Bell. If you do hate, you could not curse me The gods have not a punishment in store [worse. Greater for me than is your hate. Phil. Fie, fie! so young and so dissembling. Tell me when and where **** Or plagues fall on me if I destroy thee not! Phil. Fear'st thou not death? Can boys contemn Can be content to live to be a man, That sees the best of men thus passionate, Thus without reason? Phil. Oh, but thou dost not know What 'tis to die! Bell. Yes, I do know, my lord: 'Tis less than to be born-a lasting sleep, A quiet resting from all jealousy, A thing we all pursue. I know, besides, [that? It is but giving o'er a game that must be lost. For perjured souls. Think but on these, and then Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjured, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with! If I be false, Send me to suffer in those punishments You speak of kill me! Phil. Oh! what should I do? Why who can but believe him? he does swear In the last scene of Philaster, the supposed youth, Bellario, is obliged to confess her sex, and accounts thus for her assumed disguise. Phil. But, Bellario, (For I must call thee still so) tell me why Bell. My father oft would speak Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow King. Search out a match Within our kingdom where and when thou wilt, Bell. Never, sir, will I Marry it is a thing within my vow: But if I may have leave to serve the princess, Arethusa. I, Philaster, Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady, Dress'd like a page, to serve you; nor will I Suspect her living here. Come, live with me, Live free as I do she that loves my lord, Curst be the wife that hates her! THE RECONCILEMENT OF MR. ROGER, THE CURATE, AND ABIGAIL. FROM THE SCORNFUL LADY, SCENE I. ACT IV. Abig. SEE how scornfully he passes by me, As though he had broken the heart of Bellarmine, Rog. Ungentle Abigail—— Abig. Why, Master Roger, will you set your wit To a weak woman's? Rog. You are weak, indeed; For so the poet sings. Abig. I do confess My weakness, sweet Sir Roger. Gentlewoman, or my good lady's gentlewoman, Abig. Well, well, hard-hearted man, you may Upon the weak infirmities of woman, [dilate [about you, Rog. I was a Christian fool, then. And then, out of the stir you put me in, Abig. Oh, be as then you were. Rog. I thank you for it. Surely I will be wiser, Abigail, You do I will not lose my oil and labour too. Abig. Oh, take it so, and then I am for thee. Rog. I like these symptoms well, and this humbling also, They are symptoms of contrition, as a father saith. If I should fall into my fit again, Would you not shake me into a quotidian coxcomb, Would you not use me scurvily again, And give me possets with purging comfits in them? I tell thee, gentlewoman,thou hast been harder to me Than a long chapter with a pedigree. Abig. Oh, curate, cure me; I will love thee better, dearer, longer! I will convert thy eggs to penny custards, As well shall testify this faithful kiss. Abig. Oh, Sir, you've pierced me thorough! Here A recantation to those malicious faults [I vow I ever did against you. Never more JULIO TANTALIZED BY BUSTOPHA ABOUT THE FATE OF HIS NEPHEW ANTONIO. THE MAID OF THE MILL, ACT IV. SCENE II. Jul. My mind's unquiet; while Antonio But I cannot shift 'em off. This hatred I would 'twere reconciled; it has lasted I could repent it heartily. I sent Yet he returns no comfort to me neither. Bust. No, I must not. "Twill break his heart to hear it. Jul. How there's bad tidings. I must obscure and hear it: he'll not tell it Bust. I havespied him. Now to knock down a don With a lie a silly, harmless lie: 'twill be Valiantly done, and nobly, perhaps. Jul. I cannot hear him now. Bust. Oh, the bloody days that we live in! Jul. Now I hear too loud. Bust. The children that never shall be born may rue, For men that are slain now, might have lived Jul. Oh, my posterity is ruin'd. Bust. Oh, sweet Antonio! Jul. O dear Antonio ! Bust. Yet it was nobly done of both parts, When he and Lisauro met. Jul. Oh, death has parted them! Bust. Welcome, my mortal foe! says one; My deadly enemy! says t'other. Off go their doublets, Then he puts by with a puncta reversa. Lisauro Jul. Oh ! Bust. Runs Antonio Quite through. Jul. Oh, villain ! Bust. Quite through, between the arm And the body, so that he had no hurt at that bout. Jul. Goodness be praised! Bust. But then, at next encounter, He fetches me up Lisauro; Lisauro Makes out a lunge at him, which he thinking Jul, Oh, now thou art lost! Bust. Oh, but the quality of the thing; both gentlemen, Both Spanish Christians-yet one man to shedJul. Say his enemy's blood. Bust. His hair may come By divers casualties, though he never go Jul. There he concludes-he is gone. Bust. But all this is nothing,-now I come to With telling of a tale. Oh, foul tale! no, be silent, Tell me the danger full. Take off your care I'll forgive my death! What thou keep'st back from truth, Thou shalt speak in pain: do not look to find Jul. Where didst thou leave him? Bust. In the same clothes he had on when he went from you. Jul. Does he live? Bust. I saw him drink. Jul. Is he not wounded? Bust. He may have a cut i' the leg by this time, For Don Martino and he were at whole slashes. Jul. Met he not with Lisauro? Bust. I do not know her. Jul. Her! Lisauro is a man, as he is. A fight betwixt Antonio and Lisauro? I hope a man may give himself the lie Jul. Didst thou lie then? Bust. As sure as you live now. Jul. I live the happier by it. When will he return? Bust. That he sent me to tell you-within these Ten days at farthest. Jul. Ten days! he's not wont To be absent two. Bust. Safe, do you hear! take notice What plight you find me in. If there want but a Or a steak of me, look to 't. Jul. If my nephew Return not in his health to-morrow, To the rack. [collop, thou goest Bust. Let me go to the manger first, I'd rather eat oats than hay. ין EDITH PLEADING FOR THE LIFE OF HER FATHER. FROM THE TRAGEDY OF ROLLO DUKE OF NORMANDY. ACT III. Persons of the scene-ROLLO, Duke of Normandy; HAMOND, Captain of the Guard; BALDWIN, Tutor of the Prince; EDITH, BALDWIN'S Daughter. Rollo. Go, take this dotard here (pointing to Baldwin), and take his head Off with a sword. Ham. Your schoolmaster! Bald. For teaching thee no better: 'tis the best Edith. O stay there, Duke, And, in the midst of all thy blood and fury, Oh! stay your haste, as I shall need your mercy. If there be any spark of pity in you; I do confess you are a prince-your anger 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 hinders me! That never yet were heaved but to things holy, [pity. Rollo. By heaven I'll strike thee, woman! Edith. Most willingly-let all thy anger seize me, All the most studied tortures, so this good man, This old man, and this innocent escape thee. Rollo. Carry him away, I say. Edith. Now blessing on thee! Oh, sweet pity, I see it in thine eyes. I charge you, soldiers, Ev'n by the Prince's power, release my father! The Prince is merciful-why do you hold him? The Prince forgets his fury-why do you tug him! He is old-why do you hurt him? Speak, oh speak, Speak, as you are a man-a man's life hangs, Sir, Rollo. Will no man here obey me? Have I no rule yet? As I live, he dies Ham. Lady, hold off. Edith. No, hew 'em ; Hew off my innocent hands, as he commands you, And to thy face, in heav'n's high name, defy thee; 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, Thy people's fears and curses, and my loss, My aged father's loss, shall stand before thee : Ferret. Here he is, pumping for it. Ginks. H' has cough'd the second time, 'tis but And then it comes. [once more, Ferret. So out with all! Expect nowHig. That thou art chosen, venerable Clause, Our king, and sovereign monarch of the maunders, Thus we throw up our nab-cheats first for joy, And then our filches; last we clap our fambles_ Three subject signs-we do it without envy. For who is he here, did not wish thee chosen ? Now thou art chosen, ask them-all will say so Nay, swear't 'tis for the King: but let that pass. Rise moved, and gravely leaning on one crutch, I then presaged thou shortly wouldst be king. Give him leave to spit-the fine, well-spoken Hig. This is the beard, the bush, or bushy beard, Under whose gold and silver reign 'twas said So many ages since, we all should smile. No impositions, taxes, grievances ! Knots in a state, and whips unto a subject, Lie lurking in this beard, but all kemb'db out. If, now, the beard be such, what is the Prince That owes the beard? A father? no-a grandfather? Nay, the great-grandfather of you his people. He will not force away your hens, your bacon, When you have ventured hard for't; nor take from The fattest of your puddings. Under him Each man shall eat his own stol'n eggs and butter, In his own shade or sunshine, and enjoy His own dear doll doxy, or mort at night In his own straw, with his own shirt or sheet, That he hath filch'd that day-ay, and possess What he can purchase-back or belly cheats To his own prop. He will have no purveyors For pigs and poultry. [you Clause. That we must have, my learned orator, It is our will-and every man to keep In his own path and circuit. Hig. Do you hear? [says. You must hereafter maund on your own pads, he Clause. And what they get there is their own; To give good words Hig. Do you mark, to cut been whids, That is the second law. [besides, DISTANT VIEW OF THE ROMAN ARMY ENGAGING THE BRITONS. FROM THE TRAGEDY OF BONDUCA, SCENE V. ACT III. SEE that huge battle moving from the mountains, yield, lady; You must adore and fear the power of Rome. Bond. If Rome be earthly, why should any knee With bending adoration worship her? She's vicious, and your partial selves confess Aspires the height of all impiety. Therefore 'tis fitter I should reverence The thatched houses where the Britons dwell In careless mirth; where the bless'd household gods See nought but chaste and simple purity. 'Tis not high power that makes a place divine, Nor that the men from gods derive their line; But sacred thoughts, in holy bosoms stored, Make people noble, and the place adored. Suet. Beat the wall deeper. Bond. Beat it to the centre, We will not sink one thought. Suet. I'll make ye. Bond. No. 2nd Daughter. Oh, mother, these are fearful hours!-speak gently. e The Roman who makes this speech is supposed to be reclining, overcome with fatigue, and going to snatch a momentary repose. |