Enter Trivultio in disguise. 
 
 Isah. Ha ! — What creeping thing art thou 1 
 
 \_He discovers. 
 
 Trivultio I Dull leaden fellow ! 
 
 I. 13
 
 I«J4 'IHE JIISTOKY OF 
 
 Why hast thou tortur'd me with thy long stay 1 
 I've been on terlious wracks with thy delay ; 
 And wracks with less impatience I could bear, 
 Were thy troops mine, bright day should now 
 
 appear 
 F'rom the fir'd town, which should in ashes lye. 
 Ere the least beam of day salutes the sky, 
 Ere time's least atom Charles should be un- 
 
 crownVl ! 
 His murder'd guaixls in their own gore lye drown'd ! 
 He at my feet prostrate and bleeding lye, 
 Begging vain pity from my scornful eye, 
 His trembling spirit ready to depart, 
 Tears in his eyes, taj dagger in his heart. 
 
 Tri. I stay'd to prepare all things ere I came. 
 And to entice Salerne here with hopes of fame. 
 And with n^' 1 ■ :1k prevail'd with him to come, 
 And gave him keys to tlie dark passage room, 
 
 And vaults 'i' • H which I came. 
 
 Isah. What did you say 
 
 Prevail'd with him m^ orders to obey 1 
 
 Tri. Yes, madam, for he now does proudly own. 
 He values nought but glory and renown. 
 
 Isd). What,\loes he vnb.ip, glory more than me ! 
 Or can there any higlicx glory be 
 Than dying at my command 1 
 Go, kill the slave ! — Let luui the glory lose. 
 Since he the ways of fame no better knows ! 
 
 Tri. Yes, — when he's serv'd your interests let 
 him die ! 
 But with his pride we must a while comply. 
 Or rather with his fortune, since the town 
 Eebels, and bandits do his interest own. 
 
 For on the news, 
 
 liiat the French troops were on their march from 
 
 hence. 
 Only some few, left for their King's defence.
 
 CIIAULES TllK El(;imi OF FKANCE. 11)5 
 
 A bandit came t'acquaiiit him, 
 
 That fifty troops under Ve.suvius lay, 
 
 Who might be liere some hours ere break of day. 
 
 And if he pleas'd would all their fellows bring 
 
 To murder the French guards, and crown him King. 
 
 hub. To a slave's fortune must I humbly ])ow, 
 What does the pride of fate subject me too ? 
 
 Tri. Madam, he comes ! — Command your self 
 awhile. 
 
 Enter Salerne. 
 
 And soothe his passion ivith a seeming smile. 
 
 hah. Salerne ! Though thou hast long a rebel 
 been, 
 And all that's infamous, — Yet I have seen, 
 In thy attempts, a mind so bold and brave, 
 That for thy courage some esteem I have ! 
 Not that I'll flatter or delude thy fate ; 
 For know thy birth I scorn, thy person hate : 
 But yet thy flaming spirit I esteem, 
 And would thy name from intamy redeem : 
 And therefore out of pity do design 
 To honour tliee with some commands of mine. 
 Provided still thou do submissive prove. 
 And first repent thy bold ambitious love. 
 
 Sal. Was it for this you did entice me here, 
 Only to let your insolence ajipear % 
 I thought your soaring spirit was brought down 
 T'express some sorrow for the pride you'd shown : 
 
 But now since this is all, 
 
 Know I already do deserve your love, — — 
 And for esteem I not one step will move. 
 And your commands I least of all regard : 
 I serve my self, and will my self reward. 
 
 hah. How! am I scorn'd ! — Ho! kill the traitor 
 there ! 
 Shall I contempt from a proud rebel bear ?
 
 196 TIIK HISTORY OF 
 
 Sal. is offering to <jo out, and is stopped and disarmed 
 
 by several thai rush upon him from between the Scenes. 
 They proffer to kill him, and Trivultio interposes. 
 
 Tri. Hold, hold I say ! — Ah, madam ! what d'ye 
 intend ] 
 All our designs do on his sword depend. 
 
 [Aside to Isab. 
 
 Isab. Did the whole Kingdom perish in his fall, 
 To my revenge I'd sacrifice it all. 
 Kill him !— Hold ! does he not shake 
 At sight of death, and the revenge I take. 
 There's something in his soul for greatness form'd 
 Which will not by ignoble fear be storm'd. 
 Go, live ! — but dare not so presumptions be, 
 To think of dying for thy King or me. 
 
 Sal. Yes, thy unjust revenge shall be pursu'd, 
 In spite of thee and thy ingratitude ; 
 For I my noble passion still retain. 
 And still my firm unshaken self remain. [Exit. 
 
 Isab. This fellow's brave 
 
 Could fate th' impediments of birth remove, 
 A crown might make his passage to my love. 
 
 Tri. So madam, now, we've this great spirit won, 
 Our high designs are ended ere begun. 
 
 Isab. Pursue him straight, and manage him with 
 care. 
 And in the glory of my service share. [Tri. Exit. 
 Now my impatient soul is all on fire 
 To know if fate will Hatter my desire. 
 
 Enter Portia. 
 Is the magician whom I sent for come % 
 
 For. Yes, madam, all alone, in a dark 
 
 room, 
 Hung round with horrors, and the shades of night ; 
 Which seems more horrid with the glimmering 
 light
 
 CHARLES THE EKiHTIf OF FllANdE. 11)7 
 
 Of the pale moon, wliich through a crevice shines, 
 H'as sate this hour scoring o' mystic lines. 
 Winds, lightnings, whispers, sad and mournful 
 
 • groans. 
 Soft voices melting into pleasant tones, 
 Fill'd liis dark cavern, whilst as magic spell 
 Fetter'd my feet, and thrice into a swoon I fell. 
 And see he comes .' 
 
 Enter Magician. 
 
 hah. Speak, speak thy news ! 'tis I thou 
 tell'st it to, 
 I, who defy the ntmost fate can do ; 
 For I am fixt as heaven, whose high decree 
 May change my fortune, but not conquer me. 
 
 Mag. Madam, your doom I dare not yet relate, 
 Thick swarms of sjiirits in cabals are met 
 To read your stars, Avhose counsels you shall know. 
 When whispering winds do in my cavern blow. 
 Now all is still and silent. 
 
 hah. Quickly call 
 Thy drowzy spirits from their dark cabal. 
 Whilst I their lazy constitutions wait, 
 I might kill Kings, and overturn the State. 
 Charles in his shadow to my view j^resent. 
 And what shall be this direful day's event. 
 
 Mag. I wish that shade you'd not desire to see, 
 I fear 'twill an unpleasing vision be : 
 But since it is your pleasure I'll obey, 
 Then madam in this magic circle stay. 
 Leave not the bounds in which you are confin'd. 
 And with firm courage fortify your mind. 
 
 Portia goes out, and the Magician begins his charm. 
 Mag. Thou black familiar, who, by firm compact. 
 Art at all seasons bound my will to act ; 
 Whom I with fat of strangled infants feed. 
 And for thy thirst let my veins freely l)lced :
 
 198 THE HISJ'ORV OF 
 
 Whom I for thrice seven years by name have 
 
 known, 
 And when as many more are past and gone, 
 Must lead my soul to that infernal cell, 
 Where thou, and all thy fellow spirits dwell. 
 
 Arise ! and in an airy vision shew 
 
 What must befall this prince, to whom 
 Our conquer'd State does bow. 
 
 There arises a Spirit, and immediately the Scene is 
 drawn, and the siqyposed shapes of Charles 
 and Julia are presented; roijaUy habited, and 
 seated on Chairs of State, at their feet several 
 Masquers; and near the Chairs the Mnsic in 
 White Robes, and Laurels on their heads. A 
 Chorus of Voices and loud Music heard. The 
 Duchess seems much disturb'd at the Vision, ami 
 with a naked jwnyard moves towards the shapes, 
 hut is stopt by the Magician, ivhilst at the same 
 time one of the Masquers touches her ivith a White 
 Wand, at tvhich she seems to fall into a slumber, 
 and is plachl on a Chair by the Macjician. Then 
 the Masquers rise and dance ; after a dance the 
 Spirit descends, and the Sce^ie closes. 
 
 The Song of Sjririts sung to IsaMla as she sits 
 
 asleep. 
 
 They call ! They call ! what voice is that 1 
 
 A lady in despair, 
 Whose tears and sorrows come too late, 
 
 Her losses to repair. 
 By too much pride I've lost a heart 
 
 I languish to regain : 
 And yet I'd kill the man I love. 
 
 Ere own my fond disdain. 
 Some gentle spirit shew the fate 
 Of liim I love, but feign would liate.
 
 CHARLES THE ElUliTH OF KKANCE. 190 
 
 In vain ! in vain ! thou seek'st uur aid, 
 
 Thy passion to remove ; 
 For see, alas ! The sad events 
 
 Of thy too tragic love. 
 See ! See ! The crown thou didst disdain. 
 
 Another brow must wear, 
 Then sigh and weep no more in vain, 
 
 But die in deep despair. 
 May this be all proud beauties' fate. 
 Still to repent their i)ride too late. 
 
 When Kings like Gods descend to woo, 
 
 They must not bo denied : 
 Nor may fond beauties damn themselves 
 
 To please a moment's pride. 
 Beauty was made by th' PoAv'rs above, 
 
 Monarchs to entertain ; 
 No greater duty is than love, 
 
 Nor sin than proud disdain. 
 Thou then who durst a King deny. 
 Haste from iiib sight, despair and uie. 
 
 Mag. Her soul's retir'd, I'll steal away, 
 
 And leave her \vi,t]it in sleep's soft arms. 
 And ere the first approach -yf day^ 
 
 End my unfinisli'il charm.!. [Lxit. 
 
 The Mag. goes out, and immediaidy miters the Ghost of 
 young Galeazzo, Duhe of MiJlane, with a cup 
 of poison in his hand. The Ghost passes over the 
 Stage, at which Isabella staiis and wakes, as in 
 a fright. 
 
 Isah. Ha ! What pale thing art thou ? and 
 whither flyl 
 Me thought I saw young murderM Millane's shade 
 AValk by in mournful state, and, as it went, 
 AVith a sad look exprest its discontent.
 
 200 TIIK illST(»i;V OF 
 
 In what dark shade has my lost spirits been, 
 Where in wild shapes I've death and hoiTor seen. 
 But they are liars all, nor shall defeat 
 My injur'd soul of a revenge so great. 
 
 Tlie Ghost re-enters. 
 
 Isah. But ha ! the ghastly shape appears again, 
 My frighted blood retires from every vein ; 
 I am congeal'd at this pale scene of death, 
 And all my words are stifled in my breath. 
 Speak ! what would'st have 1 why dost ai>pear 
 
 to me 1 
 Who never wrong'd thy bed or memory, 
 In one the least unkind, ungrateful thought ; 
 But to revenge th}- bhjod all ways have sought ; 
 And now have on this tyrant past a doom, 
 To be a royal offering to thy tomb. 
 
 Ghost. Cease thy fond thoughts ! for higher 
 
 things prepare, 
 Employ thy soul in a more solemn care ; 
 For thou, Avho bidst my memory adieu. 
 And dost thy vain revenge and love pursue, 
 Shalt shortly sleep with me in that cold bed, 
 Where I too early was by treason led. 
 And all my guiltless blood reveng'd shall be ; 
 But not by traitors, rebels, nor by thee. 
 Mean while, fond woman, thou dost vainly wait 
 On hell's black arts, to know thy lover's fate, 
 What joys he'll have, wdiat troul^les undergo, 
 Does not belong to Isabel to know. 
 Mind not his fate, thy own is drawing nigh. 
 Death hovers o'er thy head, prepare to die. 
 
 FareAvell awhile, when thy last hour is come, 
 
 I'll give thee one more summons to thy tomb. 
 
 The Ghost goes out, and after some pause she sn'iiis 
 to recollect her Sjnrits from their disorder. 
 Isah. Ha ! wliat rurs'd Hcnd art thou.
 
 CHAltLKS THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 201 
 
 That dost the shape of my dead h)rd assume, 
 T' accuse me wrongfully, and s])eak my doom 1 
 
 I'd not have shak't at any other form, 
 
 And now I find I must expect a storm, 
 
 A dark and heavy storm, Heaven will deny 
 
 Success to my designs, and 1 must die. 
 
 [ IFeeps. 
 But since my doom I now have understood, 
 Naples shall weep my fixte in tears of blood ; 
 Fire, blood, and slaughter, more than I can tell. 
 Shall be the dying pangs of Isabel. 
 My stormy life shall yet in glory end, 
 And Charles, and Julia shall my fate attend. 
 No pining ghost shall leave his gloomy bed. 
 To charge me with injustice to the dead ; 
 No Millane,— 
 
 Grutch not* the love thy widow to him bears ; 
 For it shall cost him all the crowns he wears. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Eli far Portia. 
 For. (Jli, heavens ! to what a height her rage is 
 fiown. 
 The world for her revenge nmst be undone. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Julia, Euphemia. 
 Jul. Horrid 1 Art sure 1 
 Euph. Why, did you nothing hear ? 
 Jul. Alas ! thou saw'st I often swoon'd with fear. 
 Ell ph. I heard it all, — and horrid noises too 
 That fill'd my ears, and round like whirlwinds 
 tlew : 
 
 Then softly pin'd away, That I'm afraid 
 
 They call'd up troops of devils to their aid. 
 
 Jill. Oh, Heavens ! which way shall I this Monarch 
 save ; 
 For oh ! I never shall the courage have 
 
 "^ Envy not. — Used by Tusscr ami l>eu JonsdU.
 
 202 THE JIISTOItY OF 
 
 To toll it him, and yet one liour's delay 
 AVould ruin him, and all our lives betray : 
 But, hark ! I hear a noise i'th' gallery, 
 
 [A noise of trampling within. 
 I think the King's abroad. [Eii.ph. runs and peeps. 
 
 Euph. Madam, 'tis he ! 
 
 Jul. Oh, heavens ! What shall I do 1 I faint 1— 
 I die ! 
 Which way shall I from my own blushes Hy 1 
 Which if I see him will disloyal prove. 
 And by a thousand signs betray my love ; 
 But 'tis too late, — his danger I'll impart, 
 And leave to th' mercy'f Heav'n my fainting heart. 
 
 Site ivalks to one side of the Stage, ichllst Charles, 
 MoMP. and train enter. 
 
 Ch. In her apartment various noises heard ? 
 
 Mom. Yes, and two seen suspected by the guard, 
 To be the rebel chiefs, 
 
 Ch. And not detain'd 1 
 
 Mom. The guards, sir, from all violence 
 refrain'd, 
 Wliilst they in th' Duchess's apartment staid ; 
 And sir, in that your own commands obey'd, 
 But waiting for 'um till approach of day, 
 By private avenues they scapt away. 
 
 Ch. The danger is not worthy my regard, 
 Nor shall th' afflicted lady be debar'd 
 From any pleasure, her unquiet mind 
 In little plots for her revenge can find. 
 
 M(nn. The Princess Julia sir 
 
 Ch. Ha ! th'ast awakened my late kindled tlame, 
 
 I owe devotion to that sacred name ; 
 
 And see this way all her approaches are, 
 As if I should for an address prepare. 
 What fair and blest occasion should it be. 
 That drives her liithcr, and obliges me ?
 
 CHARLES THE EKIHTll UF EKANCE. 20;J 
 
 Jul Great sir, the sister of King Ferdinand, 
 Lately preserv'd by your victorious hand, 
 Having this morning heard a fatal doom 
 Past on your life does now with blushes come, 
 Thus early sir, the treason to prevent, 
 And pay your sword her just acknowledgement. 
 
 Ch. Madam! 
 
 Jul. Nay, haste, sir, hence ; 
 
 For traitors have against your life combin'd. 
 Which for my brother's valour is design'd. 
 And do presume t' abuse his sacred name, 
 To countenance the treason we disclaim ; 
 And though, as right permits, we'll not refuse. 
 In our own safety and just cause, to use 
 All generous ways our low estate affords, 
 We would not have you die by common swords. 
 
 Cli. What is't I hear, do my kind stars take 
 care 
 To save my life and crown l)y one so fair 1 
 Nay, and by her, whose beauty I have seen, 
 With so much rapture, that my soul has been 
 In high displeasures with my treach'rous fate. 
 That by success betray'd me to her hate : 
 But now my fortune in her own defence, 
 T' appease my soul, and make me recompense, 
 That all her guilty smiles I might forgive, 
 Finds ways by your commands to make me live. 
 
 Jul. Oh, heavens ! I find my honour I've 
 betray'd, 
 I fear'd such ill requitals would be made : 
 And therefore long did with myself contend. 
 To let you die ; but honour was your friend 
 And now your friend, Avhich would so formal be. 
 To repay favours to an eneiuy ; 
 And 'gainst a thousand blushes forc'd me on, 
 Must suffer fur the folly it has done. 
 
 [And puts her handkercJiief before her eyes.
 
 204 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Ch. Ah, madam ! these resentments ave severe, 
 Must I in all a criminal appear 1 
 I but in humble words express the sense 
 Of a soul, wrapt in love and penitence. 
 Griev'd for past guilt, which it would fain remove, 
 Opprest by favours, and inflam'd by love. 
 
 Jul. Oh, heavens ! I feel within delightful 
 pains [Aside. 
 
 Of joy and love, that shoot through all my veins : 
 But I new sorrow's for my heart prepare, 
 And lead my self into a pleasing snare. 
 Sir, I perceive you ill constructions make 
 Of what I've done, only for honour's sake ; 
 15ut there's a pride peculiar to our blood. 
 Who ne'er till now misfortunes understood, 
 That when we wrongs or kindnesses receive, 
 "We revenge both, and never can forgive. 
 And now in that revenge 
 My injur'd honour was content to bleed : 
 But now we are from all obligements freed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ch. She's gone displeas'd, but has such 
 
 honour sheM'n, 
 And something so like love. 
 That now my vanquisht heart's entirely won. 
 
 An alarm within. 
 
 Hark ! the storm's begun, 
 
 Haste ! Haste ! and guard her to some safe retreat. 
 
 [To Momp. 
 Lest unexpected danger she sliDuld meet ; 
 For all th' esteem and value I did bear 
 To crowns or fame, is AvhoUy plac'd on her. [Ex. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand alone. 
 
 Fcrd. Oh, my Cornelia I how does thy fair shade. 
 Each corner of my rc^stless thoughts invade?
 
 CHARLES THE EUiHTII (»K FKANCK. 205 
 
 Metliinks 1 see her from her fioatiiig grave, 
 Sighing with grief, and pointing to the wave, 
 That does the treasure of her body hide : 
 And in whose cold and watery arms she died, 
 Then Avith kind looks she beckons me away, 
 Chiding my soul for its too tedious stay. 
 
 And, Heavens ! 
 
 AVhy do I stay, when fortune does remove 
 All I esteem, my glory, crown, and love : 
 And which increases my impatience more, 
 By Charles's gallantry I'm triumph'd o'er ; 
 Who gives me freedom, but to make me wear 
 Those hated chains no royal mind can bear. 
 
 Soft music within. 
 
 Ferd. Ha ! would they flatter my imperious grief, 
 These fond diversions give but small relief 
 Ase. Ah, sir ! for Heaven's sake. 
 
 Enkr A SCAN 10 in haste. 
 
 Ferd. What hast thou seen 1 
 
 AsG. An airy phantom or the Cyprian Queen. 
 Listening to find whence these soft airs .should come, 
 I chanc'd to look in an adjoining room. 
 And saw two shapes lean on a silken bed. 
 They seem'd too fair, and lively for the dead, 
 And if in some transport I have not been, 
 They are Irene and the Cyprian Queen. 
 
 Ferd. Thou dream' st, 
 
 Or else their disturb'd spirits wander here, 
 To pursue me their guilty murderer. 
 
 [Ferd. and Asc. go out. 
 
 The Scene is draion., and Cornelia and Irene are 
 presented asleep upon a Couch, and at their 
 feet Sylvia. The King and Ascanio enter. 
 
 Ferd. What is't I see % I die with high surprize, 
 Some fair enchantment does delude my eyes,
 
 206 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 And ill a vision does my Queen restore, 
 In ;dl the beams her living beauty wore ! 
 
 Asc. Surely they live, or else the waves and 
 wind 
 Has all their beauties faithfully resign'd. 
 
 Ferd. The lovely vision strikes a sacred awe 
 Into my soul, — Let's near the altar draw, 
 Where the fair shape enshrin'd in beauty lyes, 
 Lest it too quickly vanish from our eyes. 
 
 Ferd. and Asc. (jo to the Covch, and bieeling kiss the 
 hands of CoR. and Irene. 
 
 Ferd. She gently breathes ! her hand is soft and 
 warm ! 
 This cannot be some fair deceitful charm. 
 With all the devout rev'rence which we pry 
 Into some great and sacred mystery. 
 I'll draw the scene, which, from my longing sight. 
 Vainly conceals a mystery so bright. 
 Wake ! my ador'd Cornelia, wake and see 
 Impatient Ferdinand upon his knee. 
 Watching to see thy eyes their light display. 
 Like devout Persians for the dawning day. 
 
 [Cor. and Iren. awake. 
 
 Cor. Where am I now ! bless me the powers 
 
 divine ! 
 What voice is that that calls 1 
 
 Ferd. Fair Queen, 'tis mine. 
 
 Cor. The King ! 
 
 Fenl. Your poor adorer, — one that dies 
 With the high rapture of excessive joys : 
 What kind power sent you here on angels' wings. 
 To bless the world, and save the lives of Kings '? 
 
 Cor. That gentle power of pity which we find, 
 Sways in the empire of each gen'rous mind. 
 I was inform'd, you did my death bemoan, 
 And now you've lost both freedom, and a throne.
 
 CHAllLES THE KKillTIl oF KKAxXCE. I'OT 
 
 I thought 'twas cruelty 
 
 To let a mere delusion ask a share 
 
 Of tears, when real grief had none to spare. 
 
 Ferd. Oh ! What a melting joy o'erfiows my 
 breast, 
 Like drooping flowers with morning dew opprest ! 
 But, Heavens ! How did you scape the fatal day? 
 
 Cor. We in another galley got away 
 To the next shore, — where in a grove we stay'd 
 Till fields and plains were gloomy as the shade ; 
 Then, all is darkness, solitude, and fear, 
 We wander'd on the shore we knew not Avhere : 
 Still trembling at each little noise we heard. 
 Till near the morn we met some of the guard, 
 Of whom I beg'd safe conduct to the town ! 
 And though they knew me not, yet I must own 
 They shew'd me all the due respect became 
 My sex's honour, and their nation's fame. 
 
 And brought me here, where I decreed to stay 
 
 For some few hours, and sail by break of day. 
 When by a message from me you had known 
 That all was well, and 1 in safety gone. 
 
 Ferd. Ah ! will you shew me Heaven in all its 
 light. 
 And then for ever close it from my sight 1 
 
 Cor. Alas ! Sir, you attempt a vain design, 
 Only to wed your miseries to mine. 
 Suppose I should so kind and yielding prove, 
 Only t'oblige your importuning love 1 
 Ware of our crowns bereft, where should we fly. 
 In what dark cave should we obscurely die ? 
 
 Ferd. Madam, forgive me that, without a throne, 
 My bold pretences I still dare to own : 
 But if th'ador'cl Cornelia lov'd like me, 
 A cell or grotto would a Kingdom be. 
 
 Asc. Now my Irene we are blest again, 
 The joys through so much danger we obtain
 
 208 TUK HISTORY OF 
 
 Let us preserve, 
 
 As one would the rich treasure, which he saves 
 
 By unexpected aid from rocks and waves. 
 
 Iren. You know my heart is yours, but we must 
 wait 
 Our Prince's fortunes, and th' events of fate. 
 
 [An alarm. 
 
 Ferd. Whence is this 1 
 
 Asr.. There's some contention grown 
 I fear, 'twixt the French army and the town. 
 But see, the Princess ! 
 
 Enter Julia ivith a Guard. 
 
 Jul. Ah, royal brother as e'er 
 
 For being great and good, you'd honour'd be 
 
 Go save the life of your brave enemy ! 
 
 \Vho midst slain guards, does now forsaken 
 
 stand. 
 Whilst barb 'reus traitors do his life demand ; 
 And using your great name for their pretence. 
 Do act their treasons with high insolence : 
 This from the palace eastern tower Pve seen, 
 AVliere by his guards I have protected been. 
 
 Ferd. This is bold Salerne, and my sister too. 
 Her fond revenge and malice to })ursue. 
 
 Jul. My sister is too fault}- in't, 1 fear: 
 But be not, sir, too much displeas'd with her, 
 You know whence her high passion does arise. 
 Spare her, and her l)old followers chastise. 
 
 Ferd. I go ! With passion, madam, I 
 implore [To Cor. 
 
 You Avill not leave us in this fatal hour ; 
 Nor take away the aid your presence brings. 
 As sent from Heaven in the support of Kings. 
 
 Cor. Sir, 'tis so generous 
 
 To save your royal foe in his distress, 
 That in that cause I wish you all success.
 
 CHAKLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 209 
 
 Ferd. Sir I commit tlie ladies to your Guard, 
 
 yVo one (if the (/Hard. 
 Your loyal service should uot waut reward. 
 
 [Ex. F<ird. and Js(^. 
 
 As the Guard is conducting out the Ladies, the// are 
 met hij M(^MPENSIER, u-ho enters in haste. 
 
 Morn. Hold ! Hold ! The ladies must not move 
 from hence, 
 This place alone is left for their defence ; 
 The enrag'd Duchess strives to seize the tower, 
 And we're too few to guard it from her power ! 
 What more is done I could not understand ; 
 But to an officer I gave command, 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 To bring the news, and see, he's here ! 
 
 [The wncs. 
 Off. All's well I — King Ferdinand's leap'd into 
 the throng, 
 And like a God drives all the crowd along. 
 The Duchess has receiv'd a wound in fight, 
 And to the Domo ta'ne a speedy tiight. 
 
 Mom. Blest news ! I'll on the battlements and 
 see. 
 The valiaiJt Kings pursue their victory. 
 But see, another comes in haste. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2. Off. Undone, undone ! 
 With all your Guards to th' King's assistance run ! 
 The town is all with troops of bandits fill'd, 
 Lead by a traitor, to whom all parties yield, 
 And the mock title of a King does bear. 
 And witli success puisues us everywhere. 
 
 1 U
 
 210 THE IILSTUKV UF 
 
 Cvr. Oh heavens! [Cor., Jul. seem to faint and 
 are supported hij their women. 
 
 Mom. runs out as to the Kings assi:itance. Enter 
 Ferdinand with a Guard, chasing Sakrne. 
 
 Sat. O curse ! and is my glory thus betray'd 'i 
 Fercl. Help, help the King ! I do not need your 
 aid, [77/ e Guard goes off. 
 
 Salerne I've chas'd thee from thy trait'rous herd, 
 Not t'have thee cut in pieces by the Guard, 
 But to appease my own revenge and hate, 
 And give tliy valour a more glorious fate. 
 
 Sal. Thou'rt brave ! I wish thou hadst not sent 
 'um back ; 
 For now I shall be forc'd thy life to take. 
 
 They fight, the Ladies .shriek, and run to the side of 
 the Stage. Salerne is disarmed and tvounded. 
 
 Ferd. Now Salerne, ask thy life I and on thy knees 
 Humbly beg pardon for thy villanies. 
 
 Sal. And dost thou this insulting temper shew, 
 My life's not in thy power to bestow. 
 My enrag'd soul is leaving its abode ; 
 But if it Avere not, and thou wert a God, 
 And for submissions wouldst whole Kingdoms give 
 To gain thy Godhead, I'd not ask to live. 
 Go back ! and scramble for thy fallen crown, 
 Which from the trembling tree my arm shook down, 
 And which I sought now to bestow on thee, 
 That crown'd, thou might' st a glorious Adctim be : 
 For yet my father's tomb no trophy wears. 
 His blood has only had thy father's tears : 
 But fate would to my cause no aid afford. 
 But rather basely thrust me on thy svv^ord ; 
 Which high dishonour ere I'll tamely bear, 
 
 [Tears his ivonnds, mal dies. 
 Thus, thus a passage for my smil Til tear.
 
 CHARLES THE EKIHTH OF FRANCE. 211 
 
 Fenl. H'as torn his wounds, and now the gusliing 
 blood 
 Breaks from its sluices like a swelling flood : 
 I pity his misfortunes, since I see 
 He was misled by too much bravery : 
 But see ! they still press on ! the guards retire ! 
 Command 'uni from the battlements to tire. 
 
 [7'(> Oie Giuiids ivithui. 
 
 Enter Charles, Ascanio, Mompensier. 
 
 Ch. Convey to the fleet the ladies, and their 
 train ! 
 For fear tlie rebels should the palace gain. 
 
 Asc. The traitors, sir, have seiz'd the postern 
 gate. 
 And all the barges there ! 'tis now too late. 
 Vh. Ha ! am I then decreed a fate so low, 
 My glories must at last to rebels b(»w. 
 
 Fcrd. Ye powers ! what proud ambitious 
 traitor's this. 
 That chases Monarchs with so high success? 
 Asc. They come ! 
 
 An alarm within, awl tlicij all stand vpon their guard. 
 Enter Alphonso followed b// several with drawn 
 swards. 
 
 Alph. Enough, retreat without delay ! 
 
 [The &iwirds retreat. 
 He dies that once refuses to obey. 
 
 Ferd. Ha ! 'tis my father or a thing that bears 
 That royal sha})e. [Ferd. and Jul. kneel to Alpli. 
 
 Alph. 'Tis I remove your fears, 
 I find amazement sits on every brow 
 
 To see me here : 
 
 But that will cease when I acquaint you how 
 
 A sudden tempest cast me on the shore, 
 
 Where 1, scarce sa\''d, fell in these l»andits' power !
 
 212 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 Who Struck Avitli grief tlieir banisht King to see, 
 
 Seem'd to repent their i)ast disloyalty, 
 
 Told me the state of the distracted town, 
 
 And i^roffer'd me their swords to gain my crown ; 
 
 1, fearing ill events, if I deny'd 
 
 Their proffer'd kindness, with the slaves comply 'd. 
 
 But here revenge and rapine was so sweet. 
 
 The villains ran confus'd in every street. 
 Where they could ravish, kill, or booty gain. 
 Nor could my power their savage rage restrain. 
 For th' ills they've done, sir, I your pardon crave ; 
 
 [Turns to Charles. 
 For I declare, I no intentions have 
 To seize the kingdom, or your glory cloud ; 
 But for that friendship which fame speaks so loud, 
 You to my son in his distress have shewn, 
 I come my high acknowledgments to own. 
 Proud, if this way I can so happy be, 
 T'oblige, and serve so brave an enemy ; 
 And now resign the crown, which is your due, 
 And do become a prisoner, sir, to you. 
 
 Ch. Heavens ! I'm amaz'd at his high gallantry, 
 
 [Aside. 
 I've sought his crown, and he obliges me ; 
 I see there does the same high courage run 
 In all the haughty blood of Arragon. 
 Sir, I confess the Kingdom is my right ; 
 But you've subdued me with so great a height 
 Of honour, as my courage scarce endures ; 
 
 And now I find ■ 
 
 I came not here to raise my fame, but yours. 
 
 But sir, I'll be so just to your renown, 
 
 That as your gift, I Avill accept this crown : 
 
 But since for honour, not for crowns I came, 
 
 I also must be just to my own fame. 
 
 And must return to you, sir, that Kingdom back, 
 
 Which only to oblige I stoop to take;
 
 CHAJILES THE EIGHTH OE EUANCE. 213 
 
 And that your honour may have safe retreat, 
 
 I'll bey a gift more generous and great 
 
 Thau that of Kingdoms, this lair Princess' love, 
 
 [To Julia. 
 Whose beauty will reward me far above 
 The highest flights of honour I have shewn, 
 And I have sought no interest but my own. 
 
 Alph. By this high honour you oblige us more. 
 But sir, since you who are our concjueror, 
 What's our advantage, make your own request ; 
 Thus gladly, sir, I end the high contest. 
 
 \Givi'>i him Julia. 
 
 C/i. Without 3'our love the gift's imperfect still. 
 
 Jul. Sir, I obey my royal father's will. [To Jul. 
 
 Ch. Madam, i do not doubt your duteous mind, 
 But shall I only cold submission find I 
 
 Jul. He'll force my heart a secret to infold, 
 I fear my blushes have already told. [Aside. 
 
 At pi-esent, sir, you must no more obtain 
 Than this that duty shall my heart explain. 
 
 Alj^h. Madam, I beg you will complete our joy, 
 
 [To Cornelia. 
 That want of crowns may not our hopes destroy ; 
 Once more to exile I will gladly go, 
 And on my son my Kingdom will bestow, 
 And shall be happy, in some safe retreat. 
 To sit and view felicity so great. 
 
 Ferd. Madam, some pity to a heart allow, 
 
 [Kneels to Car. 
 Which never came in view of hope till now ; 
 And now it sees some little glimpse of day, 
 Grows much impatient with the least delay. 
 
 Cor. The memory, sir, which to the dead I owe. 
 
 [Raises Ferd. 
 And my own honour too must make me slow 
 In granting these requests, but yet I find 
 A secret fate o'erpowers my yielding mind.
 
 214 THE HISTORY OF 
 
 AikI 1 but struggle with a high decree, 
 "Which is as Avilful as my heart cau be. 
 
 Ase. And now, my fair Irene, shall not we 
 Add to this joyful day's felicity 1 
 Shall we not land, whilst this fair gale does blow 1 
 
 Iren. Why should you ask, what you already 
 know 1 
 But my suspicions now I find too true. 
 You love to triumph where you can subdue. 
 
 Ferd. Now, sir-, to shew I've your commands 
 obey'd. ^ [To Alph. 
 
 See the revenge to your wrong'd fame I've paid. 
 
 \Sheir>< Sal. dead. 
 
 AJph. Ha ! Salerne dead! I pity the bold slave; 
 For had his soul been loyal as 'twas brave, 
 
 He had deserv'd my favour ; 
 
 But where's the treacherous Trivultio '] 
 
 Asc. Slain ! 
 
 His head does on the eastern tower remain, 
 "Where to rebellion he incites no more. 
 But fritrhts tlie traitors lie seduced liefore. 
 
 *&' 
 
 AJph. Treason's just fate,— but you forget to tell 
 How fares my unhai)py daughter Isabel. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. The Duchess, sir ! 
 Bleeding and faint is from the Domo led, 
 Where she to th' altar was for refuge fled. 
 
 AJph. Bleeding ! 
 
 Gent. Some base unmanly sword has plac'd 
 Too deep and dangerous wounds hi her fair breast. 
 From whence her life fiovvs unregarded by. 
 Not gaining the least pity from her eye ; 
 And now, of your arrival, sir, she hears. 
 Life with impatience for a wliile she bears. 
 And she is brought along with bleeding wounds, 
 By gentle steps, and at each step she swoons.
 
 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 215 * 
 
 Tlie Duchess enttrs led hetiveen tivo ladies, 
 
 bleeding. 
 
 Isah. Sir, I come here to take my last adieu 
 Of all my glory in this world, and you. [TolAljili. 
 For any ills I in my Ufe have done 
 
 I beg your pardon, though I know of none ; 
 
 For to my glory you so just must be, 
 
 To own Fve honour'd our great family. 
 
 And liv'd in fame, though the small crown I wore 
 
 My brows with bluslies and impatience bore ; 
 
 And now I walk in grandeur to my tomb, 
 
 By such a death as does my blood become ; 
 
 Though dying, sir, I generously own 
 
 I sought not to restore your vanquisht crown 
 
 So much, as for revenge on that false Prince, 
 
 [7o Charle.'!. 
 Whose base inconstancy and insolence 
 To punish deeply I to arms did lly ; 
 Yet, oh my fate ! now unreveng'd I die. [Faints. 
 
 Ch. All Madam!— why 1 
 
 Isah. Take hence thy hated sight. 
 Thou stop'st my soul in its eternal iliglit. 
 Ob, I am going ! Ha, what is"t I see ] 
 
 Enter Galeazzo's Ghost. 
 
 My murder'd lord again to visit me ! 
 Aljjh. What is't she sees 1 
 Isab. I come ! I come ! poor shade ! 
 Alph. Alas I Sbe raves, her reason is mislaid. 
 What wouldst thou have 1 oh, speak thy last 
 commands ! 
 Isah. See you not Millane's Ghost ! there ! there 
 he stands ! 
 Father revenge his blood, and let not slaves 
 Their glories build on murder'd Princes graves. 
 
 [She '//(,'.>■ aiul the (Jlmst i/acs ojf.
 
 216 THE HISTOllY UF 
 
 Ch. Madam, for liononr's sake, and tor your own, 
 Your lord's revenge shall be my Avork alone ; 
 But ha ! she hears me not, and seems to die, 
 Displeas'd and pain'd, whilst one she hates 
 stands by. 
 
 Alph. She aim'd at glory which her fiite 
 denies. 
 And, now enrag'd at fortune's hate, she dies. 
 
 Ch. Now royal friend, let us embrace at last, 
 
 [To FmL 
 And bury thus all wrongs and quarrels past ! 
 That vow which me into this war betray'd, 
 Shall vanish in the fleeting breath 'twas made : 
 If to the dead this an offence will be, 
 I rather will offend the dead than thee. 
 But, sure, re^'enge and blood can never prove 
 Things more divine than valour, friendship, love 1 
 
 Ferd. Brave Charles, thy sentiments are so 
 sublime, 
 That nothing thou canst do can be a crime ; 
 If such high virtue an offence can be, 
 I'll my religion change and worship thee. 
 
 Alph. Heavens ! to my soul 'tis a transporting 
 sight, 
 To see our hearts and families unite. 
 Now let us all to some repose betake, 
 And joy in decency a while forsake : 
 Till solemn rites we for the dead prepare, 
 The dead must now be our succeeding care : 
 And when those sad solemnities are done. 
 You may complete the joys you have begun. 
 Thus human life does various forms display, 
 And grief and joy succeed like night and day.
 
 CHARLES THK KKJIITH OF I'RANCK. 217 
 
 EPILOG U E. 
 
 With how much patience have you heard to day 
 The whining noise of a dull rhyming play 1 
 This ol)stinate incori'igible rhyme, 
 Though lasht V)y all tlie critics of the time ; 
 Our dullest writers can no more forbear, 
 Thau your ill faces vizard masks to wear. 
 Yet you appear'd so grave and so devout, 
 You neither hist nor stamp to put us out, 
 A thing our critics would no more ha' done, 
 Then to a dull phanatic meeting gone ; 
 And there, amongst a serious whining throng, 
 Stay'd out a holding forth of nine hours long. 
 As for the play our author will not dare. 
 Like you, good men of trade, to praise his ware : 
 But unskill'd customers he may advise ; 
 Then, Sirs, since on your verdict it relies, 
 Kesolve to save the play before you go, 
 For fear it should be good for aught you know. 
 Howe'er it makes heroic virtue shine 
 Li royal breasts, where it shews most divine. 
 And so does Kings and Monarchy advance, 
 Nay, guarded with the names of Charles and France, 
 Names that now shake the world, sure, you'd not dare 
 To damn a play, where these united are ; 
 Let it be ne'er so bad, who dares arrest 
 The meanest slave that wears the royal crest? 
 Join not with small cabals of wit, that pry, 
 How they may damn the play, and no one spy ; 
 Being much ashamed in these tame wars t' appear, 
 When their high mettle may be shewn elsewhere. 
 Now, they're divided, let's have aid from you, 
 Them and their factious partv to sul>due ; 
 1 15
 
 218 CHARLES THE EIGHTH OF FRANCE. 
 
 Then, ere the ])arliament of wits that sate, 
 And govern'd here like a proud petty State, 
 Return from sea in a triumphant rage, 
 We'll get a full possession of the Stage; 
 Meanwhile our poet, with your forces join'd, 
 May damn the Kump of wits that stay behind.
 
 CALISTO.
 
 Calisto : or, The Chaste Nimph. The late Masque at 
 Court, as it was frequently Presented there, hy several 
 Persons of Great Quality. With the Prologue, and the 
 Songs heiwixt the Acts. All Written hy J. Croicne. 
 Printed by Tho. Newcomh, for James Magnes and 
 Richard Bentley, at the Post-Office in Rtissell-st7-eet in 
 Cove7it- Garden. 1675. 4to.
 
 Owing to the influence of John Wihnot, Earl of Roches- 
 ter, to whom Crowne h<ad dedicated his History of 
 Charles the Eighth of France, he was employed to com- 
 pose the Court Masque of Calisto, in which the principal 
 characters were represented by the daughters of James 
 II., then Uuke of York, and the chief nobility of Eng- 
 land. The right of preparing this performance belonged 
 properly to Dryden, as poet laureat, but he made no 
 remonstance, and kindly composed a7i Epilogue, which, 
 through the interference of Rochester, was not accepted.* 
 
 In his address to the reader, Crowne, after speaking 
 of the merits of the piece with great humility, and 
 pointing out the many difficulties that presented them- 
 selves to him in its composition, assures him "that the 
 dancing, singing, niusick, which were all in the highest 
 perfection, the most graceful action, incomparable 
 beauty, and rich and splendid habit of the Princesses, 
 whose lustre received no moderate increase from the 
 beauties, and rich habits of the ladies who had the 
 honour to accompany them and share in the performance, 
 must needs have afforded you a delight so extraordinary 
 that this, (meaning the Masque) in its printed form, will 
 appear very insipid." 
 
 According to the Biographia Dramatica, it was the 
 Duchess of York by whose command the Masque was 
 prejiared, but there is nothing to be gathered from the 
 work itself to warrant this assertion. From the dedi- 
 cation to the Princess, subsequently Queen Mary, it 
 would rather appear to have been at her request that this 
 cherished pastime of her grandfather's times was 
 attempted to be revived. In this instance the experi- 
 ment succeeded, as the author informs the public that 
 the entertainment, so much " honoured and adorned, was 
 
 * Scott's Dryden, vol. x., p.-i^ij, 2fl Edition, Edin. 1821, Svo.
 
 222 cALisTo. 
 
 followed at iiunnneraV)le rehearsals, and all the repre- 
 sentations, by throngs of persons of tlie greatest quality, 
 and designed for the pleasures and divertisements of 
 their Majesties, and Royal Highnesses, and accordingly 
 A'ery often graced with their presences." 
 
 The Princess Mary was born at St James' 30th day of 
 April, jiast one o'clock in the morning, 1662. Sandford 
 says she " is a lady of great beauty and eminent virtue, 
 and is now happily become the wife of William Henry of 
 Nassau, Prince of Orange, tlieir nuptials being privately 
 celebrated in her bed- chamber at St James' aforesaid 
 upon the 4th of Xovenil:)er, about eight of the clock in 
 the evening, 1677."* She consequently could not have 
 been more than thirteen years old when Calisto was pro- 
 duced, and fifteen when she was married. The Princess 
 Anne, according to the same authority, was born on the 
 tenth of February 166-t, " thirty-nine minutes past eleven 
 at night." " She was for her health sent to France in 
 1669," and since " her return not only acquired a 
 healthful constitution of body, but those accomijlish- 
 ments of mind which are very seldom found in a person 
 of her years." At the date of the Masque she would be 
 about eleven years of age. 
 
 As Anne Hyde, mother of the two Princesses, died 
 upon the 81st of March 1671, the Duchess of York of 
 1675 could only have been Mary D' Este, daughter of the 
 Duke of Modena, who became the second wife of the 
 Duke of York upon the 21st November 1673, when 
 hardly fifteen years of age. Crowne in the dedication 
 to the Princess Mary never in the slightest manner refers 
 to her stepmother, or even her father, although it is 
 certain that his Royal Highness took a deep interest 
 in the representation. 
 
 Evelyn, in his life of Mrs Godolphin, mentions that 
 she, when " ^largaret Blagge," and Maid of Honour to 
 the Queen, performed the character of Diana, the 
 Goddess of Chastity, and " had on her that day near 
 twenty thousand poimds value of Jewells, which were 
 more set off with her native beauty and luster then 
 any they contributed of their owne to hers." After the 
 
 * Sandford's Genealogical History f)f the King.s of England, 
 
 l'i77. p. ;'i'>7, folio.
 
 (JALISTO. 223 
 
 perfoniKviice " a dissaster lia[ip(:'iied which extreainly 
 conceriiM her, and that was the loss of a Diamond of 
 considerable valine wdiich had been lent her by the 
 Countess of Suffolk ; the stage was immediately swept 
 and diligent search made to find it, but without success, 
 soe as probably it had been taken from her, as she was 
 oft environ'd with that infinite Crowd which 'tis im- 
 possible to avoid upon such occasion. But the loss in 
 question was soon rejjaired, for his Royal Highness, 
 understanding the trouble she was in, generousely sent 
 her wherewith all to make my Lady Suffoike a present 
 of soe (as ?) good a jewell."* It may not v;nnaturally 
 be assumed that, as the two princesses were performers, 
 their Royal Parent would deem it a duty on his part to 
 repair the loss which had occurred, the more especially 
 if the entertainment had been by his order. 
 
 James II. had inherited from his mother, Henrietta 
 Maria, a taste for exhibitions of this kind, and both he 
 and his sister Henrietta Maria took part during their 
 banishment from England in a Masque of which the 
 following is the title: "The Nuptials of Peleus and 
 Thetis, Consisting of a Mask and a Comedy, or the Great 
 Royal Ball, acted lately in Paris six times, by 
 
 The King in Person. 
 The Duke of Anjou. 
 The Duke of Yorke, 
 
 with divers other Noble-men. 
 
 ALSO BY 
 
 The Princess Royall Henrette Marie. 
 The Princess of Conty. 
 The Dutchess of Roquelaure. 
 The Dutches of Crequy. 
 Witli many other Ladies of Honour. 
 
 London. Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be 
 sold at his Shop at the Ancor in the lower walke of the 
 new Exchange 1654." 
 
 This is a translation or adaptation from the French 
 by James Howel, the author of the once popular 
 
 * The Life of Mrs Godolphin, by John Evelyn, Esq., p. 99, 
 London, 1848. Edited by Samuel Wilberforco, Lord Bishop of 
 Oxford, Chancellor of the most noble Ordci- of the Garter.
 
 224 (JALLSTC). 
 
 and still interesting volume called Epistolffi-Hoelianse, 
 and is dedicated by liini to the Lady Katherine Mar- 
 chiones of Dorchester, the wife of Henry second Earl 
 of Kingston, who obtained the Marnuisate of Dorchester 
 in the county of Dorset 25th March 1645. The Mar- 
 chioness had the honour of being godmother of Henrietta 
 Stuart, third daughter of the Duke of York, and Anne 
 Hyde his first wife. The Princess was born upon the 
 13th day of January lf)68, but did not live more than 
 ten months, dying upon the 15th day of November IGGK. 
 It is remarkable tluit the Masque of the Nuptials of 
 Peleus and Thetis should during the Commonwealth have 
 been openly sold with the publisher's name and address, as 
 both the Duke and his sister are not only given as per- 
 formers on the title, but the verses spoken by the Duke 
 could not be very agreeable to the ears of the dominant 
 faction in the metropolis of England. His Royal High- 
 ness was born upon the 14th of October IGoo, and nuist 
 therefore have been just of age when with the Fishers 
 of Coral, and " representing a Fisherman," he spoke as 
 follows : — 
 
 'Tis not for me to tish for Corrall here, 
 I to another coast my course must steer, 
 
 A fatal ground 
 
 Which Seas surround ; 
 There I must fish upon an angry main 
 More than two Crowns and Scepters to regain. 
 
 This is not all, for " Madam Henriette, the Princess of 
 England, representing the Muse Erato, which fell to her 
 by lott," says — • 
 
 My Stemm is more then of a mortal race ; 
 
 For to great Henries' ij rami eld Id all give place. 
 Mj' innocent and j'oung aspect 
 Inspires both pitty and respect, 
 And he who loudly would complain 
 Of PriiMii falls and Peoples raign, 
 Of angry stars and destiny, 
 Let him but cast his eyes on me. 
 
 At this time the Princess, who was born on the 11th 
 June 1644, was only ten years of age; her verses were 
 prophetic of her future fortunes. She married the Duke 
 of Anjou, better known afterwards as Duke of Orleans,
 
 CALISTO. 225 
 
 the brother of Louis the Fourteenth and died suddenly 
 in the month of June 1G70 at the early age of twenty- 
 six. The general belief was that she was poisoned. 
 
 Bishop Burnet, whose authority cannot always be 
 relied on, asserts that upon the return of the Princess to 
 France from England, her husband had heard such 
 things of his wife's behaviour that he ordered a great 
 dose of sublimate to be given her in a glass of succory 
 water, of which she died a few hours after in great tor- 
 ments : and when she was opened her stomach w^as all 
 ulcerated."'* He also asserts that she was attached to the 
 Count de Guiche. The same accusation occurs in the 
 Memoirs of Sir John Reresby. It is probable that the 
 acquaintance of the Princess and De Guiche commenced 
 with the Masque of 1654. He. was one of the performers 
 first as a Fisherman, when he says : — 
 
 Upon the side of a still fearful pond 
 I use to fish, and dare not go be\'oiid. 
 The time will come that T may also seek 
 The River's Banks, and haply a Sea-creek. 
 
 Subsequently there enters a " Quire of Lovers " — 
 '' Mounsieur," the King's brother — the future husband 
 of Henrietta, " re^jresenting the first love," has these 
 lines : — 
 
 Ladies from this tender spray 
 
 There maj' some danger come one day ; 
 
 Ye with caresses flatter him, he you, 
 
 Ye kiss and hngg him, but you'll find it true 
 It is a Lion's cubb which you do stroke. 
 Who with his paw in time may make you smoke. 
 
 He sports with j-ou, he smiles and mocks, 
 
 Plays with your Jewells, fancies, locks, 
 
 But take yee heed, for he at length 
 
 Will gather more encrease of strength ; 
 
 Yet I foresee he will wean quite 
 
 Himself from all such soft delight. 
 
 And marching in the steps of his great sires. 
 
 Make (Jlory the sole Queen of his desires. 
 
 Next came De Guiche, " representing another love," 
 who says : — 
 
 * Burnet, vol. i., p. 552. ' 2d Edition, Oxford, 1S33, Svo.
 
 22() CALISTO. 
 
 All those Loves I do behold 
 Brighter than the burnished gold 
 Are nothing if coni})are(l with nie, 
 Whether Fire or Light they be, 
 I do discover in effect 
 I am all love when I reflect 
 upon myself. 
 
 The Princess was very beautiful and accomplislicd. 
 She brought the Duke one son — the Duke de Valois, wlio 
 died in infancy — and two daughters, Louisa, the elder, 
 Avho became Queen of Spain but died without issue, 
 and Anne Maria the- younger, Duchess of Savoy, whose 
 descendants became heirs of line of the race of Stewart, 
 and would have excluded the House of Hanover from 
 the British throne, had it not been for their professing 
 the Roman Catholic faith. 
 
 The first entry of the Masque was '' The Grand Mon- 
 arch," who as Apollo was attended by the nine muses, 
 represented by ladies of tlie highest rank, at the head of 
 whom was the English Frincess,as the Muse " who singeth 
 of love and marriage."* Thus Erato reversed the adage, 
 for marriage came first and love afterwards. 
 
 Tlie Masque of Calisto is taken from the second book 
 of the Metamorphoses of Ovid, where Jupiter, accidentally 
 nieeting the daughter of Lycaon, King of Arcadia, 
 whilst perambulating that country with the intention 
 of repairing tlie injuries it had sustained through the 
 folly of Phaeton in his ambitious attempt to guide 
 the chariot of his father, became captivated by her 
 beauty. Calisto was one of the favoured attend- 
 ants of Diana, whose form Jupiter assumed, and was 
 thus able to accomplish his wishes. The result was a 
 child called Arcos, which she hid in the woods. Juno, 
 having discovered what had occurred, changed the un- 
 fortunate victim of her husband's imposture into a bear, 
 whereupon Jove made her a constellation with her son 
 under the name of the Bear. She was called •' Virgo 
 Tegcsea," fi'om the city Tegea in Arcadia.t 
 
 * Ovidius de Arte Amandi, Lib. ii., 16. F. 568. 
 
 " Nunc Erato : nam tu nomen amoris habes." 
 
 •\- Sed tibi nee Virgo Tegea?a, comesque Bootas 
 Ensiger Orion asjuciendus erit. 
 
 Ovidius de Arte Amandi. Lili. II. F. iif)."), Tom. L Lug. 
 Bat. 1670, 8vo.
 
 CALISTO. 227 
 
 The fable is one not exactly adapted, it might be siij)- 
 posed, for a Royal Mastjue. Nevertheless, as the 
 virtuous Evelyn assures his readers, " however defective 
 in other particulars, it ■was exactly modest and suitable 
 to the persons, who were all of the first rank and most 
 illustrious of the Court."* This oijinion is somewhat 
 remarkable, comino- as it does from a man generally sup- 
 posed to be an exception to the class of individuals who 
 fluttered about Charles and his brother, for little can be 
 said of the modesty of the masque, which might never- 
 theless be quite adapted to tlie taste of most of the 
 distinguished audience that witnessed its representation. 
 One fact is elicited from the testimony of Mrs Godol- 
 phin's biographer, that even with individuals free from 
 the taint of the period, a freedom in diction and toler- 
 ance of expression was jjermitted, which in the present 
 day would be considered highly objectionable. 
 
 Crowne, in executing the task imposed upon him, has 
 added an underj^lot, for wliich he was not indebted to 
 Ovid. He introduces Mercury as one of the Dramatis 
 Personse, who falls in love with one of Diana's attendants 
 called Psecas, " an envious nymph," and an enemy of 
 Calisto, who assists Juno in wreaking her vengeance 
 on the heroine. Instead of a son Calisto, is given a 
 sister called Nyphe, and after a vindication of the reput- 
 ation of the former, Jove winds up with soliciting her to 
 
 Accept the small dominion of a Star. 
 
 There yon and beauteous Nyphe may dispense 
 
 With cooler beams your light and influence 
 
 On the great ceremony, Hermes wait, 
 
 Let all the Gods give their appearance strait, 
 
 Their virgin consecration nought debars, 
 
 I will in full assembly crown 'em stars. 
 
 Psecas, for her mischief-making, is rewarded by the 
 gentle Juno, and received into her friendship, where- 
 upon Jupiter sarcastically remarks : 
 
 A most harmonious friendship this must prove. 
 The fates designed 'em for each other's love, 
 For none love them, and they have love for none. 
 Their kindness centres on themselves alone. 
 And they are so exactly of a make 
 Each may the other for herself mistake. 
 
 * Life of Mrs (Jodolphin. p. W.
 
 228 C'ALLSTU.* 
 
 Mrs Godolpliin, then ]\Iiss Rlatj'ge, during the progref 
 of the Masque, was one of the maids of honour to Catlierin . 
 of Braganza, the Queen of Charles ![., and was anxious 
 to have resigned the situation prior to the perform- 
 ance, but retained it from the difficulty of getting any 
 satisfaction as to the allowance usually made when any 
 of these ladies gave up her appointment. In a letter 
 to Evelyn, written on the 22d September, she informs 
 him, " my buissiness makes no advance, and that where 
 I least expected difficulty I find the greatest. The King 
 sayes nothing to my Lord Treasurer, nor my Lord to 
 him ; soe that for ought I perceive 'tis likely to depend 
 thus a long tyme : well, God's will be done as in Heaven, 
 soe on earth ; in the meantyme, I am extreamly heavy 
 for I would he free from that place and have nothing to 
 do in itt att all : butt it will not be for the play goes on 
 mightyly, which I hoped would never have proceeded 
 farther. Dear friend, I begg your prayere this cloudy 
 AVeather, that God would endow me with patience and 
 resignation. Would you believe itt, there are some that 
 envy me the honour (;is they esteeme it) of acting in this 
 play, and pass malitious Jests upon me. Now you know 
 I am to turne the other cheeke, nor take I notice of it." 
 
 For a young lady of a mind so serious it would un- 
 doubtedly have been peculiarly unpleasant to have 
 enacted the part of a goddess who had patronised 
 Endymion, and had not repulsed Hypolitus, — as the 
 naughty Psecas chose to assure Juno was the fact. 
 However, the Royal order settled all scruples. " She 
 had her part assigned her, which as it was the most 
 illustrious, soe never was there any perfoi'm'd with more 
 grace and becoming the solemnity." Evelyn continues, 
 that during the time the performance was proceeding 
 and her presence was not required, she returned to the 
 " tireing roome, where severall Ladyes her companions 
 were railing with the gallants trifleingly enough till they 
 were called to re-enter, she, under pretence of conning 
 her next part, was retired into a corner, reading a booke 
 of Devotion without at all concerning herselfe or ming- 
 ling with the young company, — as if she had no further 
 jiart to act who was the princijial pei-son of the comedy." 
 The writer Avho witnessed her performance particularly 
 remarked the " surprizing and admirable aire she trode
 
 ('ATJSTO: 229 
 
 the stage and perfornu'd her pjirt; because si le could doe 
 nothing of this sort, or anything else she undertook 
 indifferently, butt in the highest perfection. JJiitt whilst 
 the whole theatre were extolling her, she wns, then in 
 her own eyes, not only the humblest, butt, the most 
 diffident f)f herself, and least affecting praise." " For the 
 rest of that dayss triumph I have a 2")articular account 
 still by me of the rich apparel she had on .her, amounting 
 besides the Pearlfes and Pretious Stones, to above three 
 hundred pounds, but of all which she immediately dis- 
 posed her selfe soe soone as ever she could get clear of 
 the Stage. AYithout complimenting any creature or 
 trifling with the rest who staid the collation and r^'fresh- 
 nient that was prepar'd, away she slips like a spiritt to 
 Berkley House, and to her little oratorye ; whither I 
 waited on hex*, and left her on her knees thanking God 
 that she was delivered from this vanity, and with her 
 Saviour againe, never, says she, will I come within this 
 temptation more whilst I breath." 
 
 Evelyn is not very precise here as to the exact time 
 his heroine abandoned the stage, for Crowne assuredly 
 could hardly have been mistaken in stating, as he does 
 in the title of the Masque, that it was Jretpwiitlji pre- 
 sented at Court " by several persons of Great Quality." 
 It is obvious that she must have performed the character 
 during the entire period of the representation, which 
 does not appear to have continued after the jniblication 
 of the play in 1G75. 
 
 Margaret Blagge, born upon the second of August 1 652, 
 was the youngest daughter of Colonel Thomas Blagge of 
 Horningsherth, in the county of Suffolk, a Groom of the 
 Bed-chamber to Charles I.,, and Governor of Walling- 
 ford. Upon the restoration, he was made Governor of 
 Yarmouth and Langnard fort. He did not long enjoy his 
 appointments, as he departed this life lith November 1G60, 
 leaving by his wife ^Iary North, daughter of Sir Koger 
 North of Mildenhall, four daughters, the eldest of whom, 
 Henrietta Maria, figures in Grammont, and married 
 Sir Thomas Yarburgh of Snaith ; Dorothy, the second, died 
 unmarried ; Mary, the third daughter, was Maid of Honour 
 to the Duchess of York; and Margaret, the friend of 
 Evelyn, the ycmngest, became the spouse of Sidney 
 Godolpliin iipon the lUtli May 1G75. and died 9th Sep-
 
 230 cAiJSTo. 
 
 tember 1G78, shortly after giving birth to their only sou 
 Francis. 
 
 Her widowed husband uever reuiarrieil, and devoted 
 himself to politics. In September 1684 he was created 
 Lord Godol]ihiu of Kialtcui when First Lord of the 
 Treasury. He became Lord High Treasurer and Knight 
 of the Garter in 1704, and was elevated to the Earldom 
 of Godolphin 29th December 1706. He died in 1712, 
 when his only son Francis succ(!eded him. He married 
 the Lady Henrietta Churchill, Duchess of iMarlborough 
 in her own right. - Of this marriage there was issue one 
 son, AVilliam, Viscount Rialton, subsequently Marquis of 
 Blandford, who dying without issue 24th August 1731, 
 the Dukedom of ^Marlborough and Marquisate of Bland- 
 ford passed to the Earl of Sunderland, whilst the 
 Godolphin representation, by reason of Henrietta her 
 elder sister, Duchess of Newcastle, dying without issue, 
 was inherited by Mary her only sister, who married Thomas 
 Osborne, fourth Duke of Leeds, whose son Francis 
 Godolphin Osborne succeeded his father 23d IMarcli 
 1789, and died 31st January 1799. 
 
 The fifth Duke of Leeds was twice married, his first 
 wife was Amelia D'Arcy, only daughter and heiress of 
 Robert fourth Earl of Holdeerness, and in her own right 
 Baroness Conyei's, whom he divorced May 1779 for 
 adultery with John Byron, Esq. By her he had George 
 William Frederick, the sixth Duke, who succeeded upon 
 the demise of his father 31st January 1799, and died in 
 July 1838, having married Charlotte, daughter of the 
 first Marquis Townshend, on 17th August 1797. By her 
 his Grace had two sons, the elder of whom became seventh 
 Duke, but although married, died leaving no issue. His 
 younger son was accidentally killed at Oxford 19th 
 February 1831. The eldest daughter. Lady Charlotte 
 Mary Anne Georgiana, born 16 July 1801, married 
 22d June 1826 Sackville Lane Fox, Esq., M.P. ; and upon 
 the death of her brother, the representation as heir of 
 line of Margaret Blagge and Sydney, first Earl of 
 Godolphin, came, after the demise of his mother, to be 
 vested in their son, the present Lord Conyers. 
 
 Some very interesting particulars, contributed by John 
 Holmes, Esq., of the British Museum, relative to Colonel 
 Blagge, the father of Mrs Godolphin, who preserved " his
 
 CATJSTO. 231 
 
 Majesty's George " after the battle of AVorcester, will bo 
 found in the appendix by the Bisliop of Oxford to 
 Evelyn's memoir of the lady. His Lordship has prefixed 
 to the volume an engraving of Mrs Godolphin from the 
 original painting at "Wootton. " A portrait of Colonel 
 Blagge is at Gog-magog Hills, near Cambridge, the seat 
 of his descendant the present Lord Godolphin," IS-i^. 
 
 In his account of the English stage, Geneste, in a 
 brief notice of Calisto, observes that, on the whole, it 
 " does Crowne credit rather than otherwise — the prin- 
 cipal fault of it is its length, for it extends to five acts." 
 In adapting the legend for representation, the author has 
 shown considerable skill in deviating from Ovid, and 
 avoiding, as the author says, " writing what would have 
 been unfit for Princesses and Ladies to speak." Even 
 purified as the masque has been by the judicious altera- 
 tions of Crowne, enough of the original leaven still re- 
 mains to create some surprise how any parent could 
 permit the selection of not the most reputable adven- 
 ture of the King of the Gods, as the subject of a Drama in 
 Avhich his two daughters were to be principal performers. 
 
 In his address to the Reader, the author gives an 
 amusing detail of the dithculties under which he laboured 
 in preparing the Masquci of Calisto for representation — 
 the chief one arising from the selection of the plot and 
 his assuredly hazardous attempt to represent the deceived 
 daughter of the King of Arcadia and attendant of Diana 
 as an impersonation of Chastity. It is not jirobable that 
 Crowne would have made the experiment without per- 
 mission, and Charles himself may possibly have suggested 
 the idea, as it is understood his Majesty was by no means 
 indisposed to offer his advice in dramatic matters, and 
 that he did so is established by his recommending Crowne 
 to take two Spanish plays and form them into one, an 
 advice the Poet followed, and produced Sir Courtly Nice, 
 a Comedy which became deservedly popular, and of 
 which the critic Dennis says, " the greatest comic poet 
 that ever lived in any age might have been proud to have 
 been the author."
 
 TO HER HIGHNESS 
 
 THE LADY MARY. 
 
 Eldest Daughter of 11 is Royal llicjhness 
 THE DUKE. 
 
 Madam, — Being unexpectedly called out of my Obscur- 
 ity, to the glory of serving your Highness, (and indeed 
 the whole Court) in an entertainment so considerable as 
 this ; my fears and amazements were such as (I believe) 
 shepherds and herdsmen had of old, wlien from their 
 flocks and herds they were call'd to prophesie to Kings. 
 I know not how to interpret the meaning of that com- 
 mand, which laid on such feeble shoulders, a burden too 
 heavy for the strongest to bear. Fain would I have 
 shrunk back again into my former shades, and hid my 
 self in my native obscurity ; but fearing to dispute with 
 oracles, and resist Heavenly Powers, I adventured on 
 dangerous obedience, knowing that if I must perish, it 
 was better to perish a Martyr than a Criminal. But 
 recollecting my self, I remembered that Divine commands 
 were Presages rather of Favour than Kuin ; that when 
 Heaven pressed any to his wars, he gave them courage, 
 as well as pay. This made me hope, that in the glorious 
 work to which I was called, I should be inspired. 
 
 And this I thought it my duty to believe, when I re- 
 membered in whose service I was employed, in the service 
 of a Princess, over whose great and victorious P'ather a 
 glorious Genius always hovered, assisting the meanest of 
 his followers, when engaged in services of his, of what 
 kind soever; and sure, thought I, he will not neglect 
 me, now I serve so fair, so excellent, and so considerable 
 a part of him ; now I am under the shadow of his wings. 
 I shall partake of his influence. This made me think it
 
 cAUSTd. 233 
 
 a sin to despair, aud thrust mo on with all the boldness 
 and giddiness, but, to my sorrow, not with the exalted 
 raptures, of one insiiired : for, after all, it was not with 
 me according to my Faith. This Poem savoure too little 
 of inspiration, and too much of my own weak unassisted 
 self : nay, as it w'as first written, it came even short of 
 my self, aud sure that must be a wretched thing which 
 Avants the perfection I can give it. And though no man 
 is to blame for having no more wit than he has, yet he 
 is an ill-mannered Churle who will not spend his whole 
 stock to entertain such a Guest. For my defects and 
 inabilities, Nature alone must answer, and I am heartily 
 sorry for them, but I must, with all submission, charge 
 your Highness with being the occasion of my latter 
 offence. If you will invite yourself to the greatest table 
 in P^ngJand, and not give them time to prepare, you will 
 not find an entertainment fit for you. A poem is a 
 thing consists of many and different images ; and tliough 
 a man's estate be but small, yet if it lies in many hands, 
 it will require time to get it in. Nature herself proceeds 
 always slowly, and gradually to perfection ; nay, we 
 find Heaven pondering and consulting when he was to 
 make a creature on which he meant to bestow excellence. 
 I will not pretend that I have materials in me to have 
 formed a poem of such perfection as so great an occasion 
 required ; but I am certain I could have written some- 
 thing more Avorthy of your Highness' favour, and the 
 great honour to which this was preferred, had I had 
 time enough allowerl me to ripen my conceptions. But, 
 Madam, if your Highness did expect, I should have 
 indited thoughts fine as your own, and made you speak 
 as excellently as you think, you then laid a task on me 
 too great for anything but an Angel. For none can have 
 Angelical thouglits but they who have Angelical virtues ; 
 and none do, or ever did, in so much youth, come so 
 near the perfection of Angels as yourself, and your young 
 Princely Sister, in whom all those excellencies shine, 
 Avhich the best of us can but rudely paint. But, ^ladam, 
 what need was there of that perfection of wit, the ciianns 
 of your person, youth, and mein, the lustre of your high 
 quality, and the extni ordinary grace that attended every- 
 thing vou said and did, spoke to the eyes aud souls of 
 1 ' 16
 
 2:34 CALisTo. 
 
 all that saw you, in a Language more divine than wit can 
 invent, in a Language whei-ein Nature entertained them 
 with her own Ingenuity, and by a thousand charming 
 expressions so took up all their attention, that the best 
 of writers could not have made you speak anything, 
 your audience would have been at leisure to regard, or 
 for which they would have descended from one moment's 
 pleasure of admiring you. The foresight of this made 
 Fortune, who always loves to favour the least deserving, 
 throw the honour of this service on me : she knew there 
 was no need of excellence in a Writer, when there was so 
 mucli in you ; and since the best of Writers would not 
 have ajipeared considerable, indulged her humour in 
 selecting the worst : a favour which in many respects 
 exalts me above all my Contemporaries, and will make 
 the world judge me, though not the best, the happiest 
 Writer of the age. 
 
 But, Madam, as it is the Fate of all things to be sub- 
 ject to inconstancy, and neither happiness nor misery 
 last long, especially when in extremes : this Poem, made 
 like the first man, by the command and for the service 
 of a Divinity, almost out of nothing too, and placed, at 
 the instant of its formation, in a paradise of happiness 
 and honour, now driven from its blest estate and its 
 ever-flourishing gardens, is going to wander roimd the 
 world, in a condition of poverty, misery, and exile ; 
 where, instead of its past felicities, the many visions 
 of Heaven, when the Sovereign glories of this isle 
 descended frequently to visit, and seemed to recreate 
 themselves in, its bowers ; instead of the extreme lustre 
 it received from the most graceful action of your High- 
 ness, of the Princess Anne your sister, and of the other 
 young Ladies, which like so many beautiful Angels 
 attended you, it is now condemned to want and naked- 
 ness, to starve under the cold wind of censure, to all the 
 sufferings that the native of a rich and happy soil must 
 expect when banished to cold and barbarous Regions. In 
 this condition, forced by its misery, and bound by the 
 duty of a Creature, it makes this humble sacrifice of 
 itself to your Highness, to beg such a share of your Pro- 
 tection and Favour as may enable it to live in a condition 
 becoming a creature which had once the Honor to be
 
 CALISTO. 235 
 
 so near to yoii, and to receive such particular Graces 
 from you. Your Highnesses favour will yet make it spend 
 its days in Honor, revive with ^^leasure the remembrance 
 of the past glories, and give an immortality, not only to 
 this poor Poem, but to the otherwise most obscure 
 name of, 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Your Highness' most humble 
 
 • and most devoted Servant, 
 
 John Crowne.
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 Readek, — If you were ever a spectator of this fol- 
 lowing entertainment, when it was represented in its 
 glory, you will come, if you come at all, with very dull 
 appetite, to this cold, lean carkass of it. The dancing, 
 singing, music, which were all in the highest perfection, 
 the most graceful action, incomparable beauty, and rich 
 and S2:)lendid habit of the Princesses, whose lustre re- 
 ceived no moderate encrease from the beauties and rich 
 habits of the ladies who had the honor to accompany 
 'em, and share in the performance, must needs have 
 afforded you a delight so extraordinary, that this will 
 appear very insipid. If you have never seen it, then 
 perhaps you may receive some pleasure ; but yet, I 
 fear, not so much as you expect. You, no doubt, Avill 
 imagine, and you have reason, that an entertainment 
 so much honoured and adorned, followed at innumerable 
 rehearsals, and all the representations by throngs of 
 persons of the greatest quality, and designed for the 
 pleasures and divertisements of their Majesties, and 
 Royal Highnesses, and accordingly very often graced 
 with their j^resences, should be some superlative piece. 
 But you will be disappointed, you will find nothing 
 here answer those swelling expectations. How it happens 
 to be so, it is enough to tell you, that it was written by 
 me ; and it would be very strange, if a bad writer 
 should write well ; but, which was as great an un- 
 happiness, I had not time enough allowed me, to muster 
 together, on so great an occas-ion, those few abilities I 
 have ; I was invaded on the sudden, by a powerful 
 command, to prepare an entertainment for the court, 
 which was to be written, learnt, practised, and per- 
 formed in less time than was necessary for the writing 
 alone. True, it was not performed till some months 
 after the time first decreed, but that hapened from the 
 discretion of those on whom the dancing and musical 
 parts depended, who found it required time to do any 
 thing in perfection ; but I not knowing it would be so
 
 cAiJsi'o. 237 
 
 deferred, finished my part within the time first allotted 
 me, which was scarce a month : not only for the pUt'i, 
 but the j)r()l()gu(', and ,v(;////.v, the nature of which I was 
 wholly a stranger to, having never seen any thing of the 
 kind ; and by these means, I was forced upon a brisk 
 dullness, writing quick, but Hat. I was also confined in 
 the number of the persons ; I had but seven allowed me, 
 neither more nor less : those seven to be all ladies, and 
 of those ladies two only were to appear in men's habits. 
 Next, for my subject, it was not, [ confess, imposed 
 upon me by conunand, but it w;is for want of time 
 to find a better : for I had but some few hours allowed 
 me to choose one. And as men who do things in haste, 
 have commonly ill fortune, as well as ill conduct, I 
 resolving to choose the first tolerable story I could meet 
 with, unhappily encountered this, where, by my own 
 rashness, and the malice of fortune, I involved myself, 
 before I was aware, in a difficulty greater than the 
 invention of the Philosopher's Stone, that only en- 
 deavours to extract gold out of the coursest metals, but 
 I employed myself to draw one contrary out of another; 
 to write a clean, decent, and inoffensive play on the 
 story of a rape, so that I was engaged in this dilennua, 
 either wholly to deviate from my story, and so my story 
 would be no story, or by keeping to it, write what 
 would be unfit for Princesses and Ladies to speak, and a 
 Court to hear. That which tempted me into so great a 
 labyrinth, was the fair and beautiful image that stood 
 at the portal, I mean the exact and perfect character of 
 Chastity in the person of Calisto, which I thought a 
 very proper character for the princess to represent ; nor 
 was I mistaken in my judgment, the difficulty lay in the 
 other part of the story, to defend chastity was easy, the 
 danger was in assaulting it ; I was to storm it, but not 
 to wound it; to shoot at it, but not offend it; my 
 arrows were to be invisible, and without Piles ; my 
 guns were to be charged with white powder; the bullets 
 were to fly, but give no report. These were niceties 
 required skill to perform, and would have puzled a finer 
 invention than mine ; and, indeed, I did a little fail in 
 my first attempt ; my arrows, though as fine as I could 
 then in haste turn them, yet were too course for a 
 
 e>
 
 238 GALISTO. 
 
 Covirt. I often pared 'era, and much difficulty I found 
 to make 'em thin enough to pass through nice and 
 delicate ears, without wounding 'em, an art which 
 with much pains in this emendation I attained. The 
 last, and not the least, difficulty imposed on me in the 
 entertainment, was in the Chorusses. I was obliged to 
 invent proper occasions, to introduce all the entries, and 
 particularly for the closing of all with an entry of 
 Africans. How I have succeeded in it 1 leave the 
 reader to judge. Under all these difficulties did this 
 poor poem labour even before it was an emhrio., and when 
 sleeping in its causes ; and when in the womb it was 
 squeezed, and hindered of its due growth by intolerable 
 strait lacings ; and lastly, forced on an immature and 
 hasty birth. By all which inconveniences it was impossible 
 it should prove otherwise than a weak, lean, ricketty, 
 deformed piece, and as such, notwithstanding the kind- 
 ness it received from others, it was looked on by me, 
 and accordingly I was impatient till I had strangled it, 
 and in the room produced something less imperfect, 
 something of a constitution strong enough to endure the 
 blows of its enemies, and of a complexion beautiful 
 enough to delight its parents and friends, and such a 
 thing, in some low degree at least, this is which you see. 
 Far be it from me to say it is as well as it ought to be, 
 or as others of greater abilities would have written it. 
 Nor, give me leave to say, so well as I myself would 
 have done on a better subject, and in less haste ; for this 
 was written in a hurry as well as the former, being- 
 finished and learnt between the second and third repre- 
 sentation ; but having the advantage of features and 
 dead colours laid, it was easy to work something on 
 that foundation better than the former ; and I undertook 
 the trouble, not only to repair my own reputation, but 
 to give some refreshment to the audiences, who would 
 have been weary of a better play at the second or third 
 representation, and therefore must needs be weary of 
 that at the 20th or 30th, for near so often it had been 
 rehearsed and acted. 
 
 Some, perhaps, will expect I should not only apologise 
 for not writing better, but daring on such an occasion 
 to write at all ; but having said it was done by Command,
 
 f'ATJSTO. 239 
 
 none can have so little manners as to expect I should 
 make excuse for obedience. I must confess it wfis great 
 pity, that in an entertainment where the sense* was so 
 deliciously fe.Tsted, the understanding should be so 
 slenderly treated ; and had it been written by him, to 
 whom, by tlie double right of place and merit, the 
 honour of the emjiloyraent belonged, the pleasure had 
 been in all kinds complete. However this appeared not 
 so contemptible but it attained the felicity for which it 
 was made, to afford some delight to his Koyul mind, to 
 whose pleasure all our endeavours ought to be, and this 
 more particularly was devoted. And of this I have full 
 assurance, by the best, and to me most pleasing testi- 
 mony of it, that of his most princely bounty. Having 
 said this, the devouring critic must cease his pursuit, for 
 the poor sinner is out of the reach of his fangs, and safe 
 in glory. And now it is at my courtesy to make any 
 farther apologies, yet because I know the critics will be 
 nibbling at anything they think they can catch, I must 
 now answer for some errors, which 1 suppose they hope 
 I have ignorantly, but I confess to have wilfully com- 
 mitted. I have in the Prulof/iw represented the river 
 Thames by a woman, and Eunipe by a man, contrary to 
 all authority and antiquity. To that I answer, I know 
 of no sexes in lands and rivers, nor of any laws in poetry, 
 but the fundamental one to please ; they who do that, 
 follow the highest authority, and agree with the best 
 antiquity. The principal part of the Prologue being the 
 river, my business was not to consider how the Latin poets 
 painted it, but how to represent it best and most beau- 
 tiful on our stage ; not to trouble my head with hie, hasc, 
 hoc, to please the Grammarians, but how to have the 
 part sung best to delight the Court ; and the graceful 
 motions and admirable singing of i\frs Davis did suffi- 
 ciently prove the discretion of my choice. And Thames, 
 Peace, and Plentij being represented by women, I was 
 necessitated in spite of the lady that bestrid the bull 
 to make Europe a man and to call it not Her hnt— His 
 fair Continent — otherwise I must either have spoiled the 
 figure, and made three parts of the world men, and one 
 a woman ; or worse, by representing them all by women 
 
 * Sis-ht?
 
 240 CALISTO. 
 
 have spoiled the music by niakinti' it consist all of trebles. 
 But these are criticisms for none but those of school-boys' 
 learning, and school-boys' understandings. Some other 
 faults there are in the style and expression, which. 
 Reader, if you can discover, you may insult over as you 
 think fit, the whole having obtained the happiness to 
 please, I shall not concern my self for every tritiing 
 error which slipt fiom me unawares, and which I had 
 not leisure to mend ; perhaps you may find fault with 
 my different numbers, that I have not kept to one kind 
 of verse, but written, part in Pindaric, and part Heroic. 
 To that I answer, the Pindaric is what I left of the old 
 play uncorrected, as not needing emendation ; and I 
 chose that kind of measure at first, not as the best and 
 most pleasing to tlie ear, but as the readiest and quickest 
 for one that was in haste ; it being in comparison of the 
 grave Heroic, a kind of mixed pace betwixt ambling and 
 galloping, where the poet is not bound to wait the 
 leisure of a stultborn syllable to rhyme, but to take the 
 rhyme where he can catch it, without any more trouble. 
 But upon the correction, I chose the Heroic as more 
 majestic, lofty and musical, and as I hope made 
 emendation, both in sense and sound. 
 
 Having made this little vindication of my self, I were 
 now bound 'in gratitude, before I conclude, to record 
 the due praises of those whose admirable performances 
 in their several kinds lent this entertainment much of 
 the praise it had ; namely, the singers, and the composer 
 of all the musick, both vocal and instrumental, Mr 
 Staggins ; but their excellencies lying far out of that 
 road my understanding travels in, I should praise them 
 so ignorantly, if I should attempt it, that I should dis- 
 cover my own folly more than their merit. But if the 
 judgments of others, and those the most skilful too, be 
 not mistaken, Mr Staggins has not only delighted us 
 with his excellent composition, but with the hopes of 
 seeing in a very short time a master of music in England 
 equal to any France or Ilalij have produced. No less 
 praise may be said of the best and choicest of the singers. 
 But, Reader, I shall detain you no longer, now take 
 Avhat jjleasure you can find in the perusal of the follow- 
 ing pages.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The Curtain is dmwn up, and there appears a Nytnph 
 leanhuj on an Uriie, repvexenthuj the river Thames, 
 attended bij two N^i/mphs, representing Peace and 
 Plenty : near her are the four p)arts of the world, 
 seeming to make offerings to her. On the opening of 
 the scene, lamenting Voices are heard on both sides of 
 the Theatre, at tchich the Nijmpli (f the Hirer seems 
 affrighted. 
 
 Voices within. Fly, fly, help, uli I help, or we die. 
 
 Tha. What mournful cries are these on evry 
 side 1 
 The Avinds waft nothing to this island o'er, 
 But the complainings of some neighb'ring shore. 
 And all the echoes are in groans employ 'd. 
 The fair Augusta* too, I weeping see, 
 Though none so fair, so rich, so great as she ; 
 
 Alas ! my fears encrease : 
 S^ow gentle Nymphs of Plenty and of Peace, 
 
 Shall now go seek some other shore. 
 And you that with your presents wait, 
 
 Shall bring your gifts no more. 
 Plen. I to no other dwelling will betake. 
 Pea. Thy beauteous streams I never will forsake. 
 E'uro. And we our presents still will make. 
 Om. We our presents still will make. 
 
 rien. Thy stores with all my plenty shall be fill'd. 
 
 * Ijondoii ainjicntlv sn called.
 
 242 CALISTO. 
 
 Pea. My halcyon on thy banks her nest shall 
 
 build. 
 Euro. Thou shalt in all my noblest arts be skill'd. 
 Asi. My jewels shall adorn no brow but thine. 
 Amer. Thy lovers in my Gold shall shine. 
 
 Afri. Thou for thy slaves, shalt have these 
 
 Scorched sons of mine. 
 Pea. \ Thy beauteous streams we never will 
 Pie. j forsake. 
 Uuro. ] 
 
 /,.' }■ And we our presents still will make. 
 A/ ' • I 
 Amer. J 
 
 Om. We our presents still will make. 
 
 Pea. What should so much beauty fear ? 
 
 Round this isle the heavens appear 
 
 Like your own streams all undisturb'd and clear. 
 
 Tha. These beauteous Nymphs unfrightened too, 
 
 Not minding what on other shores they do, 
 
 Their innocent delights pursue. 
 
 Pea. See ! they, void of grief or fear, 
 
 Come to entertain you here. 
 
 An Enfry of Shepherds a?id Nijmphs, davcing round 
 the Thames, &c., as they stood in their figure. 
 
 [Here the Princesses and the other Ladies danced 
 several sarabands with castanets. A minuet 
 was also danced by his Grace the Duke of 
 Monmouth ; which ended, Thames proceeds. 
 
 Tha. Oh ! now my spirits I recover, 
 I've wak'd the Genius of this isle, my warlike lover. 
 
 Enter the Genius of England. 
 
 Gen. What cries are these disturb my pleasing 
 
 rest 1 
 Tha. 'lis I, my love, 'tis I, thy aid request.
 
 CALISTO, 243 
 
 Gen. Is it my Nymph, what dost thou fear ] 
 Tha. Does not my love sad cries around him 
 
 hear 1 
 Gen. Wilt thou thy fear at every shriek proclaim 1 
 Tha. Am I alone to blame 1 
 
 Do you not see Augusta, rich and fair. 
 Though to her lap I all my treasure hear 
 Will for no comfort stay her tears 1 
 
 [The foU owing stanza is properhj part of the 
 Genius's speech, being a pertinent reply to 
 Thames; hut being set extreme pleasantly, and 
 for a treble voice, it ivas sung by TJiames. 
 
 Augusta is inclin'd to fears. 
 Be she full or be she waining, 
 Still Augusta is complaining : 
 Give her all you can to ease her, 
 You shall never, never, please her. 
 C%or. Augusta is inclin'd to fears, &c. 
 Gen. These fears do not belong to her nor you ; 
 Europe only should lament 
 The Nymphs of his fair continent. 
 Some giants now pursue. 
 But this sweet isle no monster can invade. 
 
 Tha. Oh send those poor distressed Nymphs 
 
 some aid. 
 Eur. From the mild poAver of this happy place. 
 Who is inclin'd. 
 To make the world as peaceful as his mind, 
 They have already gain'd the grace : 
 Two heroes of his own celestial race 
 Are sent ; the one to triumph o'er the seas, 
 And all the watery divinities. 
 The other, monsters of the land to quell, 
 And make the Nymphs in safety dwell. 
 
 Gen. The first, in war has all perfections gain'd.
 
 2-44 C'ALISTO. 
 
 That can by liuman nature be attain'd : 
 The second ])roniises to be 
 All that in the first we see. 
 Eur. Mars to the first does all his glory lend : 
 The second beauty, youth, and love attend. 
 Gen. Both in high perfections shine : 
 Valour, glory, race divine : 
 Wait awhile, and you shall see 
 Both return with victory. 
 Pea. Hark, hark ! the triumph's near, 
 And see ! they both already crown'd appear. 
 
 Enter one crowtid icith a Naval Crotcn, attended hij 
 Sea-Gods and Tritons. 
 
 Rejoice you wat'ry deities ! 
 
 The mighty monsters of the seas, 
 
 This valiant Prince has slain. 
 The god of this fair isle shall now 
 Command, as all his right allow. 
 
 The empire of the main. 
 
 Enter one crown'd with a Mural Crown attended 
 hy Warriors. 
 
 Ye gods and nymphs of plains and groves, 
 Of springs and streams, enjoy your hjves ; 
 This youthful hero has subdu'd 
 The satyrs now of ev'ry wood : 
 Has kill'd or ta'n 'em all for slaves. 
 And chac'd the giants from their caves. 
 
 Chorus of all. 
 
 Let us both their praises sing, 
 Whilst Ave both in triumph bring ; 
 
 Let us all contend to grace 'em 
 With our loud and joyfull'&t thanks, 
 A\']iilst upon the fiow'ry banks 
 
 Of this beauteous Nymph Ave place 'em.
 
 CAI.ISTO. •24.") 
 
 7Vco Entries itrr <lnita:d : Uiie of Sea-Gods and the 
 at her of IVarriors. 
 
 Gen. Now welcome heroes to iny blest abode, 
 And to my Nymph belov'd by ev'ry god. 
 Tha. Welcome to my love and me, 
 
 Now we all shall happy be. 
 Chn. Now we all shall happy be. 
 
 A Temple of Fame appears. 
 
 Flen. Now you whose valour gives the world 
 repose, 
 
 See what Fame on you bestows. 
 Her shining temple shall preserve your names, 
 And thence her trumpet your renown proclaims. 
 
 Gen. To our Divinity, now let us go. 
 And at his feet your crowns and trophies throw. 
 Eur. I will my thanks in offerings proclaim. 
 A.si. I'll lend you spice. 
 Anier. I gold. 
 Afr. And I the same. 
 Tha. I'll be your guide, 
 My streams beneath his palace hourly slide. 
 There it is, not far before you. 
 Pleasure, arts, religion, glory, 
 Warm'd by his propitious smile. 
 Flourish there, and bless this isle ! 
 Gen. But stay ! what wonder does my spirit 
 seize 1 [Turning to the King ami Queen. 
 
 See ! here are both the great divinities. 
 
 Tha. The god and goddess too of this bless'd 
 isle ! 
 Chaste beauty in her aspect shines, 
 And love in his does smile. 
 Gen. Quickly, Heroes, as 'tis meet. 
 
 Throw your trophies at their feet, 
 Fall down, and adore 'em !
 
 24G CALISTO. 
 
 Whilst with speed we hither call 
 The gods of neighb'ring groves, and all 
 Their Nymphs to dance before 'em. 
 
 An Entry of Rural Gods and Nymjihs. 
 
 When the Prologue is done, and all gone off the stage, 
 Enter tivo, tvho sing this following song : — 
 
 Now for the play, the prologue is done, 
 The dancing -is o'er, and the singers are gone. 
 The ladies so fine, and so fair, it surpasses. 
 Are dress'd, and have all tak'n leave of their 
 glasses. 
 Where are the slaves should make ready the stage 1 
 Here, here are the slaves should make ready the 
 stage. 
 
 An Entry of Carpenters.
 
 It having been the manner of all those who have had 
 the honour before me, to serve the Court, in employ- 
 ments of this nature, to adorn their works with the 
 names of those great persons who had parts in the 
 representation, I hope I shall not be condemned, if I, 
 following their examples, consecrate this of mine to 
 posterity, by the same policy.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 
 
 The Persons of the Play. The Personators. 
 
 Calisto, a chaste and favourite ( zr jj- i n 
 
 ,. r n- 7 7 7 7 -D^'' Hiqhness the 
 
 A ymph of Diana, beloved hj < ^^^^^ Mary 
 
 Jupiter, . . . ( 
 
 Nyphe, a chaste ijQung Nymph, j Her Highness the 
 Friend to Calisto, . . [ Lady Anne, 
 
 T,,„,^^„ -7 ur n T i f The Lady Henri- 
 JUPITER, tn love With Calisto, | ^,^^^ Wentworth. 
 
 T I The Countess of 
 
 PsECAS, an eiirious Nymph, ( j,j^^ ^^^^ ^^^,^ 
 Enemy to CaUsto, beloved by ^ Mordant. 
 Mercury, . . . ( 
 
 ( Mrs Blagge, late 
 Diana, Goddess of Chastity, - Maid of Honour 
 
 { to the Queen* 
 
 ( Mrs Jennings, 
 Mercury, in love with Psecas, Maid of Honour 
 
 \ to the Duchess. 
 
 Nymphs attending on Diana, ivlw also danced in the 
 Frologue, and in several entries in the Play. 
 
 The Countess of Darby. 
 
 The Countess of Pembroke. 
 
 The Lady Katharine Herbert. 
 
 Mrs Fitz-Gerald. 
 
 Mrs Frazier, 3Iaid of Honour to the Queen. 
 
 * She resigned previous to the publication of the Masque.
 
 (A US TO. 240 
 
 The Persons of Quality of the men fhat 
 danced, tvere 
 
 His Grace the Duke of Monmouth. 
 
 The Viscount Dunblaine. 
 
 The Lord Daincourt. 
 
 Mr Trevor. 
 
 Mr Harpe. 
 
 Mr Lane. 
 
 In the Prologue were represented 
 
 The River Thames, . by Mrs Davis.* 
 
 Peace, . . . „ Mrs Knight, f 
 
 Plenty, . . . „ Mrs Butler. 
 
 The Genius of England, ,, Mr Turner. 
 
 Europe, . . . „ Mr Hart. 
 
 Asia, . . . „ Mr Richardson. 
 
 Africa, ... „ Mr Marsh, Jun. 
 
 America, . . . „ Mr Ford. 
 
 * Both Mrs Davis and Mrs Knight were mistresses of the 
 King. 
 
 + Evelyn mentions in his Diary, 2(1 December 1675, that he 
 met at Mr Slingsby's the master of the Mint, "Mrs Knight, 
 who sung incomparably, and doubtless has the greatest reach 
 of any English woman. She has been lately roaming in Italy, 
 and was much improved in that quality," vol. ii., p. 94. Pepys, 
 in a letter to Viscount Brouncker, March 13, 1681-2, says, "I 
 have not yet been at Mrs Nelly's. * 1 hear Mrs Knight is better, 
 and the King takes his repose there once or twice daily." 
 
 * Nell Gwin. 
 
 1 17
 
 250 CALIS'I'O. 
 
 In the Ckwusses betwixt the Acts. 
 
 Strephon, . The parts sung by Mr Hart.* 
 
 CoRiDON, . „ Mr Turner. 
 
 Sylvia, . „ Mrs Davis. 
 
 Daphne, . „ Mrs Knight. 
 
 Two African Women ) / Mrs Butler. 
 
 or Blacks, i " ( Mrs Hunt. 
 
 The Scene of the Play 
 is Arcadia. 
 
 The duration of it, 
 an Artificial Day. 
 
 * Hart, who had served Charles I. during the civil wars as a 
 captain, upon the Restoration became a jjerformer in the King's 
 theatre, and attained to great eminence in his profession. 
 He was celebrated for his admirable performance of Othello. 
 That very susceptible female, Lady Castlemaine, better known 
 afterwards as Duchess of Cleveland, " was mighty in love with 
 him, and he is much with her in private, and she goes to him, 
 and do give him many presents : and that the thing is most 
 certain, and Berk Marshall only privy to it and the means of 
 bringing them together, which is a very odd thing : and by 
 this means she is even with the King's love to Mrs Davis."* 
 
 Nell Gwin is said to have been a favourite both of Hart and 
 Lacy before she attracted the notice of the Earl of Dorset and 
 the King.-)* 
 
 * Pepys, April 7, 1668, vol. iv., p. 415. 1848, crown 8vo. 
 t Grammont's Memoirs, Notes, vol. iii., p. 265. London, 1809, 
 crown 8vo.
 
 C A LI 8 TO. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Jupiter at a distance, Mercury. 
 
 Jiip. How am I tired thus vainly to pursue 
 A Nymph, I cannot keep in view ] 
 
 I daily through Arcadia rove 
 
 O'er every hill, through every grove, 
 
 But in her ears to sigh my love ; 
 And may as well the shades and echoes chace ; 
 
 The shades I easier can embrace, 
 Which grieves me too, whilst I this maze have trod, 
 There's none to pity a dispairing god. 
 
 Mer. In these Arcadian woods I've lost my 
 heart ; [Aside. 
 
 Whilst I the Nymph by whom I smart, 
 
 Pursue, some little ease to get ; 
 
 This Jove I've oft a wandring met : 
 
 He makes my jealousy grow strong ; 
 What does he do out of his heav'n so long 1 
 
 I'm sure on some fair Nymph he has design. 
 
 And all my fear is lest it should be mine. 
 
 Can no soft beauty be embrac'd, 
 
 But he must still desire a taste ? 
 That the old Titans from his throne had hurl'd 
 
 This general grievance of the world ! 
 
 But I too soon to rage am won. 
 
 Perhaps there is no injury done ; 
 
 Another Nymph has snatcht his eye, 
 
 I'll go discourse with him, and try.
 
 252 CAIJSTO. 
 
 flUPiTER discovers him. 
 
 Jup. Ah ! Mercury ! What fortune brought thee 
 here 1 
 Thou faithful envoy of the gods, come near ! 
 Phmg'd deep in sorrow, with despair opprest, 
 1 now was wishing for some breast. 
 Where I my secrets might repose, 
 And fate has sent the best I could have chose. 
 
 Mer. Wliat wondrous pain 
 Is it can make the king of gods complain '? 
 Jup. My old affliction, love ! 
 Mer. What do I hear ! [Aside. 
 
 This news I did not vainly fear. 
 Now dare not I what Nymph he loves enquire. 
 Lest we should both of us the same admire. 
 
 Jvp. Thou seem'st disturb'd, what does thy 
 
 passion move 1 
 Mer. Only my loyalty for Jove : 
 And rage at the tyrannic boy. 
 That dares great Jove's repose destroy ; 
 His boldness Jove too mildly bears, 
 Though us poor vassal gods he dares 
 Into his chains and fetters bring, 
 He is too saucy with our King. 
 You ought to make his very godhead cease, 
 For yours and heav'ns universal peace. 
 Jvp. Oh let thy vain discourses die ! 
 Love's is delightful tyi\anny : 
 There is more pleasure in his pains, 
 Than all the joys our heav'n contains : 
 If love I out of heav'n should chace. 
 It would appear so dull a place, 
 My self and all the gods would be, 
 Even tir'd with immortality. 
 Mer. I own these joys, sometimes I try, 
 To pass awa}' eternity :
 
 CALISTO. 253 
 
 But are they not for Jove too low 1 
 Jnp. The world iiuist not the secret know. 
 We boast great things to be adored and sought ; 
 There is some pleasure to be happy thought 
 But for all joys of our abode, 
 
 From earth I wonid not move ; 
 Nor be content to be a god, 
 To be deprived of love. 
 "Without that joy two vast extremes would join ; 
 Things without sense would equal things divine : 
 'Twixt us and plants there would be little odds, 
 And saucy mortals be more blessed than gods. 
 
 Mtr. Oh ! let not Jove submit to such a fate. 
 Poorly to envy things he does create. 
 
 Jwp. No, if to mortals I present delight, 
 I to the feast will still my self invite. 
 
 Mer. Yes, yes, we know Jove's appetite; [^Aside. 
 Ere quite abstain from love's sweet feasts, 
 He'l luimbly dine with birds and beasts. 
 
 Jup. I still provide with care, 
 
 We gods in all delights sliould share ; 
 Besides, the loves by ns embrac'd 
 Would kill a poor weak mortal, but to taste. 
 We know what pleasure love affords, 
 To heavy beasts and mettled birds , 
 Here and there at will we fly. 
 Each step of nature's perch Ave try ; 
 Down to the beast, and up again 
 To the more fine delights of man : 
 We every sort of pleasure try ; 
 So much advantage has a deity. 
 
 Mer. Nay, if Jove rents the world to num and 
 beast, 
 He may preserve the Koyalty at least. 
 And freedom take to hunt in any grounds ; 
 The })leasiires of great Jove should have no bounds. 
 This distant talk still keeps me sweating here,
 
 254 CALISTO. 
 
 In agonies of jealousy and fear; 
 
 And if I do not put an end, [Aside. 
 
 The day he thus will gladly spend. 
 I'll not torment my self in vain, 
 I'll boldly ask and end my pain. 
 All joys the world must own their sovereign's due ; 
 But yet the story does untold remain, 
 What beauty did the glory gain 
 Once more the world's great ruler to subdue. 
 
 Jtip. Oh 1 Mercury ! the fairest Nymph of 
 human race ! 
 All former loves of mine she does so far surpass, 
 I them for beauties scarce allow, 
 And never truly lov'd till now. 
 Mer. Astonishment ! 
 Jtq). Did they all live again, 
 I would not take the pain 
 To vex my self into a shape, 
 For all the pleasure of a rape ; 
 Except it were to sharpen my desire, 
 And to return to her Avith greater fire. 
 
 3Ier. What should she be 1 and where does she 
 
 remain 1 
 Jtip. Oh ! that's my grief, she's one of cold 
 
 Diana's train. 
 Mer. Oh ! I am stabb'd ! my fear prophetic 
 proves, 
 I am assured, it is my Nymph he loves. [Aside. 
 
 Jup. Thou know'st what ills of late were done 
 In heav'n and earth, by Pha?bus' frantic son : 
 I from high heav'n descending to survey 
 
 The half-burnt world, and with a god-like care 
 All ruin'd places to repair. 
 Came here to view my lov'd Arcadia. 
 As I in every place did pass. 
 To cloath the wither'd fields with grass, 
 To all the woods new leaves and shades to bring.
 
 CALISTO. 255 
 
 Set rivei's ruiiiiing, fill each empty spring, 
 
 I clianc'd to spy 
 This young and beauteous Nymph trij) often by. 
 Mer. And has great Jove her name yet ever 
 
 heard ; 
 Jup. No opportunity I yet have got, 
 She swiftly by like some bright meteor shot 
 Dazzled my eye, and straight she disappeared. 
 Mer. And whither ran the vanishing vision still % 
 
 Jup. Or to the woods, or o'er some hill, 
 
 To hunt some dear, or swifter roe. 
 Still in her hand a dart or bow : 
 Her garb did negligence express ; 
 For oh ! she had no need of dress : 
 Conceal'd, I oft pursued her, but in vain ; 
 For still at last she mixt with chaste Diana's train. 
 Mer. Can she be gain'd 1 
 Jup. By no enchantment can, 
 She flies the very shadow of a man : 
 She thinks it does her virtue stain, 
 If she but sleep where one has lain. 
 That she is of some purity beguiled. 
 If she but taste the air, the breath of one defiled ; 
 If any wand'ring loves by chance 
 
 T'approach her be so bold. 
 Away the naked Cupids dance. 
 
 She makes them shake Avith cold. 
 Mer. This in my soul does some small comfort 
 breed, 
 What then to gain her will ye do % 
 
 Jup. I do not know, 
 
 It does the skill of one jjoor god exceed. 
 But ha ! I see 'em come from yonder grove, 
 Diana and her train, this Avay they move. 
 
 Mer. They are preparing for this morning's chace. 
 Jup. Let's hide our selves in clouds apace. 
 Lest we our being here betray,
 
 25 G CALLSTO. 
 
 And quickly cliace 'em all away. [A','/7. 
 
 Mer. But as they pass I'll watch your eye, 
 And your lov'd Nymph that way descry. \_E,i-if. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Diana, Calisto, Nyphe, Psecas, Attendants. 
 
 Dia. Come ! Come away my Nymphs, too long 
 we have repos'd, 
 The morning has -her golden doors unclos'd, 
 And there stands blushing on us ! — Come away ! 
 Let us not lose the gentlest part of day ; 
 Princess Calisto, most admir'd, helov'd, 
 The fairest, chastest, most approv'd 
 Of all that ever grac'd my virgin throng. 
 You, who of great and royal race are sprung, 
 Born under golden roofs, and bred to ease. 
 
 To every kind of soft delight. 
 
 To glory, power, and all that might 
 A royal virgin please. 
 AVhat could your tender years to pain so soon 
 
 enure ] 
 And how can you this hard and toilsome life 
 endure 1 
 
 Cat. Divinest power ! Can any pleasures be 
 Compar'd to innocence and chastity ] 
 From toils of greatness I discharge my mind. 
 And only in these shades true ease I find. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! with what pride ! and feign'd neglect 
 of art [Aside. 
 
 This royal favourite storms our goddess' heart, 
 Conquers it too, and rules her power divine, 
 Whilst all our merits unregarded shine. 
 
 Dia. I never such a victim had before. 
 Crown, beauty, youth wliat all the world adore, 
 You bring at once in sacrifice to me, 
 The offering exceeds the Deity.
 
 CAIJSTO. 257 
 
 7V. Our pour deluded goddess is undone ; 
 
 Tins favourite has lier lu-art and empire won. 
 
 Ny. How am I pleas'd my sister's praise to hear, 
 Though like a little star I near appear, [Aside. 
 
 Nature and friendship do enough prefer 
 My name to honour, whilst I shine in her. 
 
 Cal. The crown and glory at your feet I throw 
 Are for yonr favour offering too low ; 
 And giving only what I scorn and hate, 
 I gain your service at too cheap a rate. 
 
 Fse. Oh ! hoAV for pt-aise she spreads a spacious 
 net? 
 Not one regard to us can passage get : [Aside 
 
 Our virtues will not go for virtues long ; 
 I neither will, nor ought to bear this wrong. 
 
 Dia. You, Princess ! do adorn, enrich my shade, 
 Ne'er was so great, so early triuni})hs made 
 At once o'er beauty, glory, youth and ease, 
 All of 'em fair delightful provinces. 
 None e'er so young such courage did express ; 
 The Macedonian victories were less. 
 And better to adorn and guard my groves. 
 This fair young warrior, 'gainst ease and loves, 
 You bring to train up here, — before whose eye 
 I see already vanquish'd Cupids fly, 
 AVith wounds a bleeding, and with broken 1:k)ws, 
 A fair comparison in arms }'ou chose. 
 
 N't/. She to much honour me, in this prefers ; 
 And though my courage cannot equal hers. 
 None to your service shall more zealous be, 
 Nor still to love a greater enemy. 
 
 Pse. Hark how they bandy praise, and flattery 
 round ! [Aside. 
 
 Each takes her turn to catch it and rebound ; 
 Whilst we desertless fools must patience feign. 
 And praise our selves, if any praise we'll gain.
 
 258 CALISTO. 
 
 Our youth I find we wisely waste, 
 
 And are to mighty purpose chaste ; 
 
 Since these our kind rewards must prove, 
 
 I will in pure revenge go love. 
 A god-like youth, and vassal to my eyes, 
 Has long with patience borne my tyrannies. 
 The humble slave each moment I torment, 
 And rage which others slight, on him I vent : 
 
 But now his^suiferings I'll requite, 
 
 I'll go and love him out of spite. 
 Dia. Now, Nymphs, before the rosy morning 
 
 fades, 
 And the day's fury chase us to the shades : 
 Let's hunt the nimble deer without delay. 
 We have decreed the martyrs of the day, 
 And what you all shall kill together bring. 
 And meet when sun declines at yonder spring. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Pse. 
 
 Pse. No, I'll about another care, 
 
 I'll seek my love, discover me who dare ; 
 
 On the whole train the shame shall fall ; 
 
 I'll swear we are dissemblers all. 
 
 From men we only seem to fly. 
 
 To meet 'em with more privacy : 
 
 That I sincerity approve. 
 And boldly own to all the world I love. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Jupiter, Mercury. 
 
 Mer. Thanks to the fates ! my heart is now at 
 ease ! 
 Two different Nymphs our inclinations please. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Jup. Ah ! Mercury ! what beauty have I seen 1 
 Mer. I have with Jove in equal raptures been. 
 Jiqi. I in so hot an agony did stay
 
 CALISTO. 259 
 
 The cloud, in whicli I liidden lay, 
 Dropt, and melted half away : 
 That she such beauty should on shades bestow. 
 And careless loye should let her scape his bow. 
 Mer. And is it she 1 
 Jup. Why dost thou so enquire 1 
 Mer. Because I one of the same train admire. 
 Jup. Art thou by these cold beauties wounded 
 then ? 
 
 Mer. Yes, by the scornful'st of the train, 
 
 Your Nymph is yielding, if compar'd to mine ; 
 Yours hates she knows not why, mine with design ; 
 Yours only flies you, mine returns and fights ; 
 Yours lets you die, but mine to kill delights : 
 You have but one aversion to subdue, 
 I thousands have, which every hour renew. 
 
 Jup. Poor Hermes ! how are we by love opprest 1 
 
 Two w^ounded gods here desolate appear, 
 Each with an arrow sticking in his breast, 
 Goes wand'ring round the Avoods he knows 
 not where ; 
 Chacing his Nymph, some little ease to find. 
 And may as well pursue the fleeting wind. 
 
 Mer. Pursue the wind ^ rather a storm I chace, 
 Which turns to dash her fury in my face. 
 Not in wild shapes, but in all beauty drest. 
 
 That ever did a human shape adorn. 
 I've met my Nymph, and have my love exprest. 
 
 And never any thing obtain'd, but scorn. 
 She meets me, true ! but 'tis to mock me still. 
 And if she ever smiles, it is to kill. 
 
 Jup. Oh ! Hermes ! you your self may happy 
 call ; 
 
 When maids shew scorn, they oft are 
 near to yield, 
 And they who venture once to fight may fall : 
 But mine will not be drawn into the field
 
 2 GO CALISTO. 
 
 Could I entice her thither any way, 
 I only for a little scorn would pray. 
 I'll not to heaven till I ol)tain some ease, 
 Let jealous Juno watch nie as she please. 
 
 Mer. What will ye do % you no attempt must 
 dare. 
 
 Jup. Prithee, what god or mortal can forbear 1 
 T'enjoy such beauty I'd no shape refuse : 
 
 Nay, if I knew what form most pleas'd her eye, 
 I'd not deny 
 To be that thing, and my whole godhead lose. 
 
 Mer. wondrous power of love ! 
 Too hard for Jove ! 
 I wonder not he baffles my defence ; 
 He is too mighty for omnipotence ! 
 
 Juj). Hermes I've thought ! I can my self relieve. 
 
 [Starts. 
 
 Mer. What new Minerva does Jove's brain con- 
 ceive 1 
 
 Jup. A sure and pleasant ambush I will lay ; 
 I'll in Diana's shape the Nymph Ijetray : 
 My Avanton kisses then she'll ne'er suspect, 
 
 Nor my design detect. 
 No vice but for a virtue may escape, 
 If it be acted in a holy shape. 
 Disguis'd like her, I'll kiss, embrace, be free. 
 
 Mer. Yes, and persuade her too, 'tis chastity. 
 All actions finely gilded o'er succeed ; 
 Men still the doers mind, and not the deed : 
 The Nymph will all Diana does allow ; 
 Nay think she liv'd in some mistake till now. 
 
 Jup. 'Tis sacred truth ! then firmly I decree, 
 I will serve her as all mankind serves me. 
 When on the world they would impose some cheat, 
 Most strict devotion they will counterfeit : 
 Look grave on all men, and then whine to me, 
 With such absurd and a})ish mimitiy,
 
 CALISTO. L'Gl 
 
 I scarce tVom laughter, spite of I'age forbear, 
 And take diversion in the villain's prayer : 
 This trick of mortals shall lie learnt by me ; 
 I to serve love will mimic chastity. 
 What form wilt thou assume for thy design 1 
 
 Mer. What better form than one that is divine ? 
 In human shape no more to her I'll go ; 
 My own true form I thus attired will shew. 
 When she perceives it is a god does love, 
 Perhaps ambition the proud Nymph may move. 
 This satisfaction too I shall enjoy : 
 'Tis not a shape embraces her, but I, 
 Whilst our delights we in disguises chuse, 
 We half the pleasure of enjoyment lose. 
 
 Jup. I like thy plot, thy thoughts agree with 
 mine, 
 Come let us each with speed to his design. 
 Now vanish from my thoughts all vexing cares. 
 And rule of human, or divine affairs. 
 Let gods and mortals what they will pursue, 
 And fate and fortune their OAvn business do. 
 Let wrangling elements contend their fill. 
 And all the wheels of the Avorld's frame stand still : 
 Let toiling nature if she please go sleep. 
 Or for her sport a general revel keep. 
 Let trembling mortals now go curse or pray, 
 Be good or wicked, which they will, to-day, 
 I care not what disorders there shall be ; 
 Let heaven and earth slide into anarchy. 
 
 All politic cares of every kind 
 I'll from my breast remove ; 
 
 And will to-day perplex my mind 
 
 With never a thought but love. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Strephon, Corydon, Daphne, Sylvia. 
 
 Chorus of Shepherds. 
 Str. Hark, hark, I hear the merry hunter's horn.
 
 262 CALISTO. 
 
 Cor. The sound fioin yundfi- hill l»y winds is 
 
 borne. 
 Daph. Diana, and licr Nymphs are all that way 
 A hunting gone. 
 
 Syl. So soon ere break of day ? 
 
 Chm-us, Let 'em, let 'em go, 
 
 Lovers better pleasures know. 
 Sir. Let the cold Nymphs run dabbling in the 
 dew. 
 Kind love to warmer pleasures us invites. 
 Daph. I do not envy their delights. 
 Whilst my dear Strephon does continue true. 
 
 Cor. Whilst thus severe my Sylvia does remain, 
 I envy not the hunters, but the slain. 
 Syl. Poor Corydon, thy flame remove, 
 I pity thee, but cannot love. 
 Yet I own, I have something in every vein. 
 Which moves me to love, could I meet with a 
 
 swain, 
 Who were to my mind, and would love me again. 
 Str. See Shepherds, the day is begun : 
 
 Come, with our sports let's welcome 
 the sun. 
 
 An entry of Basques. 
 
 Sylv. Kind lovers, love on, 
 
 Lest the world be undone, 
 
 And mankind be lost by degrees : 
 For if all from their loves 
 Should go wander in groves, 
 
 There soon would be nothing but 
 trees. 
 Chorus, Kind lovers, love on, &c. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Finis Actus I.
 
 CALISTO. ■_'(..') 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Jupiter, Mercury. 
 
 Jup. When shall I get this vision in my sight ? 
 She flies from love, as shadows from the light : 
 Whilst I pursue her, flaming with desire. 
 And o'er these hills roll like an orb of fire ; 
 Making the sun the rule of day resign, 
 To these more bright and piercing beams of mine. 
 
 Mer. 'Tis folly longer o'er these hills to stray : 
 'Tis noon, and now the golden dust of day 
 Dissolved, does from the heavenly mountains flow 
 In tiery streams, and drowns the world below. 
 In the cool groves our Nymphs we now shall find, 
 AVading in shades, and bathing in the wind : 
 Whilst Phoebus shoots his arrows round. 
 And vainly seeks the Nymphs to wound, 
 The groves he vainly does invade ; 
 His fiery darts are quenched in shade. 
 Fit your disguise, and thither let's repair. 
 
 Jup. At small expense I from the wealthy air 
 My self with any figure can supply : 
 Or I can fix an image in the eye. 
 Come here you wand'ring atoms of the air, 
 You that are fittest for a form so fair. 
 And now my beauteous ambuscade prepare. 
 Into Diana's shape your selves congeal. 
 Under that ice the burning Jove conceal ; 
 There let me all lie cover'd, like the brow 
 Of some high flaming mountain hid in snow. 
 Mer. See ! the assembling atoms do obey, 
 Or rather the great Jove is fled away : 
 And the fair goddess of these woods is here. 
 Hail beauteous ! 
 
 Jup. Oh ! Thou rallyest now I fear ; 
 But canst thou any where 
 Descry one beam of Jupiter 1
 
 204 CALISTO. 
 
 Mer. Not one by your own self I swear ; 
 There's nothing but Diana can be seen : 
 Her habit, feature, shape, proportion, main ; 
 Nay, and your voice exactly tuned I hear, 
 And past discovery dehides the ear. 
 
 Jup. Now, you cool atoms, from your ranks dis- 
 band. 
 Flow to loose air again at my command : 
 Thither return like rivers to the main, 
 And let me now be Jupiter again. 
 
 Mer. Again the atoms loyally obey, 
 The snowy shape is all dissolv'd away. 
 
 Jiqh Poor god ! No shape at all thou didst 
 descry : 
 T only graved a figure on thy eye : 
 And the soft voice which yon believe you hear. 
 Was form'd but in the concave of your ear. 
 
 J\[er. Ah ! Jove ! How useful, and of what 
 delight 
 Is sovereign power 1 'tis that determines right. 
 Nothing is truly good, but what is great : 
 A mortal you would punish for this cheat. 
 
 Jap. I would, and justly ; shall the thing I make 
 Presume the freedom of a god to take 1 
 T cannot err, what e'er my actions be ; 
 There's no such thing as good or ill to me. 
 No action is by nature good or ill ; 
 All things derive their natures from my Avill. 
 If virtne from my will distinct could be, 
 Virtue would be a power supreme to me. 
 What no dependency on me will own, 
 Makes me a Vassal, and usurps my throne. 
 If so I can revenge me in a trice. 
 Turn all the balance, and make Virtue Vice. 
 
 Mer. Jove like himself, with reasons firm and 
 strong, 
 Uphrtlds the Port, does to a God belong ;
 
 CALISTO. 2(\~) 
 
 For I liave ever of opinion been, 
 
 Gods only should be privileg'd to sin ; 
 
 We gild sour Virtue with fine Titles still, 
 
 To make men swallow the unpleasant pill ; 
 
 But from the sweets of sin they'll ne'er be chac'd, 
 
 Ere since the liquorish slaves have got a taste ; 
 
 -But let us hasten now to seek our loves, 
 
 And first examine all the neighbouring groves. 
 
 Ji/]). See ! something swiftly darted by my 
 sight ; [Cell, goes over the stage. 
 
 Was it a Nymiih, or sudden glance of light ? 
 
 ]\[er. A Nymph, I swear ! 
 
 Jtip. Oh ! whither is she run 1 
 
 Mer. See ! See ! to yonder grove she's gone ! 
 There like a glittering star in night, 
 She tempers all the shades with light. 
 Fair streams of light seem after her to stray, 
 Like the bright dawning of some beauteous day. 
 
 Jup. It is my Nymph, none else is half so fair. 
 Fly thou ! whilst thither I repair : 
 Fly ! or thou ruin'st my design. 
 
 Mer. Nay stay ! perhaps the Nymph is mine : 
 If mine, she will to mock me stay. 
 
 Jup. If mine, thou chacest her away. 
 
 Mer. I in a cloud my self will hide. 
 
 Jup. I'm ruin'd, if thou art descried. 
 
 Mer. And I, if mine discover Jove. 
 
 Jup. But mine will fly. 
 
 Mer. But mine may love. 
 
 Jup. I'll be so hid she shall not Jove surprise. 
 
 Mer. But Jove may peep through his disguise. 
 
 Jup). It shall no damage to thee bring. 
 
 Mer. Oh ! no one can resist a King. 
 
 Jup. I will not tempt thy Nymph, I swear. 
 
 Mer. Your glory will, if you forbear. 
 
 Jup. Oh ! thy impertinence ! the Nymph is 
 
 gone ! 
 
 18
 
 2n(; OALISTO. 
 
 Thy saucy wrangling has my hopes undone. 
 Mer. For what should all this anger be ] 
 
 Perhaps 'tis you have ruin'd me. 
 Jup. Surely you ought at my commands to move. 
 Mer. Love understands not either King or Jove. 
 Jup. AVhat monarch will endure this from a 
 
 slave 1 
 Mer. What constant lover but is bold and brave? 
 Jup. Begone, thou wilt j^rovoke my rage ! 
 
 In foolish strife no more engage. 
 Mer. Thrice happy Jove ! your Nymph I now 
 
 espy % 
 Jvp. Where, where 1 
 Mer. In yonder neighbouring wood ! 
 Jup. So nigh 1 
 Happy contention which my flight delayed ! 
 For I had lost her if I had not stayed. 
 
 Mer. To me the obligations then confess, 
 And chide no more a lover's haughtiness. 
 
 Jup). Be gone, be gone ! and thy own Nymph 
 pursue, 
 Or once again thou wilt thy King undo. [Exit Mer. 
 Now all you troops of winged loves, come see 
 Your selves reveng'd on your fair enemy. [Exit. 
 
 Calisto. 
 
 Cal. Under the day's oppression tired I grow ; 
 The sun to-day does no compassion shew. 
 In these cool shades I am compelled to stray, 
 To shun the merciless fury of the day. 
 My goddess up the mountain's farther gone. 
 The Nymphs dispers'd, and I left all alone : 
 My hopes to find em I will now forsake. 
 And, tired with hunting too, will gladly take 
 The invitation of this bed of flowers. 
 In soft repose to pass away some hours :
 
 CAUSK). 267 
 
 Tliere lye, my bow, and take thy ease unbent, 
 Thy weary arms I'll not this hour torment. 
 And you, my tirrows, in your lodging keep. 
 And there from mischief lull jaiur selves to sleep. 
 Mine and your travel for an hour shall cease. 
 And now poor herds go browse a Avhile in peace. 
 
 [She lies doivn to sleep. 
 
 Enter Juptter. 
 
 Jup. Oh ! Love ! what pleasure dost thou here 
 prepare % 
 
 Dull heaven, I shall return to thee no more ; 
 
 Here is a pleasure I prefer before 
 All the delights I am possess'd of there. 
 Now Juno thjr disgrace with patience bear. 
 And to disturb my pleasures do not dare : 
 My former loves I yielded to thy rage : 
 
 I was contented tliey shouhl be remov'd ; 
 
 Alas ! I find I only thought I lov'd. 
 No Nymph but this did e'er my heart engage : 
 Thoii might'st contend for beauty with the rest ; 
 But this shakes all thy interest in my breast. 
 Keep in thy heaven, and do not cast an eye ; 
 There gnaw thy self with rage and jealousy. 
 
 Thou art already half midone, 
 
 Be glad thou dost enjoy my throne : 
 For plague me now, I'll chace thee from my bed, 
 And place thy crown upon thy rival's head. 
 
 [Cal. wales. 
 But I have wak'd my Nymph from her repose. 
 Her opening eyes a sparkling heaven disclose ; 
 Wherein a thousand captive Cupids lye, 
 Opprest and fetter'd all with chastity. 
 In those two temples full of heavenly light. 
 At the bright crystal portal of her sight, 
 Let me in fair Diana's form appear : 
 And let my voice dissolve into her ear;
 
 2G8 CALISTO. 
 
 And tliither in those pleasing accents flow, 
 The goddess speaks, when she does kindness shew. 
 My huntress here at her repose 1 which way 
 Did you pursue the chace to-day 1 
 
 Col. My goddess here so nigh 1 
 
 Hail power ! more great than Jove, though Jove 
 
 stood by. 
 In my esteem ! 
 
 Jvp. Till now what lover heard [Aside. 
 
 Himself with pleasure to himself preferred 1 
 
 Oh ! noAV my fire does rage within ! 
 I for the pain, 
 No longer can my self contain ; 
 
 Without more forms I must begin. 
 Princess Calisto, pleasure of my sight ! 
 Grace of my train, my pride, and my delight ; 
 What courteous god will lend me words and art 
 To speak the amazing passion in my heart ; 
 Thy dazzling excellence each moment breeds. 
 
 Cal. My goddess now in praise of me exceeds. 
 That I from fate or nature did obtain 
 Any deserts, that might your favour gain, 
 Must in my soul a noble pleasure raise ; 
 But now you quite oppress me with your praise. 
 
 Jup. Not half my sense of your desert I speak ; 
 My heart can never shew it, till it l)reak. 
 Which swellcl with kindness it will do ere long, 
 If love can find no passage but the tongue. 
 
 Cal. Chaste power ! I beg you let these praises 
 die, 
 Take some compassion of my modesty. 
 
 Jup. Oh ! Princess ! it is I that pity need. 
 Shall I the secret tell ? your merits breed 
 In my lost heart a strange uncommon flame : 
 A kindness I both fear and blush to name ; 
 Nay, one for which no name I ever knew. 
 The passion is to me so strange, so new !
 
 CALlSTo. 2(i'J 
 
 Cal. My wond'ring thoughts you into mazes 
 guide ! 
 And your dark meaning close in riddles hide. 
 
 Jup. You are not half so much amazed as I ! 
 My self am frighted at the prodigy. 
 I daily stand, and wonder at iny pain, 
 And do not know of what I would complain ; 
 I always sigh, when I your beauties view. 
 And wish, but wonder why, I wish for you. 
 Something I fain would crave, but do not know 
 What I should ask, or what you can bestow. 
 Some charms about you for my ease you bear. 
 But know not how they cure, nor what they are ; 
 But I am certain they could give me ease. 
 
 Cal. Oh ! Gods ! how came you by this strange 
 disease 1 
 Weary with hunting, you to-day in haste, 
 Of some accursed plant did rashly taste ; 
 On which some viper left his deadly sting. 
 Or else you drank at some infectious spring. 
 
 Jup. Some spring where Cupid wash'd his bloody 
 darts. 
 When the young tyrant had been murd'ring hearts ; 
 That, that the author of my grief does prove, 
 The pois'nous gore has tainted me with love. 
 
 Cal. Who to that fatal spring your steps 
 betrayed 1 
 Call, call to ^sculapius for some aid. 
 
 Jup. Oh ! none can give me any ease but you. 
 Sick ! Sick I grow ! 
 
 Cal. What would you ha' me do 1 
 
 Jup. Look kindly on me with a pleasing eye ! 
 Smile, smile upon me sweetly, or I die. 
 Suppose me now, some beauteous god, or Jove 
 The King of gods, and think your self in love. 
 
 Cal. You do not speak your own desires, I'm sure, 
 You'd rather die, than ask me such a cure.
 
 270 CALISTO. 
 
 Jup. Yes, once I would, but I ara alter VI now : 
 Some kindness now, you may, you must allow. 
 
 Cal. What kindness can I shew? what can I do? 
 Stand off, or I shall be infected too. 
 
 Jup. That is the reason why I press so nigh ; 
 To cure me you must be as sick as I. 
 
 Cal. Yes, were your sickness but the plague, I 
 woidd ; 
 This for a world shall never taint my blood. 
 
 Jup. In this necessity you must submit ; 
 It will be only one tempestuous fit, 
 
 And we shall both be well, you must, you 
 
 shall. 
 
 Cal. She raves, I to the Nymphs for aid must call, 
 Or she will do some horrid act, I fear ; 
 Help, help ! my goddess is distracted here ; 
 Come both to mine, and to my goddess' aid ! 
 
 Jup. I will not wrong you, be not thus afraid. 
 
 Cal. You cannot help it, you distracted grow. 
 Loose me, or this into my heart shall go. 
 
 [Slicas a dart. 
 
 Jup. I find my stratagem is fond and vain. 
 By other arts I my design must gain, 
 Or in despair and shame must vanish hence ; 
 Glory has most victorious influence 
 On women's hearts, that seldom is denied ; 
 For that sul)daes their only guard, their pride. 
 I'll try how that will work upon her mind, 
 And rush with troops of glories from behind 
 The ambush, where I lye in vain conceal'd. 
 And fight her virtue fairly in open field. 
 The wondrous virtue, royal Nymph, you shew, 
 Deserves your glorious fortune you should know : 
 From fair Diana's vanish'd form, see here, 
 Low at your feet thus prostrate does appear. 
 Paying his homage to your con(|uei'ing eyes. 
 No less than Jove the King of (Icities !
 
 CALISTO. 271 
 
 Who so fortunate, 'tis true, did prove. 
 
 At two celestial springs to drink in lov(? ; 
 
 But they were these two 1)right (jnes of your eyes, 
 
 From which he bears such torturing miseries. 
 
 Unless you quickly some compassion shew. 
 
 You will the world into confusion throw. 
 
 Cal. Oh ! Gods ! have I been cheated all this 
 while 1 
 Talked with a god, and of a thing so vile 
 As love % I might have guess'd by all his words, 
 As men by horrid shrieks of ominous birds ; 
 Their deaths foretell some fate in secret lay, 
 To make my fame and innocence a prey : 
 What sin have I committed, mighty Jove ! 
 You should contrive to punish me with love ? 
 
 Jup. Your killing beauty is one great offence ; 
 But your chief sin is too much innocence. 
 
 Cal. If beauty does offend you, ruin, blast. 
 
 Take what revenge on it you please, the last 
 
 My virtue, j^ou, nor shall, nor can destroy ; 
 I all my life will in that sin employ. 
 
 Jup. Then all my life I must be wretched 
 made. 
 Condemn me then to the infernal shade, 
 
 Cal. Let me with speed to any pains remove. 
 To hell, or any torment, but your love. 
 
 Jup. That way my self I into hell shall doom, 
 And turn their hell into Elizium ; 
 For that is heaven where sovereign pleasures are. 
 And oh ! what pleasure can with you compare "? 
 Then do not by severity so fierce 
 Damn the great soul of the whole universe. 
 
 Cal. These fond discourses I'll no longer bear ; 
 Farewell, you only combat with the air, 
 And all 3'our high contention vain shall find. 
 Ha ! He my feet does with enchantments bind ! 
 Release me tyrant !
 
 ■1 1 -1 CALISTO. 
 
 Jup. Do not yet begone ! 
 I beg, I kneel, I oflfer yon my throne. [^Kneels. 
 
 Cal. I scorn the throne, the deity of Jove ! 
 
 Jup. Oh ! do but counterfeit a little love. 
 
 Cal. Be gone, the sight of you I cannot brook. 
 
 Jup. I'll give my empire for a smile, a look : 
 
 For nothing, • let me but so happy prove, 
 
 To oblige one I so entirely love. 
 
 Cal. If gifts you will bestow, I'll name you one, 
 Give me my self, and let me straight be gone. 
 
 Jup. Proud and ungrateful Nymph, did I bestow 
 
 [Rises angrily. 
 Those treasures on you, which enrich you so, 
 And now, I come a begging to your door, 
 Can I not gain an alms when I emplore 1 
 I'll quickly if I please retake my due, 
 And punish those your saucy virtues too : 
 For virtues in a soul my Vice-roys be, 
 And may my empire guard, but not from me. 
 Their power vanishes when I appear, 
 Nor shall they dare o'er me to domineer. 
 I will depose 'em from their high commands. 
 And take the rule of you into my hands. 
 Ho ! There the Avinds ! to yonder valley bear 
 This Nymph, and for my love prepare her there. 
 
 Cal. Kill me, you tyrant ! 
 
 [Enter WiNDS and carry of Calisfo. 
 
 Jup. Stop her needless cries ! 
 Now Nymj^h, it is my turn to tyrannize ; 
 She is led hence my captive, but I find 
 My self in stronger chains left bound behind. 
 Glory and pleasure in my breast contend, 
 Pleasure would seize what glory would defend : 
 Her virtues charm my glory on their side ; 
 But pleasure longs to have liis pleasure tried ; 
 For glory like a bi-agging coward, does hei-e 
 Only in beauty's absence domineer ;
 
 CALISTO. 273 
 
 But in her sight "twill make a poor deience, 
 
 And never stand before victorious sense. [Exit. 
 
 The Scene near the Vale, ivhither the Whids carried 
 Calisto. 
 
 Enter Stkephon, Corydon, Daphne, Sylvia, 
 
 Chm-US of SHErHERDS. 
 
 Cho. Come Shepherds quickly hasten to the 
 shades, 
 The sun with all his force the air invades. 
 
 Sylv. The open plains let us forsake ! 
 Here is a grove will pity of us take : 
 The trees in gentle whisperings delight us ; 
 Here are all things to invite us. 
 Stre. These pleasures none can Avell improve, 
 But we, my shepherdess, who love. 
 
 Daph. These pleasures none can well improve, 
 But we, my dearest swain, Avho love. 
 
 Cor. Oh happy shepherd, and kind shepherdess, 
 AVhom all the gods, above expression bless. 
 Here Sylvia cruel, I forlorn, 
 
 Torment our selves each day ; 
 Whilst I with grief, and she with scorn. 
 Waste all our youth away. 
 Sylv. Alas poor shepherd ! the flmlt is not mine 
 That to thy passion I do not incline ; 
 I wish thy love and desert were more moving ; 
 For I confess I fain would be loving. 
 
 [She pauses and starts. 
 What, on the sudden, do I ail ? 
 Gentle winds, from yonder vale, 
 On the sudden Avarm my heart. 
 Sijlv. Oh ! I'm wounded : Oh ! 1 smart. 
 
 Enter CupiDS, and AVinds. 
 Stre. Sure some god is here descended, 
 AVitli a train of loves attended.
 
 274 CALISTO. 
 
 Sylv. Oh ! I'm wounded : Oh ! 1 love, 
 
 This is some inchanted grove. 
 Chwus. This is some inchanted grove. 
 
 An ENTRY of Cupids and Winds. 
 
 Stre. Oh ! my soul is in a flame. 
 Bajjh. I must fly, or lose my fame. 
 Cor. what raging passions fill me ! 
 Love me Sylvia now, or kill me. 
 Sylv. Oh ! I love, and long to shew it ; 
 
 But my shepherd shall not know it. 
 Stre. Oh ! my Daphne ! now or never. 
 Dapli. Strephon, fly my sight for ever ! 
 Cor. I can no longer Sylvia wait thee. 
 Sylv. Corydon be gone ! I hate thee. 
 Chorus. Curse on this enchanted grove, 
 We are all undone with love. 
 We are all undone with love 
 Fly from this enchanted grove. 
 
 \_Exeunt oiiines. 
 
 Finis Actus II. 
 
 Act III. 
 Juno. 
 
 Jvno. Down from the heavenly rooms, and airy 
 throne, 
 Where I have long been left alone : 
 As fast as jealousy my ste})S could l)eav, 
 I come to seek my wand'ring Jupiter : 
 1 am assur'd he does not wait 
 On any politic affairs of State : 
 He stays not to employ his public mind,
 
 CALISTO. Z i ;) 
 
 And fix the general business of mankind. 
 
 No, I have too much cause to fear, 
 
 AfiFairs less good and virtuous keep him her<^ 
 
 My blood grows hot ! and must I then be us"d 
 
 For ever thus % for ever thus abus'd ? 
 
 Must every trifling Nymph, that looks but fair. 
 
 Entice from my embrace my Jupiter 1 
 
 Must all my charms be every strumpet's scorn. 
 
 Only because they by a wife are borne % 
 
 Oh ! servile state of conjugal embrace ! 
 
 Where seeming honour covers true disgrace. 
 
 We with reproaches mistresses defame. 
 
 But we poor wives endure the greatest shame. 
 
 We to their slaves are humble slaves, whilst they 
 
 Command our lords, and rule what we obey. 
 
 Their loves each day new kindnesses uphold, 
 
 We get but little, and that little cold ! 
 
 That a poor wife is with her state reproached, 
 
 And to be married is to be debauched. 
 
 Now some new rival must my soul perjilex ; 
 
 I'll find her out, or I'll destroy the sex : 
 
 And I will Jove too in his thefts detect, 
 
 Or I'll each bird and beast I meet dissect. YE.at. 
 
 Enter PSECAS. 
 
 P.se. Where is this love of mine a wand'ring now ! 
 When I would scarce a look to him allow. 
 The restless slave would follow me all day, 
 I could not frown or chide him then away : 
 And now that I would kind to him appear, 
 The handsome fool is gone I know not where. 
 If any of the winged train of love 
 
 Now hover in this grove, 
 Go fetch the moaning boy to me with haste. 
 Tell him the ha|)py minute's come at last : 
 
 For by love's bow 1 swear, 
 I with my goddess open war declare,
 
 276 CALISTO. 
 
 And for the battle all my charms prepare. 
 Ha ! what fair vision's this assaults my sight, 
 My beauty's love I swear arrayed in light : 
 
 Enter Mercury. 
 
 Sparkling in glory brighter than the day ; 
 His splendid train sweeps all the shades away. 
 
 Mer. My Nymph ! 
 
 Pse. My love appear to me again, 
 Welcome as sudden ease to one in pain : 
 Where hast thou hid thy lovely self to-day 1 
 A whole long morn together from me stay ! 
 I have been seeking thee in every grove, 
 To give some ease to thy despairing love : 
 But I'm afraid my trouble I may spare, 
 The cure's already wrought by one more fair : 
 Some of the charming goddesses above 
 From me have spirited away my love. 
 Venus has chose thee for her page, and she 
 Has drest thee in this shining livery. 
 
 Mer. Oh ! what amazing change is this ! 
 I am a dreaming now in Paradise ; 
 Or this is some kind image of my fair, 
 My charming Nymph that pities my despair ; 
 Act on this sweet delusion, pretty shade. 
 What pleasure does my throbbing heart invade 1 
 My panting heart is on the sudden eas'd, 
 I, since I was a god, was ne'er so pleased. 
 
 Pse. If in my love be any bliss, 
 Thou shalt have more delight than this. 
 A kindness equal to my former hate, 
 Tliou shalt not wish thy self a happy fate. 
 
 Mer. Can Psecas then do anything but kilH 
 Psecas be kind, and yet be Psecas still 1 
 
 Pse. The very Psecas who did hate thee once. 
 But now does all her cruelty renounce : 
 And with it both my goddfss and lier train,
 
 CALISTO. 277 
 
 Whom now I shun, I hate, disdain, 
 ThroAv off the yoke of her unnatural law, 
 And all my beauties from her camp withdraw ; 
 And now in love's and nature's cause will fight. 
 And do my sex, and injur'd beauty right 1 
 
 Mer. Oh ! with what noble courage art thou 
 fir'd ! 
 What courteous god these thoughts in thee in- 
 
 spir'd 1 
 Lead on, we will begin the war to-day ; 
 I'll fight the cause, and thou shalt be my pay. 
 These pois'nous fumes we'll from the earth remove. 
 And cleanse the air with the hot fire of love. 
 All beings are concern'd in our just cause, 
 To kill these rebels aaainst nature's laws ; 
 Who, if they be not to confusion hurl'd, 
 Will beggar nature, and lay waste the world. 
 And to encourage us my love the more. 
 Great Jove himself in person now adore, 
 Does execution for her proud disdain. 
 Upon the fairest criminal of the train : 
 On her who only sways your goddess' breast. 
 And thou, my Nymph, hat'st more than all the rest. 
 Look in that vale, and thy revenge delight. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! how I am transported with the sight ! 
 Oh ! that some god now my revenge to please 
 Would summon hither all the deities ; 
 All beings mortal and immortal too. 
 And shew her shame to universal view. 
 
 3Ier. My Nymph nor yet her empire under- 
 stands ; 
 See here a god attending her commands. 
 
 Pse. Ha ! what great brightness does around thee 
 shine 1 
 Something beams through thee like a pow'r 
 divine. 
 
 Mer. Such glorious vassals are your beauty's due.
 
 278 CALTSTO. 
 
 And less than gods should nut pretend to you. 
 
 Pse. This is a fate more great than I would 
 crave ; 
 Have I a god then for my beauty's slave 1 
 
 Mer. One of the highest rank, and next the 
 thi'one. 
 
 Pse. This is a love I may with honour own : 
 For petty gods, like mortals I despise ; 
 But yet I understand not deities. 
 I fear your passion, I must disapprove ; 
 Gods always make dishon(jural)le love. 
 
 Mer. By love, by Styx, I true to thee will be ; 
 And lose my godhead ere be false to thee. 
 
 Pi<e. Suppose you constant to your love remain, 
 I know not how a god to entertain ; 
 Or if I did, perhaps divine delight 
 May not agree Mdth human appetite. 
 
 Mer. The joys of gods exceed the thoughts of 
 men. 
 
 Pse. Oh gods ! and shall I be a goddess then 1 
 
 Mer. As great as Juno, more belov'd and prais'd, 
 And have more altars to thy beauty rais'd. 
 
 Pse. What ? and have power to torture all I hate, 
 That will not die with envy at my state. 
 
 Mer. All ! All ! 
 
 Pse. Oh ! then the Nymphs I will torment ! 
 But for Calisto I will plagues invent. 
 By my great self, this does so pleasing prove, 
 
 [AshU'. 
 My ravish'd heart begins almost to love. 
 Come to my coronation straight proceed, 
 Call all the gods and goddesses Avith speed ! 
 Let the whole air with the bright throng abound, 
 To shame Calisto, and to see me crown'd. 
 
 Mer. I fly my Queen, and will your Avill obey ; 
 But oh ! some present kindness you must gi\'e. 
 To bear my charges in this way
 
 CALISTO. L>79 
 
 To heaven, and back again, in tliis one kiss I'll 
 live. 
 
 Enter Nyphe. 
 
 Ny. I heard a doleful cry, not far from hence, 
 Of one who in some great distress must be ; 
 
 The voice seem'd like Calisto's to my sense : 
 Oh ! all the gods forbid it should be she. 
 Ha ! Psecas, here a lover entertain ? 
 Oh ! the vile Nymph, she will disgrace our train. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! now I long till I my reign begin, 
 To plague the Nymphs I hate, and act the Queen. 
 And see ! 
 
 Already here a subject for my power. 
 Thrown in my way by fortune, to devour. 
 What brings you here my secrets to discover "? 
 
 Ny. Not your design to entertain a lover. 
 
 Pse. How dare you so presumptuous be, to spy 
 My royal, nay, my divine privacy. 
 
 Ny. Royal ! divine ! and how dare I presume ? 
 Good heavens ! what mighty thing are you become % 
 
 Pse. A thing too sacred for your tongue to name 
 The mighty glories of my swelling fame ; 
 You shall not once into your mouth receive. 
 Nor dare to look on me without my leave. 
 
 Ny. Since when were you so great, so sacred 
 grown 1 
 Surely if any honour must be shewn 
 The right is mine, who am a Princess born. 
 
 Pse. That's nature's gift, whose charity I scorn. 
 On my own treasure of desert I live. 
 And all my glory from my self receive. 
 
 Ny. No, from your lover you some glory gain ! 
 I'll do you right, and spread it through the train. 
 
 Pse. How ! do you threaten me 1 stop, stop her 
 flight ; 
 Although my fame is spotless as the light,
 
 280 CALISTO. 
 
 My goddess from dishonour less secure, 
 I'll not th' affront of a dispute endure. 
 
 Ny. Oh ! blasphemy ! Oh ! prodigy of pride ! 
 Crimes black as these do you once hope to hide ? 
 
 Pse. Continue still in a contempt so great ! 
 Confine her till my pardon she entreat, 
 For daring thus my anger to despise, 
 And 'gainst my honour to believe her eyes. 
 
 Ny. Thy pardon ? 
 
 Mer. Will you" all you saw deny 1 
 
 Ny. I'll tell it all, though I that moment die. 
 
 Pse. Then kill her ! 
 
 Ny. Do ! thy infamy and shame 
 My walking ghost shall to the world proclaim. 
 
 Pse. To what a height will this young courage 
 grow ] 
 The shame to me design'd, on thee I'll throw. 
 From hence I charge you let her not remove : 
 I'll call the Nymph, and swear you are her love. 
 The lie is sacred, and prevents a crime 
 Her boiling blood will sure commit in time. 
 I'll quench the love is springing in the blood, 
 And blast her vicious nature in her bud. [Exit. 
 
 Mer. Eun, run, with speed ! I'll charm her in 
 this grove, 
 Shew her with me, Calisto there with Jove. 
 
 Ny. Oh ! Traitress ! 
 
 Mer. Go, obey my charming rod. 
 Know 'tis but vain contending with a god ! 
 
 [Ny. Exit. 
 Whilst in this grove, this Nymph with charms I tie, 
 Straight on my love's commands to heaven I'll fly, 
 To call my Queen ! But oh ! what do I see 
 Juno already here 1 Oh jealousy ! 
 This jealousy's the ghost of murdered love, 
 Which turn'd all spirit does outrageous prove : 
 Groans o'er its grave the poor despairing breast ;
 
 CALISTO. 281 
 
 Jjiit novel- let's the murderer li;ive rest. 
 Juno I tear will all our plots prevent, 
 But 1 will stand behind, and see th' event. 
 
 Jupiter, Juno, Calisto. 
 
 Jup. What saucy watchful spies, 
 
 Does Juno place on me where e'er I go ; 
 
 I think the trees of every grove have eyes, 
 And winds breathe stories as they blow. 
 
 Jim. Is this your business mighty Jove below 
 Are these the secrets none must dare to know '? 
 For this does Jove in clouds his glory hide ? 
 Is thus his great omnipotence employ'd % 
 HoAV will th' Arcadian Nymphs his praises sing. 
 And crown with garlands the almighty King ? 
 But what need shapes conceal the wandring Jove : 
 He is transform'd too much with shameful love ? 
 
 Jup. The love 1 to this royal virgin own, 
 I take a greater pride in, than my throne ; 
 And all my shapes do but adorn me more, 
 As shining armour does a warrior, 
 To fight this field under the power of love 
 Is greater gloiy than to reign above. 
 
 Jim. Oh ! blasphemy above an atheist's tongue ! 
 Should men in thought you glory so much wrong ; 
 The impious slaves you quickly would destroy. 
 Your thunder now against your self employ : 
 Or rather there against those trait'rous eyes. 
 That have depos'd the King of deities. 
 
 Jup. She has exalted me above my throne ; 
 In the short time I have her virtues known : 
 The joy I felt in loving her, was more 
 Than endless eyes blest me with before. 
 
 Jun. Then all my beauties are forgot it seems, 
 And Jove for her his goddess disesteems. 
 A long fruition has a loathing Ijred, 
 Of me for ages you have surfeited. 
 
 1 19
 
 ■2S2 CALISTO. 
 
 Jup. 1 own 1 have of your imperious mind, 
 Which to your so mucli l)oasted charms, I find, 
 No small indifference in my l:)reast creates. 
 
 Jan. My haughty mind not half so nuich abates ; 
 The passion in you for my beauty's due, 
 As your low mind does my esteem for you. 
 I scorn my beauties should descend to please 
 One, who degrades himself to such as these : 
 With whom if strife were for my grandeur meet, 
 I now would trample her beneath my feet ; 
 But that resentment I disdain to shew, 
 And think the Nymph for my contempt too low. 
 
 Cal. Great Queen ! all honour to your rank is 
 due : 
 But please to know, I am a Princess too, 
 And do in that respect your image wear ; 
 Nor does that State from me dishonour l)ear : 
 You scorn not more your Monarch should forsake 
 Your bed for me, than I his love to take ; 
 And if for love the high contention be. 
 You scorn strife less, than I the victory : 
 Not that my hate on Jove alone does fall ; 
 But I disdain, and hate to love at all. 
 
 Juti. W^hen first begun in you this hate to love. 
 This mighty pride, in the embrace of Jove 1 
 
 Cal. That raise my pride ! True honour you 
 blaspheme. 
 An insect, or a plant, in ray esteem 
 Are nobler beings, and of higher price, 
 Than Nymph or goddess that descends to vice. 
 
 Jun. Oh ! how in favour boldly you presume ! 
 When had it then beginning 1 
 
 Cal. From the womb. 
 Rather from fate, which did my choice foresee, 
 And dui\st not other natures frame for me. 
 For fear I should, 'twixt horror and disdain, 
 Have started to my nothing back again.
 
 cAiJsTd. 283 
 
 J '(It. Was e'er such insolence l)y mortals shewn < 
 What then, it may be, you disdain my crown '? 
 
 Cal. I do ; nor by your glory would be bougiit. 
 To sin against my honour, but in thought. 
 All kinds of love to nie are so inij)ure, 
 1 hate the marriage bed, which you endure ; 
 Nor would exchange my virtue for my power ; 
 A virgin is a Queen's superioi-. 
 
 Juii. Amazing haughtiness ! This saucy scorn, 
 If thou wert virtuous, were not to be borne. 
 
 Jnp. As Queen she is ! more virtues in her shine, 
 Thau you, and all the female powers divine. 
 
 Jim. What virtues yielding easier to your will. 
 And pleasing you perhaps with greater skill. 
 
 Jap. She gives me greater pleasure in her pride. 
 Than ever Juno did in being enjoy'd. 
 
 Jun. Oh ! how he tortures me ! what secret 
 pain 
 I feel, to counterfeit a brave disdain 1 
 Your pleasure with the artful Nymph pursue ; 
 If pride so pleas'd, what did fruition do ? 
 
 Jup. Her virtue's more untainted than your own, 
 And less of yours advanc'd me to my throne. 
 
 Jun. What stay'd you then together in the grove 1 
 Virtue is but of little use to Jove. 
 
 Jup. Rapt with her beauties, but her virtues 
 more ! 
 I tarry here her virtues to adoi-e. 
 They us'd that force upon my vanquish'd mind, 
 Which once on her bright beauties I design'd. 
 The fire these kindled th' other did put out. 
 
 Jun. To virtue you are seldom so devout. 
 And scarce for such insipid joys would stay. 
 
 Jup. Cease your contention without more delay ! 
 Lest you i)rovoke me in this Nymph's defence, 
 To prove too fiitally her innocence. 
 
 Jan. Give her my crown, the trifle I despise ;
 
 2(S4 CALISTO. 
 
 By being depos'd from tliee I higher rise. 
 
 To thee no more I will myself debase, 
 
 But here condemn thee to this Nymph's embrace. 
 
 Jiip. Do, we shall both be gainers by the strife ; 
 You get more glory, I a fairer wife. 
 
 Jim. A fairer wife ! though I with scorn look 
 down 
 On thy lost heart, and on my falling crown, 
 Above thy throne, my beauty 1 surprise ; 
 I will revenge on thee these blasphemies. 
 I will ascend, and leave thy hated bed ; 
 But mounting thus, I'll on thy goddess tread. 
 
 Jup. Hold ! lest indeed I raise her to my throne, 
 And to thy rival make thee vassalage own. 
 
 Jnn. Thy throne and heart on Avhom thou wilt 
 bestow ! 
 Without revenge from hence I will not go. 
 Eevenge to my enraged soul shall be. 
 My throne, my Jove, my heavenly dignity. 
 
 Ju]). Nay, then I'll govern your imperious hate. 
 You airy spirits that on tempests wait. 
 That all the forces of the air command, 
 Rain, thunder, lightning, muster or disband, 
 Employ 'em when, and against whom I please. 
 Viceroys of all the spreading pi^ovinces. 
 'Twixt earth and moon, quick with your guards 
 
 appear. 
 And take the loudest of all tempests here. 
 Your Queen from hence, and keep her close con- 
 
 find. 
 In the cold rooms, where hail and snow you grind. 
 Where with more fit companions she may be. 
 With storms that can reply as loud as she. 
 
 Enter Airy Spirits. 
 
 Where she her fill of noise may take, 
 Bail as she will, and no disturbance make :
 
 CALISTO. 285 
 
 And do not dare to let lier scape from thence, 
 Till of her duty she has learnt a sense. 
 
 [Spirits seize Ju\o. 
 
 Jim. So then, thy Queen must l)e confin'd above, 
 That thou below may'st revel with thy love : 
 Loose me, you slaves, I will not bear this wrong, 
 1 will not stir till I have him along. 
 
 Jup. Oh ! the eternal plague ! my will obey ! 
 This tempest from my ears with speed convey. 
 
 Jnn. I will not go, you rebel slaves forbear ! 
 Jove, to confinement send me, if you dare. 
 All the celestial powers shall quickly know, 
 On what affairs you are employ 'd below : 
 I'll make 'em chuse another in thy throne, 
 To save both heav'n and earth from be'ng undone. 
 
 Jup. Guard, wait awhile ! 
 
 Jun. Nay, now I will not stay. 
 
 Jup. Will you your Queen's, or my commands 
 obey ? 
 Once more I do instate you in my throne ; 
 Once more this royal virgin's virtues own. 
 Though had she lov'd, it is sufficient plea 
 For innocence, that she's belov'd by me ; 
 For I will be control'd in no amour ; 
 My love is arbitrary as my power : 
 I bound all minds and beings but my own, 
 Am place to all things but my self have none. 
 On you my largest share of love shall fall, 
 But no one heart has room enough for all. 
 I, like my sun, my beams will not confine, 
 Nor starve all beings l^y my self to shine. 
 And like him too, where e'er I shed my light, 
 I nature do not alter, but excite. 
 When on a loose and wanton Nymph I smile, 
 Her blood breeds monsters like the mud of Nile : 
 But when to flowers and gardens 1 re})air. 
 With fragrant odours I perfume the air.
 
 28G CALISTO. 
 
 Such were the sweets I from her virtues drew, 
 And you shall own it, yes and thank her too : 
 Do it I say, and her desei'ts prochxim ; 
 She of a goddess only wants the name. 
 
 Jun. I will embrace her, since I must obey, 
 But she by heaven shall dearly for it pay. [^Askle. 
 
 Jap. Farewell, fair Nymph ! [To Cal. 
 
 To that I call my heav'n I now must go ; 
 But leaving you, I leave true heav'n below. 
 
 [Jup., Juno, Gvurds, Ex. 
 
 Cal. From what a horrid dream do I awake 1 
 I am afraid my sense does yet mistake. 
 From these celestial tyrants I am freed ; 
 But still the thought does horror in me breed. 
 I cannot yet compose my restless soul, 
 The storm is ended, but the billows roll. 
 But oh ! which tears my soul, a shame remains ; 
 My rising blood does almost break my veins : 
 A fiery blushing flame's around my face ; 
 I'm all on fire with rage at my disgrace : 
 For Fm enough dishonour'd, and asham'd 
 To breathe, but in tlie air, where love is nani'd. 
 But be disgrac'd with an attempt so foul, 
 I hate this place, the world, the gods, my soul. 
 
 Enter Mercury. 
 
 Mer. The tempest ended, and no mischief done ] 
 
 Calisto's innocence unshaken stand 1 
 This horrid storm must be again begun, 
 
 I'll fly to heaven, as Psecas gave command : 
 And to my Queen with lies my self address, 
 And bring again that raging lioness. 
 Meanwhile I'll charm the Nymphs within this 
 grove : 
 Around, around here let 'm rove : 
 And visions guard the sacred ground, 
 To fright 'em still within their bound. [Exit.
 
 r.Al.lsTo. 287 
 
 Enter Nyphe. 
 
 Nij. How am 1 kept a pri.souer, in the power 
 Of this base god ! Oh ! that revenge to have 
 
 I were some mighty goddess for an hour : 
 
 Oh ! how I would torment the heavenly shwe. 
 But see ! my sister here 1 and oh ! my fears 
 Her lovely face all delug'd o'er with tears. 
 Ah ! what means this 1 
 
 Cal. My sister here '? be gone, 
 Leave me to my disorder'd self alone ; 
 And fly these groves, they are the curst abodes 
 Of satyrs, fiends, or worse, of impious gods. 
 
 Nij. Oh ! how you fright me ! I grow pale with 
 fear ; 
 What fatal accident has happ'ned here 1 
 
 Cal. I'm too disorder'd now replies to make ! 
 
 Ny. No matter, I will no denial take. 
 What has befallen you since I parted hence % 
 
 Cal. What you to hear have too much innocence. 
 
 Ny. Not let me know it ? this unkind appears ; 
 I will both hear it, and have all the tears. 
 To yonder mournful shades let us repair. 
 Which to our sorrows some resemblance bear : 
 And there to tell your griefs your task shall be. 
 And I will sit and weep for you, and me. 
 
 Enter Daphne and Sylvia. 
 
 Sylv. Coryclon is a noble swain. 
 
 And too long has felt disdain : 
 
 But since scorn I once did show, 
 
 My love I'm too proud to let him know. 
 Da/ih. Ah Sylvia ! Sylvia ! my heart, like yours, 
 
 I'ain from foolish juidc endures.
 
 288 TALISTO. 
 
 I angry with Strephon to-day did appear, 
 
 And now long to reconcile ; 
 Yet in pride for a time will seem severe, 
 
 Though it breaks my heart the while. 
 
 Enter Strephon, Corydon, Chm-us of 
 Shepherds. 
 
 Daphne and Sylvia offer to go as they enter. 
 
 Sire. Oh whither does my lovely Daphne fly 1 
 C(»: How long will Sylvia Corydon deny 1 
 fJaph. It is my will my kindness to remove. 
 Syh: And I shall never, never love. 
 
 [Dajihne and Sylvia exeunt. 
 Stre. Oh 1 what has chang'd my Daphne's mind 1 
 Chorus. Oh ftilse and cruel woman-kind ! 
 1. Shep. Come shepherds, do not complain. 
 See, see yonder a merry train 
 Of gyi)sies dancing over the plain. 
 Call 'em straight, call 'em straight to comfort these 
 pour swains. 
 
 An ENTRY of Gypsies. 
 No longer complain, 
 If your loves shew disdain. 
 
 Be proud and disdain 'em again. 
 The fools you will find 
 Will be glad to be kind. 
 
 When they once are despised by the men. 
 
 [aypsies go off'. 
 1 Sht'j}. Hark, hark ! in yonder woods the satyrs 
 
 The echoes bring their laughs this way. 
 They with some pleasant sport are pleasd. 
 The Avanton demi-beasts some Nymphs have seiz'd. 
 
 Enter tiro SHEPHERDS. 
 
 Laugh, shepherds, laugh and sing I 
 Joyful tidings noAV we bring.
 
 (;alist(j. 289 
 
 The fair Calisto is disgrac'd ; 
 Gods and mortals hate the chaste. 
 
 Jn ENTRY of Satyrs. 
 
 Stre. All this to me but little ease does give. 
 Cor. All joys are dead to me, why do I live 1 
 Stre. In death alone we ease shall find. 
 Cor. In death alone we ease shall find. 
 
 Chorus of all. 
 
 Oh false and cruel woman-kind ! 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Act IV. 
 E7iter PsECAS. 
 
 Fse. How long will these malicious woods in 
 spite 
 Conspire to hide my goddess from my sight ? 
 Were the truth known, she is in jirivate gone 
 To some blind cave with her Endymion : 
 For busy tongues are with her honour bold. 
 Or she with love does correspondence hold. 
 Some beauteous youths that do her fancy please, 
 Have reconcil'd those bloody enemies ; 
 I scorn and hate her, though these falsehoods be. 
 That she delights in any thing but me. 
 At her my generous revenge does aim, 
 I in Calisto would my goddess shame. 
 
 Enter Mercury. 
 
 But ha ! my vassal Mercury so nigh ] 
 Put me in humour with some pleasing lie, 
 For my lost goddess I can no where find.
 
 290 CALISTO. 
 
 Mer. 1 bring you news, my Nymi)h ! will tune 
 your mind, 
 Much better news than did I only aim 
 To please and flatter you my wit could frame. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! Speak ! the expectation does delight. 
 
 Mer. The minute that I parted from your sight. 
 Our jealous Queen descended from above, 
 And found Calisto, as you wish'd, with Jove. 
 
 Ps6. Oh ! Joy ! and kill'd her straight 1 
 
 Mer. She was debar'd, 
 The Nymph was then under her lover's guard. 
 
 Pse. What strange event must that encounter 
 have ! 
 
 Mer. All his Queen's rage my monarch did 
 outbrave. 
 With her fair rival forc'd her to comply, 
 Nay, ask her pardon for her jealousy. 
 Not daring then to trust her with his love, 
 Compell'd her to return, and fled above. 
 
 Pse. Tyrant ! That I had been his Queen an hour, 
 I would have plagu'd and exercis'd his power ! 
 Will Juno then put u}) aftronts so rude 1 
 
 Mer. No, no, the angry Queen I straight pursued, 
 Fired all the mines of sulphur in her soul, 
 The active flame through ev'ry vein did roll, 
 That she wept fire, and her whole soul did blaze. 
 The frightened gods did at the wonder gaze, 
 Believ'd the world once more with fire undone, 
 And Jove look't round for a new Phaeton. 
 
 Pse. The world for ruin surely must prepare ! 
 Let her destroy it, ere Calisto spare. 
 Oh ! I'm impatient till she does appear, 
 W"hy tarries Juno ] when will she be here I 
 
 Mer. Ere you can think again. I left her now 
 This instant standiny- on the shining brow 
 Of a celestial ardi, of wondrous height, 
 AVith her robes girt, and ready for her flight.
 
 f'ALISTO. 291 
 
 Calisto's dead by this time, or at least 
 Roaring beneath the tigure of a beast. 
 
 rse. Oh ! Shall she be a beast 1 
 
 Mer. If any ease it will give you, 
 She shall, — what beast you please. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! Let me think ! Some \ ery ugly one, 
 Uglier than yet by nature e'er was shewn 
 With all her skill and power, let Juno try 
 To outwit nature in deformity. 
 
 Mer. She shall observe your pleasure to the full, 
 She shall discover nature's fancy dull. 
 
 Pse. My most obedient deity ! But stay. 
 May not Calisto have escap't away, 
 And found our goddess, whilst you Hed above 1 
 
 Mer. I charm'd both her, and Nyphe in that 
 grove. 
 There round they wander, chaced by panic fear. 
 Take for a sighing ghost each wind they hear ; 
 At their own voices start, and shadows stare. 
 And think the lofty trees tall phantoms are. 
 
 Pse. Observ'd to every tittle my command, 
 Nay, guessed my very wishes, take my hand, 
 Here pay thy self, for thou hast pleas'd me so, 
 My favours unpetition'd I'll bestow. 
 Now Nyphe's ruin I must next contrive ; 
 For no one my displeasure shall survive. 
 
 Mer. For her disgrace do not disturb your 
 thought ; 
 Go, let your goddess to the grove be brought. 
 To shew her fav'rite's virtues there pretend. 
 My jealous Queen will soon your cause defend. 
 Calisto's fall will soon dishonour throw 
 On her young friend, and, to pursue the blow, 
 Charge her Avith confidence of love to me. 
 Then I, as if I fear'd discovery, 
 And of my mistress' honour cautious wcic, 
 Will gently call, but so as all maj- hear.
 
 292 CALISTO. 
 
 Nyplie, my love. My Nyphe, why so slow ? 
 
 Come to me here, for I impatient grow. 
 
 Pse. How active an invention dost thou prove ! 
 Thou half deserv'st the glory of my love. 
 I could descend to smile now, if I durst ; 
 But that's too oreat a favour at the first : 
 And to rash youth 'tis an unhappy fate. 
 To come too early to a great estate. 
 Much wealth, much honour, I design my slave, 
 But I the management of all will have. 
 
 Mer. My glorious mistress does her kindness 
 shew. 
 With the vast wealth I should distracted grow. 
 But yet some mark of favour let me wear, 
 This little arrow from your quiver spare. 
 
 Pt>e. 'Tis thine ! — But stay, not that ; the dart 
 you have 
 My goddess in reAvard of service gave. — 
 No matter, take it, I her favours slight ; 
 Nay, to affront her, wear it in her sight. 
 
 Mer. How will I strut among the powers divine 
 With this, and make 'em at my fortune pine^ 
 Psecas's Knight, my self I now declare. 
 And this the badge of my Queen's order wear. 
 But see, the Nymphs walking their fairy round ! 
 This of their circle is their utmost bound. 
 
 Enter Calisto, Nyphe. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! Let me run and wound 'em with my 
 eye ! 
 
 But now I think on't by my frowns to die 
 
 Will lie a fate too glorious and sublime, 
 And I shall look 'em dead liefore their time. 
 They are of use that huntress to disgrace. 
 Which, 'cause she is of a celestial race. 
 Usurps the title of a powci- diviiir. 
 Though her deserts inferior are to mine.
 
 CALISTO. 293 
 
 Howe'er by birth she's not below my hate, 
 I'll shew her folly, and dismiss her straight. 
 Then these may live. 
 
 Met: See ! See ! I have descried 
 Yonr goddess. 
 
 Pse. Where ? 
 
 Mer. There by that river side 
 
 Rnn, run, my Queen ! 
 
 Pse. In yonder thicket stay 
 Till my return 
 
 Mer. My Queen, I shall obey. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Cat. How long shall we this black, this cursed 
 place, 
 The hated horrid scene of my disgrace. 
 In wild and frightful mazes wander round 1 
 
 Ny. Sure we are here by black enchantments 
 bound. 
 
 Cal. Where e'er we go, wild shapes around us 
 move ! 
 And every tree appears to me like Jove. 
 
 Ny. These frightful shadows are his guard, I fear, 
 And for some black design, imprison us here. 
 
 Cal. They are ! What shall w^e for our safety do % 
 Run, and the phantoms swiftlier pursue ! 
 Shoot, and our arrows fly Ave know not where, 
 Are lost in mists, or only wound the air. 
 They come ! — Stand off, ye fiends ! — 
 
 Ny. How pale they shew ! 
 
 Cal. And every thing is blasted where they go. 
 That some brave man of the old Tytans' race. 
 Would help me to revenge my great disgrace. 
 If any god Avill tempt my soul to love, 
 Let him depose that hated tyrant Jove. 
 
 Ny. Oh ! That the gods should be such wicked 
 things ! 
 Now this into my soul the reason brings
 
 294 GALISTO. 
 
 Why heav'n is hated by the young and fair ; 
 It seems, the deities abuse 'em there : 
 For which, the old and slighted do not care. 
 Is it for this priests bid us Avorship Jove, 
 And these the joys they promise us above 1 
 But we are safe, my goddess does appear. 
 
 [Looks icithin. 
 
 Col. Disguis'd again the tyrant Jupiter. 
 
 Ny. Do you not see the Nymphs around her 
 there *? 
 
 Cul. Cheats, phantoms, all ! — Delusions of the air. 
 My heart fears for you, sweetest Nyphe, cease ! 
 Leave me to suffer my own miseries. 
 
 Ny. Why with unkindness do you love repay ? 
 I hope you do not think I will obey. 
 Besides, I'm fetter'd in enchantments too ; 
 Though I need none to fasten me to you. 
 The foolish gods may their enchantments spare. 
 Stronger than theirs about your self you bare. 
 
 Cat. Fortune, who sends me suff 'rings, does in you 
 Send me the sweetest of all comforts too. 
 
 Ny. Discourse no more, I cannot bravelier die 
 Than in your aid, and by a deity. 
 
 Cal. Then let us bravely perish in defence 
 Of injur'd chastity and innocence ; 
 And when we both are dead, oh ! if there be 
 In heav'n, but any friend to chastity, 
 Some goddess of our purity have care. 
 And to some private tomb our bodies bear. [E.reujit. 
 
 Diana, Psecas, Nymphs, 
 
 Dia. The chaste Calisto sin ? if thou would'st try 
 To scare us with some frightful prodigy. 
 Thy stories within bounds of reason feign ; 
 Those who out-talk their mark derision gain. 
 Who use invention must with art proceed. 
 They, of all merchants, the most cunning need.
 
 CALISTO. ■2\)r> 
 
 Pse. I scorn the traffic, and your tViciid, nay 
 you 
 May love, ere I speak anything untrue. 
 
 Dia. Of one most useful virtue you have store, 
 Of confidence, to charge you with no more. 
 But know, no ill can her fair soul invade. 
 Her whole composure is for virtue made, 
 Her body in so pure a mould is wrought. 
 Her very body may a soul be thought ; 
 A soul to highest purity refin'd. 
 Visible virtue, a celestial mind 
 Condens't to beauty, in that fair disguise 
 Descending to the view of human eyes. 
 Gross passions can no more find dwellings there. 
 Than men can breathe in the .netherial air. 
 There is no fuel there for earthy fire. 
 The starving flame must instantly expire. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! How much curious art you make 
 appear ! 
 How finely you would j^aint us nothing here ; 
 Your colours are so fine, your strokes so small. 
 That they no strokes nor colour have at all. 
 I know not how invisible, and pure' 
 Her body may be, 'tis not so obscure, 
 But you may see her now in yonder grove ; 
 There but this instant in the arms of Jove, 
 She humbly condescended to my view. 
 
 Dia. I say, 'tis false ! Nay, it is nonsense too. 
 
 Pse. Nonsense to see ! That does indeed sur- 
 prise ! 
 Nymphs in your service must have witty eyes. 
 
 Dia. That it is nonsense I again proclaim, 
 The gods for her must a new nature frame. 
 Ere sin in her the least possession gains ! 
 No longer then Calisto she remains, 
 "Who says Calisto then does spot her fame. 
 Says she's at once another, and the same.
 
 29G CALISTO. 
 
 Pse. How for Calisto you employ your wit, 
 How virtuous 'tis to be a favourite ! 
 Her crimes with glosses as you please disguise, 
 You shall not argue me out of my eyes. 
 
 Did. Proceed in insolent contention still ; 
 Cease your disputes ! And know it is my will. 
 You never more presume to touch her fame, 
 Nor mention, but with high respect, her name. 
 
 Pse. Gods ! Gods ! to rev'rence her I much 
 incline ! 
 What pity 'tis she is no power divine. 
 Yes ! I will spread her virtues and your own, 
 What virtues too they are shall well be known , 
 
 Dia. Call in dispute my virtues 1 — Seize her 
 there ! [Nyinphs seize Psecas. 
 
 Pse. Is this the love to chastity you bear 1 
 
 Dia. Who l)oast of it so much, oft-times have 
 none ! 
 
 Pse. My chastity is equal with your own. 
 
 Dia. Amazing pride ! Confine her ! 
 
 Pse. If you dare ! 
 I'll work on flowers the story with my hair ; 
 Which round the world some courteous wind shall 
 
 blow, 
 Till it with zeal into a tempest grow. 
 
 Dia. With pride and malice she begins to rave ; 
 Convey her to some beasts forsaken cave. 
 I doom her by her restless self to dwell, 
 And that at once both fury is, and hell. 
 
 As they are guarding her out, enter Juno, tcho 
 stojys them. 
 
 Jun. Hold ! Goddess, do you thus your Nymphs 
 reward. 
 That with such loyalty your honour guard ? 
 Is this the place where chastity's protest 1 
 Has love so strong a party in your breast 1
 
 CALISTO. L".)7 
 
 Dia. Has lovt^ in any breast a greater fuel 
 
 Jun. Do you your hatred to that passion shew, 
 By i;uarding tliose who wrong my bed and throne? 
 Am 1 excepted from your rules alone % 
 
 Dia. On any such did e'er my favour fall 
 Who will not bear my Nymphs shoidd love at all 1 
 
 Jun. Does not this Nymph in seizure here 
 remain, 
 For charging the most vicious of your train 1 
 Whom you from infamy defend with might, 
 For no desert, l)ut being your favourite % 
 
 Dia. The merits of Calisto well I know, 
 My favour rashly I on none bestow. 
 
 Jun. And shall my eyes then be affronted too ? 
 
 Dia. It was some shape aljused both her and you. 
 
 Jun. That cursed shape still somewhere haunts 
 this wood. 
 And it shall bleed if it l)e tiesh and blood. 
 
 Fse. See ! Avith dart fixt, and bow comjjletely 
 bent, 
 She comes from yonder grove. 
 
 Jun. As if she meant 
 To give us an assault. 
 
 Dia. And Nyphe there 1 
 
 Pi<c. Of virtue she has much her sister's share. 
 I thought to tell you, if I durst proceed. 
 How Mercury her forward youth does breed, 
 And make already most ex})ert in love. 
 But I perceiv'd I should your anger move. 
 
 Dia. Ignorant nature, if these Nymphs be ill, 
 To temper spotless chastity wants skill. 
 Or flesh and blood is of too coarse allay. 
 And she maj' waste the fire of souls away. 
 And in her vain experiments grow old, 
 Ere that base metal will be turnd to gold. 
 In them I'm sure she did at virtue aim, 
 .\nd never yet so near projection came. 
 
 1 20
 
 298 CALISTO. 
 
 Enter Calisto and Nyphe, in a posture of defence. 
 
 Cal. Now, noAA^ the satyr comes, let vis prepare ! 
 
 Ny. Guarded around with spirits of the air 
 In shape of Nymphs. 
 
 Cal. Let's make a brave defence, 
 Who knows what charms may be in innocence 1 
 'Twas virtue to the gods their godheads gave, 
 Dare they, what made 'em impiously outbrave ] 
 
 Ni/. If that gave godheads, we, who virtue have, 
 Are above gods, and Jove is but our slave. 
 
 Cal. Fear not, but valiantly our selves defend. 
 
 J^m. See ! See ! I think for battle they intend. 
 
 Dia. Amazement ! let us their intention know. 
 Princess, what mean you by that bended bow 1 
 
 Cal. Tyrant ! I mean to guard my self from you. 
 
 Dia. Do you not know me ? 
 
 Cal. Yes, and hate you too. 
 And win my honour to the death defend. 
 
 Jun. This is your royal virgin ! 
 
 Pse. This your friend ! 
 
 Jun. She knows her guilt too public to be hid, 
 So does to honour bold defiance bid. 
 • Dia. Why sacred honour do you dare to name 1 
 Is honour, since we parted, turnd to shame. 
 And vice grown virtue 1 Riddles you express. 
 
 Cal. That virtue is a vice which you profess. 
 
 Nij. Practise no more on us that stale deceit I 
 You wear that shape of chastity to cheat. 
 
 Dia. The wonder almost stupifies my sense ; 
 Run Nymphs, and bring 'em here by violence. 
 
 Cal. Stand off, you shapes, and do not venture 
 near. 
 
 Ny. Go play your masquerading tricks elsewhere. 
 
 Cal. Stand off, I say, if further you proceed. 
 If shapes have any blood I'll make 3'OU bleed. 
 
 Dia. See ! to the height they insolence pursue,
 
 I'ALISTO. 2i)y 
 
 TS'ow to all lionoui' and esteem ftn' you, 
 And everlasting farewell ; now I'll know 
 If against nie you dare to bend your bow. 
 
 Ni/. We dare, and Avill. — — 
 
 Cal. And could we make you fly 
 From your strong guard of immortality, 
 Let heaven and nature of themselves take care, 
 Or stand, or fall, to kill you we would dare. 
 
 [Both strike Diana with their darts. 
 
 Dia. I'm wounded ! 
 
 Jim. They to violence proceed. 
 And have presum'd to make a goddess bleed. 
 Immortal blood runs trickling from her veins. 
 
 Fse. Oh ! the infernal deed ! fetch engines, 
 chains ! — 
 
 Jun, They shall this instant at my altars die, 
 I will revenge my injur'd dignity. 
 Not Jove himself shall his lov'd mistress save. 
 
 J'ae. And I the honour (jf the priesthood crave. 
 
 Jtmt. 'Tis thine, the glory to thy zeal is due. 
 
 Fse. Now all my malice is devotion too. 
 
 Cal. Like one from strong infernal chains un- 
 bound, 
 Whose soul is after long distractions found, 
 To sense and reason, I begin to wake. 
 And doubt and tremble at my sad mistake. 
 Is it our goddess 1 are you Nymphs indeed 1 
 For heaven, for goodness' sake, reply with speed. 
 Yet if you do, delusions still I fear, 
 Who will secure me, it is you, I hear ? 
 I dare not trust my cheated ears or sight. 
 
 Dia. Ah ! Princess ! do you thus my love re- 
 quite ? 
 Do I displease you then in being too kind ? 
 And is this wound a punishment design'd 1 
 
 Cal. Am I betrayd into so black a guilt 1 
 Is it your uai-red l>lood which I have spilt (
 
 300 C'ALISTO. 
 
 Oh ! Look not on nie with that wounding eye, 
 8pealv not, unless to sentence me to die. 
 No other word l)ut death I can endure, 
 My impious hands from further ill secure. 
 Kill me, if you design revenge to gain. 
 Ere I grow anad, and have no sense of pain. 
 
 Ny. My goddess cannot save me if she would, 
 For I am fainting in her loss of Ijlood ; 
 If to herself she does revenge deny, 
 I of her bleeding wound alone shall die. 
 
 Pse. Now they begin again their Syrens' song. 
 The tunes which channel my goddess' soul so long. 
 
 Jtm. Hope they to be forgiven crimes like these 1 
 Abuse at once two mighty goddesses 1 
 The spotless blood of chaste Diana shed, 
 And yet more horrid, durst invade my bed 1 
 
 Cal. Believe it, I will scorn to make defence. 
 Nor to beg life, pretend to innocence. 
 
 Pse. The reason for it is but too well known ! 
 In spite of you, you are ingenious grown. 
 This injur'd Queen, my goddess here and I 
 May thank your guilt for so much modesty. 
 
 Cal. Your office. Nymph, I do not understand, 
 AVho to implead us, gave you the command 1 
 From whom do you derive a place so high 1 
 
 Ny. I shall inform you, 'tis from Mercury. 
 Her charms that god her humble vassal make ; 
 He would not be a god but for her sake. 
 And she, that she may kind and grateful ])rove, 
 Eevolts from chastity, and sides with love. 
 Nature has to th' amphibious creature lent 
 An art to live n\ either element. 
 
 Pse. Malicious ! Will you wipe your stains on 
 me, 
 And soil my honour with your Mercury ? 
 Tliough could I bov/ to love my nolile sense. 
 Love then Avould be a thiiiir of exrellence.
 
 HAIJSTO. .'^((l 
 
 My nature is so godlike and sublime, 
 That nothing I can do can be a crime. 
 
 ^'l/. My Mercury 1 
 
 Pse. Yes, yours, who should he be 1 
 He durst not have presum'd to think on me. 
 
 Nij. Did I not find him with you making love 1 
 
 7V. Did I not leave you with him in the grove I 
 
 Ni/. You did, but do you not the reason know 1 
 
 Pnt'. Must I a reason for your vices shew 1 
 
 Nij. Oh ! Gods ! Are there such things as wrong, 
 or right % 
 As truth, and falsehood 1 And is seeing, sight l 
 If truth l>e true, and seeing lie to see, 
 You love and are belov'd of Mercury. 
 
 Pse. Which way can I such confidence confute 1 
 Rut yonder's one will finish our dispute. 
 
 JJia. See, Mercury indeed in yonder grove. 
 
 Jun. Listen, he gently calls. 
 
 ]\L'v. \jdthin.'\ Nyphe, my love ! 
 .Steal to me, I will help thee safe away. 
 
 Ny. Steal to thee ] who art thou 1 
 
 Mer. [loithin.^^ Haste, haste away. 
 
 Nij. Villain, impostor, had I but a dart, 
 I'd steal to thee, and fix it in thy heart. 
 
 Pse. Now truth is true, I hope, and seeing sight, 
 Now pray inform us who is in the right ? 
 
 Nji. I am, and this some Avicked plot must be 
 Invented by thy lying god, and thee. 
 
 Jun. Astonishment ! So soon to vice begin 1 
 Your youth an early riser is in sin. 
 Love is in so much haste he cannot stay. 
 But must set with you ere break of day. 
 
 Pse. Now where's your chymistry — your beaten 
 gokU [To Dia. 
 
 Your spiritual flesh and blood I A finer mould 
 Than souls are made of? All's a cobweb cell, 
 Where her black soul does like a spider dwell.
 
 '^02 CALISTO. 
 
 Did. Embitter not thy words with gall like this ! 
 Treacherous love has rob'd my paradise, 
 And pluckt the fairest fruit that there did grow; 
 The gods in vain plant virtue here below, 
 It ripens not by any sun or time, 
 This world for virtue is too cold a clime. 
 
 Juti. Her thoughts, still for her favourites, 
 partial stay ; 
 Virtue can sooner faulty be than they. 
 You may forgive-the blood of youi-s they shed, 
 But she shall die for injuring my bed. 
 
 Cal. Yes, let me die ! I many deaths would bear, 
 Rather than once these foul reproaches hear. 
 
 Ny. Death on a rack would be a greater bliss 
 Than life in such a lying world as this. 
 
 Cal. Chaste goddess, my petition is to die, 
 Hearken no longer to your clemency ; 
 Death for your sacred blood alone is due. 
 Let me not live to wound your honour too. 
 I can a plea produce yet, if I please. 
 Not only all my clamorous enemies 
 Could vanish, quite, but silence, if I would, 
 The loudest cries of your immortal blood. 
 Not only quell my foes' injurious hate. 
 But make your blood become my advocate. 
 That very dart, would I the truth reveal, 
 Which wounded you, my bleeding fame would 
 
 heal. 
 But that would too much love for life display ; 
 And I so hate the evils of this day. 
 My self I out of fortune's way would hide ! 
 My innocence will for it self provide. 
 If that shines by me in my shady tomb, 
 I shall sleep sweetly in that mournful room. 
 And dream not of the world's censorious doom. 
 
 Dia. Unhappy Princesses, your fate's severe ! 
 Your prayers I most unwillingly must hear,
 
 CALISI'd. 'M)'.\ 
 
 Your cause I cannot with my honour own ; 
 A torrent of misfortunes bears you down. 
 In spite of all my kindness you must die ; 
 Nay, I must banish too your memory. 
 What plea you have ycur innocence to clear 
 I cannot guess ; but I have cause to fear 
 None, that can all these witnesses oppose : 
 At least, subdue the malice of your foes. 
 If you shall suffer an injurious doom. 
 Oh ! may your honour blossom from your tomb ! 
 I'll build my arbour there, and every hour 
 Come and bedew with tears the sacred flower. 
 If you be foulty, and disgrace your due 
 Eternal shades conceal your names and you. 
 
 [Diana goes off weeping, Ahjmphs guard off 
 C'alisfo and Nijphe. 
 
 Jan. See ! in dee}) sorrow she is parted hence ! 
 
 Her love to virtue is but a pretence 
 
 She is unchaste her self. 
 
 Pse. Is that unknown 1 
 Have you not heard of her Endymion ? 
 Nor of her young Hippolitus that fled 
 From every Nymph, in private to her bed ? 
 She to the world has been a long mistake ! 
 Pretends to chastity for pleasure's sake. 
 For secret love does in the forests dwell ! 
 They understand each other's meaning well. 
 
 Jan. She shall disgrace our dignity no more, 
 I will depose her from her heavenly power. 
 And crown thee in her stead a power divine ! 
 
 I will ! the empire of these woods is thine. 
 
 Meanwhile I to my first revenge will fly, 
 
 Thy foes and mine shall at my'altars die. [Ex. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! how I am transported with success ! 
 Courted and sought my fame and happiness !
 
 ;'>()4 CALISTO. 
 
 Enter Mercury. 
 
 But how malicious does my fortuue prove 1 
 Now he comes here to pester me with love. 
 
 Mer. My fairest Queen ! 
 
 Fse. Thou troublest me, begone ! 
 
 Mer. What change is this % 
 
 Pse. I'm busied in fruition 
 Of a new love. 
 
 ]\[er. Do you say this, to try 
 If with despair I at your feet will die 1 
 Name him ! 
 
 Pse. Myself. 
 
 Mer. Oh ! Now farewell despair, 
 I hope in that fruition I shall share. 
 
 Pse. I must feign love, that I may freedom gain. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Another time you shall. 
 
 Mer. Oh ! where, and when 1 
 
 Pse. Perhaps this evening. 
 
 Mer. Where? 
 
 Pse. In yonder grove. 
 
 Mer. Will you not fail me ] 
 
 Pse. Ask a maid in love. 
 If she will fail to meet with her delight ] 
 
 Mer. With expectations of this pleasant night. 
 Till it arrives my thoughts I will employ. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Pse. Do ! Expectation's all you shall enjoy. 
 If in the grove he tarries till he sees 
 Me there, he shall stay longer than the trees, 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Daphne and Sylvia. 
 
 [Concerted piece.] 
 
 P)ap]i.. Oh ! whither arc our poor despairing 
 shepherds gone /
 
 CALlSTd. 305 
 
 1 tt';ir I have my Stivphoii slaiu. 
 Si//r. And I my Cory don. 
 
 Jhqj/i. Oh my sorrow ! Oh my pain ! 
 Could T my Strephon find : 
 Could I my dearest Strephon find, 
 I'd never be unkind. 
 I'd never be unkind to him again. 
 
 Syh. And I, my love would passionately own, 
 
 Could I find my Corydon. 
 iJaph. Do I dream ? Do I rave 1 
 
 Look towards yonder cave. 
 Siflv. Our shepherds come from yonder cave. 
 
 'jhtjih ^^^^ shepherds come from yonder cave. 
 
 Sylv. From empty pride I'll be free, 
 
 It shall bring no more mischief upon me, 
 ►Since I love as well as he, 
 I'll not hazard my joy, 
 In being foolishly coy, 
 It had like to have undone me. 
 
 Dai'Hne and Sylvia go and meet Strephon and 
 Corydon : each hrimjs in her Shepherd. 
 
 Daph. Dear Strephon, give despairing o'er, 
 Unkindnesses are gone, 
 I never will be cruel to thee more. 
 
 Sylv. Nor I to Corydon. 
 
 Cory. Oh, what kind god does Sylvia's hate re- 
 move 1 
 
 Str. And made at length my Daplme grateful 
 prove 1 
 
 Sylv. The god of love. 
 
 J)aj)h. The god of love. 
 
 LapJi. j ^^^^ gentle god of love. 
 Cory. Oh happy tidings !
 
 306 CALISTO. 
 
 Str. Blessed hour ! 
 
 Ever kind and gentle pow'r. 
 Cory. Ever kind and gentle pow'r. 
 
 Enter Chorus of Shepherds, folhnned hy 
 Bacchusses. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Joy, Shepherds joy ! Diana's disgrac'cl, 
 Love has had to-day revenge on the chaste. 
 The Bacchusses here our mirth to improve, 
 Come hither to follow the triumphs of love. 
 No mirth without Bacchus, nor joy without love. 
 
 An ENTRY of Bacchusses. 
 After the dance. 
 
 Cor. Since all our grief thus joyfully ends, 
 Let each shepherdess make her shepherd amends. 
 To the temple let's go. 
 And then we will show, 
 What every lover, by loving intends. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Enter Mercury. 
 
 3fer. The time is past, whilst vainly round I 
 pace, 
 As yet encount'ring nothing in this place 
 But the long evening shadows of the grove ; 
 And shadows are but slender food to love. 
 No, it is substance ! substance I must delight 
 Love's wholesome frame and eager a})petite.
 
 CALISTU. :iU7 
 
 Malicious fi)rtune must this stay contrive, 
 Some sudden ill to Psecas must arrive. 
 Nothing that's common could my Nymph retain, 
 For when Nymphs love, they fonder grow than 
 
 men. 
 TJieir melting hearts in kindness does excel ; 
 And I am sure my Psecas loves so well. 
 That were she dead, her spirit would appear, 
 And leave th' Elyzian joys to meet me here. 
 Well, patience ! patience ! time rides jjroudly by. 
 And looks upon me with a scornful eye ; 
 But I, in spite of all his swift career, 
 Will overtake him when my joys appear. 
 
 Enter PsECAS. 
 
 Fse. The mighty victim's ready to be slain ! 
 Heaven's Queen a vassal to my merits grown. 
 Diana now no more my sovereign ; 
 
 The shady empire of these woods my own. 
 Th' impoverisht stars have nothing to bestow, 
 But what for ray acceptance is too low. 
 My next affair is quickly to cashier 
 My loving patient slave that waits me here. 
 
 Mer. My Nymph, appear % oh ! now my planets 
 smile ! 
 AYhat has detain'd thee from me all this while 1 
 I have been wand'ring here in grief and fear. 
 Pse. Who bid you do't 1 Could you expect me 
 
 here 1 
 Mer. Can the kind vows my Queen was pleas'd 
 to make 
 Her just and noble thoughts so soon forsake 1 
 Pse. Do I such trifling contemplations use 1 
 Will I my memory with you abuse 1 
 
 Mer. Tliough I deserve not such a glorious place, 
 My goddess will not from her mem'ry chace 
 The noble creatures which she being gave,
 
 308 CALISTO. 
 
 I mean, tlie promises slie made lier slave. 
 
 Pse. Well, if I (lid, I'll 1)reak 'em if I please ! 
 
 Am I obligVl to keep my promises 1 
 
 Mer. Nothing can sov'reign power oblige, 'tis 
 true. 
 But its own will, that sov'reign power have you ; 
 But yet there is one mighty thing above 
 Even your own pow'rful self, and that is love. 
 
 Pse. Can any one such insolence endure ? 
 Love above me 1 You would affront me, sure. 
 Who should, or can I love 1 Where is there ought, 
 Except my self — that's worthy of my thought % 
 
 Mer. True ! But since love to me you did 
 express. 
 Your love confers on me some worthiness. 
 
 Pse. My love ! Why can j^ou think 'twas love I 
 meant ? 
 Dare you to hope it be so insolent ? 
 
 Mer. Why 1 — should I rudely think you speak 
 untrue ] 
 
 Pse. Am I oblig'd to si>eak my thoughts to you 1 
 
 Mer. Do you not love then 1 
 
 Pse. Dare you hope I do 1 
 
 Mer. Are you in earnest 1 
 
 Pse. What should I intend 1 
 Should I with my own slaves to mirth descend 1 
 
 Mer. And am I fool'd then ] 
 
 Pse. Well ! What if you be ] 
 Is't a dishonour to be fool'd by me ? 
 
 Mer. And will you all my service thus requite 1 
 
 Pse. Challenge reward as if it was your right 1 
 
 Mer. Your service then is with it self re-paid. 
 
 Pse. Supposing not 1 What service did you do 1 
 Invent a falsehood 1 Shame a harmless maid ? 
 
 Well ! when you please, I'll lie as much for you. 
 
 Mer. E.xceeding well ! Did I then toil and 
 sweat,
 
 cALisi'o. :'>()'.• 
 
 At last, this mockery to get 1 
 
 None serve you for your fools but lieav'nly powers 1 
 
 Pse. Mortals are yours, you may sometimes be 
 ours. 
 
 Mer. What ! I must then to your contempt 
 submit % 
 
 Pse. I cannot help another's want of wit. 
 
 Mer. You do continue in your boldness still ? 
 
 Pse. 'Tis you are bold, who dare dispute my 
 Avill. 
 
 Mer. Thou empty foolish female, who to please 
 Thy sickly longings, with the fond delight 
 Of thy vain sex, or rather their disease 
 Of pride, resists thy nobler appetite. 
 Though now when thou so coy pretend'st to be, 
 Thou'dst give an empire I would ravish thee. 
 But I'll not stoop to gratify thee so ; 
 
 That joy some bestial satyr shall bestow 1 
 
 Ho ! there ! 
 
 Pse. A rape ! here ! 
 
 Mer. Call out. if you dare, 
 I'll all your lies and villanies declare. 
 
 Pse. Rape ! Rape ! here ! 
 
 Enter Juno, Diana, Nymphs. 
 
 So ! 'tis well j^ou do appear ! 
 Virtue has excellent protection here. 
 Much safety your good government affords, 
 The spreading trees are not so full of birds, 
 The caves of beasts, as all the woods around 
 Of wanton gods who ev'rywhere abound. 
 Waiting to make our chastities a prey, 
 And gins and toils do for our honours lay. 
 On our occasions we can no where move, 
 But straight we fall into some trap of love. 
 
 1)1(1. Dare you affirm it is a fault of mine? 
 ('an T the uods to their abodes (•(intiiie I
 
 310 CALISTO. 
 
 If they be weary of their heavenly bliss, 
 
 Must I be guilty 1 
 
 Pse. You are too remiss, 
 And both our honours and your own neglect. 
 Jjia. You are too bold and full of disrespect. 
 Pse. "Wherein do I that confidence express 1 
 Is hate to love and vice grown sauciness 1 
 Your pardon for my dullness I implore, 
 I never knew they were your friends before. 
 It seems your meaning Ave must backward read, 
 And we a key to all your cyphers need. 
 By chastity, you zealous love intend ; 
 By hate and coyness, kindness to a friend. 
 Your nimble wits have found it out ; — but I, 
 Dull fool, am hardened in my chastity. 
 You should have plainly told me what you meant, 
 Befoi'e your wanton gods to me you sent. 
 For I affront 'em all, and spoil the sport, 
 And quite disorder your mysterious court. 
 
 Dm. Immortal gods ! Avas e'er celestial power 
 In her own presence so blasphem'd before 1 
 What ! 1 am turn'd a Venus, and my groves, 
 Private retreats and nurseries of loves. 
 Hence from my sight, and in the forest howl 
 In some beast's shape, deformed as thy soul. 
 Jmi. Stay, Nymph, and fly to me, I'll have it 
 knoAvn 
 Here is a poAver superior to her OAA'n. 
 
 Dili- What in my forests here have you to do 1 
 I in my empire am supreme to you. 
 Go exercise your goddess-ship above. 
 There you may share authority Avith Jove. 
 
 Jun. Your Nymphs diminish there my royal due. 
 And I Avill have reprisals here on you. 
 
 Pse. Her love to virtue noAV I hope is sheAvn, 
 And hoAv much Avrong I have her honour done. 
 She has but one chaste Nymph in all her train,
 
 cAi.isTu. :?ll 
 
 And she enjoys no rest till that is shiin. 
 
 Mer. Bohlness above belief! I've watcht an 
 hour 
 From all these cloudy mists to set you free, 
 And disentangle the whole mystery, 
 And never yet could get it in my power. 
 I will no longer bear the jDangs and throws, 
 T now will speak, and none shall interpose. 
 She then who dares your anger so outbrave 
 Is my sworn female, my devoted slave ! 
 Bought to my pleasure at no dearer rates, 
 Than ruining the Nymphs she so much hates. 
 I help to gain her her malicious ends, 
 And for that hire my pleasure she attends. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! hellish falsehood ! 
 
 Dia. T believe it true ! 
 
 Jun. I think it false. 
 
 Fse. Th' opinion is my due ! 
 
 I scorn to fear he can my fame remove. 
 
 Mer. That let th' event of my relation prove. 
 I shall bring proofs will make your courage fall. 
 
 Pse. I'll hear no more. 
 
 Dia. But I will hear it all. 
 Can you the honour of my Nymj^hs restore 1 
 And are they innocent 1 
 
 Mer. They are ; and more, 
 Calisto's virtue is above divine. 
 And Nyphe at the least a heroine, 
 
 Pse. How he exalts the praises of his love ! 
 
 Jun. And flatters servilely the vice of Jove. 
 
 Pse. In your own presence dares your rival 
 praise. 
 
 Jan. To affront me, he does her honour raise. 
 
 Pse. He is no doubt the cause of your disgrace. 
 And first allur'd your Jove to her embrace. 
 
 Mer. What horrid monster art thou '? of what 
 kind '?
 
 312 . (JAl.IST* >. 
 
 How fortified in body or in mind 1 
 
 Under what species does thy nature fall 1 
 
 Or human, hellish, or divine, or all, 
 
 So many gods thou dar'st deride, defy 1 
 
 To conquer thee, will be a victory 
 
 Great as the sun's o'er Python, nay, above 
 
 That over all the Titans gain'd by Jove. 
 
 But with the force of truth I'll make thee bow, 
 
 And yet will batter down that brazen brow. 
 
 Dia. Melt it "with shame! — For though she 
 virtuous be, 
 Malice so great dishonours chastity ; 
 They should not dwell together in one breast. 
 It is a serpent in a Phoenix' nest. 
 Say then, why call'd you Nyphe in the grove ] 
 
 Mer. Vile Psecas her dishonour to remove, 
 And fasten it on Nyphe's spotless youth. 
 
 Via. That was not Avise, it would not look like 
 truth, 
 To clear your stains with innocence so pure. 
 
 3Ie]\ Neatness alone some maladies does cure. 
 Contagions soonest taint the finest blood, 
 Unwholesome rooms they love to change for good. 
 But us on all these pikes her virtue drove, 
 She chanc't to make discovery of our love, 
 And rather chose a thousand deaths to die, 
 Than hide a crime of the least inftimy. 
 
 Fse. Where lodges trutli, if gods such liars be 1 
 He knows all this is only true of me. 
 Cause by my zeal his Nymph is doom'd to die, 
 He sought revenge here on my chastity. 
 And now with falsehoods does my fame pursue. 
 
 Mer. Against such confidence what can I do 1 
 
 Fse. What 1 but your self a foul defamer own. 
 
 JDia. Despise her boldness and the truth make 
 known. 
 
 ■Ill II. 1 am confirm'd that Psecas sufi'eis wi'onu.
 
 CALISTO. 313 
 
 Pse. If e'er did Nymph from a defaining t()ii<;u('. 
 Dia. With sacred truth he does her honour 
 1)hist, 
 Why should 1 judge a mind so vicious, chaste ? 
 Jim. Nor chastity, nor any thing tliat's good, 
 Can lodge in one that shares Calisto's blood. 
 Pse. My vice, I fear, to your disgrace will 
 prove 
 Too much severity to vice, and love. 
 
 Did. Hermes ! Eeleass me from this viper 
 here ! 
 Who in my sacred honour, does not fear 
 To fix her teeth, and venom to distill 
 On that, which is an antidote to ill. 
 Make but Calisto's tame, as Nyphe's clear. 
 And this bold Nymph a punishment severe 
 For all herj^lasphemies shall quickly bear. 
 
 Pse. When he clears her, then dq you what you 
 
 dare. 
 Mer. Her divine virtues and unspotted fame. 
 Incense and victims only should proclaim, 
 All wordish praise she is so much above, 
 That eloquence would profanation prove. 
 
 Pse. Oh ! how the woods must Avith her praises 
 ring ! 
 Such were the words entic't her to his King. 
 
 Dia. Praise on, and Psecas's reproaches slight, 
 Torment her envious nature to the height. 
 And did Calisto triumph over Jove 1 
 
 Mer. O'er him, o'er pleasure, empire, glory, love. 
 Despairing to subdue by open storm. 
 He first stole to her in your beauteous form. 
 Hoping by ambush his design to gain ; 
 And finding that fair stratagem in vain, 
 Himself and all his glory he display 'd ; 
 Himself his heaven at her feet he laid, 
 He sued, commanded, threatened, and implor'd, 
 1 21
 
 ."U CALISTO. 
 
 Nay, wept, Itow'cl, kneel'd, and at her feet 
 
 ador'd ; 
 But cf)uld not or l)y promise, force, or guile, 
 Entice, compel, or cheat her to a smile. 
 Her fort of chastity to buy, to break, 
 Heaven was too poor, omnipotence too weak. 
 
 Pse. This to torment you sure is some design. 
 
 Jun. It tears my ears. 
 
 Did. 'Tis harmony to mine. 
 The brave Calisto's praise still boldly tell ! 
 My pleasure is their rack, my heav'n their hell. 
 
 Ju7i. Fond goddess, who triumph'st in thy 
 shame. 
 Preferring thy vain fancy to thy fame ; 
 Contending in thy fiivourite's defence. 
 Against thy honour, reason, and thy sense. 
 If all I can affirm no faith can gain. 
 Believe thy Avound, and listen to thy pain. 
 Hark how thy blood thy favourite commends ! 
 
 Mer. That very blood will j)rove her l)est of 
 friends. 
 And only be, when you the reason know, 
 To your malicious hopes a mortal blow. 
 Jove in your shape deep on her soul imprest, 
 And strongly with the horror still possest. 
 The sight of you new terrors did awake. 
 She did your person for your shape mistake. 
 And that deceiv'd her to a crime so brave, 
 She aim'd at Jupiter the blow she gave ; 
 You of his sufferings alone complain. 
 You have the wound, but Jupiter the pain. 
 A crime will to her endless fame redound. 
 
 Dm. Clods ! then I must reward her for my 
 wound. 
 
 Mcr. You ought ! — but how 1 — the virtue she 
 has shoAvn, 
 Not all the laui'els in your woods can ciown.
 
 CAIJSTO. 315 
 
 Dia. Happy i\\v inoineiit vrlicii my Ijlood was 
 spilt ! 
 I'll now have altars to my victims built. 
 Their glory shall exceed their past disgrace. 
 Bring 'em in triumph here to my embrace ! 
 
 [Exeunt Nymphs. 
 
 Fae. Oh ! Gods ! this impious sentence who can 
 1 )ear, 
 This is a plot betwixt these gods and her, 
 \Miolly to ruin virtue by degrees, 
 That they may love and revel as they please. 
 Nay, glory in it too, and make it prove 
 A virtue worthy high rewards to love. 
 And shortly all will chastity disclaim. 
 And to be virtuous will be thought a shame. 
 
 Dia. Oh ! most j^rovoking ! 
 
 Mer. Her reproach disdain. 
 Her sland'rous tongue shall quickly end its reign. 
 I'll fetch a sov'reign Judge shall quell her pride, 
 And this debate impartially decide. [Exit. 
 
 Jim. She names but half your villanous design, 
 You plot my glory too to undermine. 
 Ungrateful Jove, now weary of me grown. 
 Will place my rival in my bed and throne, 
 And it is plotted here among you all ! 
 And my severe revenge on thee shall fall. [To Dia. 
 I'll kill thy Nymphs, thy reputation blast. 
 Throw down thy temples, lay thy forest waste. 
 Thy self from cave to cave with tempests chace. 
 And in the savage beasts an instinct place 
 To tell 'em who their murderess used to be, 
 And make 'em for revenge go hunt out thee. 
 
 JJia. Oh ! foolish rage ! which will no reason 
 hear ! 
 Your fury against me I scorn to fear. 
 Alas ! your anger at your equal flies ; 
 I^ut yet, perhaps, you may my Nymphs surprise :
 
 'Mij L'ALISTO. 
 
 I to their innocence the more incline, 
 
 Your honour to respect as well as mine. 
 
 But since you fight your own disgrace to pi-ove ; 
 
 I'll both defend 'em against you and Jove. 
 
 Enter Calisto, Nyphe veiled, hrovghf 
 in hij Nymphs. 
 
 Come Princesses ! this posture is not due ! 
 Truth has unveil'd itself, and so may you. 
 Your beauties are not brighter than your fame, 
 Falsehood and malice you have put to shame. 
 For the rewards of virtue now prepare, 
 And scorn the utmost which your foes can dare. 
 
 Cal. Oh ! AVhat kind power has the truth 
 reveal'cl 1 
 
 Did. One that has all our wounds entirely 
 heal'd. 
 
 Cal. And your wound too ! For unless that be 
 whole. 
 My honour may be well, but not my soul. 
 
 Dia. So well, that I am better than before ! 
 My courage greater, and my pleasure more ! 
 If I have any pain, 'tis that which flows 
 From the excess of joy, your fame bestows : 
 The mark of wdiich, npon my arm I bear ; 
 The only jewel, I am proud to wear. 
 
 Ny. Oh ! Glorious news ! Who proves the liar 
 now 1 [To Pse. 
 
 Great goddess some revenge to us allow. [To Did. 
 The impious author there of all this evil. 
 Let's otter up a victim to the devil : 
 But she in mischief does so much excel, 
 Pluto, in fear, will keep her out of hell. 
 She'll be a greater plague tlian any there ; 
 Furies themselves will be afraid of her. 
 
 Fse. Did ever falsehood virtue so outbi-ave ?
 
 CAI.ISTo. 317 
 
 (ireat godiless, on my knees, revenge 1 crave. 
 
 [To Juno. 
 Juii. You fierce, tempestuous Spirits of the air, 
 Wlio late confiu'd me, to my aid rejjair : 
 
 Enter Spirits, tite Nyjiphs Htund on their guard. 
 
 Tlie favour which you forfeited regain ; 
 The honour of your injur'd Queen maintain : 
 These bold rebellious Nymphs in pieces tear. 
 And throw their limbs in whirlwinds round the air. 
 
 I)ia. Apjiroach who dares ! Nay, for permission 
 pray 
 To blow out of my woods one leaf away. 
 
 Ny. Oh ! Goddess I let 'em come ! for I'm in pain 
 Till one of 'em at least by me is slain. 
 
 Afi thcij are readf/ to encounter, Enter Jupiter 
 and Mercury. 
 
 Jup. Must I my heav'n eternally forsake, 
 To quiet the disorders which you make 1 [To Jim. 
 
 Jun. Return'd again? — Oh! most tormenting 
 sight ! 
 There, I resign to you, your sole delight. 
 Make her your goddess in the room of me, 
 I'll bear no more the royal mockery, 
 Nor be a statue to adorn your throne. 
 
 Jup. And are you weary then of empire grown 1 
 
 Jun. I am, and of my life ! • And to be free, 
 
 Desire no blessing like mortality ; 
 
 That my own hand might pour out with my blood 
 
 My sorrows and my life ! 
 
 Jup. I wish you could ! 
 
 That both of us and all the world some ease 
 Might find of your eternal jealousies. 
 
 Jun. Who is in fault 1 
 
 Jup. Your folly is the cause, 
 For I will not be limited liy laws ;
 
 318 CALISTO. 
 
 Yuu but in part my kindness can enjoy, 
 My ocean must a thousand springs supply. 
 Once more I own this royal maid, I strove 
 To tempt by all the arts of threats, or love ; 
 But 'gainst her virtue did no more prevail, 
 Than the old giants when they heav'n did scale. 
 They piled up hills on hills my throne to seize, 
 I mountains heapt of golden promises ; 
 But found her virtue from my reach as far 
 As from my palace all their mountains were. 
 Like those fond fools when I was most sublime, 
 I did but in the reach of thunder climb. 
 Her soul shot down such lightning from her eyes, 
 Instead of spoiling, I ador'd my prize. 
 Once more embrace her then, and after this. 
 The least injurious thought of her dismiss. 
 
 [Juno embraces Calisto. 
 And Mercury the wrong Avhich you have done 
 That fair young Nymph, with low submissions own, 
 And to whatever suff 'rings she thinks fit 
 To sentence you, with penitence submit. 
 
 Mer. I gladly to her fair tribunal come, 
 
 [Kneels to Nyphe. 
 And humbly on my knees attend her doom. 
 
 Ny. I recompense enough from this receive. 
 Revenge and malice to your Nymph I leave. 
 
 [To Mer. 
 
 Ju]). And those good virtues, which her gentle 
 mind 
 So much adorn, she shall rewarded find. 
 Now you, who with such zeal the ruin sought 
 
 [To Pse. 
 Of these fair Nymphs, shall to your doom be 
 
 brought. 
 I hope my words they credit may afford, 
 And all for truth acknowledge ! 
 
 Fse. Not a word.
 
 CALISTO. 319 
 
 .Tiil>. (.)li ! Insolence ! Charge me with falsehood 
 too? 
 
 Pse. Falsehood, I hope, is false, though spoke 
 by you. 
 Power gives not language the more truth or sense. 
 
 Jup. Astonishing ! drag her to torments hence. 
 
 Cal. Spare her, for I nay honour scorn to owe 
 To her acknowledgements. 
 
 Nij. No, let her go, 
 For she has done, and let her suffer ill. 
 
 Pse. Now I will stay to contradict your will. 
 The fondlings dandled upon fortune's knee 
 AVere sav'd, 'tis true, from my conspiracy. 
 But to no merit have the least pretence, 
 Excepting pure insipid innocence. 
 
 Did. Your judgment, if you please, great Psecas ! 
 spare ; 
 We, with your leave, of that sole judges are. 
 Oblige us now your reason to relate. 
 Why you pursued the Nymphs with so much 
 hate. 
 
 Pse. My hatred stoop to have concern for them 1 
 You much mistake, the error I contemn. 
 Seeing what fondnesses abus'd your mind, 
 Having some kindness for you, I design'd 
 To disabuse you, set your judgment right. 
 And honour you with being your favourite. 
 But since you from your own good fortune go, 
 And have not wit enough desert to know, 
 I throw you wholly out of my esteem. 
 And no submission shall the loss redeem. 
 Though in deep sorrow at my feet you fall 
 For now I scorn you, nay, I scorn you all. 
 Gods, goddesses, and Nymphs, away 111 fly, 
 And keep no more such trifling company. 
 Ill hunt alone, and in my self delight, 
 And be my own most dear-lov'd favourite.
 
 320 CALISTC). 
 
 Dia. She is grown frantic ! 
 
 [Piiecas offers to go, is sfai/ed hi/ Juno. 
 
 Jun. Rather she is brave. 
 Stay gen'rous Psecas, I thy friendship crave, 
 Burj^ not all thy Avorth in a retreat ; 
 Give me thy love, and I will make thee great. 
 
 Juj). A most harmonious friendship this must 
 prove ! 
 The fates design'd 'em for each other's love. 
 For none love thein, and they have love for none ; 
 Their kindness centres on themselves alone. 
 And they are so exactly of a make. 
 Each may the other for her self mistake. 
 Now must the last and heaviest sentence fall 
 Upon my self the greatest criminal. 
 My wretched self, as to my crimes is due, 
 I doom to part eternally from you. [To CaVisto. 
 And to the pain of heav'nly joy to go ; 
 But yet I must not leave you here below. 
 In pity to the world, I must remove 
 Those fatal eyes, out of the reach of love. 
 Love must not here those killing darts retain 
 To wound and torture gods, and murder men. 
 And yet to place you in my heav'n, would be 
 Not your reward, but my felicity. 
 Some middle region I must prepare. 
 Where all may with some ease your beauty bear. 
 I then entreat, you will, to end this war, 
 Accept the small dominion of a star. 
 There you and beauteous Nyphe may dispense 
 With cooler beams your light and influence. 
 On the great ceremony Hermes wait. 
 Let all the gods give their appearance straight. 
 These virgins' consecration nought debars, 
 I'll in a full assembly crown 'em stars. [Erit.
 
 (!AI.IS'I(). ;5lM 
 
 Jyidn Stkephon, Corydon, Daphne, Sylvia, 
 Chorus of Shepherds, as from the Temjjle. 
 
 Chorus. Happy lovers ! happy live, 
 
 And all the gods their blessings give. 
 
 Cor. Lead along, and with delight, 
 Let us hasten on the night. 
 
 Enter two African Women. 
 
 Strc. What vision's this is come to greet us 1 
 Cor. See ! the night is come to meet us. 
 L Afr. Stay gentle swains be not afraid, 
 
 To see our faces hid in shade. 
 
 We, but lately were as fair. 
 
 As your shepherdesses are. 
 
 Did not a frantic youth of late 
 O'erset the chariot of the sun 1 
 Cor. He did, and his deserved fate 
 He met when he had done. 
 
 2. yifr. It is he that hatli undone us : 
 
 He pour'd whole streams 
 
 Of melting beams. 
 Red, and glowing hot upon us. 
 And now we range the world around, 
 To see if our lost beauty can be found. 
 
 Enter a third African Woman. 
 
 3. Jfr. Rejoice, rejoice ! our beauty's found. 
 
 Our lovely white and red. 
 To two chaste Nymphs of Cynthia's train is fled, 
 And they must stars be crown'd : 
 And now instead of what we sought, 
 Our black Avith us must fair be thought. 
 Jll \ This happy fate, who could divine] 
 three, j Our beauty then in lieav'n must shine. 
 1. Afr. No losers we shall prove, 
 
 By parting Avith our red and white ;
 
 32 1^ CALLSTO. 
 
 If black will serve the turn of love ; 
 For beauty's made for love's delight. 
 3. Afi\ See ! 8ee ! the Nymphs are coming here. 
 Sylv. But oh ! what glorious a]»parition's near % 
 The clouds amazing glories gild : 
 All the clouds with gods are fill'd, 
 And all the gods appear. 
 
 Calisto and Nyphe enter under a canopy, supiwrted 
 by Africans ; immediately upon their entrance, a 
 heaven is discover' d filled icith gods and goddesses. 
 
 The ichole concludes icith an entry of Africans, 
 and this Song. 
 
 Dajjh. Must these be stars 1 And to heaven 
 remove, 
 Before they have tasted the pleasures of love. 
 That the gods so ill, such beauty should use ! 
 What mighty cost must nature lose 1 
 
 Sylv. I cannot so much l^eauty show, 
 But what I have, I'll better bestow, 
 Not upon gods, or glories above. 
 Or empty renown, but pleasure and love. 
 All pleasure but love from our hearts we'll be 
 
 chasing, 
 We'll kindle our selves into stars with embracing : 
 We'll every moment our pleasures renew, 
 Our loves shall be flaming, and lasting and true.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 The Epilogue spoken by Jupiter, who descended out 
 of the Heaven, and addressed himself to Calisto 
 and Nyphe. 
 
 The stars for your reception now prepare, 
 And the ambitious heav'ns expect you there ; 
 But I Avill spoil tlieir liopes, and break my vow. 
 For I've considered there are stars enow : 
 And this inferior world can scarce dispense 
 AVith the entire loss of so much excellence. 
 With each of you I can oblige a throne, 
 I'll keep you then to grace some fav'rite crown. 
 On that design you here shall still remain, 
 
 [Tiinting to the compamj. 
 And I'll dissolve into a Nymph again. 
 Which will no less this fair assembly please ; 
 For Nymphs, in courts, have sway like deities. 
 You wits who think you gallantry display. 
 To laugh at ev'ry thing a god can say. 
 Will in good manners to a Nymph submit. 
 And own whatever beauty speaks for wit. 
 Perhaps the power of beauty to express. 
 We choose our language careless as our dress. 
 None should come hither to attend, but gaze ; 
 Here beauty's charms not wits you ought to praise. 
 And 'tis your safest course, judge you of show. 
 Fine cloaths, and faces, tunes, and dances too ; 
 For those are things which you may chance to know. 
 There is no doubt but you have ears and eyes, 
 Your understanding most in question lies.
 
 32-1- (lALISTO. 
 
 But what do 1 here tritling thus with these 1 
 There are the powers to whom we sacrifice, 
 
 [To the King and Queen. 
 In whose great presence I may well allow 
 To lay aside my useless godhead now. 
 You, sir, such blessings to the world dispense, 
 You are indeed a special providence. 
 And since your rule such joy to all procures, 
 All should contribute what they can to yours. 
 Wit by your smiles a lustre does maintain, 
 And beauty keeps a long and happy reign, 
 Your right in them is therefore so entire. 
 They, above all, your pleasure should conspire.
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 BY JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ., POET LAUREAT. 
 
 INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY THE LADY HEN. MAK. 
 WENTWORTH, 
 
 When Calisto was acted at Court in 1675. 
 
 As Jupiter I made my court in vain ; 
 
 I'll now assume my native shape again. 
 
 I'm weary to be so unkindly used, 
 
 And would not be a God, to be refused. 
 
 State groAvs uneasy when it hinders love ; 
 
 A glorious burden, which the wise remove. 
 
 Now, as a nymph, I need not sue, nor try 
 
 The force of any lightning but the eye. 
 
 Beauty and youth, more than a god command ; 
 
 No Jove could e'er the force of these withstand, 
 
 'Tis here that sovereign power admits dispute ; 
 
 Beauty sometimes is justly absolute. 
 
 Our sullen Cato's, Avhatsoe'er they say. 
 
 Even while they frown and dictate laws, obey. 
 
 You, mighty sir, our bonds more easy make, 
 
 And, gracefully, what all must suffer, take ; 
 
 Above those forms the grave affect to wear. 
 
 For 'tis not to be wise to be severe. 
 
 True wisdom may some gallantry admit, 
 
 And soften business Avith the charms of wit. 
 
 These peaceful triumphs with your cares you liought, 
 
 And from the midst of fighting nations'l>rnught.
 
 320 CALISTU. 
 
 You only hear it thunder from afar,* 
 
 And sit, in peace, the arbiter of war : 
 
 Peace, the loathed manna, which hot brains despise, 
 
 You knew its worth, and made it early prize ; 
 
 And in its happy leisure, sit and see 
 
 The promises of more felicity ; 
 
 Two glorious nymphs t of your own godlike line, 
 
 Whose morning rays, like noontide, strike and shine ; 
 
 Whom you to suppliant monarchs shall dispose, 
 
 To bincl your friends, and to disarm your foes. 
 
 * The war between France and the Confederates was now 
 raghig on the Continent. — Scott. Drvden's Works, 2nd 
 Edition, Edinburgh, 1821. 8vo. Vol 10, p. 138. 
 
 t The glorious nymphs, afterwards Queens Ann and Mary, 
 lioth lived to exclude their own father and his son from the 
 throne. Derrick, I suppose, alluded to this circumstance when 
 in the next line he read ifupplant for .suppliant monarchs. — 
 Scott, ih. Derrick was the previous editor of the poetical 
 woi-ks of Dryden, and not improbably made the alteration pur- 
 posely to show how little he respected the two usiu'ping Queens, 
 as he must have thought them.
 
 NOTES OF THE PERFORMERS IX THE 
 MASQUE. 
 
 The Lady Henrietta Wentworth was the only 
 flaughter of Thomas, eldest son of Thomas Lord Went- 
 worth, who was created Earl of Cleveland by Charles L 
 He survived the restoration, and died 25th March 1667 
 at the advanced age of seventy-six. His son predeceased 
 him, having died in the year 1664, leaving by his wife 
 Philadelphta, daughter of Sir Frederick Carey Knight, 
 Henrietta, who eventually became Baroness Wentworth, 
 the title of Cleveland failing in the AYentworth family 
 upon the death of her grandfather. 
 
 Grief for the execution of the Duke of Monmouth is 
 believed to have been the cause of her premature demise. 
 As his Grace was one of the Dancers in Calisto, whilst 
 the Lady enacted the part of Jupiter, it is not unlikely 
 that the Masque may have been the commencement of 
 the intimacy which continued until put an end to by the 
 violent death of the Duke. On the scaffold he spoke in 
 vindication of her honour, although it was very well 
 known that after leaving his wife, the heiress of Buc- 
 cleugh, they had lived together as man and wife at 
 Todilington, in the county of Bedford, where she died of 
 a broken heart in 1686, and was buried under a costly 
 monument. The barony devolved upon her Ladyship's 
 aunt Anne, the wife of John Lord Lovelace, whose daugh- 
 ter Martha walked at the coronation of Queen Anne as 
 Baroness Wentworth. Upon her death in 1745 the 
 barony passed through the Noel and Milbank families, 
 and is now, in right of his mother, inherited by the eldest 
 son of the Earl of Lovelace, who made out his claim 
 recently before a Committee of Privileges as son and heir 
 of Ada, Countess of Lovelace, daughter of George Gordon 
 liyron, Lord Byron.
 
 328 CALISTO. 
 
 Anne Palmer or Fitzroy, Countess of Sussex, had the 
 honour of having been recoonised by Charles as his 
 daughter, altliough born previous to the separation of 
 her mother Barbara, subsequently created Duchess of 
 Cleveland, from her husband, Roger Palmer, Earl of 
 Castleniain, afterwards embassadour by James II. to the 
 Pope. Charles, who thouglit himself tlie father of 
 the child, assigned her the Royal Arms with the Baton 
 Sinister, married her to Thomas I.ennard, Baron Dacre, 
 and created him Earl of Sussex. He had a large estate, 
 which he contrived.to injure materially. The Barony of 
 Dacre still exists, and, should the present noble Lord 
 die without lawful issue, will pass to his brother, who 
 presently holds the high position of Speaker of Her 
 Majesty's House of Commons. 
 
 The Lady Maky Mordaunt was the daughter and 
 heiress of Henry, second Earl of Peterborough, by 
 Penelope, daughter of Barnabas, Earl of Thomond, of 
 the kingdom of Ireland. He was nominated ambas- 
 sador to negotiate a marriage between a daughter of 
 the house of Modena with the Duke of York, which he 
 effected, and acted as jsroxy in the marriage ceremony, 
 bringing the jirincess through France, and landing with her 
 at Dover on the 21st November 1G73. At the coronation 
 of James 11. he bore the sceptre with the cross, and on 
 Sunday, 19th of April 1GS5, he Avas declared Groom of 
 the Stole, and the golden key delivered to him. In June 
 the same year he was made a Knight of the Garter, and 
 duly installed the 22d July following. He died on the 
 19th day of June KJO?. 
 
 The Earldom of Peterborough devolved on his nephew 
 Charles, but his daughter succeeded to the barony of 
 Mordaunt of Turvey, and a great portion of his estates. 
 She married in 1677 Henry, seventh Duke of Norfolk, 
 but unfortunately for her, whether from studying Ovid 
 in his original tongue, or enjoying the poet through the 
 medium of a translation, she forgot herself so far that 
 her husband divorced her in April 1700. She married 
 Sir John Germaine, and left him a large portion of the 
 Peterborough estate. 
 
 Of Mrs Jennings, a very suitable representative of the 
 envious Psecas, all that is necessary to say is that she
 
 cALisTo. :]-2d 
 
 subsequently became the wife of Jt)liii Churchill, Duke 
 of Marlborough, and for many years tlie confidante ;ind 
 adviser of the Princess Anne, both before and after her 
 accession to the British crown. 
 
 Lord Hailes privately printed from her Grace's own 
 manuscripts a selection of her sayings, which are well 
 worthy of perusal. Pepys, in February 1665, tells a 
 story about her Grace's elder sister Frances, afterwards 
 Duchess of Tyrconnel, which is amusing enough : " What 
 mad freaks the mayds of honor at court have : That 
 Mrs Jennings, one of the Dutchesse's maids, the other 
 day dressed herself like an orange wench and went up 
 and down and cried oranges, 'till falling down, or by 
 some accident, her fine shoes were discovered, and she 
 put to a great deal of shame." 
 
 Frances Jennings died a Duchess, but only by a creation 
 after the expulsion of James 1 1. Her first husband was Sir 
 George Hamilton, grandson of James, first Earl of Aber- 
 corn, and brother of Anthony, author of the Memoirs of 
 Count Granmiont. He was killed in the wars, and she 
 became the wife of Richard Talbot, a bigoted papist, 
 who was created Earl of Tyrconnel in 1686, and Duke of 
 Tyrconnel in 1689. He died in August 1691. His lady, 
 hurled from her high estate, was subsequently compelled 
 to sell — certainly not oranges — but millinery, " in the 
 new Exchange in the Strand,"* to support herself, and 
 imwilling to be recognised, she wore a white mask and a 
 white dress, and was known by the name of the White 
 Widow. 
 
 She subsequently removed to Dublin, where she lived, 
 to all outward ap[)earance, in extreme misery, and where 
 she died at the advanced age of eighty-two in the year 
 1730, whilst her sister Duchess was living perhaps more 
 miserably, in pomp and splendour, in Blenheim and Pall 
 Mall, a torment to herself and all around her. 
 
 The CoL'NTKS.s OF Dei!BY was Elizabeth Butler, daugh- 
 ter of Thomas, Earl of Ossory, eldest son of the first 
 Duke of Ormond. She was the wife of William Richard 
 George, ninth Earl of Derby, who died in 1702. Her 
 only son and her youngest daughter Elizabeth died un- 
 married in the lifetime of her mother. Her eldest 
 
 * Life of Mrs C4odolphin. Notes, p. 2G0. 
 
 1 22
 
 330 CALISTO. 
 
 daughter, Lady Heni-ietta Maria, married first John 
 Annesley, fourth Earl of Anglesea, by whom she had an 
 only daughter, the Lady Elizabeth Annesley, who died 
 young and unmarried ; and secondly, John, Lord Ash- 
 burnam, created Earl of Ashburnam in 1730, by whom 
 she had one daughter, the Lady Henrietta Bridget, who 
 died unmarried in 1732. 
 
 The amiable and charitable lady Derby died in 
 1717. Her will, dated the 23d of February 1714-15, 
 was proved on the 26th of July 1717 by her executors, 
 Charles, Earl of Arran, her brother, Francis Annesley, 
 William Bromley, and Thomas Ashurst, Esq. It ap- 
 pears from the deed that her ladyship possessed con- 
 siderable wealth, a portion of which she bequeathed for 
 religious and benevolent purposes. Some of the be- 
 quests are interesting, such as "her brilliant diamond 
 eare rings, given me by the late Queen Mary, and also 
 one brilliant diamond locket, with the said late Queen 
 Mary's hair in it," which were left to her executors for 
 sale, with instructions to employ " one hundred and fifty 
 pounds of the produce thereof in setting out poor boys 
 and girles, not being charity children or in the charity 
 schoole then of the parish of St James, Westminster, of 
 equall number of each sex, apprentices at the discretion 
 of my trustees ;" a similar sum from the same source is 
 destined for the boys of the parish of St Martin-in-the- 
 Fields. One hundred pounds is devised to the Society 
 for Propagating the Gospel in Foreign Parts, and the 
 same sum for "redemption of poor Christian slaves out 
 of the captivity of slavery of infidels." Whatever residue 
 might remain of the produce of the sale of the diamond 
 ear rings and locket was to be divided among her 
 ladyship's servants in her houses in St James' Place and 
 Kew. She was possessed also of considerable property 
 in lottery tickets. These she ordered her trustees to 
 sell and apply the produce for benevolent and charitable 
 purposes, amongst which was a sum of fifty pounds for 
 the relief of " poor distressed French Protestants." 
 Similar suras are to be applied for relief of the poor prison- 
 ers in the Marshalsea Prison in Southwark, and in Chester 
 and Lancaster jail. Judging of her character from the 
 destination of her estate l)y will, Elizabeth, Countess of 
 
 n
 
 CAIJSTO. '.V.U 
 
 Derby, was a " right noble lady," worthy of the ilkis- 
 trious and ancient race of which she came. One special 
 legacy may be noted : " Item, I give the gold watch 
 that was Queen Mary's to my sister the lady Grantham, if 
 she be living at my death, and if she siiall be then dead, 
 then I doe give the same unto her daughter, the Lady 
 Frances Nassau, if she shall be then living. As Lady 
 Grantham did not die until 17i;4, the legacy had not 
 lapsed, and the watch may yet be in existence and in 
 possession of the heir of line, who had recently the 
 Scotish barony of Dingwall and the English barony 
 of Butler of Moore Park adjudged to him by a resolu- 
 tion of the House of Lords.* 
 
 Henrietta, Countess of Pembroke and Montgomery, 
 was the youngest sister of the Duchess of Portsmouth, 
 and at the date of her appearance in the Masque was a 
 young bride. Philip, her husband, succeeded to the two 
 earldoms upon the death of his half brother William 
 on the 8th of July 167-i, and on the 20th of May follow- 
 ing was constituted Lord Lieutenant of the county of 
 Wilts at the early age of twenty-two, t in honour of his 
 alliance with a sister of the King's mistress. 
 
 Of this marriage there was only one daughter, Char- 
 lotte, who became the wife of John, the second Baron 
 Jefiferies of Wem, and brought him a daughter, Henrietta 
 Louisa, who became the wife of the Earl of Porafret. 
 Upon the death of Lord Jeff eries on the 9th of May 1702, 
 his widow married Thomas, Lord Montjoy, but by him 
 had no issue. 
 
 Mistress Frazer, maid of honour to the Queen, was 
 Carey, daughter of Alexander Frazer. a native of Scot- 
 land, of good descent, and medical attendant of Charles IL 
 He was owner of the estate of Durris, commonly called 
 Dores, in the county of Kincardine. In a letter dated 
 St. Germans, Tuesday, 6th of August 1652, addressed 
 by the future chancellor to Sir Richard Browne, Frazer 
 is mentioned, and the following extract from Clarendon's 
 State Papers quoted in a note : " I am glad you have so 
 good a correspondent as Dr. Frayser, who is grown, God 
 
 * 15th August 1871. 
 
 t He was? baptised 5th January lt>5"2. (/'rtllins, by Brydges, 
 vol. iii., p. 141. London, 1812, Svo.
 
 332 CALISTO. 
 
 knows why, an absolute stranger witli me : he is great 
 with JjOrd Grerard, and Mr Attorny, but lie will speedily 
 leave us and go for England, which truly I am sorry for, 
 for the King's sake ; for no doubt he is good at his 
 business, otherwise the maddest fool alive."* This pro- 
 bably means that besides being an able physician, he 
 could, by his lively disposition, whilst curing his ma- 
 jesty's body, at the same time amuse his mind. 
 
 Upon the Restoration Frazer returned with Charles 
 and became his principal medical attendant. Evelyn, 
 8th May 1660, mentions that " Sir Alexander Eraser, 
 Prime Physician to his Majesty," dined with him. At this 
 date he was only a knight, but in 1673 he was created a 
 baronet of Nova Scotia, an honour now extinct, in con- 
 sequence of failure of heirs male of his body. 
 
 His daughter was one of the beauties of the Court of 
 Charles, and on this account was selected to be an attend- 
 ant nymph upon the goddess of Chastity. She subse- 
 quently became the first wife of Charles, the celebrated 
 Earl of Peterborough, who, previovis to his succession to 
 that honour, had been created Earl of Monmouth, as the 
 lineal representative of Thomas Carey, cecond son of 
 Robert Carey, Earl of Monmouth, a title which had not 
 very long before become extinct in that family. By his 
 Countess, who died upon the i;3th May 1709, his lord- 
 ship had two sons, John and Henry, and a daughter, 
 Henrietta, married to Alexander, Duke of Gordon. 
 
 The second Countess was the celebi^ated singer Anas- 
 tasia Robinson, of whom an interesting account is given 
 by Dr Burney.f This lady was privately married to his 
 lordship, but the fact was not publicly acknowledged until 
 a brief period before his death. To prevent any question 
 as to its validity, in the event of his demise, and before 
 leaving this country for Lisbon, where he was ordered for 
 his health, '• he found it necessary, not only to declare 
 his marriage to all his relations, but since the person 
 who married them was dead, to remarry her again in the 
 church of Bristol before witnesses. The warmth with 
 which he spoke on these subjects made me think him 
 
 * Evel}m's Diary and Correspondence, vol. iv., page 251. 
 2d Edition. London, 1854. 
 t History of Musicj vol. iv.
 
 CALISTO. ■'^33 
 
 much recovered, as well as his talking of his present state 
 as a heaven to what was past."* 
 
 Every endeavour was made to prevent the Earl's 
 voyage to Lisbon, but without effect, for he died on his 
 voyage to that city on the 15th October 17:^5. His 
 remains were brought back and interred in the family 
 vault at Turvey. 
 
 " He was," said Lord Orford, " one of those men of 
 careless and negligent grace who scatter a thousand 
 bon-mots and idle verses which we painful compilers 
 gather and hoard till the owners stare to find themselves 
 authors. Such was this Lord. Of an advantageous 
 figure, and enterprising spirit, — as gallant as Amadis, 
 and as brave, but a little more expeditious in his jour- 
 nies : for he is said to have seen more kings and more 
 postilions than any in Europe. His enmity to the Duke 
 of Marlborough and his friendship with Pope," to whom 
 he gave the watch, when morihumlus, which he had re- 
 ceived as a present from the King of Sardinia "will pre- 
 serve his name, when his genius, too romantic to have 
 laid a solid foundation for fame, and his politics, too 
 disinterested for his age and country, shall be equally 
 forgotten. He was a man, as his poet said, who would 
 neither die nor live like other mortals." 
 
 The Countess survived his Lordship fifteen yeai's, 
 much resjiected and honoured. She resided at Be vis 
 Mount near Southampton, sometimes at Fulham or Peter- 
 borough House. The former residence was the cherished 
 abode of the Earl. In a letter to Pope, in which he 
 prefers his " little Amoret to the stately Sacharissa 
 at Stow," he observes, "I am sure the Farmeress at Bevis 
 in her highest mortifications, in the middle of Lent, 
 would feel emotions of vanity if she knew you gave her 
 the character of a reasonable woman." Bishop War- 
 burton in a note informs the public, that the " Farmei-ess 
 mea'it the Countess of Petei'borough, a Roman Catholic"! 
 At a later date Bevis Mount " again became the abode 
 of the muses," having been purchased by the poet 
 
 * Pope to Martha Blount, August 2.'), 17-35. Bowles' Pope, 
 vol. X., p. 4il ; London, 1806, 8vo. 
 t Bowles' Pope, vol. viii. p. 262.
 
 3;U OALISTO. 
 
 Sotheby, whose great merits at the present date are but 
 little known. 
 
 Through the marriage of Lady Henrietta Mordaunt to 
 Alexander, Duke of Gordon, the estate of Durris, or 
 Dores, ultimately passed, upon the death of Sir Peter 
 Frazer without issue, to the Gordon family. It was sold 
 some few years since, in virtue of an Act of Parliament, 
 and the price invested in the purchase of other lands 
 more contiguous to the large estates of the ducal race of 
 Gordon, now belonging to the Duke of Richmond and 
 Lenox, the heir of line of the family, 
 
 Grammont gives the following description of the Duke 
 OF Monmouth :* " His figure and the external graces of 
 his person were such that nature perhaps never formed 
 anything more complete : his face was extremely hand- 
 some, and yet it was a manly face, neither inanimate 
 nor effeminate, each feature having its peculiar beauty 
 and delicacy. He had a wonderful genius for every sort 
 of exercise, an engaging aspect, and an air of Grandeur : 
 in a word, he possessed every personal advantage ; but 
 in proportion to the greatness of his personal was the 
 deficiency of his mental accomplishments. He had no 
 opinions, but such as he derived from others ; and those 
 who first insinuated themselves into his friendship, took 
 care to inspire him with none, but such as were perni- 
 cious. The astonishing beauty of his outward form excited 
 universal admiration ; those who before were looked 
 upon as handsome were now forgotten at Court, and all 
 the gay and beautiful of the fair sex were at his devotion. 
 He was particularly beloved by the King ; but the 
 universal terror of husbands and lovers. This did not 
 long continue ; for nature not having endowed him with 
 qualifications to secure the possession of the heart, the 
 fair sex soon perceived the defect." 
 
 His father's love created great jealousy in the Duchess 
 of Cleveland, whose children by Charles " were like so 
 many little puppets compared to this new Adonis." To 
 disguise this feeling, this most unscrupulous woman pre- 
 tended a deep affection to Monmouth, which did not 
 nevertheless impose upon the King, who, perfectly cog- 
 nisant of the extreme liberaUty of the moral principles of 
 
 * r. 1(53.
 
 CALISTO. 335 
 
 the Duchess, deemed it more prudent at once to get him 
 a wife whilst a comparative youth than expose him to 
 the fascinations of a female so particularly meretricious. 
 Hence it was that there was selected from the house of 
 Buccleugh, Anne Scott, the daughter and heir of Francis, 
 Earl of Buccleugh, with a large estate — still jiossessed by 
 their descendants. " Her person was full of charms, and 
 her mind possessed all those perfections in which the 
 handsomeMonmouth wasso defective."* By letters patent 
 they were created, 20th April 1673, Duke and Duchess 
 of Buccleuch, and Earl and Countess of Dalkeith, &c. &c., 
 in Scotland, a circumstance that saved the Buccleuch 
 honours from forfeiture, as the attainder of the husband 
 did not affect the separate honours in the person of the 
 wife. 
 
 Whether the Masque of Calisto brought the Lady 
 Henrietta Wentworth and the Duke for the first time 
 together is not known, but it is possible that the 
 elegance displayed by the Adonis of the Court in that 
 most graceful of all dances — a minuet — now laid aside 
 for a very different species of Terpsichorean exhibition — 
 was not without leading subsequently to that intimacy 
 and affection which Monmouth carried with him to the 
 scaffold, and caused the untimely death of the Lady 
 Henrietta. Monmouth was born at Rotterdam on the 
 9th of April 164:9, and beheaded, in the thirty-sixth 
 year of his age, on Tower-hill, 15th July 1685. When 
 the final separation from the Duchess occurred is not 
 certain, but there were several children of the marriage, 
 the youngest of whom, Lord Francis, born in 1678, died 
 an infant. His youngest daughter, the Lady Anne, born 
 on February 17, 1675, was with her father in the Tower, 
 and was so much affected by his execution that she died 
 of grief soon after, and was buried in Westminster Abbey 
 on the 31st of August following, t 
 
 The Duchess married in May 1688 Charles, Lord 
 Cornwallis, whom she survived, and died upon the 6th 
 of February 1731-2, in the eighty-first year of her age. 
 She was succeeded in the Dukedom by her grandson 
 
 * Grammoiit, p. 166. 
 
 t Collins' Pyerage bv Brydgcs, vol. iii., p- Oo'S. Loiulon, 
 1812, 8vo.
 
 o'M\ CALJSTU. 
 
 Francis, who was. upon the 28d March 1742-3, restored 
 by A.ct of Parliament to the title of Earl of Doncaster, 
 which had been forfeited by his grandfather. 
 
 From some letters written by her Grace to the Earl of 
 Leven and Melville,* it is plain that she took good care of 
 her means and estate, and was well versed, not in politi- 
 cal but domestic economy, as most high-born dames of 
 that period were. In the conclusion of one of her letters 
 from London dated in June, but without the year of our 
 Lord, she says, " I shall bring a new chair to go in the 
 streets of Edinburgh, and an old one to cross the Court 
 of Dalkeith. I do most heartily long to be amongst you. 
 I wrett to you yesterday, you will never forgive thes two 
 letters coming so soon together. You will think me 
 extravagant in marble, but it is to shoiv yo)i I do not 
 dispi/se my old Castle." i Her Grace was not very care- 
 ful in her spelling, for she has weding for wedding, mar- 
 age for marriage, &c. She sends the Earl a list of 
 aiticles she requires for her kitchen, to see if they can 
 be got in Scotland, if not, she will bring them with her 
 in " the shipe whair my goods are." 
 
 In another letter her Grace is anxious to be advised 
 what articles of dress could be procured in the north : 
 "• The Duchess of Queensberry;!: told my daughter Dal- 
 keith that the Ladys sent to England for their clothes, 
 and that there was no silk stuffs fit to be worn ther. 
 Pray ask your Lady if this be so, for if it is, we will 
 furnish ourselves here, but if it be not so, wee will buy 
 as wee want when wee com thair, and be drest like 
 other good Ladys and break non of your acts of Par- 
 liament."§ 
 
 There is among the letters one of some interest, as 
 shewing her anxiety to have the mercy of the Crown 
 
 * The original letters were formerly in the hands of the late 0. 
 K. Sharpe, Esq., who kindly permitted transcripts to be taken. 
 
 t Of Dalkeith, which formerly belonged to a branch of the 
 turbulent race of Douglas. 
 
 X Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, the 
 patroness of Gay, the author of the Beggar's Opera. 
 
 § Sumptuary laws as to dress, to which the Scotch Parlia- 
 TTient paid particular attention. A reference indicating the 
 ettcr was written jirevious to the Union.
 
 CALISTO. 337 
 
 extended to a poor Highliiuder called Hugh Maclane, 
 who having- been induced to drink a seditious toast in a 
 state of intoxication, was informed upon, tried by court 
 martial, and ordered for execution. This occurred in 
 December 1701. She says, " I know not which way to 
 endever the presarvation of tliis poor man, but if it can be 
 done, if you coidd give me derection or help in this. Do 
 not laugh at me, I am no soldieur, but a poor merciful 
 woman.'"* It is to be hoped that her intercession was 
 successful. 
 
 The Bishop of Oxford has uot been exactly correct as 
 to the nobleman who, at the date of the performance of 
 Calisto, had the title of Viscount Dunislaine. Sir 
 Thomas Osborne was created Baron of Kiveton and 
 Viscount Latimer in 1673. In the following year he 
 was advanced to the Eai-ldom of Danby on the 27th 
 June. The Masque is distinctly mentioned by Evelyn 
 to have been performed in December 1(374. It was 
 not printed and published until the year following. 
 Thus Sir Thomas was, at the time of the representation, 
 Earl of Danby and Viscount Latimer, and the title of 
 courtesy of his eldest son was properly speaking Viscount 
 Latimer. 
 
 Now the Bishop erroneously asserts that the Earl, '•'■after 
 the representation but before the isublication, was created 
 Viscount Dunblaine in Scotland, which dignity was 
 assumed as a title of courtesy by his son Lord Latimer." 
 The fact is otherwise, for the Scotish Viscounty preceded 
 the English Viscounty and Earldom, It is evident 
 that the Viscount Dunblaine mentioned was Peregrine the 
 second son, and afterwards second Duke of Leeds, a 
 dignity which the Earl of Danby subsequently attained 
 after many risks, and an imprisonment of live years in 
 the Tower. In the edition of Collins by Sir Egerton 
 Brydges,t it is asserted that " Peregrine was in his 
 father's lifetime created Viscount Dunblaine in Scotland 
 on the stirreiider of his father's patent." In England 
 very little is known of the usages of Scotland in Peerage 
 
 * The Earl of Leven was Governor of Edinburgh Castle. In 
 the reign of Anne he was a General and Comniander-in-Chief 
 of all her Majesty's B\n-ces in Scotland. He died in dune 1728. 
 t Vol. i., p. 258.
 
 338 CALISTU. 
 
 matters, and mistakes are consequently by no means 
 uncommon. The "surrender" means '^resignation,''^ a 
 legal form by which a peer of Scotland could, before the 
 Union, resign in the hands of the Crown his honours for 
 a new grant, and Lord Danby, having attained a higher 
 dignity than that of a Scotish Viscoimty, took this 
 method of obtaining the authority of the King to transfer 
 his northern Viscounty to his younger son, Avho at a 
 subsequent date, 19th March 1689-90, was called up by 
 writ to the English House of Peers as Lord Osborne of 
 Kiveton. 
 
 By the death of his brother Edward, Lord Latimer, in 
 January 1G88, whose two sons died infants, Peregrine 
 eventually succeeded to the Dukedom of Leeds, Mar- 
 quisate of Carmarthen, Earldom of Danby, and Vis- 
 county of Latimer. He died on the 25th June 1729 
 in the seventy-first year of his age. The period of 
 his death establishes the Viscount to have been about 
 sixteen when he appeared in the Masque. It is 
 singular, that after the lapse of not very many years, 
 the representation of the Godolphius should devolve 
 on the Osbornes, and that the heir of line of Mar- 
 garet Blagge should be the heir of line of her fellow- 
 performer Peregrine, Viscount Osborne of Duublain. 
 His father was one of the prominent political characters 
 of the reign of Charles the Second, and had the satis- 
 faction of being more hated than any other man in 
 the kingdom, if we may trust Burnet's History of his 
 own times. There seems no reason for doubting this 
 general detestation, for the following verses of a pasquil 
 or lampoon, extracted from a contemporary MS. which 
 was in the library of the late Charles Kirkpatrick Shari:)e, 
 Esq., certainly support the Bishop's assertion : — 
 
 ON THOMAS, EARL OF DANBY, 
 
 LATE LORD HIGH TEEASUBEB OP ENGLAND 1678-9. 
 
 Tune — Peggij Benson. 
 
 Zounds, what means the Parhament, 
 Sure the}' are drunk with Brandy 
 When they went, to circumvent 
 
 Thomas Earl of Danliv.
 
 CALISTU. IV.VJ 
 
 But tliis uiigratcful will appear 
 
 As any thing that can l)o, 
 
 For they received Fiddlers' fare 
 
 From Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 Sir John Coplestone* did invite 
 All those he thought would Imndy 
 For any thing, be't wrong or right, 
 
 For Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 Shaftesbury did lie and lurk, 
 That little Jack-a-Dandy, 
 And all his engines sat on work 
 
 'Gainst Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 Now whether he will stay or go 
 
 I think 'tis handy dandy + 
 
 If he stays, he'll be hang d, J I trow, 
 
 Poor Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 Of subjects, I did ne'er hear tell, 
 Nor can any in this land be 
 That deserves a halter half as well 
 
 As Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 With what colour couldst thou say, 
 Since Lombard Street can brand thee, 
 That thou th' Exchequer debts didst pay, 
 
 Fye ! Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 He was bid say so by his wife 
 That he'd be still a grandee. 
 For he ne'er told a lie in his life. 
 
 True ! Thomas Earl of Danby. 
 
 Then Commons trust him not a whit, 
 If you do, you'll trapann'd be. 
 There's not so false a Jesuit 
 
 As Thomas Earl of Danby. § 
 
 * Sir John Copleston was a cadet of the old family of that 
 name in Devonshire. He lived at Pynes, near Exeter, an 
 estate he inherited from his gi-andfather. Although the Cople- 
 stones were royalists, he engaged in the service of the Parlia- 
 ment. He was sheriff of Devonshire in 1655. He was knighted 
 by the Protector at Whitehall June 1, 1653, for his services at 
 the tmie of Peni-uddoch's revolt. 
 
 •f A Child's Play, mentioned in the Vision of Piers Plough- 
 man, and King Lear, and stiU existing. See Halliwell's "Archaic 
 Dictionary," vol. i., p. 432. 
 
 + He was certainly not hanged, but he got five years' im- 
 prisonment in the Tower of London. 
 
 § There are several more verses which, from their disgusting 
 attack upon the ladies of the family, are unfit for publication.
 
 340 CALISTO. 
 
 The Lord Daincoukt was Robert, eldest son of Nicholas 
 Leake, Earl of Scarsdale, in the county of Derby, who 
 succeeded to the Earldom upon the death of his father 
 in 1680. Dying without lawful issue in 1707, his brother 
 Kichard became the next Earl, and his son Nicolas never 
 having married, both the Earldom and Barony became 
 extinct ixpon his demise in 1736. 
 
 Mr Trevor was John, eldest son of Sir John Trevor, 
 Secretary of State in 1672. His mother was Ruth, 
 daughter of John Hampden, and great-niece of Oliver 
 Cromwell. His younger brother, Thomas, was Chief 
 Justice of the Common Pleas, and was created Baron 
 Trevor in 1726. 
 
 It is probable that the Mr Lane mentioned as taking 
 a part in the Masque was one of the Lanes of Bentley 
 who had so materially aided Charles in his escape after 
 the battle of Worcester, when, by the aid of Mistress Jane 
 Lane, the King was safely removed from the place where 
 he had been concealed, and ultimately enabled to reach the 
 Continent.* Had David Leslie, afterwards Lord Newark, 
 acted as he should have done, the result of the battle 
 might have ended very differently from what it did. 
 
 Of the other person of quality, Mr Harpe, we have 
 found no particulars. 
 
 In one of the stanzas Ec/irard, who predeceased his father, is 
 called Lord Latimer, proving thus that this was the title by 
 courtesy, at that date, of the eldest son of the Earl of Danby. 
 
 * See the interesting volume called " The Boscobel Tracts," 
 edited by J. Hughes, Esq., Edinburgh, 18-30, 8vo. ; and the 
 account of the King's escape, from his own recollection, by 
 Lord Hailes. It is to the credit of Charles that he never for- 
 got or failed to reward any single individual, however humble, 
 that aided his escape.
 
 CAl.ISTO. 341 
 
 PROr.OGUE TO HOIJACE. 
 
 Spoken at Court 
 
 1668-9. 
 
 Tn a rare little book having the title of " Covent 
 Garden Drollery," there is printed "Prologue to Horace, 
 spoken by the Dutchess of IMunniouth at Court." In 
 the BiogTaphia Draraatica it is mentioned that 
 Horace, as translated from Corneille by the matchless 
 Orinda, otherwise Katherine Phillips,* with a fifth act, 
 supplied by Sir John Denham, was presented at Court 
 by persons of quality, the prologue being spoken by 
 the Duke of Monmouth. 
 
 Upon turning to Evelyn, it appears there is this 
 entry in his Diary, 4th February 1667-8 : "I saw the 
 tragedy of Horace written by the virtuous Mrs Phillips, 
 acted before their Majesties. Betwixt each act a masque 
 and antique dance. The excessive gallantry of the ladies 
 was infinite, those especially on that . . . Castle- 
 maine, esteemed at £40,000 and more, far out-shining 
 the Queen." On the 27th February the following year, 
 the tragedy was again performed and witnessed by 
 Evelyn. 
 
 There can be no doubt that this was the performance 
 referred to in the " Covent Garden Drollery," and 
 the only question is who spoke the prologue. The 
 Peerage of Monmouth, according to Collins, was created 
 upon the 14th February 1662-63, and the Scotish Duke- 
 dom not until April 20th 1673, after the marriage of 
 the parties. The Play acted at Court was thus repre- 
 sented before the creation of the Buccleuch Dukedom. 
 
 As the Prologue is really good, and the little book 
 from which it is extracted very scarce, it may be no 
 unsuitable conclusion to finish the present volume with it. 
 
 * She died of the Small-pox, 'lid June 1664.
 
 342 CALISTO. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO HORACE, 
 
 Spoken hi/ the Dutchess of Munmouth 
 at Coin't. 
 
 When Honour flourish'd ere for price 'twas sold, 
 
 When Rome was poor, and undebauch'd with gold, 
 
 That vertue which should to the world give Law 
 
 First under Kings, its Infant breath did draw : 
 
 And Horace, who, his Sovereign's Champion fought. 
 
 Its first example to republiques taught. 
 
 Honour and Love, the Poets' dear delight. 
 
 The field in which all Modern Muses fight ; 
 
 Where gravely Rhyme debates what's just and fit. 
 
 And seeming contradictions pass for wit ; 
 
 Here in their native Purity fii-st grew, 
 
 Ere they th' Adulterate arts of Stages knew. 
 
 This Martial story, which through France did come, 
 
 And there was wrought in great Cornelia''s Tomb, 
 
 Orinda^s matchless Muse to Britain brought, 
 
 And foreign verse, our English accents taught ; 
 
 So soft that to our shame, we understand. 
 
 They could not fall, but from a Lady's hand. 
 
 Thus while a Woman Horace did translate, 
 
 Horace did rise above a Roman Fate. 
 
 And by our Ladies he mounts higher yet, 
 
 While he is spoke above, what he is writ ; 
 
 But yet triumphant Honours are to come. 
 
 When, mighty Prince he must receive your Doom ; 
 
 From all besides our Actois have no fear. 
 
 Censure, and Wit, are beauty's vassals here. 
 
 And should they with Rebellion, tempt their rage, 
 
 Our Basilisks could shout 'em from the Stage. 
 
 But that their Fate would be two great to die 
 
 By bright Sabina's, or Camilla's Eye. 
 
 TIENBUI.L ANIi SI'F.AltS, I'KINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
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