FROM THE BONDMAN.

ACT V. SCENE III-The Court of Justice.

Enter TIMOLEON, ARCHIDAMUS, CLEORA, and Officers.
Timol. 'Tis wondrous strange! nor can it fall
within

The reach of my belief, a slave should be
The owner of a temperance which this age
Can hardly parallel in freeborn lords,
Or kings proud of their purple.

Archid. "Tis most true;

And though at first it did appear a fable,
All circumstances meet to give it credit;
Which works so on me, that I am compell'd
To be a suitor, not to be denied,
He may have equal hearing.

Cleo. Sir, you graced me

With the title of your mistress; but my fortune
Is so far distant from command, that I
Lay by the power you gave me, and plead humbly,
For the preserver of my fame and honour.
And pray you, sir, in charity believe,
That since I had ability of speech,

My tongue has been so much inured to truth,
I know not how to lie.

Timol. I'll rather doubt

The oracles of the gods than question what
Your innocence delivers; and, as far

As justice and mine honour can give way,
He shall have favour. Bring him in unbound:
[Exeunt Officers.

And though Leosthenes may challenge from me,
For his late worthy service, credit to

All things he can allege in his own cause,
Marullo, so, I think, you call his name,
Shall find I do reserve one ear for him,

[Enter CLEON, ASOTUS, DIPHILUS, OLYMPIA, and CORISCA. To let in mercy. Sit and take your places; The right of this fair virgin first determined, Your bondmen shall be censured.

Cleon. With all rigour,

We do expect.

Coris. Temper'd, I say, with mercy.

Enter at one door LEOSTHENES and TIMAGORAS; at the other, Officers with PISANDER and TIMANDRA.

Timol. Your hand, Leosthenes: I cannot doubt, You, that have been victorious in the war, Should, in a combat fought with words, come off But with assured triumph.

Leost. My deserts, sir,

If, without arrogance, I may style them such,
Arm me from doubt and fear.

Timol. 'Tis nobly spoken.

Nor be thou daunted (howsoe'er thy fortune Has mark'd thee out a slave) to speak thy merits: For virtue, though in rags, may challenge more Than vice set off with all the trim of greatness.

Pisan. I had rather fall under so just a judge, Than be acquitted by a man corrupt And partial in his censure.

Archid. Note his language;

It relishes of better breeding than
His present state dares promise.

Timol. I observe it.

Place the fair lady in the midst, that both,

Looking with covetous eyes upon the prize They are to plead for, may, from the fair object, Teach Hermes eloquence.

Leost. Am I fallen so low?

My birth, my honour, and what's dearest to me,
My love, and witness of my love, my service,
So undervalued, that I must contend
With one, where my excess of glory must
Make his o'erthrow a conquest? Shall my fulness
Supply defects in such a thing, that never
Knew any thing but want and emptiness,
Give him a name, and keep it such, from this
Unequal competition? If my pride,
Or any bold assurance of my worth,
Has pluck'd this mountain of disgrace upon me,
I am justly punish'd, and submit; but if
have been modest, and esteem'd myself
More injured in the tribute of the praise,
Which no desert of mine, prized by self-love,
Ever exacted, may this cause and minute
For ever be forgotten. I dwell long
Upon mine anger, and now turn to you,
Ungrateful fair one; and, since you are such,
"Tis lawful for me to proclaim myself,
And what I have deserved.

Cleo. Neglect and scorn

From me, for this proud vaunt.
Leost. You nourish, lady,

Your own dishonour in this harsh reply,
And almost prove what some hold of your sex;
You are all made up of passion: for if reason
Or judgment could find entertainment with you,
Or that you would distinguish of the objects
You look on, in a true glass, not seduced
By the false light of your too violent will,
I should not need to plead for that which you
With joy should offer. Is my high birth a blemish?
Or does my wealth, which all the vain expense
Of women cannot waste, breed loathing in you,
The honours I can call mine own thoughts, scan-
dals?

Am I deform'd, or, for my father's sins,
Mulcted by nature? If you interpret these
As crimes, 'tis fit I should yield up myself
Most miserably guilty. But, perhaps,
(Which yet I would not credit,) you have seen
This gallant pitch the bar, or bear a burden
Would crack the shoulders of a weaker bondman;
Or any other boisterous exercise,
Assuring a strong back to satisfy

Your loose desires, insatiate as the grave.
Cleo. You are foul-mouth'd.

Archid. Ill-manner'd too.

Leost. I speak

In the way of supposition, and entreat you,
With all the fervour of a constant lover,
That you would free yourself from these aspersions,
Or any imputation black-tongued slander
Could throw on your unspotted virgin whiteness:
To which there is no easier way, than by
Vouchsafing him your favour; him, to whom
Next to the general, and the gods and fautors,
The country owes her safety.

Timag. Are you stupid?

'Slight! leap into his arms, and there ask pardon

Oh! you expect your slave's reply; no doubt
We shall have a fine oration! I will teach
My spaniel to howl in sweeter language,
And keep a better method.

Archid. You forget

The dignity of the place.
Diph. Silence!

Timol. [To Pisander.] Speak boldly.

Pisan. "Tis your authority gives me a tongue,
I should be dumb else; and I am secure,
I cannot clothe my thoughts, and just defence,
In such an abject phrase, but 'twill appear
Equal, if not above my low condition.
I need no bombast language, stolen from such
As make nobility from prodigious terms

The hearers understand not; I bring with me
No wealth to boast of, neither can I number
Uncertain fortune's favours with my merits;
I dare not force affection, or presume
To censure her discretion, that looks on me
As a weak man, and not her fancy's idol.
How I have loved, and how much I have suffer'd,
And with what pleasure undergone the burden
Of my ambitious hopes, (in aiming at
The glad possession of a happiness,
The abstract of all goodness in mankind
Can at no part deserve,) with my confession
Of mine own wants, is all that can plead for me.
But if that pure desires, not blended with
Foul thoughts, that, like a river, keeps his course,
Retaining still the clearness of the spring
From whence it took beginning, may be thought
Worthy acceptance; then I dare rise up,
And tell this gay man to his teeth, I never
Durst doubt her constancy, that, like a rock,
Beats off temptations, as that mocks the fury
Of the proud waves; nor, from my jealous fears,
Question that goodness to which, as an altar
Of all perfection, he that truly loved
Should rather bring a sacrifice of service,
Than raze it with the engines of suspicion:
Of which, when he can wash an Ethiop white,
Leosthenes may hope to free himself;
But, till then, never.

Timag. Bold, presumptuous villain!

Pisan. I will go further, and make good upon

him,

Timag. 'Tis the bold Theban!

Asot. There's no hope for me then :

I thought I should have put in for a share, And borne Cleora from them both; but now This stranger looks so terrible, that I dare not So much as look on her.

Pisan. Now as myself,

Thy equal at thy best, Leosthenes.

For you, Timagoras, praise heaven you were born
Cleora's brother, 'tis your safest armour.
But I lose time.-The base lie cast upon me,
I thus return: Thou art a perjured man,
False, and perfidious, and hast made a tender
Of love and service to this lady, when
Thy soul, if thou hast any, can bear witness,
That thou were not thine own: for proof of this,
Look better on this virgin, and consider,
This Persian shape laid by, and she appearing
In a Greekish dress, such as when you first saw
her,

If she resemble not Pisander's sister,
One call'd Statilia?

Leost. "Tis the same! my guilt
So chokes my spirits, I cannot deny
My falsehood, nor excuse it.

Pisan. This is she,

To whom thou wert contracted: this the lady,
That, when thou wert my prisoner, fairly taken
In the Spartan war, that begg'd thy liberty,
And with it gave herself to thee, ungrateful!

Statil. No more, Sir, I entreat you: I perceive
True sorrow in his looks, and a consent
To make me reparation in mine honour;
And then I am most happy.

Pisan. The wrong done her

Drew me from Thebes, with a full intent to kill thee;

But this fair object met me in my fury,

And quite disarm'd me. Being denied to have

her,

By you, my lord Archidamus, and not able
To live far from her; love, the mistress of
All quaint devices, prompted me to treat
With a friend of mine, who, as a pirate, sold me
For a slave to you, my lord, and gave my sister
As a present to Cleora.

Timol. Strange meanders!

Pisan. There how I bare myself, needs no relation,

But, if so far descending from the height

Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest
Condition of a man, to have means only

To feed my eye with the sight of what I honoured;
The dangers too I underwent, the sufferings:
The clearness of my interest, may deserve
A noble recompense in your lawful favour;
Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes

Can claim no interest in you, you may please
To think upon my service.

Cleo. Sir, my want

Of power to satisfy so great a debt,
Makes me accuse my fortune; but if that,
Out of the bounty of your mind, you think
A free surrender of myself full payment,
I gladly tender it.

FROM "THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE." Giovanni, nephew to the Duke of Florence, taking leave of Lidia, the daughter of his tutor Charomonte. Persons.-CHAROMONTE; CONTARINO, the DUKE's Secretary; GIOVANNI; and LIDIA.

Char. THIS acknowledgment

Enter LIDIA.

Binds me your debtor ever.-Here comes one In whose sad looks you easily may read What her heart suffers, in that she is forced

To take her last leave of you.

Cont. As I live,

A beauty without parallel!
Lid. Must you go, then,

So suddenly?

Giov. There's no evasion, Lidia,

To gain the least delay, though I would buy it
At any rate. Greatness, with private men
Esteem'd a blessing, is to me a curse;

And we, whom, for our high births, they conclude
The only freemen, are the only slaves.
Happy the golden mean! had I been born
In a poor sordid cottage, not nursed up
With expectation to command a court,

I might, like such of your condition, sweetest,
Have ta'en a safe and middle course, and not,
As I am now, against my choice, compell'd
Or to lie grovelling on the earth, or raised
So high upon the pinnacles of state,

That I must either keep my height with danger,
Or fall with certain ruin.

Lid. Your own goodness

Will be your faithful guard.
Giov. O, Lidia.

Cont. So passionate!

Giov. For, had I been your equal,

I might have seen and liked with mine own eyes,
And not, as now, with others; I might still,
And without observation, or envy,
As I have done, continued my delights
With you, that are alone, in my esteem,
The abstract of society: we might walk
In solitary groves, or in choice gardens;
From the variety of curious flowers
Contemplate nature's workmanship, and wonders;
And then, for change, near to the murmur of
Some bubbling fountain, I might hear you sing,
And, from the well-tuned accents of your tongue,
In my imagination conceive

With what melodious harmony a choir

Of angels sing above their Maker's praises. 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.

Gior. 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.
Pont. But wherefore lets he such a barbarous law,
And men more barbarous to excute 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 moneys borrow'd bought the lender's peace,
And all the means they enjoy, nor were diffused
In any impious or licentious path? [trunk,

Beau. True! for my part, were it my father's 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

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

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 berne by four, preceded by a Priest. Captains, Lieutenants, Ensigns, and Soldiers; Mourners, Scutcheons, dc, and very good order. ROMONT and CHARALOIS, followed by the Jailers 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 a while.-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

mine.

[weeps.
What! weep ye, soldiers? blanch not.-Romont
Ha! let me see! my miracle is eased,
The jailers 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 per-
fume!...

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,
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

[selves:

A hearty oak, grew'st close to this tall pine,
Even in the wildest wilderness of war,
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.

THERE dwells a people on the earth,
That reckons true allegiance treason,
That makes sad war a holy mirth,
Calls madness zeal, and nonsense reason;
That finds no freedom but in slavery,
That makes lies truth, religion knavery,
That rob and cheat with yea and nay:
Riddle me, riddle me, who are they?
They hate the flesh, yet kiss their dames,
That make kings great by curbing crowns,
That quench the fire by kindling flames,
That settle peace by plund'ring towns,
That govern with implicit votes,
That 'stablish truth by cutting throats,
That kiss their master and betray:
Riddle me, riddle me, who are they?

That make Heaven speak by their commission,
That stop God's peace and boast his power
That teach bold blasphemy and sedition,
And pray high treason by the hour,
That damn all saints but such as they are,
That wish all common, except prayer,

That idolize Pym, Brooks, and Say:
Riddle me, riddle me, who are they?
That to enrich the commonwealth,
Transport large gold to foreign parts;
That house't in Amsterdam by stealth,
Yet lord it here within our gates;
That are staid men, yet only stay
For a light night to run away;

That borrow to lend, and rob to pay:
Riddle me, riddle me, who are they?

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 ex

SONG.

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover!
Pr'ythee 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?

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.

At Charing-Cross, hard by the way
Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,
There is a house with stairs:

And there did I see coming down
Such folks as are not in our town,
Vorty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine,
(His beard no bigger though than thine,)
Walk'd on before the rest:

Our landlord looks like nothing to him:
The king (God bless him) 'twou'd undo him,
Shou'd he go still so drest.

At Course-a-park, without all doubt,

He should have first been taken out
By all the maids i' the town:

[* Rather 12,000l. See Percy's Reliques, vol. ii. p. 356, where the ludicrous song Mr. Campbell refers to may be found.-C.]

pended 1200/.* 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 nail,t 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.

Though lusty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the Green,
Or Vincent of the Crown.

But wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his wooing;
The parson for him stay'd:
Yet by his leave, for all his haste,
He did not so much wish all past

(Perchance) as did the maid.
The maid-and thereby hangs a tale-
For such a maid no Whitson ale
Could ever yet produce:
No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.

Her finger was so small, the ring
Wou'd not stay on which they did bring,
It was too wide a peck:

And to say truth (for out it must)
It look'd like the great collar (just)
About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they fear'd the light:
But oh! she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter day

Is half so fine a sight.

He wou'd have kiss'd her once or twice,
But she wou'd not, she was so nice,
She wou'd not do't in sight:
And then she look'd as who shou'd say

I will do what I list to-day;

And you shall do't at night.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,

(Who sees them is undone) For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Katherine pear,

The side that's next the sun.

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