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And then with chaste discourse, as we return'd, Imp feathers to the broken wings of time :And all this I must part from.

Cont. You forget

The haste upon us.

Giov. One word more,
And then I come. And after this, when, with
Continued innocence of love and service,
I had grown ripe for hymeneal joys,
Embracing you, but with a lawful flame,
I might have been your husband.
Lid. Sir, I was,

And ever am, your servant; but it was,
And 'tis, far from me in a thought to cherish
Such saucy hopes. If I had been the heir
Of all the globes and sceptres mankind bows to,
At my best you had deserved me ; as I am,
Howe'er unworthy, in my virgin zeal
I wish you, as a partner of your bed,

A princess equal to you; such a one
That may make it the study of her life,
With all the obedience of a wife, to please you.
May you have happy issue, and I live

To be their humblest handmaid!

Giov. I am dumb,

And can make no reply.

Cont. Your excellence

Will be benighted.

Giov. This kiss, bathed in tears, May learn you what I should say.

FROM THE FATAL DOWRY*.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Enter PONTALIER, MALOTIN, and BEAUMONT, Mal. 'Tis strange.

Beau. Methinks so.

Pont. In a man but young,

Yet old in judgment; theorick and practick
In all humanity, and to increase the wonder,
Religious, yet a soldier; that he should
Yield his free-living youth a captive for
The freedom of his aged father's corpse,
And rather choose to want life's necessaries,
Liberty, hope of fortune, than it should
In death be kept from Christian ceremony.

Mal. Come, 'tis a golden precedent in a son,
To let strong nature have the better hand,
In such a case, of all affected reason.
What years sit on this Charalois ?

Beau. Twenty-eight:

For since the clock did strike him seventeen old,
Under his father's wing this son hath fought,
Served and commanded, and so aptly both,
That sometimes he appeared his father's father,
And never less than 's son; the old man's virtues
So recent in him, as the world may swear,
Nought but a fair tree could such fair fruit bear.

* Mr. Gifford, in his edition of Massinger, has few doubts that it was written by Field.

Pont. But wherefore lets he such a barbarous law, And men more barbarous to execute it, Prevail on his soft disposition,

That he had rather die alive for debt

Of the old man, in prison, than they should
Rob him of sepulture; considering
These monies borrow'd bought the lenders peace,
And all the means they enjoy, nor were diffused
In any impious or licentious path?

Beau. True! formy part, were it my father's trunk, The tyrannous ram-heads with their horns should gore it,

Or cast it to their curs, than they less currish,
Ere prey on me so with their lion-law,
Being in my free will, as in his, to shun it.

Pont. Alas! he knows himself in poverty lost. For in this partial avaricious age

What price bears honour? virtue ? long ago
It was but praised, and freezed; but now-a-days
'Tis colder far, and has nor love nor praise :
The very praise now freezeth too; for nature
Did make the heathen far more Christian then,
Than knowledge us, less heathenish, Christian.

Mal. This morning is the funeral? Pont. Certainly.

And from this prison,-'twas the son's request, That his dear father might interment have, See, the young son enter'd a lively grave!

Beau. They come :-observe their order.

Solemn Music. Enter the Funeral Procession. The Coffin borne by four, preceded by a Priest. Captains, Lieutenants, Ensigns, and Soldiers; Mourners, Scutcheons, &c. and very good order. ROMONT and CHARALOIS, followed by the Gaolers and Officers, with Creditors, meet it.

Charal. How like a silent stream shaded with
And gliding softly with our windy sighs, [night,
Moves the whole frame of this solemnity!
Tears, sighs, and blacks filling the simile;
Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove

Of death, thus hollowly break forth. Vouchsafe
[To the bearers.
To stay awhile.-Rest, rest in peace, dear earth!
Thou that brought'st rest to their unthankful lives,
Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death !
Here stands thy poor exécutor, thy son,
That makes his life prisoner to bail thy death;
Who gladlier puts on this captivity,
Than virgins, long in love, their wedding weeds.
Of all that ever thou hast done good to,
These only have good memories; for they
Remember best forget not gratitude.

I thank you for this last and friendly love :
[To the Soldiers.
And though this country, like a viperous mother,
Not only hath eat up ungratefully
All means of thee, her son, but last, thyself,
Leaving thy heir so bare and indigent,
He cannot raise thee a poor monument,
Such as a flatterer or a usurer hath ;

Thy worth, in every honest breast, builds one, Making their friendly hearts thy funeral stone.

Pont. Sir.

Charal. Peace! Oh, peace! this scene is wholly That yet ne'er made his horse run from a foe.

Lieutenant, thou this scarf; and may it tie
Thy valour and thy honesty together!
For so it did in him. Ensign, this cuirass,
Your general's necklace once. You, gentle bearers,
Divide this purse of gold; this other strew
Among the poor; 'tis all I have. Romont-
Wear thou this medal of himself-that, like
A hearty oak, grew'st close to this tall pine,
Even in the wildest wilderness of war, [selves :
Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired them-
Wounded and hack'd ye were, but never fell'd.
For me, my portion provide in heaven !———
My root is earth'd, and I, a desolate branch,
Left scatter'd in the highway of the world,
Trod under foot, that might have been a column
Mainly supporting our demolish'd house.
This would I wear as my inheritance-
And what hope can arise to me from it,
When I and it are both here prisoners!
*His father's sword.

mine.

What! weep ye, soldiers? blanch not.-Romont

weeps.

Ha! let me see! my miracle is eased,

The gaolers and the creditors do weep;
Even they that make us weep, do weep themselves.
Be these thy body's balm! these and thy virtue
Keep thy fame ever odoriferous,

Whilst the great, proud, rich, undeserving man,
Alive stinks in his vices, and being vanish'd,
The golden calf, that was an idol deck'd
With marble pillars, jet, and porphyry,
Shall quickly, both in bone and name, consume,
Though wrapt in lead, spice, searcloth, and perfume!

Priest. On.

Charal. One moment more,

But to bestow a few poor legacies,

All I have left in my dead father's rights,
And I have done. Captain, wear thou these spurs,

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

[Born, 1608. Died, 1641]

SUCKLING, who gives levity its gayest expression, was the son of the comptroller of the household to Charles I. Langbaine tells us that he spoke Latin at five years of age; but with what correctness or fluency we are not informed. His versatile mind certainly acquired many accomplishments, and filled a short life with many pursuits, for he was a traveller, a soldier, a lyric and dramatic poet, and a musician. After serving a campaign under Gustavus Adolphus, he returned to England, was favoured by Charles I., and wrote some pieces, which were exhibited for the amusement of the court with sumptuous splendour. When the civil wars broke out he expended 12007.*

SONG.

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover!
Prythee why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Pr'ythee why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner!
Pr'ythee why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Pr'ythee why so mute?

[* Rather 12.000. See Percy's Reliques, vol. ii. p. 356, where the ludicrous song Mr. Campbell refers to may be found.]

on the equipment of a regiment for the king, which was distinguished, however, only by its finery and cowardice. A brother poet crowned his disgrace with a ludicrous song. The event is said to have affected him deeply with shame; but he did not live long to experience that most incurable of the heart's diseases. Having learnt that his servant had robbed him, he drew on his boots in great haste; a rusty nailt, that was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel, and produced a mortification, of which he died. His poems, his five plays, together with his letters, speeches, and tracts, have been collected into one volume.

Quit, quit for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her :-
The devil take her!

A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING.

I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen :
O things without compare !*
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at wake, or fair.

[ Oldys says the blade of a penknife, whilst Aubrey affirms that he was poisoned. The nail or blade may have been poisoned.]

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When in he came (Dick) there she lay,
Like new-fal'n snow melting away,
'Twas time, I trow, to part.
Kisses were now the only stay,
Which soon she gave, as who wou'd say,
Good b'ye, with all my heart.

But just as heavens wou'd have to cross it, In came the bridemaids with the posset; The bridegroom eat in spite;

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN, who is highly praised by Lord Clarendon, was the brother of the treasurer

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN.

[Born, 1610. Died, 1642.]

Hopes, which do from favour flourish, May perhaps as soon expire

As the cause which did them nourish, And disdain'd they may retire; But love is another fire.

For if beauty cause thy passion,
If a fair resistless eye
Melt thee with its soft expression,
Then thy hopes will never die,
Nor be cured by cruelty.

For had he left the women to't
It wou'd have cost two hours to do't,
Which were too much that night.

THE FOLLOWING LINES ARE FOUND IN MS. IN MR. MALONE'S COLLECTION.

'Tis affection but dissembled, Or dissembled liberty,

To pretend thy passion changed

With changes of thy mistress' eye,
Following her inconstancy.

At length the candle's out, and now
All that they had not done, they do!
What that is, who can tell?
But I believe it was no more
Than thou and I have done before
With Bridget and with Nell!

Godolphin. He flourished and perished in the civil wars.

He

WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT was the son of an innkeeper at Cirencester, who had been reduced to that situation by spending a good estate. was a king's scholar at Westminster, and took orders at Oxford, where he became, says Wood, "a most florid and seraphic preacher." Bishop Duppa, his intimate friend, appointed him succentor of the church of Salisbury in 1642. In the same year he was one of the council of war, or delegacy, appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing troops sent by the king to protect, or as the opposite party alleged, to overawe the universities. His zeal in this service occasioned his being imprisoned by the parliamentary forces on their arrival; but he

*

"Tis not scorn that can remove thee,
For thou either wilt not see

Such loved beauty not to love thee,
Or will else consent that she
Judge not as she ought of thee.
Thus thou either canst not sever
Hope from what appears so fair,
Or, unhappier, thou canst never
Find contentment in despair,
Nor make love a trifling care.
There are seen but few retiring

Steps in all the paths of love,
Made by such who in aspiring

Meeting scorn their hopes remove;
Yet even these ne'er change their love.

WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.

[Born, 1611. Died, 1643.]

was speedily released on bail. Early in the year 1643 he was appointed junior proctor of his university, and also reader in metaphysics. The latter office we may well suppose him to have filled with ability, as, according to Lloyd's account, he studied at the rate of sixteen hours a day: but he survived his appointment to it for a very short time, being carried off by a malignant fever, called the camp-disease, which was then epidemical at Oxford. Cartwright died in his thirty-second year; but he lived long enough to earn the distinguishing praise of Ben Jonson, who used to say of him, “My son, Cartwright, writes all like a man."

When I am absent, as I must go from you
(Such is the cruelty of my fate), and leave you,
Unguarded, to the violent assaults
Of loose temptations; when the memory
Of my so many years of love and service

Is lost in other objects; when you are courted
By such as keep a catalogue of their conquests,
Won upon credulous virgins; when nor father
Is here to owe you, brother to advise you.
Nor your poor servant by, to keep such off,
By lust instructed how to undermine,
And blow your chastity up; when your weak senses,
At once assaulted, shall conspire against you,
And play the traitors to your soul, your virtue;
How can you stand? 'Faith, though you fall, and I
The judge, before whom you then stood accused,
I should acquit you.

Cleo. Will you then confirm
That love and jealousy, though of different natures,
Must of necessity be twins; the younger
Created only to defeat the elder,

PISANDER DECLARING HIS PASSION FOR
CLEORA, IN THE INSURRECTION OF THE
SLAVES OF SYRACUSE.

FROM THE SAME.

chamber,

My tomb, if you miscarry: there I'll spend
My hours in silent mourning, and thus much
Shall be reported of me to my glory,
And you confess it, whether I live or die,
My chastity triumphs o'er your jealousy.

Enter PISANDER, speaking, at the door, to the
Insurgents.

Pisander. HE that advances

A foot beyond this, comes upon my sword:
You have had your ways, disturb not mine.
Timandra. Speak gently,

Her fears may kill her else.

Pisan. Now Love inspire me !
Still shall this canopy of envious night
Obscure my suns of comfort? and those dainties
Of purest white and red, which I take in at
My greedy eyes, denied my famish'd senses ?—
The organs of your hearing yet are open;
And you infringe no vow, though you vouchsafe
To give them warrant to convey unto
Your understanding parts, the story of
A tortured and despairing lover, whom
Not fortune but affection marks your slave:
Shake not, best lady! for believe't, you are
As far from danger as I am from force:
All violence I shall offer, tends no further
Than to relate my sufferings, which I dare not
Presume to do, till, by some gracious sign,
You show you are pleased to hear me.
Timand. If you
Hold forth your right hand.

re,

And spoil him of his birthright? 'tis not well.
But being to part, I will not chide, I will not;
Nor with one syllable or tear, express
How deeply I am wounded with the arrows
Of your distrust: but when that you shall hear,
At your return, how I have borne myself,
And what an austere penance I take on me,
To satisfy your doubts; when, like a vestal,
I show you, to your shame, the fire still burning,
Committed to my charge by true affection,
The people joining with you in the wonder;
When by the glorious splendour of my sufferings,
The prying eyes of jealousy are struck blind,
The monster too that feeds on fears, e'en starved
For want of seeming matter to accuse me ;
Expect, Leosthenes, a sharp reproof
From my just anger.

Leost. What will you do?

Cleo. Obey me,

Or from this minute you are a stranger to me;
And do't without reply. All-seeing sun,
Thou witness of my innocence, thus I close
Mine eyes against thy comfortable light,
Till the return of this distrustful man!
Now bind them sure ;-nay, do't: [He binds her
eyes.] If, uncompell'd,

I loose this knot, until the hands that made it
Be pleased to untie it, may consuming plagues
Fall heavy on me! pray you guide me to your lips.
This kiss, when you come back, shall be a virgin
To bid you welcome; nay, I have not done yet:
I will continue dumb, and, you once gone,
No accent shall come from me. Now to my Which you see is effected; and, even now,
When my rebellious passions chide my dulness,
And tell me how much I abuse my fortunes,
Now it is in my power to bear you hence,
[CLEORA starts.

[CLEORA holds forth her right hand.
Pisan. So 'tis done; and I
With my glad lips seal humbly on your foot,
My soul's thanks for the favour: I forbear
To tell you who I am, what wealth, what honours
I made exchange of, to become your servant :
And, though I knew worthy Leosthenes
(For sure he must be worthy, for whose love
You have endured so much) to be my rival ;
When rage and jealousy counsell'd me to kill him,
Which then I could have done with much more ease,
Than now, in fear to grieve you, I dare speak it,
Love, seconded with duty, boldly told me
The man I hated, fair Cleora favour'd:
And that was his protection.

[CLEORA bows.

Timand. See, she bows

Her head in sign of thankfulness.
Pisan. He removed by

The occasion of the war, (my fires increasing

I

By being closed and stopp'd up,) frantic affection
Prompted me to do something in his absence,
That might deliver you into my power,

Or take my wishes here, (nay, fear not, madam;
True love 's a servant, brutish lust a tyrant,)

I dare not touch those viands that ne'er taste well,
But when they're freely offer'd only thus much,

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