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Mrs. KATHERINE Philips, wife of James , betoken an interesting and placid enthusiasm of Philips, Esq. of the Priory of Cardigan. Her heart, and a cultivated taste, that form a beaumaiden name was Fowler. She died of the tiful specimen of female character. She transsmall-pox, in her thirty-third year. The match lated two of the tragedies of Corneille, and left a less Orinda, as she was calledt, cannot be said to volume of letters to Sir Charles Cotterell, which have been a woman of genius ; but her verses were published a considerable time after her
death. Jeremy Taylor addressed to her his (t But thus Orinda died :
Measures and Offices of Friendship," and Heaven, by the same disease, did both translate; As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate.
Cowley, as also Flatman, his imitator, honoured DRYDEN, Ode to Mrs. Anne Killigrew.) her memory with poetical tributes.
If friendship sympathy impart,
Why this ill-shuffled game,
Or flame encounter flame ?
(The ghost at last confest)
To all that heaven possest.
But as our immortality
By inward sense we find,
It would not be design'd :
But if truth be in ancient song,
Or story we believe ;
Have scorned to deceive;
Love, nature's plot, this great creation's soul,
The being and the harmony of things,
From whence man's happiness and safety springs:
'Tis love refined and purged from all its dross,
As strong in passion is, though not so gross :
Among that consecrated crew
Some more seraphic shade
Now mists my eyes invade.
Why is't so difficult to see
Two bodies and one mind ?
So difficultly kind ?
Essential honour must be in a friend,
Not such as every breath fans to and fro ;
And dares not sin though sure that none should
Why are the bands of friendship tied
With so remiss a knot,
And by the most forgot ?
Thick waters show no images of things ;
Friends are each other's mirrors, and should be
And free from clouds, design or flattery.
This writer was the son of John Heminge the
great poet's works. He was born in 1602, and famous player, who was contemporary with received his education at Oxford. This is all Shakspeare, and whose name is prefixed, together that is mentioned of him by the compilers of the with that of Condell, to the folio edition of the | Biographia Dramatica.
FROM “THE FATAL CONTRACT,” ACT II. SCENE II. Aphelia has been contracted by mutual vows to Clovis,
Enter APHELIA, and the Eunuch with a war-taper. younger brother of the young king of France, Clotair.
Aph. Into what labyrinth do you lead me, sir? and imagines in this scene that she is to be brought into the presence of Clovis, instead of whom she is brought to What by, perplexed ways? I should much fear, Clotair by the treachery of the Eunuch.
Had you not used his name, which is to me
A strength 'gainst terror, and himself so good, Alack, why not ? say he should offer foul,
The evil counsel of a secret place,
And night, his friend, might overtempt his will. A silent sorrow from mine eyes would steal,
I dare not stand the hazard; guide me, light, And tell sad stories for me.
To some untrodden place, where poor I may Eun. You are too tender of your honour, lady, Wear out the night with sighs till it be day. Too full of aguish trembling ; the noble prince Clot. I am resolved, I will be bold and resolute : Is as December frosty in desire ;
Hail, beauteous damsel ! Save what is lawful, he not owns that heat,
Aph. Ha! what man art thou, Which, were you snow, would thaw a tear from you. That hast thy countenance clouded with thy cloak,
Aph. This is the place appointed : pray heavens And hidest thy face from darkness and the night Go well!
[all things If thy intents deserve a muffler too, Eun. I will go call him: please you rest yourself: Withdraw, and act them not-Whatart thou? speak, Here lies a book will bear you company
And wherefore camest thou hither? Till I return, which will be presently.
Clot. I came to find one beautiful as thou[APHELIA reads the book. Hither I'll send the king ; not that I mean (Aside. Aph. I understand you not. To give him leave to cool his burning lust,
Clot. But you must; yea, and the right way too. For Clovis shall prevent him in the fact,
Aph. Help! help! help! And thus I shall endear myself to both,
Clot. Peace ! none of your loud music, lady: Clovis, enraged, perhaps will kill the king,
If you raise a note, or beat the air with clamour, Or by the king will perish ; if both fall,
You see your death.
(Draws his dagger. Or either, both ways make for me.
Aph. What violence is this, inhuman sir ? The queen as rootedly does hate her sons Why do you threaten war, fright my soft peace As I her ladyship. To see this fray
With most ungentle steel? What have I done She must be brought by me: she'll steel them on Dangerous, or am like to do? Why do you wrack To one another's damage ; for her sake
me thus ? I'll say I set on foot this hopeful brawl.
Mine arms are guilty of no crimes, do not torment Thus on all sides the eunuch will play foul,
'em ; And as his face is black he'll have his sou).
Mine heart and they have been heaved up together Aph. (Reading.) How witty sorrow has found For mankind that was holy; if in that act out discourse
They have not pray'd for you, mend, and be holy. Fitting a midnight season : here I see
The fault is none of theirs. One bathed in virgin's tears, whose purity
Clot. Come, do not seem more holy than you are, Might blanch a black-a-moor, turn nature's 'stream
I know your heart.
And sacrifice a soul to chastity,
As pure as is itself, or innocence.
Clot. This is not the way : know you me, beauty? When he defiled the chastity of Rome,
(Discovers himself. Doubtful of what to do ; and like a thief,
Aph. The majesty of France ! I take each noise to be an officer.
Clot. Be not afraid. [She still reads on.
Aph. I dare not fear ; it's treason to suspect She has a ravishing feature, and her mind My king can harbour thoughts that tend to ill : Is of a purer temper than her body:
I know your God-like good, and have but tried Her virtues more than beauty ravislı'd me,
How far weak woman durst be virtuous. And I commit, even with her piety,
Clot. Cunning simplicity, thou art deceived ; A kind of incest with religion.
Thy wit as well as beauty wounds me, and thy tongue Though I do know it is a deed of death,
In pleading for thee pleads against thyself : Condemn'd to torments in the other world.
It is thy virtue moves me, and thy good Such tempting sweetness dwells in every limb,
Tempts me to acts of evil ; wert thou bad, That I must venture.
Or loose in thy desires, I could stand
And only gaze, not surfeit on thy beauty ;
But as thou art, there's witchcraft in thy face.
Aph. You are my king, and may command my life, I in a stranger doubt not ; yet methinks
My will to sin you cannot ; you may force I am too confident, for I feel my heart
Unhallow'd deeds upon me, spot my fame, Burden'd with something ominous : these men And make my body suffer, not my mind. Are things of subtle nature, and their oaths
When you have done this unreligious deed, Inconstant like themselves. Clovis may prove Conquer'd a poor weak maid, a trembling maid,
What trophy, or what triumph will it bring
More than a living scorn upon your name? Than had Aphelia brought me forth an heir, The ashes in your urn shall suffer fort,
Whom now you must remember as a sister. Virgins will sow their curses on your grave,
Clovis. O that in nature there was left an art Time blot your kingly parentage, and call
Could teach me to forget I ever loved Your birth in question. Do you think
This her great masterpiece ! 0 well-built frame, This deed will lie conceald ? the faults kings do Why dost thou harbour such unhallow'd guests, Shine like the fiery beacons on a hill,
To house within thy bosom perjury? For all to see, and, seeing, tremble at.
If that our vows are register'd in heaven, It's not a single ill which you commit;
Why are they broke on earth ? Aphelia, What in the subject is a petty fault
This was a hasty match, the subtle air Monsters your actions, and 's a foul offence : Has not yet cool'd the breath with which thou You give your subjects license to offend
Thyself into my soul; and on thy cheeks (sworest When you do teach them how.
The print and pathway of those tears remain,
I am no spirit ; taste my active pulse,
Clovis. Is there a God left so propitious
To rid me of my fears? still let her sleep,
For if she wake (O king !) she will appear I have a spell will lay thy honesty,
Too monstrous a spectre for frail eyes And this abused goodness.
To see and keep their senses.
Lamot. Are you mad ? Eun. Beat' down their swords—what do the
Clovis. Nothing so happy, Strephon ; would I princes mean?
In time's first progress I despair the hour [were! Ring out the 'larum-bell-call up the court
That brings such fortune with it ; I should then
And sing me into dreams of Paradise ;
Never more hang about her ivory neck,
Believing such a one Diana's was ; Persons.-Clovis, CLOTAIR, STREPHON, LAMOT the Never more doat she breathes Arabia, Physician, Eunuch, APuelIa.
Or kiss her coral lips into a paleness. In the sequel of the story, the guards of the king having Lamot. See,she's return'd, and with majestic gaze, fallen upon Clovis, he is apparently killed, but is never
In pity rather than contempt, beholds you. theless secretly cured of his wounds, and assumes a
Clovis. Convey me hence, some charitable man, disguise. In the mean time, the queen mother, anxious to get rid of Aphelia, causes one of her own paramours
Lest this same creature, looking like a saint, to dress in the armour of Prince Clovis, and to demand, Hurry my soul to hell; she is a fiend in the character of his ghost, that A phelia shall be sacri: Apparella like a woman, sent on earth ficed upon his hearse. Clotair pretends to comply with
For man's destruction. this sacrifice, and Aphelia is brought out to execution; but when all is ready, he takes the sword from the
Clotair. Rule your disorder'd tongue ; headsman, lays it at her feet, and declares her his queen. Clovis, what's past we are content to think Clovis attends in disguise, and the poet makes him
It was our brother spoke, and not our subject. behave with rather more composure than we should expect from his trying situation ; but when he sees his
Clovis. I had forgot myself, yet well remember mistress accept the hand of his royal brother, he at last Yon gorgon has transform'd me into stone; breaks out.
And since that time my language has been harsh, Clovis. WHERE am I?
My words too heavy for my tongue, too earthly ; Awake! for ever rather let me sleep.
I was not born so, trust me, Aphelia ; Is this a funeral ? ( that I were a hearse, Before I was possess'd with these black thoughts, And not the mock of what is pageantedt.
I could sit by thy side, and rest my head Clotair. Amazementquite confounds me—Clovis Upon the rising pillows of thy breast, alive!
Whose natural sweetness would invite mine eyes Lamot. Yes, sir, by my art he lives, though his To sink in pleasing slumbers, wake, and kiss desire
The rose-beds that afforded me such bliss ;
That eat'st into my marrow, turn'st my blood, Clotair. Into my soul I welcome thee, dear And makest my veins run poison, that each sense brother;
Groans at the alteration. Am I the Monsieur ! This second birth of thine brings me more joy
Does Clovis talk bis sorrows, and not act !
O man bewomanized ! Wert thou not mine? † A hearse, supposed to contain the corpse of Clovis,
How comes it thou art his ? forms a part of the pageant here introduced.