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30 In the dark hidden virtuous use of herbs.
That will I practise, and as freely give
All my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.
Of all green wounds I know the remedies

In men or cattle, be they stung with snakes,
35 Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked art;
Or be they love-sick, or through too much heat
Grown wild, or lunatic; their eyes, or ears,
Thicken'd with misty film of dulling rheum:
These I can cure, such secret virtue lies
40 In herbs applied by a virgin's hand.

My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,
Berries and chestnuts, plantains, on whose cheeks
The sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit

Pull'd from the fair head of the straight-grown pine. 45 On these I'll feed with free content and rest,

When night shall blind the world, by thy side bless'd.
and glass."

30. Virtuous: virtue (see below, 1. 39) once was occasionally employed to mean power, efficacy. Thus Milton, Il Penseroso, 113, speaks of "the virtuous ring

35. Wicked, baneful, as in the phrase "wicked dew" of the Tempest.

72. Philip Massinger. 1584-1640. (History, p. 92.)

From THE VIRGIN MARTYR.

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Dor. My book and taper.

Ang. Here, most holy mistress.

Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never

Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound.

5 Were every servant in the world like thee,
So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us: thy name is Angelo,

10

And like that name thou art. Get thee to rest;
Thy youth with too much watching is oppress'd.

Ang. No, my dear lady. I could weary stars,

And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven,
15 So blest I hold me in your company.

Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence;
For then you break his heart.

Dor. Be nigh me still, then.

20 In golden letters down I'll set that day,
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body, when I coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
25 My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand;
And when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom
Methought was fill'd with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
30 On wings of cherubims, than it did before.

Ang. Proud am I that my lady's modest eye
So likes so poor a servant.

Dor. I have offer'd

Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents. 35 I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some, To dwell with thy good father; for, the son Bewitching me so deeply with his presence, He that begot him must do't ten times more. I pray thee, my sweet boy, show me thy parents; 40 Be not ashamed.

Ang. I am not: I did never

Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace,
Fill'd with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare assure you,
And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand,

25. An alms: the s in alms is radical. See note 9, extract 13.

30. Cherubims: a double plural, the im being already a plur. termination in the Hebrew. It is as absurd as if we were to say oxens.

44. Pawn, in the sense of pledge. comes, according to Diez, from Lat. pannus (0. Fr. pan), a piece of cloth; though It. pegno would seem to refer it to Lat. pignus. Pawn, a man in chess, is Sp. peon, It. pedone, a foot soldier.

45 My father is in heaven; and, pretty mistress,
If your illustrious hour-glass spend his sand
No worse, than yet it doth, upon my life,
You and I both shall meet my father there,
And he shall bid you welcome.

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73. John Webster. Fl. 1623. (History, p. 93.)

From THE DUCHESS OF MALFY.

The Duchess's marriage with Antonio being discovered, her brother Ferdinand shuts her up in a prison, and torments her with various trials of studied cruelty. By his command, Bosola, the instrument of his devices, shows her the bodies of her husband and children counterfeited in wax, as dead.

5

Bos. He doth present you this sad spectacle,
That now you know directly they are dead,
Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve

For that which cannot be recovered.

Duch. There is not between heaven and earth one wish

I stay for after this: it wastes me more

Than were 't my picture fashion'd out of wax,

Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried

In some foul dunghill; and 'yond's an excellent property

10 For a tyrant, which I would account mercy.

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Duch. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk,
And let me freeze to death.

Bos. Come, you must live.

15 Leave this vain sorrow.

20

Things being at the worst begin to mend.

The bee,

When he hath shot his sting into your hand,

May then play with your eyelid.

Duch. Good comfortable fellow,

9. Property, peculiar quality; that which is proper (proprium) or peculiar to a person.

Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel
To have all his bones new set; entreat him live
To be executed again. Who must despatch me?
I account this world a tedious theatre,

25 For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.

30

Bos. Come, be of comfort; I will save your life.
Duch. Indeed I have not leisure to attend

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Duch. And those three smiling seasons of the year
Into a Russian winter: nay, the world

35 To its first chaos.

Plagues (that make lanes through largest families)
Consume them!

Let them like tyrants

Ne'er be remember'd but for the ill they've done!

40 Let all the zealous prayers of mortified

Churchmen forget them!

Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs,

To punish them! go, howl them this; and say, I long to bleed:
It is some mercy when men kill with speed.

37. Them, her brothers.

40. Mortified, who have mortified (made dead, fr. Lat. mortifico) their fleshly lusts;

and so ascetic. Compare Shakespeare's "Dumont is mortified," i. e. has become an ascetic.

74. James Shirley. 1594-1666. (History, p. 94.)
From THE CONTENTION OF AJAX AND ULYSSES.

The glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armour against fate;

Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late,

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now,

See, where the victor-victim bleeds:
Your heads must come

To the cold tomb;

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.

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