Yet never thunder signified so much.
And (what did more impress whate'er she said)
Methought her whispers were my injured Queen's,
Her manner just like hers! and when she urged,
Among a thousand things, the injury
I did the faithfulest princess in the world;
Who now supposed me sick, and was perchance
Upon her knees offering up holy vows
For him who mock'd both Heaven and her, and was
Now breaking of that vow he made her, when
With sacrifice he call'd the gods to witness;
When she urged this, and wept, and spake so like
My poor deluded Queen, Pyrrhus, I trembled;
Almost persuaded that it was her angel
Spake through Urania's lips, who for her sake
Took care of me, as something she much loved.
It would be long to tell thee all she said,
How oft she sigh'd, how bitterly she wept :
But the effect-Urania still is chaste;
And with her chaster lips hath promised to
Invoke blest Heaven for my intended sin.
ALL FOOLS: A COMEDY, BY GEORGE CHAPMAN. 1605.
Love's Panegyric.
'tis Nature's second sun,
Causing a spring of virtues where he shines;
And as without the sun, the world's great eye,
All colours, beauties, both of art and nature,
Are given in vain to man; so without love
All beauties bred in women are in vain,
All virtues born in men lie buried;
For love informs them as the sun doth colours:
And as the sun, reflecting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fruits and flowers,
So love, fair shining in the inward man,
Brings forth in him the honourable fruits
Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts,
Brave resolution, and divine discourse.
Love with Jealousy.
such love is like a smoky fire
In a cold morning. Though the fire be cheerful,
Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome,
'Twere better lose the fire than find the smoke.
I walking in the place where men's law suits
Are heard and pleaded, not so much as dreaming
Of any such encounter; steps me forth
Their valiant foreman with the word “I'rest you.”
I made no more ado but laid these paws
Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth;
And there sat he on his posteriors
Like a baboon; and turning me about,
I straight espied the whole troop issuing on me.
I step me back, and drawing my old friend here,
Made to the midst of them, and all unable
To endure the shock, all rudely fell in rout,
And down the stairs they ran in such a fury,
As meeting with a troop of lawyers there
Mann'd by their clients (some with ten, some with twenty,
Some five, some three; he that had least had one),
Upon the stairs, they bore them down afore them.
But such a rattling then there was amongst them,
Of ravish'd declarations, replications,
Rejoinders, and petitions, all their books
And writings torn, and trod on, and some lost,
That the poor lawyers coming to the bar
Could say naught to the matter, but instead
Were fain to rail, and talk beside their books,
Without all order.
THE LATE LANCASHIRE WITCHES: A COMEDY, BY THOMAS HEYWOOD.
A Household bewitched.
My uncle has of late become the sole
Discourse of all the country; for of a man respected
As master of a govern'd family,
The house (as if the ridge were fix'd below,
And groundsels lifted up to make the roof)
All now's turn'd topsy-turvy,
In such a retrograde and preposterous way
As seldom hath been heard of, I think never.
The good man
In all obedience kneels unto his son;
He with an austere brow commands his father.
The wife presumes not in the daughter's sight
Without a prepared curtsy; the girl she
Expects it as a duty; chides her mother,
makes and trembles at each word she speaks.
And what's as strange, the maid—she domineers
O'er her young mistress, who is awed by her.
The son, to whom the father creeps and bends,
Stands in as much fear of the groom his man!
All in such rare disorder, that in some
As it breeds pity, and in others wonder,
So in the most part laughter. It is thought,
This comes by Witchcraft.
WIT IN A CONSTABLE: A COMEDY,
BY HENRY GLAPTHORN.
Collegian. Did you, ere we departed from the college,
O'erlook my library?
Servant. Yes, sir; and I find,
Although you tell me Learning is immortal,
The paper and the parchment 'tis contain❜d in
Savours of much mortality.
The moths have eaten more
Authentic learning, than would richly furnish
A hundred country pedants; yet the worms
Are not one letter wiser.
ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM HIS TRUE AND LAMENTABLE TRAGEDY. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. 1592. ALICE ARDEN with MOSBIE her Paramour conspire the murder of her husband.
Mos. How now, Alice, what sad and passionate?
Make me partaker of thy pensiveness;
Fire divided burns with lesser force.
Al. But I will dam that fire in my breast,
Till by the force thereof my part consume.
Ah Mosbie!
Mos. Such deep pathaires, like to a cannon's burst,
Discharged against a ruinated wall,
Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces.
Ungentle Alice, thy sorrow is my sore;
Thou know'st it well, and 'tis thy policy
To forge distressful looks, to wound a breast
Where lies a heart which dies when thou art sad.
It is not Love that loves to anger Love.
Al. It is not Love that loves to murder Love.
Mos. How mean you that?
Al. Thou know'st how dearly Arden loved me.
Mos. And then-
Al. And then-conceal the rest, for 'tis too bad,
Lest that my words be carried to the wind,
And publish'd in the world to both our shames.
I pray thee, Mosbie, let our spring-time wither:
Our harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds.
Forget, I pray thee, what has past betwixt us:
For I now blush and tremble at the thoughts.
Mos. What, are you changed?
Al. Ay, to my former happy life again;
From title of an odious strumpet's name
To honest Arden's wife, not Arden's honest wife-
Ah Mosbie! 'tis thou hast rifled me of that,
And made me slanderous to all my kin.
Ev'n in my forehead is thy name engraven,
A mean artificer, that low-born name!
I was bewitch'd; wo-worth the hapless hour
And all the causes that enchanted me!
Mos. Nay, if thou ban, let me breathe curses forth;
And if you stand so nicely at your fame,
Let me repent the credit I have lost.
I have neglected matters of import,
That would have 'stated me above thy state;
Forslow'd advantages, and spurn'd at time;
Ay, Fortune's right hand Mosbie hath forsook,
To take a wanton giglot by the left.
I left the marriage of an honest maid,
Whose dowry would have weigh'd down all thy wealth;
Whose beauty and demeanour far exceeded thee.
This certain good I lost for changing bad,
And wrapp'd my credit in thy company.
I was bewitch'd; that is no theme of thine:
And thou unhallow'd hast enchanted me.
But I will break thy spells and exorcisms
And put another sight upon these eyes,
That show'd my heart a raven for a dove.
Thou art not fair; I view'd thee not till now:
Thou art not kind; till now I knew thee not:
And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt,
Thy worthless copper shows thee counterfeit.
It grieves me not to see how foul thou art,
But mads me that ever I thought thee fair.
Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds;
I am too good to be thy favourite.
Al. Ay, now I see, and too soon find it true,
Which often hath been told me by my friends,
That Mosbie loves me not but for my wealth;
Which too incredulous I ne'er believed.
Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two;
I'll bite my tongue if I speak bitterly.
Look on me, Mosbie, or else I'll kill myself.
Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look;
If thou cry war, there is no peace for me.
I will do penance for offending thee;
And burn this prayer-book, which I here use,
The Holy Word that has converted ine.
See, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaves,
And all the leaves; and in this golden cover
Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell,
And thereon will I chiefly meditate,
And hold no other sect but such devotion.
Wilt thou not look? is all thy love o'erwhelm'd?
Wilt thou not hear? what malice stops thy ears?
Why speak'st thou not? what silence ties thy tongue?
Thou hast been sighted as the eagle is,
And heard as quickly as the fearful hare,
And spoke as smoothly as an orator,
When I have bid thee hear, or see, or speak:
And art thou sensible in none of these?
Weigh all thy good turns with this little fault,
And I deserve not Mosbie's muddy looks.
A fence of trouble is not thicken'd still :
Be clear again; I'll ne'er more trouble thee.
Mos. O fie, no; I am a base artificer;
My wings are feather'd for a lowly flight.
Mosbie, fie, no; not for a thousand pound
Make love to you; why, 'tis unpardonable.
We beggars must not breathe, where gentles are.
Al. Sweet Mosbie is as gentle as a king,
And I too blind to judge him otherwise.
Flowers sometimes spring in fallow lands :
Weeds in gardens, roses grow on thorns:
So, whatsoe'er my Mosbie's father was,
Himself is valued gentle by his worth.
Mos. Ah, how you women can insinuate,
And clear a trespass with your sweet-set tongue!
I will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice,
Provided I'll be tempted so no more.
ARDEN, with his friend FRANKLIN, travelling at night to ARDEN'S house at Feversham, where he is lain in wait for by Ruffians, hired by ALICE and MOSBIE to murder him; FRANKLIN is in
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