Thus prostrate to thy statue.

[Kneels.

[Kneels.

[Exeunt Orpheus and the rest.] But that music should

Alter, in fiends, their nature is to me
Impossible; since, in myself, I find,

What I have once decreed shall know no change.
Sir John. You are constant to your purposes;
That I could stagger you.

Luke. How?

Sir John. Should I present

[yet I think

The music that your Orpheus made was harsh,
To the delight I should receive in hearing
Their cries and groans: if it be in your power,
I would now see them.

Sir John. Spirits, in their shapes,

Shall shew them as they are: but if it should move you ?

Luke. If it do, may I ne'er find pity!
Sir John. Be your own judge.-

Appear! as I commanded.

Sad Music. Enter GOLDWIRE, Junior, and TRADEWELL, Junior, as from prison; FORTUNE, HOYST, and PENURY; Serjeants with TRADEWELL, Senior, and GOLDWIRE, Senior;-these followed by SHAVE'EM in a blue gown, SECRET and DING'EM; they all kneel to LUKE, lifting up their hands. STARGAZE is seen, with a pack of almanacks, and Milliscent.

Luke. Ha, ha, ha!

This move me to compassion, or raise
One sign of seeming pity in my face!
You are deceived: it rather renders me
More flinty, and obdurate. A south wind
Shall sooner soften marble, and the rain
That slides down gently from his flaggy wings,
O'erflow the Alps, than knees, or tears, or groans,
Shall wrest compunction from me. 'Tis my glory
That they are wretched, and by me made so ;
It sets my happiness off :-I could not triumph
If these were not my captives.-Ha! my tarriers,
As it appears, have seized on these old foxes,
As I gave order; new addition to

My scene of mirth: ha, ha!-They now grow tedious,

L. Frug. My kind husband,

(Bless'd in my misery,) from the monastery
To which my disobedience confined thee,

With thy soul's eye, which distance cannot hinder,
Look on my penitence. O, that I could
Call back time past! thy holy vow dispensed,
With what humility would I observe
My long-neglected duty!

Sir John. Does not this move you?

Luke. Yes, as they do the statues, and her sorrow My absent brother. If, by your magic art, You can give life to these, or bring him hither To witness her repentance, I may have, Perchance, some feeling of it.

Sir John. For your sport,

You shall see a masterpiece. Here's nothing but
A superficies; colours, and no substance.
Sit still, and to your wonder and amazement,
I'll give these organs. This the sacrifice,
To make the great work perfect.

[Burns incense, and makes mystical gesticulations.
Sir MAURICE LACY and PLENTY give signs of
animation.

L. Lacy. I long since

Confess'd my error.

Sir John. Look up; I forgive you,

And seal your pardons thus.

[Raises and embraces Lady FRUGAL, ANNE, and MARY.

L. Frug. I am too full

Of joy, to speak it.

Anne. I am another creature ;

Not what I was.

Mary. I vow to shew myself,

When I am married, an humble wife, Not a commanding mistress.

Plenty. On those terms,

I gladly thus embrace you.

Sir Maur. Welcome to

My bosom as the one half of myself, I'll love and cherish you.

Gold. jun. Mercy!

[TO MARY.

[TO ANNE.

Trade. jun. and the rest. Good sir, mercy! Sir John. This day is sacred to it. All shall As far as lawful pity can give way to't, [find me, Indulgent to your wishes, though with loss

Unto myself. My kind and honest brother, Looking into yourself, have you seen the Gorgon? What a golden dream you have had, in the possession

Of my estate !-but here's a revocation

That wakes you out of it. Monster in nature! [Revengeful, avaricious atheist,

Transcending all example !-but I shall be

A sharer in thy crimes, should I repeat them—
What wilt thou do? turn hypocrite again,
With hope dissimulation can aid thee?
Or that one eye will shed a tear in sign
Of sorrow for thee? I have warrant to

Make bold with mine own, pray you uncase: this key, too,

I must make bold with. Hide thyself in some desart,

After twice putting forth to sea, his fame
Shipwreck'd in either, and his once-known name
In two years silence buried, perhaps lost
In the general opinion; at our cost
(A zealous sacrifice to Neptune made
For good success in his uncertain trade)
Our author weighs up anchors, and once more
Forsaking the security of the shore,
Resolves to prove his fortune: what 'twill be,
Is not in him, or us, to prophesie;
You only, can assure us: yet he pray'd
This little, in his absence, might be said,
Designing me his orator. He submits
To the grave censure of those abler wits

His weakness; nor dares he profess that when
The critics laugh, he'll laugh at them agen.

shall

(Strange self-love in a writer!) He would know
His errors as you find them, and bestow
His future studies to reform from this,
What in another might be judged amiss.
And yet despair not, gentlemen; though he fear
His strengths to please, we hope that you
Some things so writ, as you may truly say [hear
He hath not quite forgot to make a play,
As 'tis with malice rumour'd: his intents
Are fair; and though he want the compliments
Of wide-mouth'd promisers, who still engage,
Before their works are brought upon the stage,
Their parasites to proclaim them: this last birth,
Deliver'd without noise, may yield such mirth,
As, balanced equally, will cry down the boast
Of arrogance, and regain his credit lost.

SCENE I.-NAPLES. A Grove.

Enter DURAZZO, CAMILLO, LENTULO, DONATO, and two

Servants.

Dur. Tell me of his expenses! Which of you Stands bound for a gazet? he spends his own ; And you impertinent fools or knaves, (make choice Of either title, which your signiorships please,) To meddle in't.

Camil. Your age gives privilege

To this harsh language.

Dur. My age! do not use

That word again; if you do, I shall grow young,

And swinge you soundly: I would have you know
Though I write fifty odd, I do not carry
An almanack in my bones to pre-declare
What weather we shall have; nor do I kneel
In adoration, at the spring and fall,
Before my doctor, for a dose or two

Of his restoratives, which are things, I take it,
You are familiar with.

Camil. This is from the purpose.

Dur. I cannot cut a caper, or groan like you When I have done, nor run away so nimbly Out of the field: but bring me to a fence-school, And crack a blade or two for exercise,

Ride a barb'd horse, or take a leap after me, Following my hounds or hawks, (and, by your

leave,

At a gamesome mistress,) and you shall confess
I am in the May of my abilities,

And you in your December.

Lent. We are glad you bear

Your years so well.

Dur. My years! no more of years;

If you do, at your peril.

Camil. We desire not

To prove your valour.

Dur. 'Tis your safest course.

Camil. But as friends to your fame and reputation,

Come to instruct you, your too much indulgence
To the exorbitant waste of young Caldoro,
Your nephew and your ward, hath rendered you
But a bad report among wise men in Naples.

Dur. Wise men !-in your opinion; but to me,
That understand myself and them, they are
Hide-bounded money-mongers: they would have

me

Train up my ward a hopeful youth, to keep
A merchant's book; or at the plough, and clothe
In canvass or coarse cotton; while I fell [him
His woods, grant leases, which he must make
good

When he comes to age, or be compell'd to marry
With a cast whore and three bastards; let him know
No more than how to cipher well, or do

His tricks by the square root; grant him no plea

sure

But quoits and nine-pins; suffer him to converse With none but clowns and coblers: as the Turk Poverty, old age, and aches of all seasons, [says, Light on such heathenish guardians!

Don. You do worse

To the ruin of his state, under your favour,
In feeding his loose riots.

Dur. Riots! what riots ?

He wears rich clothes, I do so; keeps horses, games, and wenches;

'Tis not amiss, so it be done with decorum :
In an heir 'tis ten times more excusable
Than to be over-thrifty. Is there aught else
That you can charge him with?

Camil. With what we grieve for,

And you will not approve.

Dur. Out with it, man.

Camil. His rash endeavour, without your conTo match himself into a family

Not gracious with the times.

Dur. 'Tis still the better;

By this means he shall scape court visitants,
And not be eaten out of house and home

[sent,

In a summer progress: but does he mean to marry? Camil. Yes, sir, to marry.

Dur. In a beardless chin

'Tis ten times worse than wenching.

Camil. Signor Severino's.

Dur. How! not he that kill'd

Family! [whose family?

The brother of his wife, as it is rumour'd,
Then fled upon it; since proscribed, and chosen
Captain of the Banditti; the king's pardon
On no suit to be granted?

Lent. The same, sir.

Dur. This touches near: how is his love re

turn'd

By the saint he worships?

Ador. I will tell you,

And bluntly, as my usual manner is.
Though I were a woman-hater, which I am not,
But love the sex,-for my ends, take me with you;
If in my thought I found one taint or blemish
In the whole fabric of your outward features,
I would give myself the lie. You are a virgin
Possess'd of all your mother could wish in you;
Your father Severino's dire disaster

In killing of your uncle, which I grieve for,
In no part taking from you. I repeat it,
A noble virgin, for whose grace and favours
The Italian princes might contend as rivals;
Yet unto me, a thing far, far beneath you,
(A noted libertine I profess myself,)

In your mind there does appear one fault so gross,
Nay, I might say unpardonable at your years,
If justly you consider it, that I cannot

As you desire, affect you.

Calis. Make me know it,

I'll soon reform it.

Ador. Would you'd keep your word!

Calis. Put me to the test.

Ador. I will. You are too honest,
And, like your mother, too strict and religious,
And talk too soon of marriage;
I shall break,

If at that rate I purchase you. Can I part with
My uncurb'd liberty, and on my neck.
Wear such a heavy yoke? hazard my fortunes,
With all the expected joys my life can yield me,
For one commodity, before I prove it?
Venus forbid on both sides! let crook'd hams,
Bald heads, declining shoulders, furrow'd cheeks,
Be awed by ceremonies: if you love me

In the way young people should, I'll fly to meet it,
And we'll meet merrily.

Calis. 'Tis strange such a man

Can use such language.

Ador. In my tongue my heart

Speaks freely, fair one. Think on't, a close friend, Or private mistress, is court rhetoric;

A wife, mere rustic solecism: so good morrow! [ADORIO offers to go, CALDORO comes forward and stops him.

Camil. How like you this?

Dur. A well-bred gentleman!

I am thinking now if ever in the dark,

Or drunk, I met his mother: he must have Some drops of my blood in him, for at his years I was much of his religion.

Camil. Out upon you!

Don. The colt's tooth still in your mouth!
Dur. What means this whispering?

Ador. You may perceive I seek not to displant

you,

Where you desire to grow; for further thanks, 'Tis needless compliment.

Cald. There are some natures
Which blush to owe a benefit, if not

Received in corners; holding it an impairing
To their own worth, should they acknowledge it.
I am made of other clay, and therefore must
Trench so far on your leisure, as to win you
To lend a patient ear, while I profess
Before my glory, though your scorn, Calista,
How much I am your servant.

Ador. My designs

Are not so urgent, but they can dispense
With so much time.

Camil. Pray you now observe your nephew. Dur. How he looks! like a school-boy that had And went to be breech'd. [play'd the truant,

Cald. Madam!

Calis. A new affliction!

Your suit offends as much as his repulse,
It being not to be granted.

Mirt. Hear him, madam;

His sorrow is not personated; he deserves
Your pity, not contempt.

Dur. He has made the maid his;
And, as the master of the Art of Love
Wisely affirms, it is a kind of passage
To the mistress' favour.

Cald. I come not to urge

My merit to deserve you, since you are,
Weigh'd truly to your worth, above all value:
Much less to argue you of want of judgment
For following one that with wing'd feet flies from

Those lawful flames, (for, madam, know, with other
I never shall approach you,) which Adorio,
In scorn of Hymen and religious rites,
With atheistical impudence contemns ;
And in his loose attempt to undermine
The fortress of your honour, seeks to ruin
All holy altars by clear minds erected
To virgin honour.

Dur. My nephew is an ass;

What a devil hath he to do with virgin honour, Altars, or lawful flames, when he should tell her They are superstitious nothings; and speak to the Of the delight to meet in the old dance, [purpose, Between a pair of sheets; my grandam call'd it, The Peopling of the World.

Calis. How, gentle sir!

To vindicate my honour! that is needless;
I dare not fear the worst aspersion malice
Can throw upon it.

Cald. Your sweet patience, lady,

And more than dove-like innocence, render you
Insensible of an injury, for which

I deeply suffer. Can you undergo

The scorn of being refused? I must confess
It makes for my ends; for had he embraced
Your gracious offers tender'd him, I had been
In my own hopes forsaken; and if yet
There can breathe any air of comfort in me,
To his contempt I owe it: but his ill
No more shall make way for my good intents,
Than virtue, powerful in herself, can need
The aids of vice.

Ador. You take that license, sir,
Which yet I never granted.

Cald. I'll force more ;

Nor will I for my own ends undertake it,
As I will make apparent, but to do

A justice to your sex, with mine own wrong
And irrecoverable loss. To thee I turn,
Thou goatish ribald, in whom lust is grown
Defensible, the last descent to hell,
Which gapes wide for thee: look upon this lady,
And on her fame, (if it were possible,
Fairer than she is,) and if base desires,
And beastly appetite, will give thee leave,
Consider how she sought thee, how this lady,
In a noble way, desired thee. Was she fashion'd
In an inimitable mould, (which Nature broke,
The great work perfected,) to be made a slave
To thy libidinous twines, and, when commanded,
To be used as physic after drunken surfeits !
Mankind should rise against thee: what even now
I heard with horror, shewed like blasphemy,
And as such I will punish it.

[Strikes ADORIO, the rest rush forward; they all draw.
Calis. Murder!

Mirt. Help!