Ordella, in " Thierry and Theodoret," is rated extravagantly high by Charles Lamb. According to his judgment she "is the most perfect idea of the female heroic character, next to Calantha in The Broken Heart' of Ford, that has been embodied in fiction." He also thinks the first scene of the fourth act, where she offers herself joyously as a sacrifice, the finest in Fletcher. It is quoted in Lamb's " Specimens." The death scene in the last act has much rapturous feeling. Thierry is dying of poison administered by his mother, Brunhalt. Just as the latter is carried off to execution, Ordella, whom both considered dead, enters and says to Brunhalt:

"I do forgive you; And though you sought my blood, yet I'll pray for you." Thierry exclaims:

THI. What's that appears so sweetly?

There's that face

MART. Be moderate, lady!

THI. That's angel's face-
MART. Go nearer.

THI. Martell, I cannot last long! See the soul

(I see it perfectly) of my Ordella, The heavenly figure of her sweetness, there!

Forgive me, gods! it comes! Divinest substance!

Kneel, kneel, kneel, every one! Saint of thy sex,

If it be for my cruelty thou comest-
Do ye see her, hoa?

MART. Yes, sir; and you shall know her.

THI. Down, down again!-To be revenged for blood!

Sweet spirit, I am ready. She smiles on

me!

Oh, blessed sign of peace!

MART. Go nearer, lady.

ORD. I come to make you happy.
THI. Hear you that, sirs?

She comes to crown my soul: Away, get sacrifice!

Whilst I with holy honors

MART. She is alive, sir.

THI. In everlasting life; I know it, friend :

Oh, happy, happy soul !

ORD. Alas, I live, sir,
A mortal woman still.

THI. Can spirits weep too?
MART. She is no spirit, sir; pray kiss

her.

Lady, be very gentle to him!

THI. Stay-she is warm; And by my life, the same lips! Tell me brightness,

Are you the same Ordella still?
MART. The same, sir,

Whom Heavens and my good angel stayed

from ruin.

2 DocT. They are gone forever. MART. The peace of happy souls go after them!

Bear them unto their last beds, whilst I study

This old man, and this innocent, escape thee!

ROLLO. Carry him away, I say! EDITH. Now, blessing on thee! Oh, sweet pity,

Time lasteth.

I am your king in sorrows.

Edith, in "The Bloody Brother," a tragedy which well bears out in criminal

incident the idea which the title would suggest, is a character of some force of delineation in parts, but not consistently sustained. The second scene of the third act, however, where she pleads passionately for her father's life, has great merit. Duke Rollo, a man steeped in crime to the lips, orders the execution of Baldwin, Edith's father. She steps forward and kneels, exclaiming,

Oh, stay there Duke;

[Coming forward and kneeling. And, in the midst of all thy blood and fury,

Hear a poor maid's petitions, hear a daugh

ter,

The only daughter of a wretched father! Oh, stay your haste, as you shall need this mercy!

ROLLO. Away with this fond woman!
EDITH. You must hear me,

If there be any spark of pity in you,
If sweet humanity and mercy rule you!
I do confess you are a prince, your anger
As great as you, your execution greater-
ROLLO. Away with him!

EDITH. Oh, captain, by thy manhood, By her soft soul that bare thee-I do confess, sir,

Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous

Good noble prince, look on me!
ROLLO. Take her from me!

EDITH. A curse upon his life that hin-
ders me!

May father's blessing never fall upon him, May Heaven ne'er hear his prayers! I be

seech you,

Oh, sir, these tears beseech you, these chaste hands woo you,

That never yet were heaved but to things holy,

Things like yourself! You are a god

above us;

Even by the prince's power, release my

father!

'Tis but a word, but mercy quickly spoke, Oh, speak, prince, speak!

sir.

ROLLO. Will no man here obey me? Have I no rule yet? As I live, he dies That does not execute my will, and suddenly!

BALD. All that thou canst do takes but one short hour from me.

ROLLO. Hew off her hands!
HAM. Lady, hold off!
EDITH. No, hew 'em :

Hew off my innocent hands, as he commands you!

They'll hang the faster on for death's convulsion.

[Exit BALDWIN with the guard. Thou seed of rocks, will nothing move thee then?

Are all my tears lost, all my righteous prayers

Drown'd in thy drunken wrath? I stand up thus, then ; Thus boldly, bloody tyrant ;

And to thy face, in Heaven's high name, defy thee;

And may sweet mercy, when thy soul sighs for it;

When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles,

When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold,

Can stay one hour; when thy most wretched conscience,

Waked from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee; When all thy mother's tears, thy brother's wounds,

EDITH. Wilt thou not take me, monster? Highest Heaven,

Give him a punishment fit for his mischief!

[Falls down.

There is one striking peculiarity in Beaumont and Fletcher's delineation of love. They generally make it an all absorbing passion, "wild as the wind and blind as death and ignorance," which no sense of honor or religion can control, which goes madly to its object, sacrificing every other principle and motive, and breaking in a moment, all the obligations and duties of father, mother, brother and friend. It is all impulse-sometimes an impulse of appetite, sometimes of passion, sometimes of sentiment, but ever as resistless as the impulses of insanity. Most of their lovers are in fact "Mad Lovers."

The lyrics in Beaumont and Fletcher's plays have long been famous for their force and sweetness of sentiment, and ethereal lightness of expression. They are scattered with a bountiful spirit over many of their dramas. Most of them, we have reason to believe, were by Fletcher. The lyrical portions of the "Faithful Shepherdess" Milton condescended to imitate in "Comus." One of the most celebrated of his songs is in "The Bloody Brother." Edith, the daughter of Baldwin, whom Rollo had murdered, invites the latter to a banquet with the intention of revenging her fa

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow.
Are of those that April wears;
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

In "The Nice Valor," the passionate lord sings the following lyric, the original, it is supposed, of Milton's "Il Penseroso," and one of the finest proofs of Fletcher's genius:

Hence all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights

There's nought in this life sweet,
Wherein you spend your folly!
If man were wise to see't,

But only melancholy;
Oh, sweetest melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up, without a sound!
Fountain heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls!

A midnight bell, a parting groan! These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley

Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

Aspatia, in "The Maid's Tragedy," she, who sings "the mournfullest things that ever ear hath heard," has one song of exquisite simplicity and pathos:

Lay a garland on my hearse,
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say I died true;

My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!

"The Faithful Shepherdess" would afford many beautiful lyrics, worthy of quotation. The hymn to Pan, in the last scene, is one of the finest. It is sung by the shepherds and shepherdesses, as they strew the ground with flowers.

All ye woods, and trees, and bowers,
All ye virtues and ye powers
That inhabit in the lakes,
In the pleasant springs or brakes,
Move your feet

To our sound, Whilst we greet

All this ground,

With his honor and his name
That defends our flock from blame

SAT. Thou divinest, fairest, brightest, Thou most powerful maid, and whitest, Thou most virtuous and most blessed, Eyes of star, and golden tressed Like Apollo! tell me, sweetest, What new service now is meetest For the Satyr? Shall I stray In the middle air, and stay The sailing rack, or nimbly take Hold by the moon, and gently make Suit to the pale queen of night For a beam to give thee light? Shall I dive into the sea, And bring thee coral, making way Through the rising waves that fall In snowy fleeces? Dearest, shall I catch thee wanton fawns, or flies Whose woven wings the summer dyes Of many colours? get thee fruit, Or steal from Heaven old Orpheus' lute? All these I'll venture for, and more,

To do her service all these woods adore.

In The Mad Lover," there are two sweet and serious hymns to Venus, which we extract:

Oh, fair sweet goddess, queen of loves,
Soft and gentle as thy doves,
Humble-eyed, and ever ruing
Those poor hearts, their loves pursuing!
Oh, thou mother of delights,
Crowner of all happy nights,
Star of dear content and pleasure,
Of mutual loves the endless treasure!
Accept this sacrifice we bring,
Grant this lady her desires,
Thou continual youth and spring,

And every hour we'll crown thy fires.

Oh, divinest star of Heaven,
Thou, in power above the seven :
Thou sweet kindler of desires,
Till they grow to mutual fires:
Thou, oh, gentle queen, that art
Curer of each wounded heart:
Thou, the fuel and the flame:
Thou, in heaven, here the same:
Thou, the wooer and the woo'd:
Thou, the hunger and the food :
Thou, the prayer and the pray'd;
Thou, what is, or shall be said:
Thou, still young and golden tressed,
Make me by thy answer blessed!

From the same play we quote a war song which has all the bustle, discord and dust of a real combat. The very words seem to shout and charge:

Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in.

Keep your ranks close, and now your hon ors win,

Behold from yonder hill the foe appears; Bows, bills, glaves, arrows, shields and spears;

Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;

Oh, view the wings of horse the meadow scouring.

The van-guard marches bravely. Hark,

the drums,

dub, dub.

They meet, they meet, and now the battle

comes.

See how the arrows fly,

That darken all the sky;

Hark how the trumpets sound,
Hark how the hills rebound!

Tara, tara. Hark how the horse charge! in boys, boys in!

The battle totters; now the wounds begin;
Oh, how they cry,
Oh, how they die!
Room for the valiant Memnon arm'd with
thunder !

See how he breaks the ranks asunder. They fly, they fly! Eumenes has the chase,

And brave Polybius makes good his place.
To the plains, to the woods,
To the rocks, to the floods,
They fly for succor. Follow, follow,
follow,

Hark how the soldiers hollow! Hey, hey!
Brave Diocles is dead,
And all his soldiers fled,
The battle's won and lost,
That many a life has cost.

In the following, which we cut from "A Wife for a Month," there is a striking personification of abstract qualities:

Come, ye servants of proud Love,

Come away:

Fairly, nobly, gently move!
Too long, too long you make us stay.
Fancy, Desire, Delight, Hope, Fear,
Distrust, and Jealousy, be you too here;
Consuming Care, and raging Ire,
And Poverty in poor attire,
March fairly in, and last Despair.
Now full music strike the air.

Lelia in "The Captain," is an enchantress delineated with more than Fletcher's usual art. She entices men with their eyes open to all her faults. Julio, knowing her wickedness, still offers her marriage. Angelo, a merry gentleman," says despairingly:

66

"I have read Epictetus Twice over against the desire of these outward things

And still her face runs in my mind."

The following song has a true Circean richness and strength:

Come hither, you that love, and hear me sing

And in an hour, with my enchanting song, You shall be ever pleased, and young maids long.

in

The song of Apollodorus to Cleopatra, "The False One," the last we can quote, has a most searching sweetness and melody:

Look out, bright eyes, and bless the air:
Shut-up beauty is like fire,
Even in shadows you are fair.

That breaks out clearer still, and higher.
Though your body be confined,

And soft love a prisoner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind

Neither check nor chain hath found.
Look out nobly then, and dare
Even the fetters that you wear.