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They would have given him generous education,
Another dialect than was taught me when
Aret. Some strong waters,-oh!
Lit. Comfits will be as comfortable to your
Aret. I fear he's spoil'd for ever: he did name
To alter's complexion.
Kick. If you dare
Trust me to serve him
Fred. Mr. Steward, are you sure we do not dream? Was❜t not my aunt you talk'd to?
Stew. One that loves you
Dear as her life. These clothes do not become you; You must have better, sir.
Fred. These are not old.
Stew. More suitable to the town and time. We
The case is alter'd since we lived in the country;
Fred. My lady keeps a court then? Is Sir Thomas Affected with this state and cost?
Stew. He was not,
But is converted. But I hope you will not
Fred. I shall submit,
If this be my aunt's pleasure, and be ruled.
FROM CHABOT ADMIRAL OF FRANCE*."
The Queen insulting the Wife and Father of the accused Admiral in their misfortunes.
Persons.-The Constable of France, Queen, Wife and Father of CHABOT.
Constable introducing the Wife of CHABOT. Cons. SHE attends you, madam.
Queen. This humbleness proceeds not from your heart;
Why, you are a queen yourself in your own thoughts;
The admiral's wife of France cannot be less; You have not state enough, you should not move Without a train of friends and servants.
[* As Chapman had certainly the larger share in this Tragedy, the specimen should have been placed by Mr. Campbell under Chapman. Gifford at first thought 'Chabot' was scarce admissible in a collection of Shirley's Works.]
You are my queen, unto that title bows
Wife. So just and boldly innocent.
I cannot fear, arm'd with a noble conscience,
Queen. Forgive? What insolence is like this lanCan any action of ours be capable [guage? Of thy forgiveness? Dust! how I despise thee! Can we sin to be object of thy mercy?
Wife. Yes, and have done 't already, and no stain To your greatness, madam; 'tis my charity, I can remit; when sovereign princes dare Do injury to those that live beneath them, They turn worth pity and their prayers, and 'tis In the free power of those whom they oppress To pardon 'em ; each soul has a prerogative And privilege royal that was sign'd by Heaven. But though, in th' knowledge of my disposition, Stranger to pride, and what you charge me with, I can forgive the injustice done to me, And striking at my person, I have no Commission from my lord to clear you for The wrongs you have done him, and till he pardon The wounding of his loyalty, with which life Can hold no balance, I must talk just boldness To say
Father. No more! Now I must tell you, daughter, Lest you forget yourself, she is the queen, And it becomes you not to vie with her Passion for passion: if your lord stand fast To the full search of law, Heaven will revenge him, And give him up precious to good men's loves. If you attempt by these unruly ways To vindicate his justice, I'm against you; Dear as I wish your husband's life and fame, Subjects are bound to suffer, not contest With princes, since their will and acts must be Accounted one day to a Judge supreme.
Wife. I ha' done. If the devotion to my lord, Or pity to his innocence, have led me Beyond the awful limits to be observed By one so much beneath your sacred person, I thus low crave your royal pardon, madam; [Kneels. I know you will remember, in your goodness, My life-blood is concern'd while his least vein Shall run black and polluted, my heart fed With what keeps him alive; nor can there be A greater wound than that which strikes the life Of our good name, so much above the bleeding
Of this rude pile we carry, as the soul
Queen. Your conscience comes about, and you inTo fear he may be worth the law's condemning. Wife [rising]. I sooner will suspect the stars may lose
[Born, 1620. Died, 1666.]
ALEXANDER BROME was an attorney in the Lord Mayor's Court. From a verse in one of his poems, it would seem that he had been sent once in the civil war (by compulsion no doubt), on the parliament side, but had staid only three days, and never fought against the king and the cavaliers. He was in truth a strenuous loyalist, and the bacchanalian songster of his party. Most of the songs and epigrams that were published against the Rump have been ascribed to him. He had besides a share in a translation of Horace, with Fanshawe, Holiday, Cowley, and others, and published a single comedy, the Cunning Lovers,
TELL me not of a face that's fair,
Nor of the tresses of her hair,
Nor curls in order laid Nor of a rare seraphic voice, That like an angel sings; Though if I were to take my choice,
I would have all these things. But if that thou wilt have me love, And it must be a she; The only argument can move Is, that she will love me.
The glories of your ladies be But metaphors of things, And but resemble what we see
Their way, and crystal Heaven return to chaos;
Each common object brings. Roses out-red their lips and cheeks. Lilies their whiteness stain: What fool is he that shadows seeks,
And may the substance gain! Then if thou'lt have me love a lass, Let it be one that's kind, Else I'm a servant to the glass That's with Canary lined.
which was acted in 1651, at the private house in Drury. There is a playful variety in his metre, that probably had a better effect in song than in reading. His thoughts on love and the bottle have at least the merit of being decently jovial, though he arrays the trite arguments of convivial invitation in few original images. In studying the traits and complexion of a past age, amusement, if not illustration, will often be found from the ordinary effusions of party ridicule. In this view the Diurnal, and other political satires of Brome, have an extrinsic value as contemporary caricatures.
HERRICK'S vein of poetry is very irregular; but where the ore is pure, it is of high value. His song beginning, "Gather ye rose-buds, while ye may," is sweetly Anacreontic. Nichols, in his History of Leicestershire, has given the fullest account of his history hitherto published, and reprinted many of his poems, which illustrate his family connexions. He was the son of an eminent goldsmith in Cheapside, was born in London, and educated at Cambridge. Being patronised by the Earl of Exeter, he was, in 1629, presented by Charles I. to the vicarage of Dean Prior, in Devonshire, from which he was ejected during the civil war, and then having assumed the habit of a layman, resided in Westminster. After the Restoration he was replaced in his vicarage.
For angels or for queens, pray know 'Tis our own fancy makes you so.
Don't suppose your Majesty
By tyranny's best signified, And your angelic Natures be
Distinguish'd only by your pride. Tyrants make subjects rebels grow, And pride makes angels devils below, And your pride may make you so!
THE MAD LOVER.
I HAVE been in love, and in debt, and in drink— This many and many a year;
And those three are plagues enough, one would For one poor mortal to bear. [think,
'Twas drink made me fall into love,
And love made me run into debt ;
And though I have struggled, and struggled and I cannot get out of them yet. [strove,
There's nothing but money can cure me, And rid me of all my pain;
"Twill pay all my debts,
And my mistress that cannot endure me,
To his Hesperides, or works human and divine*, he added some pieces on religious subjects, where his volatile genius was not in her ele
[* What is Divine' has much of the essence of poetry; that which is human, of the frailty of the flesh. Some are playfully pastoral, some sweetly Anacreontic, some in the higher key of religion, others lasciviously wanton and unclean. The whole collection seems to have passed into oblivion till about the year 1796, and since then we have had a separate volume of selections, and two complete reprints. His several excellences have preserved his many indecencies, the divinity of his verse (poetically speaking) the dunghill of his obscener moods. Southey, admitting the perennial beauty of many of his poems, has styled him, not with too much severity, a coarseminded and beastly writer.' Jones' Attempts in Verse, p. 85; see also Quar. Rev. vol. iv. p. 171.]