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 J PERKINS LIBRARY 
 
 Uiuce University 
 Kare Docks 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
i 
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, 
 
 IN FOURTEEN VOLUMES: 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 INTRODUCTION AND EXPLANATORY NOTES, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY WEBER, Esq. 
 
 VOLUME THE THIRTEENTH, 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 
 THE MAID OF THE MILL. 
 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 THE LOVERS' PROGRESS. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 Printed by James Ballantyne and Company, 
 
 FOR P. C. AND J. RIVXNGTON ; LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND CO.; 
 WHITE, COCHRANE, AND CO.; W. MILLER; J. MURRAY; R. H. EVANS J 
 R. SCUOLBY; J. MAWMAN ; AND GALE AND CURTIS ; LONDON : 
 AND FOR 
 JOHN BALLANTYNE AND CO.; AND DOIG AND STIRLING; r.DINBURGH. 
 
 1812. 
 
V, /5 
 
 THE 
 
 TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 
 
 BY 
 
 FLETCHER & SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 VOL. XIII. 
 
 463238 
 
THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 
 
 Ijf what year this tragedy was produced we are utterly at a 
 loss to decide, as there is no evidence upon which any opinion can 
 be grounded with the least chance of success. It was first printed 
 in quarto with the following title — " The Two Noble Kinsmen : 
 presented at the Blackfriers by the Kings ftlajesties servants, with 
 great Applause: written by the memorable Worthies of their Time, 
 3Ir John Fletcher, and Mr William Shakspeare, Gent. Printed at 
 London, by Tho. Cotes, for John Watersone ; and are to be sold at 
 the signe of the Crowne, in Pauls Church-Yard, I631-." The cu- 
 rious question whether Shakspeare actually assisted in the compo- 
 sition of this drama will be found amply discussed at the conclusion. 
 
 The celebrated Knight's Tale of Cliaucer, founded upon the Te- 
 seide of Boccaccio, is the foundation Irom whence the present tra- 
 gedy is derived. It had been previously dramatised by Richard 
 Edwards, whose Palamon and Arcite, in two parts, was acted be- 
 fore Queen Elizabeth in 1566, and printed in 1585. From the 
 curious manuscripts of Henslovve, which have been printed by Mv 
 JNIalone, it appears, that another play with the same title was 
 brought on the stage Sept. 17, 1594, on which the same commen- 
 tator supposes The Two Noble Kinsmen was founded. That the 
 present play was favourably received at its first appearance is 
 proved by the old title-page. In l66S, an alteration was brought 
 ottt at the Duke of York's Theatre, entitled The Rivals, which 
 Langbaine, on the authority of the publisher, has ascribed to Sir 
 William Davenant. It was acted with great applause. Neither 
 the original, nor the alteration, however, have been performed for 
 a long series of years. 
 
 The play is, in every respect, worthy of the two authors to whom 
 it has been ascribed; being replete with a most noble strain of 
 poetry, and the principal characters being well supported through- 
 
 463238 
 
( 4 ) 
 
 out. It was difficult to discriminate those of Palamon and Arcite, 
 but the poets have succeeded to admiration. Thej are both equally 
 noble and generous; but there are shades of difference in their cha- 
 racters, which are properly sustained, and appear very evident in 
 every scene where they appear. The Jailor's Daughter, which is 
 our authors* own addition to Chaucer's Tale, has been long ad- 
 mired as an extremely well-wrought copy of Ophelia. As the last 
 editors remark, ihe principal defect of the piece is, its being ra- 
 ther a tale than a drama, an objection which may be offered against 
 many of the contemporary plays, and particularly against those 
 of Shakspcare. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 [Flourish. 
 Nevt plays and maidenheads are near a-kin ; 
 Much follow'd both, for both much money gi'en, 
 If they stand sou. id, and well : And a good play 
 (Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage-day, 
 And shake to lose his honour) is like her 
 That after holy tie, and first night's stir, 
 Yet still is modesty, and still retains 
 More of the maid to sight than hu-.band*s pains. 
 We pray our play may be so ; for I'm sure 
 It has a noble breeder, and a pure, 
 A learned, and a poet never went 
 More famous yet *twixt Po and silver Trent : 
 Chaucer (of all admired) the story gi?es ; 
 There constant to eternity it lives ! 
 If we let fall the nobleness of this, 
 And the first sound this child hear be a hiss, 
 How will it shake the bones of that good man, 
 And make him cry from under-ground, " Oh, fan 
 From me the witless chaff of such a writer 
 That blasts my bays, and my famed works makes lighter 
 Than Robin Hood !" This is the fear we bring; 
 For, to say truth, it were an endless thing. 
 And too ambitious, to aspire to him. 
 Weak as we are, and almost breathless swim, 
 In this deep water, do but you hold out 
 Your helping hands, and we will tack about, 
 And something do to save us : you shall hear 
 Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear 
 Worth two hours* travel. To his bones sweet sleep I 
 Content to you !— If this play do not keep 
 A little dull time fn>m us, we perceive 
 Our losses fall so thick} we must needs leave. [Flourish. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSON^/ 
 
 Theseus, Duke of Athens. 
 
 Palamon, > The Two Noble Kinsmen^ in love with 
 
 Arcite, y Emilia, 
 
 Perithous, an Atheiiion getieraU 
 
 Artesius, a captain. 
 
 Valerius, a Tlieban nobleman. 
 
 Six imliant knights. 
 
 Herald. 
 
 Jailor, 
 
 TVooer to the Jailor's daughter. 
 
 FrienZ } '" "'' •^'''^'■- 
 
 Gerrold, a schoolmaster. 
 
 A Tabor er^ Countrymen, Soldiers, S^c. 
 
 Hippolita, bride to Theseus. 
 
 Emilia, her sister. 
 
 Three queens. 
 
 Jailor s daughter, in love with Palamon. 
 
 Servant to Emilia. 
 
 Nymphs, Wenches, S^c, 
 
 SCENE, — Athens, and in Part of the first Act, 
 Thebes. 
 
 * Hymen has hitherto stood as a personage of this drama, and 
 cyan the first : As he only appears in the dumb-show, we have 
 expunged the name. The Wooer, though a character of some 
 consideration, has always been omitted ; and so has Valerius.-— 
 Ed. 1778. 
 
 The editors have still passed over the Brother and the Friends 
 of the Jailor, and Artesius, who, howeveV, is only a mute. 
 
THE 
 
 TWO NOBLE KINSMEN 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Athens, Before the Temple, 
 
 Music. Enter Hymen with a torch burning; a 
 Boy. in a white robe, before, singing, and strezv- 
 ing flowers ; after Hvmen, a Nymph, encompassed 
 in her tresses, bearing a wheat en Garland ; then 
 Theseus, between two other Nymphs, with wheat- 
 en chaplets on their heads; then Hippoliia, led 
 by Perithous,' ajid another holding a Garland 
 over her heady her tresses likezvist hanging ; after 
 her, EuiLiAy holding up her train. Artesivs and 
 Attendants, 
 
 SONG. * 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 
 Not royal in their smells alone, 
 
 ' Then Hippolita the bride led by Theseus.] Mr Theobald very 
 justly changed Theseus here to PcnY^oi/y.-^Seward, 
 
8 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 But in their hue ; 
 Maiden-pin ks, oj odour faint, 
 Daisies smelUless, yet most quaint, 
 
 And sweet thime time ; 
 
 Primrose, Jirst-born child of Ver, 
 Merry spring-times harbinger, 
 
 With her bells dim ; 
 O so lips in their cradles growing. 
 Marigolds on death-beds blowing, 
 
 Lark-heels trim; 
 
 All, dear Nature's children sweet. 
 Lie fore bride and bridegroom's feet, 
 
 Blefising their sense ! [Strewing flowers. 
 Not an angel of the air,* 
 Bird melodious, or bird fair, 
 
 Be absent hence ! 
 
 Tlie craw, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
 The boding raven, nor chough hoar^ 
 
 * "Not an angel of the air.] Mr Theobald here hit upon an 
 emendation, which we are informed he was remarkably fond of; 
 but which is one of the strangest conceptions which ever entered 
 the head of a commentator. He wishes, in short, to enrich our 
 lant^uage with the word augel, from the Italian augello. But angel 
 is frequently used for bird. Thus in the Virgin Martyr, by Mas- 
 singer and Dekkar :— 
 
 " The Roman angeVs wings shall melt, 
 And Caesar*s diadem be from his head 
 Spurned by base feet." 
 
 It is singular enough that Mr M. Mason, in his edition of Mas- 
 singer, confidently asserts, that in this passage, angel should be 
 changed to avgel, and yet, in his comments on the present play, 
 should vote for the old text, and adduce the very passage from the 
 Virgin Martyr in support of it. See a very curious note on the sub- 
 ject in Mr Gifford's Massinger, vol. I. p, 35. 
 
 J The boding raven, nor clough he 
 Nor chatt'ring pie.] Clough he, which is the reading of all the 
 
Scene L] KINSMEN. 9 
 
 Nor chattering pie, 
 May on our bridehouse perch or sing, 
 Or with them any discord bring. 
 
 But from itjly! 
 
 Enter three Queens, in blacky with veils stained, with 
 Imperial Crowns. The first Queen falls down at 
 the foot o/' Theseus; the second falls down at the 
 foot o/'Hippolita; the third before Emilia. 
 
 1 Queen. For pity's sake, and true gentility's. 
 Hear and respect me ! 
 
 2 Queen. For your mother's sake, 
 
 And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair 
 
 ones. 
 Hear, and respect me ! 
 
 3 Queen. Now for the love of him whom Jove 
 
 hath mark'd 
 The honour of your bed, and for the sake 
 Of clear virginity, be advocate 
 For us, and our distresses ! This good deed 
 
 editions, is neither sense nor rhyme. My dictionaries at least have 
 no such bird as dough. Chough is Shalvspeare and Fletcher's name 
 of a jack-daw, of which Ray says, Postica pars capitis cinerascit. 
 But he (and from him the Oxford editor) mistakes in making the 
 chough the coracias a frequenter of the Cornish-Cliffs only, which 
 has no such gray feathers. Besides Shakspeare*s chough feeds on 
 corn, for Autolicus, in the Wmter's Tale, says, " My choughs are 
 scared from the chaff." So that the chough must be the daw or 
 the rook, which has often grey feathers on the head and back. See 
 Ray on Birds. There can be no reason to doubt, therefore, of our 
 having got the true substantive ; for he we must have an adjective 
 that suits the chough, and also rhymes to 7ior ; hoar will do both, 
 the chough having greyish feathers on his head, from whence Shak- 
 speare calls him the russet -pated chough. Midsummer-Night's 
 Dream. — Seward. 
 
 The chough is a bird resembling the scald-crow, but smaller, the 
 head end back of which is of a greyish colouv,^m,Mason, 
 
10 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 Shall raze you out o' the book of trespasses 
 All you are set down there. 
 
 Ihcs. Sad lady, rise ! 
 
 Hip. Stand up ! 
 
 Eini. No knees to me ! What woman I 
 May sted, that is distress'd, does bind me to her. 
 
 Thes. What's your request? Deliver you for all. 
 
 1 Quten. We are three Queens, whose sovereigns 
 fell before 
 The wrath of cruel Creon ; who endured* 
 The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites, 
 And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes. 
 He will not suffer us to burn their bones, 
 To urn their ashes, nor to take th' offence 
 Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye 
 Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds 
 With stench of our slain lords. Oh, pity, duke ! 
 Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd sword 
 That does good turns to th' world ; give us the 
 
 bones 
 Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them ! 
 And of thy boundless goodness, take some note 
 That for our crowned heads we have no roof 
 Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's, 
 And vault to every thing ! 
 
 Thes. Pray you kneel not! 
 I was transported with your speech, and suffer*d 
 Your knees to wrong themselves. 1 have heard 
 
 the fortunes 
 Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting 
 As wakes my vengeance and revenge for 'em. 
 King Capaneus was your lord : The day 
 
 ♦ Who endured] Mason wishes to read endure, and I should be 
 inclined to adopt his variation, but possibly the text means — who 
 have hitherto, ever since the balllt, endured the beaks of ravens, &c. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 11 
 
 That he should marry you, at such a season 
 As now it is with me, I met your groom 
 By Mars's altar; you were that time fair, 
 Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses, 
 Nor in more bounty spread her;' your wheaten 
 
 wreath 
 Was then nor thresh'd nor blasted; Fortune at you 
 Dimpled her cheek with smiles ; Hercules our 
 
 kinsman, 
 (Then weaker than your eyes) laid by his club, 
 He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide/ 
 And swore his sinews thaw'd: Oh, Grief and Time, 
 Fearful consumers, you will all devour! 
 
 1 Queen. Oh, I hope some god. 
 
 Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood, 
 Whereto he'll infuse power, and press you forth 
 Our undertaker ! 
 
 Thes. Oh, no knees, none, widow 1 
 Unto the helmeted Bellona use them, 
 And pray for me, your soldier. — Troubled I am. 
 
 [Turns aicay, 
 
 2 Queen. Honour'd Hippolita, 
 
 Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain 
 The scy the-tusk'd boar; that, with thy arm as strong 
 As it is white, wast near to make the male 
 To thy sex captive; but that this thy lord 
 
 ' Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses, 
 Nor in more bounty spread her.] The reader will see that Iier 
 is prejudicial to the sense and measure, and to be discarded. The 
 mantle of Juno is beautifully described in the fourteenth book of 
 the Iliad. It was wrought by Minerva, and adorned with variety 
 of figures ; allegorically it may signify the aether adorned with the 
 sun and stars formed by INIinerva, i. e. the wisdom of the Crea- 
 tor. — Sexcard. 
 
 We cannot " see that her is prejudicial to the sense and mea- 
 sure," nor that it ought " to be discarded.'' The construction is 
 easy Ed. 1778. 
 
 " Nenuan hide.] Corrected in 1750, 
 
IS THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 (Born to uphold creation in that honour 
 First Nature styled it in) shrunk thee into 
 The bound thou wast o'er-flowing, at once sub- 
 duing 
 Thy force, and thy affection ; soldieress, 
 That equally canst poise sternness with pity, 
 Who now, I know, hast much more power on him 
 Than e'er he had on thee ; who ow'st his strength 
 And his love too, who is a servant to 
 The tenor of thy speech ;' dear glass of ladies, 
 Bid him that we, whom flaming War doth scorch, 
 Under the shadow of his sword may cool us ! 
 Require him he advance it o*er our heads; 
 Speak't in a woman's key, like such a woman 
 As any of us three; weep ere you fail; 
 Lend us a knee ; 
 
 But touch the ground for us no longer time 
 Than a dove's motion, when the head's pluck'd off! 
 Tell him, if he i' th' blood-sized field lay swoln. 
 Shewing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, 
 What you would do! 
 
 Hip, Poor lady, say no more ! 
 I had as lief trace this good action with you 
 As that whereto I am going, and never yet 
 
 7 Whom now I know hast muck more power on him 
 Than evtr he had on thee, who ow'st his strength 
 And his love too, who is a servant for 
 
 The tenor of the speech.'] The change of particles and mo- 
 nosyllables frequently destroy both the grammar and sense of our 
 authors. iVhom might have been corrected without a note, but 
 what is, Who is a servant for the tenor of the speech f The origi- 
 nal probably was, 
 
 — — who is a servant to 
 The tenor of thy speech ; 
 
 I. c. He who before conquered thee is now obedient to every virord 
 thou utterest. Ow'st is the same as own'st in all the old writers.— 
 Seward. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 13 
 
 Went T so willing way.® My lord is taken 
 Heart-deep with your distress: Let him consider; 
 rU speak anon. 
 
 3 Queen Oh, my petition was [To Emilia. 
 Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied 
 Melts into drops ; so sorrow wanting form 
 Is press'd with deeper matter. 
 
 Emi. Pray stand up ; 
 Your grief is written in your cheek. 
 
 3 Queen. Oh, woe ! 
 You cannot read it there ;' there through my tears, 
 Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream, 
 You may behold 'em ! Lady, lady, alack, 
 He that will all the treasure know o' th' earth 
 Must know the centre too; he that will fish 
 For my least minnow, let him lead his line 
 To catch one at my heart. Oh, pardon me ! 
 Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits, 
 Makes me a fool. 
 
 Emi. Pray you say nothing ; pray you ! 
 Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in't, 
 Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were 
 The ground-piece of some painter, 1 would buy you, 
 To instruct me 'gainst a capital grief indeed; 
 (Such heart-pierced demonstration !) but, alas, 
 Being a natural sister of our sex, 
 Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me, 
 
 and never yet 
 
 Went I so willing way.] i. e. I never went so willing a jour* 
 ney.^Srtfccrrf. 
 
 9 You cannot read it there ; there thro' my tears. 
 Like 'wrinkled pebbles in a glasse stream.] Mr Sympson and I 
 change the second there to here, as she evidently points at her 
 heart, and so explains herself in the sequel. Glassy for glasse Mr 
 Theobald agreed with us in. — Seward, 
 
 Seward entirely mistakes the aUusion of the Queen. She does 
 not speak of her heart, as Emilia cannot possibly see it there through 
 tears, but of her eyes, and this renders the alteration unnecessary. 
 
14 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 That it shall make a counter- reflect 'gainst 
 My brother's heart, and warm it to some pity 
 Though it were made of stone : Pray have good 
 comfort ! 
 Thes. Forward to th' temple ! leave not out a jot 
 O' th' sacred ceremony. 
 
 1 Queoi. Oh, tliis celebration 
 Will longer last/ and be more costly, than 
 Your suppliants' war ! Remember that your fame 
 Knolls in the ear o' th' world: What you do quickly 
 Is not done rashly; your first thought is more 
 Than others' labour'd meditance; your premedi- 
 tating 
 More than their actions ; but, (oh, Jove !) your 
 
 actions, 
 Soon as they move, as osprays do the fish, 
 Subdue before they touch: Think, dear duke, think 
 What beds our slain kings have ! 
 
 2 Queen. What griefs our beds, 
 That our dear lords have none 1 
 
 3 Queen. None fit for the dead : 
 
 Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance,* 
 W'eary of this world's light, have to themselves 
 Been Death's most horrid agents, human grace 
 Afifords them dust and shadow. 
 
 1 Queen. But our lords 
 Lie blist'ring 'fore the visitating sun. 
 And were good kings, when living. 
 
 ■ Will long last.l Corrected in 1750. 
 
 * Drams precipitance.^ Mr Sympson and I disjoin these two, the 
 one expressing poison, the other leaping down precipices. — Seward. 
 
 Precipitance is, we thinic, rightly disjoined from drams; but sig- 
 nifies, in general, the unhappy precipitation of suicides in getting 
 rid of their lives, not the particular act o( leaping down precipices, 
 which seems to us a ridiculous explanation. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 Seward's explanation is neither wrong nor ridiculous. The text 
 enumerates the diflerent kinds of suicide, and certainly precipita-* 
 tion from heights is not the most ludicrous species. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 15 
 
 Thes. It is true ; 
 And I will give you comfort, 
 To give your dead lords graves •} 
 The which to do must make some work with Creon. 
 
 1 Queen. And that work [now] presents itself to 
 
 the doing :* 
 Now 'twill take form ; the heats are gone to-morrow; 
 Then bootless Toil must recompense itself, 
 With its own sweat ; now he's secure, 
 Not dreams we stand before your puissance, 
 Rinsing our holy begging* in our eyes, 
 To make petition clear. 
 
 2 Queen. Now you may take him, 
 Drunk with his victory. 
 
 3 Queen. And his army full 
 Of bread and sloth. 
 
 Thes. Artesius, that best know*st 
 How to draw out, fit to this enterprize 
 The prim'st for this proceeding, and the number 
 To carry such a business ; forth and levy 
 Our worthiest instruments; whilst we dispatch 
 
 3 To give your dead lords graves.^ As both the sense and mea- 
 sure are somewhat deficient, there is rea'^on to suspect a part of the 
 sentence dropt; perhaps somewhat like the lollowing might have 
 been the original : — 
 
 But / will give you comfort, and engage 
 
 Myselt and pow'rs to give your dead lords graves. — Seward. 
 
 I agree with Seward that some omission has probably taken 
 place, but cannot assent to Mason's thmking an amendment ne- 
 cessary. Tlieseus promises that be will give them the comfort Ihey 
 desire, to see their dead lords intcired. Mason would read (no 
 doubt more plainly, but that is no reason for tampering with the 
 text,) 
 
 And I to give you comfort 
 jnil give your dead lords graves. 
 
 * And that uurk presents, <§-c.] Former editions. — Seward. 
 ' Wrinching our holy begging.] Corrected in 1750. 
 
 6 
 
16 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 This grand act of our life, this daring deed 
 Of fate in wedlock ! 
 
 1 Queen. Dowagers, take hands ! 
 Let us be widows to our woes !* Delay 
 Commends us to a famishing hope. 
 
 Jll the Queejis. Farewell ! 
 
 2 Queen. We come unseasonably ; but when could 
 
 Grief 
 Cull forth, as unpang'd Judgment can, fit'st time 
 For best solicitation r 
 
 Thes. Why, good ladies, 
 This is a service, whereto I am going, 
 Greater than any war;' it more imports me 
 Than all the actions that I have foregone, 
 Or futurely can cope. 
 
 1 Queen. The more proclaiming 
 Our suit shall be neglected : When her arms. 
 Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall 
 By warranting moon-light corslet thee, oh, when 
 Her twinning cherries ® shall their sweetness fall 
 Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think 
 Of rotten kings, or blubber'd queens ? what care 
 
 * Let us be widows to our woes.'] i, e. Let us continue still in the 
 most distressed widowhood by the continuance of our woes. The 
 expression, though not quite clear, will give this sense, which is cer- 
 tainly a fine one ; and in such writers as our authors we must not 
 always expect that perspicuity as we meet with in poems of less 
 depth. For this reason I cannot admit a conjecture of Mr Symp- 
 son, though it is undoubtedly an ingenious one :-» 
 
 Let us be wedded to our u«e£.— Seward. 
 
 ' This is a service, whereto I am going, 
 Greater than any was.] IVar [which is Theobald's variation] 
 instead of was is a great improvement of the old text, and I verily 
 believe it the authors' word. The service I am now going to, (J,, e. 
 my marriage) is of more import to my happiness than any war can 
 possibly be. — Seward. 
 
 * Her twining cherries.^ Theobald corrected the spelling here. 
 
 5 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 17 
 
 For what thou feel'st not, what thou feel'st being 
 
 able 
 To make Mars spurn his drum? Oh, if thou couch 
 But one night with her, every hour in't will 
 Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and 
 Thou shalt remember nothing more than what 
 That banquet bids thee to. 
 
 Hip. Though much unlike [Kneels, 
 
 You should be so transported, as much sorry 
 I should be such a suitor ; yet I think 
 Did I not, by th' abstaining of my joy, 
 Which breeds a deeper longing, cure the surfeit, 
 That craves a present medicine, I should pluck 
 All ladies' scandal on me : Therefore, sir, 
 As I shall here make trial of my prayers. 
 Either presuming them to have some force. 
 Or sentencing for aye their vigour dumb. 
 Prorogue this business we are going about, 
 And hang 
 
 Your shield afore your heart, about that neck 
 Which is my fee, and which I freely lend 
 To do these poor queens service ! 
 
 AllQueeiis. Oh, help now ! [7b Emilia. 
 
 Our cause cries for your knee, 
 
 Eini. If you grant not 
 My sister her petition, in that force, 
 With that celerity and nature, which 
 Shvi makes it in, from henceforth Til not dare 
 To ask you any thing, nor be so hardy 
 Ever to take a husband. 
 
 Thes. Pray stand up ! 
 I am entreating of myself to do 
 That which you kneel to have me. — Perithous, 
 Lead on the bride ! Get you and pray the gods 
 For success and return ; omit not any thing 
 In the pretended celebration. Queens, 
 Follow your soldier, — As before, hence you, 
 
 VOL. XIII. B 
 
18 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 And at the banks of Aulis ' meet us with 
 
 The forces you can raise, where we shall find 
 
 The moiety of a number, for a business 
 
 More bigger look'd ! — ' Ed'it Arbesius.] Since 
 
 that our theme is haste, 
 I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip ; 
 Sweet, keep it as my token ! Set you forward ; 
 For I will see you gone. 
 
 [E.veimt towards the Temple all but Perithous, 
 Thlsjlus, and Queens. 
 Farewell, my beauteous sister ! Perithous, 
 Keep the feast full ; bate not an hour on't ! 
 
 Per. Sir, 
 I'll follow you at heels : The feast's solemnity 
 Shall want till your return.' 
 
 Thes. Cousin, I charge you 
 Budge not from Athens ; we shall be returning 
 Ere you can end this feast, of which I pray you 
 Make no abatement. Once more, farewell all ! 
 
 ^ Follow your soldier (as before) hence you, 
 And at the banks of Anly.] Mr Thtobald sent me a very pro- 
 bable conjecture upon this place, none of us being able to find in 
 any geographer such a nnme as Anly in Greece; he reads Aulis, 
 the celebrated sea port between Athens and Thebes. It would in- 
 deed be more convincing were thcie a river of that name, for I 
 don't know whether it be proper, in speaking of Calais or Do- 
 ver, to say, Meet me at the banks ol Dover. But Aulis being 
 a situation so exceedingly proper to be mentioned here, 1 ^till be- 
 lieve it the true word, and perhaps bunks may be also a corrup- 
 tion, it might have been At the gates, or at the port, or at the 
 back of Anils. — Seward. 
 
 Theobald's variation is right, and Seward's objection very far- 
 fetched and ridiculous. The pointing of the preceding line was 
 proposed by Mason, who observes, that " the first three words 
 are addressed to the Queens; the remainder to Arbesi us whom 
 he had before desired to draw out the troops for the enterprize." 
 
 ' Shall vi&nt till your return.] The editors of 1750, for want 
 read uait ; but want seems genuine; signifying, the celebration of 
 the nuptials should remain incomplete till his return, as Perithous 
 had rather accompany Theseus than stay behind to be his proxy, 
 as the latter desires. — Ed. 177 S. 
 
» 
 
 Scene IL] KINSMEN. 19 
 
 1 Queen. Thus dost thou still make good tlie 
 
 tongue o' th' world. 
 
 2 Queen, And carn'st a deity equal with IMars. 
 
 3 Queen. If not above him ; for, 
 
 Thou being but mortal, mak'st affections bend 
 To godlike honours ; they themselves, some say. 
 Groan under such a mastery. 
 
 Thes. As we are men, 
 Thus should we do ; being sensually subdued, 
 We lose our humane title. Good cheer, ladies ! 
 
 [Flouri<i/i. 
 Now turn we towards your comforts. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Thebes. The Court of the Palace. 
 
 E?iter Palamon and Arcite. 
 
 Air. Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood, 
 And our prime cousin, yet unharden'd in 
 The crimes of nature; let us leave the city 
 Thebes, and the temptings in't, before we further 
 Sully our gloss of youth ! 
 And here to keep in abstinence we shame 
 As in incontinence : For nut to swim 
 r th' aid o' th' current,* were almost to sink, 
 
 • I' th' aid o' tli* current.'] The variation, I' th' head o' the 
 current, is a variation from Theobald's conjecture, which we think 
 a happy one, though rejected by Seward. The old reading, it 
 sense, is very hard. Palamon says, a few speeches lower, 
 
20 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 At least to frustrate striving; and to follow 
 The common stream, 'twould bring us to an eddy 
 Where we should turn or drown; if labour through, 
 Our gain but life, and weakness. 
 
 Pal. Your advice 
 Is cried up with example : What strange ruins, 
 Since first we went to school, may we perceive 
 Walking in Thebes ! Scars, and bare weeds, 
 The gain o' th* martialist, who did propound 
 To his bold ends, honour, and golden ingots, 
 Which though he won he had not ; and now flurted 
 By Peace, for whom he fought ! Who then shall 
 
 offer 
 To Mars's so-scorn'd altar ? I do bleed 
 When such I meet, and wish great Juno would 
 Resume her ancient fit of jealousy. 
 To get the soldier work, that Peace might purge 
 For her repletion, and retain anew 
 Her charitable heart, now hard, and harsher 
 Than Strife or War could be. 
 
 Arc. Are you not out ? 
 Meet you no ruin but the soldier in 
 The cranks and turns of Thebes ? You did begirt 
 As if you met decays of many kinds : 
 
 — Either I am 
 
 The fore- horse in the team, or I am none 
 That draw i' th' sequent trace.— Y.<\. 1778. 
 
 This is an amendment suggested by Theobald, adopted by th^ 
 last editors without reason, and justly rejected by Seward, as it 
 entirely destroys the sense of the passage. What Arcite means to 
 urge as a reason for their quitting Thebes is, that if they struggled 
 ngainst the current of the fashion, their striving would answer no 
 purpose; and that if they followed the common stream, it would 
 lead them into an eddy where they should either be drowned or reap 
 no advantage from their labouring through it but life and weakness. 
 That speech of Palamon's to which the editors allude is applied 
 to a subject of a totally different nature.— Ma so?«. 
 
\ 
 
 Scene II.] KINSMEN. n 
 
 Perceive you none that do arouse your pity, 
 But th' unconsider'd soldier ? 
 
 Pal. Yes ; I pity 
 Decays where- e'er I find them ; but such most 
 That, sweating in an honourable toil, 
 Are paid witli ice to cool 'em. 
 
 Arc. 'Tis not this 
 I did begin to speak of; this is virtue 
 Of no respect in Thebes : I speak of Thebes, 
 How dangerous, if we will keep our honours, 
 It is for our residing; where every evil 
 Hath a good colour ; where every seeming good's 
 A certain evil ; where not to be even jump 
 As they are,^ here were to be strangers, and 
 Such things to be mere monsters. 
 
 Pal. 'Tis in our power 
 (Unless we fear that apes can tutor us) to 
 Be masters of our manners : What need I 
 Affect another's gait, which is not catching 
 Where there is faith ? or to be fond upon 
 Another's way of speech, when by mine own 
 I rriay be reasonably conceived ; saved too, 
 
 3 Where not to be ev'n jump 
 As they are, here were to be strangers."] Jump, in our ancient 
 writers, frequently means Just, exact ; sometimes to agree. So 
 in Othello, act ii. scene iii. — 
 
 " M) self, the while, will draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring h\m jump where he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife." 
 
 Again, " Not two of \htmjumpe in one tale.'' Pierce Pennilesse 
 his Supplication, p. 2y. — Reed. 
 
 Mason says we should place the comma in the last line after 
 here ; but surely the text means exactly the same as the alteration. 
 Arcite says, " If we were not exactly as they are, we should be 
 here (in Thebes) strangers, and such things as would be consider- 
 ed mere, that is, absolute, monsters, or things out of the common 
 track of human customs." 
 
^2 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 Speaking it truly ^ Why am I bound 
 
 By an} generous bond to follow him 
 
 Follows his tailor, haply so long, until 
 
 The follow'd make pursuit? Or let me know, 
 
 W'hy mine own barber is unbless'd, with him 
 
 INIv poor chin too, for 'tis not scissar'd just 
 
 To such a favourite's glass? What canon is there 
 
 That does command my rapier from my hip, 
 
 To dangle't in my hand, or to go tip-toe 
 
 Before the street be foul ? Either 1 am 
 
 The fore horse in the team, or I am none 
 
 That draw i' th' sequent trace ! These poor slight 
 
 sores 
 Need not a plantain ;'^ that which rips my bosom, 
 Almost to th' heart, 's 
 
 ^7X. Our uncle Creon. 
 
 Pal. He, 
 A most unbounded tyrant I whose successes 
 Make Hea\ en unfear'd,^ and villainy assured, 
 
 * These poor slight sores 
 Need nvt a plantain] A plantain-leaf was supposed to be an 
 oxcellent st)ptic, and was applied to fresh wounds. Trincalo, in 
 Albumazar, says, — 
 
 " I'm fall'n i' th' cellar: 
 
 Kriiig a fresh plantain leaf, I have broke my shin." 
 
 5 Makts IJeaven unjeard, and villainy assured, 
 Beyond Its power ; Uteres nothing almost puts 
 Faith in a fever, and deijics alone 
 
 Fotuble chance.} This sentence, as hitherto printed, has been a 
 mere chaos ; tor, first, what is making villainy assured beyond its 
 power ? and how docs nothing almost put faith in a fever ? The 
 true adjustment of the points restores connection, sense, and 
 beauty, " The successes of the Tyrant makes Heaven unfear'd, 
 and villainy assured that nothing is beyond its power; which al- 
 most stagfiers the faith of good men, and makes them think that 
 Chance and not a just Providence governs the world." The moral 
 of this is extremely beautiful, for it is just uttered before they hear 
 that Theseus, the instrument of divine vengeance, is at hand, and 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 23 
 
 Beyond its power there's nothing; ahuost puts 
 Faith in a fever, and deifies alone 
 Voluble chance : who only attributes 
 The faculties of other instruments 
 To his own nerves and act; commands men's ser- 
 vice, 
 And what they win in't, boot and glory too ;*^ 
 That fears not to do harm ; good dares not : Let 
 The blood of mine that's sibbe to him,' be suck'd 
 From me with leeches ; let them break and fall 
 Off me with that corruption! 
 
 Arc. Clear-spirited cousin, 
 Let's leave his court, that we may nothing share 
 Of his loud infamy ! for our milk 
 Will relish of the pasture, and we must 
 Be vile, or disobedient; not his kinsmen 
 In blood, unless in quality. 
 
 Pal. Nothing truer ! 
 I think the echoes of his shames have deaf 'd 
 
 the thunder bursting on the head of Creon. In the emendation of 
 the points in this passage, Mr Sympson concurred with me. — 
 
 ScTiard. 
 Seward's pointing must be adopted, as no construction can make 
 sense of the old, though the last editors offered the following ex- 
 planation, which can satisfy no one, and renders the rest of the 
 sentence entirely devoid of meaning : '* Creon's success diminishes 
 our fear of the gods, by making us suppose that Guilt can oppose 
 their power, and defend itself from their justice. — Its poxeer re- 
 fers to Heaven not to villainy." They are then obliged to confess 
 that " the next sentence appears to be incomplete, probably by a 
 casual omission, or possibly on purpose broken oft" abruptly ; if 
 the latter, there should be a dash after voluble chance." But if 
 we point with Seward, the passage at the first glance is perfect, 
 and nothing is required but to remind the reader, that " a^Aoonly 
 attributes," ivc. refers to Creon, and is a continuation of the first 
 Hue. 
 
 •5 Boot and glory on. 3 Former editions ; I read too, i. e. both 
 the advantage and hono\ir.— Seward. 
 
 ' That's sibbe to him.] i. e. Kin, It is spelt sib by Spenser, 
 and sybbe by Chaucer.— S'exajrf. 
 
24 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 The ears of heavenly justice : Widows' cries 
 Descend again into their throats, and have not 
 Due audience of the gods. — Valerius ! 
 
 E?iter Valekius. 
 
 Val. The king calls for you; yet be leaden- 
 footed, 
 Till his great rage be off him ! Phoebus when 
 He broke his whipstock,* and exclaim'd against 
 The horses of the sun, but whisper'd, to 
 The loudness of his fury. 
 
 Pal. Small winds shake him : 
 But what's the matter ? 
 
 Fal. Theseus (who where he threats appals) 
 hath sent 
 Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces 
 Ruin to Thebes ; who is at hand to seal 
 The promise of his wrath. 
 
 Arc. Let him approach! 
 But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not 
 A jot of terror to us : Yet what man 
 Thirds his own worth (the case is each of ours) 
 When that his action's dregg'd with mind assured 
 'Tis bad he goes about:' 
 
 Pal. Leave that unreasoned ! 
 Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon, 
 
 8 JFhipstock.] Generally the handle of a whip ; but frequently 
 used for the whip itself. So in Shakspeare's Pericles :— 
 
 " By his rusty outside he appears 
 
 To have practised more the •whipstock than the lance," 
 Yet xchat man 
 
 Thirds Ids own v:orth {the case is each of ours) 
 When that his actions dregged with mind assured 
 'Tis bad he goes about f] The meaning is, what man can 
 exert a third part of his power when his mind is clogged with a 
 consciousness that he iights in a bad Qause.^Mason. 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. g5 
 
 Yet, to be neutral to him, were dishonour, 
 Rebellious to oppose ; therefore we must 
 With him stand to the mercy of our Fate, 
 Who hath bounded our last minute. 
 
 Jrc. So we must. 
 Is't said this war's afoot ? or it shall be, 
 On fail of some condition? 
 
 Val. 'Tis in motion ; 
 The intelligence of state came in the instant 
 W^ith the defier. 
 
 PaL Let's to the king ! who, were he 
 A quarter carrier of that honour which 
 His enemy comes in, the blood we venture 
 Should be as for our health ; which were not spent, 
 Rather laid out for purchase : But, alas, 
 Our hands advanced before our hearts, what will 
 The fall o' th' stroke do damage ? 
 
 Arc. Let th' event. 
 That never-erring arbitrator, tell us 
 When we know all ourselves; and let us follow 
 The becking of our chance ! [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE in. 
 
 Before the Gates of Athens, 
 
 Enter Perithous, Hippolita, and Emilia 
 
 Per. No further ! 
 
 Hip. Sir, farewell ! Repeat my wishes 
 To our great lord, of whose success I dare not 
 Make any timorous question ; yet I wish him 
 
36 THE TWO NOBLE [Act L 
 
 Excess and overflow of power, an't might be, 
 To dure ill-dealing Fortune.' Speed to him ! 
 Store never hurts good governors. 
 
 Per. Though I know 
 His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they 
 Must yield their tribute there. My precious maid, 
 Those best affections that the heavens infuse 
 In their best-temper'd pieces, keep enthroned 
 In your dear heart ! 
 
 Emi. Thanks, sir ! Remember me 
 To our all-royal brother ! for whose speed 
 The great Bellona I'll solicit : And 
 Since, in our terrene state, petitions are not 
 AVithoul gifts understood, I'll offer to her 
 What I shall be advised she likes. Our hearts 
 Are in his army, in his tent ! 
 
 Hip. In's bosom ! 
 We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep 
 When our friends don * their helms, or put to sea, 
 Or tell of babes broach'd on the lance, or women 
 That have sod their infants in (and after eat them) 
 The brine they wept at killing 'em : Then if 
 You stay to see of us such spinsters, we 
 Should hold you here for ever. 
 
 Per. Peace be to you. 
 As 1 pursue this war ! which shall be then 
 Beyond further requiring.^ [E^it. 
 
 * To (lure ill-dealing Fortune.] That is, to endure; but Seward 
 must have his variations, and reads cure, in which he is followed 
 hy the last editors. S\mpson proposes, more plausibly, dare; but 
 the old text is pertect sense. 
 
 * Don.l An old contraction o( do on, put on. 
 
 3 Peace be to you, 
 
 As I pursue th s xvar ! wJiich shall be then 
 
 Beyond further requiring.] This passage is oddly expressed ; 
 but the meaning is. Peace be to you as long as I pursue the war I 
 when that is ended we shall not need to pray for it.— Mcsok. 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 27 
 
 Emi How his longjing 
 Follows his friend! Since his depart, his sports, 
 Though craving seriousness and skill, past slightly 
 His careless execution, where nor gain 
 Made him regard, or loss consider; but 
 Playing one business in his hand, another 
 Directing in his head,* his mind nurse equal 
 To these so differing twins ! Have you observed 
 
 him 
 Since our great lord departed? 
 
 Hip. With much labour, 
 And J did love him for't. They two have cabln'd 
 In many as dangerous, as poor a corner. 
 Peril and want contending, they have skiff'd 
 Torrents, wliose roaring tyranny and power 
 I' th' least of these vvas dreadful ;* and they have 
 Fought out together, where Death's self was 
 
 lodged, 
 Yet Fate hath brought them off. Their knot of 
 
 love 
 Tied, weav'd, entangled, with so true, so long, 
 And with a finger of so deep a cunning, 
 
 * Playing o'er business viith his hand, another 
 
 Directing in his head.] 1 have here inserted an amendment of 
 Mason's, wlio has commented t)n this play with more than usual 
 care and success. The corruption was very easy, for the quarto 
 reads ore. 
 
 s they have shift 
 
 Torrents, whose roaring tyranny and power, 
 
 r th'' least of these was dreadful.] This is certainly obscure, 
 but the meaning seems to be, " Peril and want, contending who 
 should injure them most, they have passed in a slight bark over 
 torrents whose roaring tyranny and power, even when at the mi- 
 nimum of fury, were dreadful." Seward offers this strange varia- 
 tion : — 
 
 They have shift 
 
 Torrents, whose roaring tyranny and poivcr 
 r th' best o/" ships were dreadful. 
 
g8 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 May be out-worn, never undone. I think 
 Theseus cannot be umpire to himself 
 Cleaving his conscience into twain, and doing 
 Each side like justice, which he loves best. 
 
 E}?ii. Doubtless, 
 There is a best, and Reason has no manners 
 To say it is not you. I was acquainted 
 Once with a time, when I enjoy'd a playfellow ; 
 You were at wars when she the grave enrich'd, 
 Who made too proud the bed, took leave o' th' 
 
 moon 
 (Which then look'd pale at parting) when our 
 
 count 
 Was each eleven. 
 Hip. 'Twas Flavina. 
 Emi. Yes. 
 You talk of Perithous' and Theseus' love : 
 Theirs has more ground, is more maturely season'd, 
 More buckled with strong judgment, and their 
 
 needs 
 The one of th' other may be said to water 
 Their intertangled roots of love ; but I 
 And she (I sigh and spoke of) were things innocent. 
 Loved for we did, and like the elements 
 That know not what nor why, yet do effect 
 Rare issues by their operance ; our souls 
 Did so to one another :^ What she liked, 
 Was then of me approved ; what not, condemn'd. 
 No more arraignment ;' the flower that I would 
 
 pluck 
 
 ^ The following marginal direction in the quarto proves that the 
 play was printed from the prompter's book : — " 2 Hearses ready 
 with Palamon : and Arcite : the 3 Queens. Theseus . and bis 
 Lordes ready." 
 
 ' No more arraignment.] i. e. says Dr Dodd, " Her not liking 
 it was sufficient to condemn it, without any further arraignment, 
 or bringing it to its trial."— -Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 29 
 
 And put between my breasts, (oh, then but begin- 
 ning 
 To swell about the blossom) she would long 
 Till she had such another, and commit it 
 To the like innocent cradle, where, phocnix-like, 
 They died in perfume; on my head no toy 
 But was her pattern ; her affections (pretty, 
 Though happily her careless wear) 1 follow'd 
 For my most serious decking;^ had mine ear 
 
 8 . on my head no toy 
 
 But was her patterne ; her affections {pretty 
 Tho' happely, her careles, were, I followed 
 For, &c.] Thus the old quarto. We have a profusion of con- 
 jectures on this passage. Sympson first proposed, 
 
 But was her pattern, her affections pretty 
 
 {Tho' happily they careless were) I followed ; 
 
 and afterwards, 
 
 But was her pattern, her affections ; pretty 
 Tho' happily her careless wear I follow'd, 
 
 Seward rejects both these, and, in his dashing manner, proposes the 
 following — 
 
 But was her pattern, her affection ; her 
 Pretty, tho' haply careless wear, I follow'd ; 
 
 Dr Dodd [Beauties of Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 92,] reads, 
 
 But was her pattern : her affections (pretty, 
 Tho* happily they careless were) 1 follow'd ; 
 
 and subjoins the following note : " She says, ' She had no toy 
 on her head, but that became her friend's pattern : And her 
 affections [the things her friend affected, or liked, in which sensq 
 the word is frequently used] (ever jjretty, though perhaps they 
 were merely casual and careless at first) yet she so much approved 
 that she followed them for her most serious dressing.' The reader 
 will find this passage differently read by the late editors : Possibly 
 some may object against a careless dress being called the affection of 
 the wearer, and ask how any one can affect or like that which they 
 lake no care about ? I think two answers may be given : It is well 
 known how much some ladies affect a careless way of dressing ; 
 and what seems in them often the effect of mere chance is the pror 
 
30 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 Stol'n some new air, or at adventure humm'd on^ 
 From musical coinage, why, it was a note 
 Whereon her spirits would sojourn, (rather dwell 
 
 on) 
 And sing it in her slumbers ; This rehearsal 
 (\V hich every innocent wots well, comes in 
 Like old Importment's bastard) has this end, 
 
 duce of their utmost study — conformable to the old maxim ars est 
 celare artem, or it may be the iady calls lh<isp the affections of her 
 friend which she herself esteeined S'l, and which, as being hers, 
 she admired : — Perhaps we might read the passage thus, if these 
 reasons are not satisfactory : 
 
 But aav her pattern, her affect ; her pretty 
 Though happily her careless wear, I followed, 
 
 which is almost the same with that ftir Seward places in the text." 
 The variation in the text was proposed by the last editors, and 
 is, after all, the most plausible. They observe, that " The difficul- 
 ties of the passage appear to have arisen partly from a mis-spelling 
 {•were for wear) and partly from the commentators' misapprehen- 
 sion of the word affections, which is not here used to signify h solid 
 mature pre/eretice (as Seward seems to think it) but merely choice, 
 fancy. The plain signilicalion then appears to be, * Yi&x fancy 
 (which was sure to be pretty, even in her most careless dress) 
 I copied in my most studied adornments,' If this explanation 
 is admissible, there wants only the orthographical correction : We 
 need not so much as, with Dr Dodd, alter her to they, much less 
 subscribe to Mr Seward's violent modes. It may not be amiss to 
 remark, that, in the old quarto, the parenthesis begins at the word 
 pretty, but is nowhere closed." Mr Lam be finally reads, 
 
 Her affections pretty, 
 
 Though happily hers careless ivere, &c. 
 
 But the strongest proof of the propriety of the text is the unclosed 
 parenthesis in the quarto ; and the variation last mentioned has a 
 very stiff, awkward sound. 
 
 * Or at adventure htimm'd on 
 
 From musical coinage.'} Seward and the last editors read— 
 humm'd one ; but the old text is far better. Emdia says, " Had 
 mine ear stolon some new air [which I sung] or had I at adven- 
 ture, from mere musical coinage, hummed on without any regular 
 air, she would have dwelt upon the note and sung it in her slum- 
 bers." 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. St 
 
 That the true love 'tween maid and maid may be 
 More than in sex dividual.' 
 
 * — — This rehearsal 
 
 {Which fury-innocent wots welt) comes in 
 Like old Importment'b 6ai^ar(i, has this end 
 That the true love 'tucen maid and maid may he 
 More thm in sex individual ] This is another very puzzling 
 passage, and it is evident that some corruption must have taken 
 place. Seward and Sympson altered the last word properly ; and 
 sex dividual evidently means dijferent sexes. But another varia- 
 tion of Sympson, adopted b\ Seward and the last editors, in the 
 second line, is totally inadmissible, viz. '* which surely innocence 
 wots well," for there is no meaning conveyed by it. Mason pro- 
 poses several other variations in the following words : 
 
 " The passage is certainly exceedingly difficult, but I think that, 
 by adhering to the reading, and extending the parentheses so as to 
 include the word bastard, it may, with a slight alteration, be ren- 
 dered intelligible. Instead of importment, I should read emport- 
 ment, from the French emportetncnt, which signifies passion or 
 transport ; and instead of XLots zicll, I should read uot I xlcU, and 
 then it will run thus — 
 
 — This rehearsal 
 (Which fury innocent, wot I uell, comes in 
 Like old emportment's bastard) has this end, &c. 
 
 And Emilia's meaning is — ' This recital, the innocent fuiy of 
 which, I well know, comes in like the spurious offspring, the faint 
 resemblance ot the passion I formerly felt for Flavina, is intended 
 to prove that love between maid and maid may be stronger than 
 that between persons of different sexes.* This conjecture, however, 
 is offered with much diffidence ; but some explanation is better 
 than none." 
 
 Mr Masnn has considerably cleared up the obscurities of this 
 passage; but there are strong objections to one of his variations 
 {•wot I well) which bears so disagreeable a sound, that I cannot 
 believe it to have been the original text. His explanation of im- 
 portment also is so vt»ry great a departure from the usuai meaning 
 of the word, that some parallel passages should have been adduced 
 where it bears this very uncommon import, and 1 have never met 
 with any. Again the wordfuiy has much the appearance of a cor- 
 ruption ; and here I am indebted for a very happy conjecture, easily 
 corrupted into the word in the old text, to MrLambe, who, in his 
 Specimens of the Dramatic Poets, reads — (" Which every inno- 
 cent wots well.") But it seems necessary to extend the paren- 
 
 10 
 
32 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 Hip. You are out of breath ; 
 And this high-speeded pace is but to say. 
 That you shall never, hke the maid Flavina, 
 Love any that's call'd man. 
 
 Emi. I am sure 1 shall not. 
 
 Hip. Now, alack, weak sister, 
 I must no more believe thee in this point 
 (Though in't I know thou dost believe thyself) 
 Than 1 will trust a sickly appetite. 
 That loaths even as it longs. But sure, my sister, 
 If I were ripe for your persuasion, you 
 Have said enough to shake me from the arm 
 Of the all-noble Theseus ; for whose fortunes 
 I will now in and kneel, with great assurance, 
 That we, more than his Perithous, possess 
 The high throne in his heart. 
 
 Emi. I am not 
 Against your faith ; yet I continue mine. [Exeunt. 
 
 theses with Mason, and then the following explanation will clear 
 up the whole context, where the only difficulty is the adjective old ; 
 but it may possibly be used as an augmtntative, as it is frequently 
 in old plays, though I have not met with it in any passage so 
 serious as the present:—" This rehearsal of our affections (which 
 every inrocent soul well knows comes in like the mere bastard, 
 the faint shadow nf the true import, the real extent of our natural 
 affections) has his end, or purpose, to prove that the love between 
 two virgins may be stronger than that between persons of different 
 sexeb." 
 
 Seward compares the above description of the love between 
 Flavina and Emilia to a more celebrated one in The Midsummer 
 Might's Dream, act iii. sc. iii. to which he prefers it, very justly in 
 the editor's opinion, They were certainly both the production of 
 Shakspeare. 
 
Scene IV.] KINSMEN. 33 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The Field of Battle before Thebes. 
 
 A Battle struck within; then a Retreat ; flourish. 
 Then enter Theslus {victor^ ; the three Queens 
 meet him, a fid J all on their Faces before hif?h 
 
 1 Queen. To thee no star be dark ! 
 
 2 Queen. Both Heaven and earth 
 'Friend thee for ever ! 
 
 3 Queen. All the good that may 
 
 Be wish'd upon thy head, I cry amen to't! 
 
 T/ies. The impartial gods, who from the mount- 
 ed Heavens 
 View us their mortal herd, behold who err, 
 And in their time chastise. Go, and find out 
 The bones of your dead lords, and honour them 
 With treble ceremony ! rather than a gap 
 Should be in their dear rites, we would supply it. 
 But those we will depute which shall invest 
 You in your dignities, and even* each thing 
 Our haste does leave imperfect: So adieu, 
 And Heaven's good eyes look on you ! — What are 
 those ? [ Edxunt Queens. 
 
 Herald. Men of great quality, as may be judged 
 By their appointment ; someof Thebes have told us 
 They are sister's children, nephews to the king. 
 
 Thes. By the helm of Mars, 1 saw them in the war, 
 
 ' jEtcn.] It must be recollected that this word is here a verb, 
 VOL. XIII. C 
 
54 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 Like to a pair of lions, smear'd with prey, 
 Make lanes in troops aghast : I fix'd my note 
 Constantly on them ; for they were a mark 
 Worth a god's view! What prisoner was't that 
 
 told me, 
 W^hen I enquired their names ? 
 
 Herald. With leave, they are called 
 Arcite and Palamon. 
 
 Thes. 'Tis right ; those, those. 
 They are not dead ? 
 
 Herald. Nor in a state of life : Had they been 
 taken 
 When their last hurts were given, 'twas possible 
 They might have been recover'd ; yet they breathe, 
 And have the name of men.^ 
 
 Thes. Then like men use 'em ! 
 The very lees of such, millions of rates 
 Exceed the wine of others ; all our surgeons 
 Convent in their behoof; our richest balms. 
 Rather than niggard, waste ! their lives concern us 
 Much more than Thebes is worth. Rather than 
 
 have 'em 
 Freed of this plight, and in their morning state, 
 Sound and at liberty, I would 'em dead ; 
 But, forty thousand fold, we had rather have 'em 
 Prisoners to us than Death. Bear 'em speedily 
 From our kind air (to them unkind), and minister 
 What man to man may do ! for our sake, more! 
 Since 1 have known frights, fury, friends' behests, 
 Love's provocations,* zeal, a mistress' task, 
 
 3 Here we have another stage-direction in the old quarto— 
 
 " Three hearses ready." 
 " Since I have known frights, fury, friends, behests, 
 
 Lovrs, provocations, zeal, a mistress' task, 
 
 Desireof Iberiy, a fever, viadness, 
 
 Hath set a mark which nature could not reach to 
 
 Without some imposition, sickness in zvill, 
 
 1 
 
Scene IV.] KINSMEN. 35 
 
 Desire of liberty, a fever, madness, 
 
 'Thath set a mark which Nature could not reach to 
 
 Or ivreslUng strength in reason, for our love 
 
 And great Apollo's mercxj, all our best 
 
 Their best skills tender.] Tis a great pity that this fine enume- 
 ration ot the ills of human lile, (which, for conciseness nnd beauty, 
 may almost vie with the celebrated one in the soliloquy ot Ham- 
 let) should at last, by the errors of the transcriber or printer, vanish 
 into darkness and obscurity. There is hopes that it is now re- 
 stored by a very small change in the auxiliary verb hath, and a 
 transposition of the lines into the order which the sense seems to 
 require. I read, 
 
 , ~ a fever, madness. 
 
 Sickness in will, or ivre'<tling strength in reason ; 
 'T hath set a mark which nature could not reach to 
 Without some imposition. For our love, &c. 
 
 The sentiment is the common one, 
 
 Non ignara maliy misens succurrere disco, 
 
 " That our own miseries naturally awaken our compassion for those 
 of others." When, therefore, he has enumerajed the various ills 
 which he has gone through, he says, That these ills have set a 
 mark of humanity on his heart that nature, without some imposi' 
 Hon, i. e. \vith(»ut the addition of such experience, could not have 
 arrived at. The reader will find another change, instead of making 
 J'riends, behests, loves, provocations, four of the ills of life, as in the 
 former editions, I join them, and make onlv two, J'riends' hehestSf 
 and love* s provocations ; the former is particularly applicable to 
 Theseus ; the latter gives much the same idea as Shakspear's pangs 
 of despised love. — Seward. 
 
 This passage is extremely difficult and obscure. Seward's read- 
 ing and explanation are certainly ingenious, and his slight trans- 
 position in the latter part admissible ; but the two first lines of 
 the old text are preferable.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 Contrary to the opinion of the last editors, I have adopted Se- 
 ward's slight alterations in the two first lines, which seem abso- 
 lutely requisite, and rejected his transposition, which is very un- 
 likely to have been a corruption, and which neither improves the 
 beauty of the passage, (at best very inconsiderable,) nor is war- 
 ranted by necessity. Theseus, after enumerating the clilferent af- 
 fections (for they are not all ills) of life which he had experienced, 
 says, " Since I have known these it hath set a mark upon my 
 heart which nature alone is incapable of inducing without some 
 
36 THE TWO NOBLE [Act I. 
 
 Without some imposition, sickness in will, 
 
 Or wrestling strength in reason. For our love, 
 
 And great Apollo's mercy, all our best 
 
 Their best skill tender!— Lead into the city; 
 
 Where, having bound things scatter'd, we will post 
 
 To Athens 'fore our army.^ lAJlourish, Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Another part of the same. 
 
 Enter the Queens with the Hearses of their Knights, 
 in a Funeral Solemnity, &c, 
 
 SONG, 
 
 Urns and odours britig away. 
 
 Vapors, siahs, darken the day I 
 Our dolt^ more deadly looks than dying ! 
 
 Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers. 
 
 Sacred vials filCd with tears, 
 And clamours, through the wild air flying : 
 
 imposition or experience, and without a sickness or struggling in 
 will, and a strength in reason sufficient to wrestle with the other 
 passions." Seward places the words " Siciiness in will, or wrest-* 
 ling strength in reason," after the word madness. 
 
 * To Athens for our army.'\ The correction oi for into 'fore is 
 self-evident, and occurred to us all three.— Sewarrf. 
 
 * Do/e.J Grief, sorrow, deuil, Fr. 
 
Act II.] KINSMEN. 57 
 
 Come, all sad and solem7i showSy 
 That are quick-eyed Pleasures foes ! 
 We convent nought else but woes. 
 We convent^ &c. 
 
 3 Queen. This funeral path brings to your house- 
 hold ffraves : 
 Joy seize on you again ! Peace sleep with him ! 
 
 2 Queen. And this to yours ! 
 
 1 Queen. Yours this way ! Heavens lend 
 A thousand differing ways to one sure end ! 
 
 3 Queen. This world's a city full of straying 
 
 streets ; 
 And death's the market-place, where each one 
 meets. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Athens, A Garden, with a Tower in the Back' 
 ground. 
 
 Enter Jailor and Wooer, 
 
 Jailor. I may depart with little,^ while I live; 
 something I may cast to you, not much. Alas, the 
 
 » Depart.] i. e. in this place, part. So Ben Jonson, in the In- 
 duction to Bartholomew-Fair ; — 
 
 " — — the author having now departed with his right." — Retd. 
 
38 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 prison I keep, though it he for great ones, yet 
 they seldom come : Before one salmon, you shall 
 take a number o' minnows. I am given out to be 
 better lined, than it can appear to me report is a 
 true speaker. 1 would I were really, that I am 
 delivered to be ! IVIarry, what I have (be't what 
 it will) 1 will assure upon my daughter at the 
 day of my death. 
 
 Wooer. Sir, I demand no more than your own 
 offer ; and I'll estate your daughter, in what I 
 have promised. 
 
 Jailor. Well, we will talk more of this, when 
 the solemnity is past. But have you a full pro- 
 mise of her? When that shall be seen, I tender 
 my consent. 
 
 Enter Daughter with rushes.^ 
 
 Wooer. I have, sir. Here she comes. 
 
 Jailor. Your friend and I have chanced to name 
 you here, upon the old busmess : But no more of 
 that now ! So soon as the court-hurry is o'er, we'll 
 have an end of it : I' th' mean time, look tenderly 
 to the two prisoners ! I can tell you they are princes. 
 
 Daiigh. These strewings are for their chamber. 
 'Tis pity they are in prison, and 'twere pity they 
 should be out. I do think they have patience to 
 make any adversity ashamed: The prison itself 
 
 * With rushes.] I have added this stage-direction as the Jailor's 
 
 daughter says — 
 
 These strewings are for their chamber. 
 
 It is possible that the daughter had gathered flowers for the 
 purpose in the garden; but rushes were universally used to strew 
 the floors of aparlments, and therefore more likely to have been 
 gathered by the Jailor's Daughter. See vol. IV. p. 410. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 89 
 
 is proud of them ; and they have all the world 
 in their chamber. 
 
 Jailor. They are famed to be a pair of absolute 
 men. 
 
 Daugh. By my troth, I think Fame but stam- 
 mers 'em ; they stand a grief above the reach of 
 report. 
 
 Jailor. I heard them reported, in the battle to 
 be the only doers. 
 
 Daugh. Nay, most likely ; for they are noble 
 sufferers. I marvel how they would have look'd, 
 had they been victors, that with such a constant 
 nobility enforce a freedom out of bondage, ma- 
 king Misery their mirth, and Affliction a toy to 
 jest at. 
 
 Jailor. Do they so ? 
 
 Daugh. It seems to me, they have no more sense 
 of their captivity, than I of ruling Athens: They 
 eat well, lodk merrily, discourse of many things, 
 but nothing of their own restraint and disasters. 
 Yet, some time, a divided sigh, niartyr'd as 'twere 
 in the deliverance, will break from one of them ; 
 when th* other presently gives it so sweet a re- 
 buke, that I could wish myself a sigh to be so 
 chid, or at least a sigher to be comforted. 
 
 JFooer. I never saw 'em. 
 
 Jailor. The duke himself came privately in the 
 night, and so did they ; ^ what the reason of it is, 
 I know not. 
 
 ' The duke himself came privately in the nighty 
 
 Enter Palamon and Arcite. 
 
 And so did they.'] There is a deficiency in the sense here that 
 seems to denote the loss of at least one whole line, nor can I from 
 the context easily guess the purport of it. By striking out, And 
 
40 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 Palamon and Arcitf appear at the Window of 
 their Prison. 
 
 Look, yonder they are ! that is Arcite 
 looks out. 
 
 Daugh. No, sir, no ; that's Palamon : Arcite's 
 the low er of the twain ; you may perceive a part 
 of him. 
 
 Jailor. Go to, leave your pointing ! They would 
 not make us their object : Out of their sight ! 
 
 Daugh. It is a hoHday to look on them ! Lord, 
 the ditterence of men ! [Ej^eunt.' 
 
 PaL liow do you, noble cousin? 
 
 Arc. How do you, sir ? 
 
 Pal. Why, strong enough to laugh at Misery, 
 And bear the chance of war yet. We are prisoners 
 I fear for ever, cousin. 
 
 Arc. 1 believe it ; 
 And to that destiny have patiently 
 Laid up my hour lo come. 
 
 to did they, the whole would be sense, but the measure would be 
 losi. So we must leave it to some more fortunate conjecture.— 
 Seward. 
 
 We do not perceive any fault. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 It the Jailor d-'Cs not mean that Palarnon and Arcite were 
 brought o the prison privately in the mght, the text certainly is 
 devoid of sense ; but it seems quite clear that he does mean so. 
 
 ■ The following is made a separate scene in the former editions-, 
 but it IS evident that the Jailor and his Daughter were placed in 
 the same situation as Emilia is afterwards, a garden overlooked by 
 the pn-oii in wh'ch Palan. on and Arcite \vere confined. But there 
 is considerable difhculty how the subsequent conversation with the 
 Jailor is to be earned on. In the ancient theatres this was easily 
 accomplished hy the platform ot the stage representing the garden, 
 and the permanent gallery at the back the inside of the tower in 
 which they were immured. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 41 
 
 Pal. Oil, cousin Arcite, 
 Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country? 
 Where are our friends, and kindreds? Nevermore 
 Must we behold those comforts ; never see 
 The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, 
 Hung witii the painted favours of their ladies, 
 Like tall ships under sail ; then start amonf^st 'em, 
 And, a\ an east wind, leave 'em all behind us 
 Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, 
 Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, 
 Out-stript the people's praises, won the garlands, 
 Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. Oh, never 
 Shall we two exercise, like twins of Honour, 
 Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses, 
 Like proud seas under us! our good swords now, 
 (Better the red-e^ed god of war ne'er wore*) 
 Ravish'd our sides, like age, must run to rust. 
 And deck the temples of those gods that hate us; 
 These hands shall never draw 'em out like lightning. 
 To blast whole armies, more ! 
 
 Arc. No, Palamon, 
 Those hopes are prisoners with us : Here we are, 
 And here the graces of our youths must wither, 
 Like a too-timely spring ; here Age must find us, 
 Aufl, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried; 
 The sweet embraces of a loving wife 
 Loaden with kisses, arm'd witii thousand Cupids, 
 Shall never clasp our necks ! no issue know us. 
 No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see. 
 
 our good .twnrds now 
 
 (Bttttr the rcd-eycd god of war ne^er were) 
 
 Bravish'd our sides.'] The two mi>iakes of were for Viore, and 
 bravish'd tor ravish'd, are very easily ami-nd d, and the ptade. will 
 obstrvc that the s^c.-nd arose InTn ihe initial letter ot the Icrmer 
 line being repeated. 1 had the concurrence here of both my as- 
 listanls,— iiewarrf. 
 
4$ THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 To glad our age, and like young eagles teach 'em 
 Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say 
 Remember what your fathers were, and conquer! 
 The fair-e}ed maids shall weep our banishments. 
 And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, 
 Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done 
 To Youth and Nature : This is all our world ; 
 We shall know nothing here, but one another; 
 Hear nothing, but the clock that tells our woes ; 
 The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it ; 
 Summer shall come, and with her all delights, 
 But dead-cold Winter must inhabit here still ! 
 
 Pal. Tistootrue, Arcite! To our Theban hounds. 
 That shook the aged forest with their echoes. 
 No more now must we halloo ; no more shake 
 Our pointed javelins, whilst the angry swine 
 Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, 
 Struck with our well-steel'd darts ! All valiant uses 
 (The food and nourishment of noble minds) 
 In us two here shall perish ; we shall die, 
 (Which is the curse of Honour !) lastly,^ 
 Children of Grief and Ignorance. 
 
 Arc. Yet, cousin. 
 Even from the bottom of these miseries, 
 From all that Fortune can intlict upon us, 
 I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings,* 
 If the gods please to hold here ; a brave patience, 
 And the enjoying of our griefs together. 
 Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish 
 
 3 (Which is the curse of Honour) lastly, 
 
 Children of Grief and Ignorance,] Seward and the last edi- 
 tors choose to read lazily., which destroys the climax of the speech. 
 
 * Txvo mere blessings.} Mere must be understood here in its 
 old sense— absolute. So in The Merchant of Venice— 
 
 " Engaged my friend to his mere enemy." 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 43 
 
 If I think this our prison! 
 
 Pal. Certainly, 
 'Tis a main ijoodness, cousin, that our fortunes 
 Were twined together: 'Tis most true, two souls 
 Put in t'^vo noble bodies, let 'em suffer 
 The gall of hazard, so they grow togetlier, 
 Will never sink ; they must not ; say they could, 
 A willing man dies sleeping, and all's done. 
 
 Arc. Shall we make worthy uses of this place, 
 That all men hate so much ? 
 
 Pal. How, gentle cousin ? 
 
 Ajx. Let's think this prison a holy sanctuary, 
 To keep us from corruption of worse men ! 
 We are young, and yet desire the ways of Honour; 
 That, liberty and common conversation, 
 The poison of pure spirits, might, like women, 
 Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing 
 Can be, but our imaginations 
 ]\Iay make it ours' and here being thus together, 
 We are an endless mine to one another ; 
 We are one another's wife, ever begetting 
 New births of Love ; we are father, friends, ac- 
 quaintance ; 
 We are, in one another, families ; 
 I am your heir, and you are mine ; this place 
 Is our inheritance ; no hard oppressor 
 Dare take this from us: Here, with a little patience. 
 We shall live long, and loving; no surfeits seek us; 
 The hand of War hurts none here, nor the seas 
 Swallow their youth ; were we at liberty, 
 A wife might part us lawfully, or business; 
 Quarrels consume us ; envy of ill men 
 Crave our acquaintance;' I might sicken, cousin, 
 
 * envy of ill men 
 
 Crave our acquaintance."] The editors say this is easy and in- 
 
44 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 Where you should never know it, and so perish 
 Without your noble hand to close mine eyes, 
 Or pravers to tlie <;ods : A thousand chances, 
 "W'eie we from hence, wf)uld sever us. 
 
 Pal. Vou have made me 
 (1 rlvink you, cousin Arcite !) almost wanton 
 With my captivity : W hat a misery 
 It is to live abroad, and every where ! 
 'Tis like a beast methinks ! 1 find the court here, 
 I am sure a more content; and all those pleasures 
 That woo the wills of men to vanity, 
 I see through now ; and am sufficient 
 To tell the world, 'tis but a gaudy shadow. 
 That old 'lime, as he passes by, takes with him. 
 What had we been, old in the court of Creon, 
 Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance 
 The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite, 
 Had not the loving gods found this place for us, 
 We had died as they do, ill old men unwept, 
 And had their epitaphs, the people's curses ! 
 Shall I say more? 
 
 Ajx. I would hear you still. 
 
 Pal. You shall. 
 Is there record of any two that loved 
 Better than we do, Arcite? 
 
 Arc. Sure there cannot. 
 
 Pul. I do not think it possible our friendship 
 Should ever leave us. 
 
 telligible ; but, as usual, tliey make this assertion without offering 
 an explanation. Tlieobald proposes craze, Sympson, carve, Se- 
 ward, reave, and Mason, cleave. The two latter are the most 
 plausible, and the last prelerable for its nearness to the trace of 
 the letters in the old copies. The old text is not, however, inex- 
 plicable ; Arcite may say, that the envious disposition of ill men 
 may be induced to crave their acquaintance in order to sow dis- 
 sention between them. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 45 
 
 Arc. Till our deaths it cannot ; 
 And after death our spirits shall be led 
 To those that love eternally. Speak, on, sir ! 
 
 Enter Emilia and her Servant ^ below. 
 
 Emi. This garden has a world of pleasures in't.* 
 What flower is this ? 
 
 Serv. 'Tis call'd Narcissus, madam. 
 
 Emi. That was a fair boy certam, but a fool 
 To love himself; were there not maids enough? — • 
 
 Arc. Pray, forward ! 
 
 Pal. Yes.— 
 
 Emi. Or were they all hard-hearted ? 
 
 Serv. They could not be to one so fair, 
 
 Emi. Thou wouldst not? 
 
 Serv. I think 1 should not, madam. 
 
 E?ni. That's a good wench ! 
 But take heed to your kindness though! 
 
 Serv. Why, madam ? 
 
 E7?ii. Men are mad things. — 
 
 Arc. Will you go forward, cousin? — 
 
 Emi. Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, 
 wench ? 
 
 Serv. Yes. 
 
 Emi. I'll have a gown full of 'em ; and of these; 
 This is a pretty colour : Will't not do 
 Rarely upon a skirt, wench? 
 
 Serv. Dainty, madam. — 
 
 Arc. Cousin ! Cousin ! How do you, sir? Why, 
 Palamon ! 
 
 Pal. Never till now I was in prison, Arcite. 
 
 * This garden has a world of pleasure int.] This in all the for- 
 mer editions was made the end of Urate's -peech ; the absurdity 
 was evident to us all, and must have been so to every reader of the 
 least attention!— iSetvarcIL 
 
46 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 Arc. Why, what's the matter, man ? 
 
 Pal. Behold, and wonder ! 
 By Heaven, she is a goddess ! 
 
 Arc. Ha! 
 
 Pal. Do reverence ! 
 She is a sjoddess, Arcite ! — 
 
 Emi. Of all flowers, 
 Alethinks a rose is best. 
 
 Serv. Why, gentle madam ? 
 
 Emi. It is the very en^blem of a maid : 
 For when the west wind courts her gently, 
 How modestly she blows, and paints the sun 
 With her chaste blushes ! when the north comes 
 
 near her, 
 Rude and impatient, then, like Chastity, 
 She locks her beauties in her bud again. 
 And leaves him to base briers. 
 
 Strv. Yet, good madam, 
 Sometimes her modesty will blow so far 
 She falls for it: A maid, 
 If she have any honour, would be loth 
 To take example by her. 
 
 Emi. Thou art wanton.—- 
 
 Arc. She is wond'rous fair ! 
 
 Pal. She is all the beauty extant! 
 
 Emi. The sun grows high ; let's walk in ! Keep 
 these flowers ; 
 We'll see how near Art can come near their colours. 
 I am wond'rous merry-hearted ; I could laugh now. 
 
 Serv. I could lie down, I am sure. 
 
 Emi. And take one with you ? 
 
 Serv. That's as we bargain, madam. 
 
 'Emi. Well, agree then. \Exit with Ser^vant. 
 
 Pal. What think you of this beauty? 
 
 Arc* 'Tis a rare one. 
 
 Pal. Is't but a rare one ? 
 
Scene L] KINSMEN. 47 
 
 Arc. Yes, a matchless beauty. 
 
 Fal. Might not a man well lose himself, and 
 love her? 
 
 Arc. I cannot tell what you have done ; I have, 
 Beshrew mine eyes for't ! Now 1 feel my shackles. 
 
 Pal. You love her then? 
 
 A}X. Who would not ? 
 
 Pal. And desire her ? 
 
 Arc. Before my liberty. 
 
 Pal. 1 saw her first. 
 
 Arc. That's nothing. 
 
 Pal. But it shall be. 
 
 Aix. I saw her too. 
 
 Pal. Yes ; but you must not love her. 
 
 Arc. I will not, as you do ; to worship her, 
 As she is heavenly, and a blessed goddess : 
 I love her as a woman, to enjoy her; 
 So both may love. 
 
 Pal. You shall not love at all ! 
 
 Arc, Not love at all ? who shall deny me ? 
 
 Pal. I, that first saw her; I, that took possession 
 First with mine eye of all those beauties in her 
 Revealed to mankind ! If thou lovest her. 
 Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes, 
 Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow 
 False as thy title to her: Friendship, blood, 
 And all the ties between us, I disclaim, 
 If thou once think upon her ! 
 
 Arc. Yes, I love her ; 
 And if the lives of all my name lay on it, 
 I must do so ; I love her with my soul. 
 If that will lose you, farewell, Palamon ! 
 I say again, I love ; and, in loving her, maintain 
 I am as worthy and as free a lover. 
 And have as just a title to her beauty, 
 As any Palamon, or any living, 
 
48 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 That is a man's son. 
 
 Pal Have I calTd thee friend? 
 
 Arc. Yes, and have found me so. Why are you 
 moved thus ? 
 Let me deal coldly with you ! am not I 
 Part of your blood, part of your soul? you have 
 
 told nie 
 That I was Palamon, and you were Arcite. 
 
 Pal. Yes. 
 
 Arc. Am not I hable to those affections, 
 Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall 
 suft'er? 
 
 Pal. You may be. 
 
 Arc. VV hy then would you deal so cunningly. 
 So strangely, so unlike a Noble Kinsman, 
 To love alone? Speak truly; do you think me 
 Unworthy of her sight? 
 
 Pal. No; but unjust 
 If thou pursue that sight. 
 
 Arc. Because another 
 First sees the enemy, shall I stand still, 
 And let mine honour down, and never charge? 
 
 Pal. Yes, if he be but one. 
 
 Arc. But say that one 
 Had rather combat me? 
 
 Pal. Let that one say so, 
 And use thy freedom ! else, if thou pursuest her. 
 Be as that cursed man that hates his country, 
 A branded villain ! 
 
 Arc. You are mad. 
 
 Pal. I must be, 
 Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concerns me! 
 And, in this madness, if I hazard thee 
 And take thy life, 1 deal but truly. 
 
 Arc. Fy, sir ! 
 You L>lay the child extremely : I will love her, 
 
 10 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 49 
 
 I must, I ought to do so, and I dare; 
 And all this justly. 
 
 Pal. Oh, that now, that now 
 Thy false self, and thy friend, had but this fortune, 
 To be one hour at liberty, and grasp 
 Our good swords in our hands, I would quickly 
 
 teach thee 
 What 'twere to filch affection from another! 
 Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse ! 
 Put but thy head out of this window more, 
 And, as I have a soul, I'll nail thy life to't! 
 
 Arc. Thou dar'st not, fool; thou can st not; thou 
 art feeble ! 
 Put my head out? I'll throw my body out, 
 And leap the garden, when I see her next, 
 And pitch between her arms, to anger thee. 
 
 Enter Jailor. 
 
 Pal. No more! the Keeper's coming: T shall live 
 To knock thy brains out with my shackles. 
 
 Arc. Do! 
 
 Jailor. By your leave, gentlemen ! 
 
 Pal. Now, honest Keeper? 
 
 Jailor. Lord Arcite, you must presently to the 
 duke : 
 The cause I know not yet. 
 
 Arc. 1 am ready, Keeper. 
 
 Jailor. Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave 
 you 
 Of your fair cousin's company. [E.vit with Arci te. 
 
 Pal. And me too. 
 Even when you please, of life! — Why is he sent for? 
 It may be, he shall marr}' her ; he's good'y, 
 And like enough the duke hath taken notice 
 Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood! 
 Why should a friend be treacherous? If that 
 
 VOL. XIII. D 
 
5Q THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 Get him a wife so noble, and so fair, 
 Let honest men ne'er love again. Once more 
 I would but see this fair one. — Blessed garden, 
 And fruit and flowers more blessed, that still blos- 
 som 
 As her bright eyes shine on ye! 'Would I were, 
 For ail the fortune of my life hereafter, 
 Yon little tree, yon blooming apricot! 
 How I would spread, and fling my wanton arms 
 In at her window ! I would bring her fruit 
 Fit for the gods to feed on ; youth and pleasure, 
 Still as she tasted, should be doubled on her ; 
 And, if she be not heavenly.^ I would make her 
 So near the gods in nature, they should fear her; 
 And then I am sure she would love me. 
 
 Enter Jailor, 
 
 How now, Keeper ! 
 
 Where's Arcite ? 
 
 Jailor. Banished. Prince Perithous 
 Obtain'd his liberty ; but never more. 
 Upon his oath and life, must he set foot 
 
 ' And if she be not hcatenlj/-^'] This, and the end of the next 
 speech, which may at first sight appear a rant, are inimitably beau- 
 tiful in a character of such warm passions under a phrensy of love. 
 Our authors have improved upon Chaucer in making Palamon and 
 Arcite such very distinct characters; but Arcite, who is not crown- 
 ed with success, becomes by this means the more amiable, and has 
 the reader's wishes in his favour. This i» a fault that Chaucer 
 particularly puards against, for he makes the Two Kinsmen, undec 
 an engagement upon oath, to assist each other when either hap- 
 pened to be in love. Had our authors inserted this, they had ob- 
 viated all prejudice against Palamon, and given sufficient matter 
 to kindle his rage and violence. — Seieard. 
 
 Who entertains any prejudice against Palamon here?-— Ed. 1778. 
 
 AVho does not entertam that prejudice against him, which extreme 
 and irrational violence must excite, unless the '* phrenzy of love be 
 held to justify it?'' 
 
Scene!.] KINSMEN. 61 
 
 Upon this kingdom: 
 
 Pal. He's a blessed man ! 
 He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms 
 The bold young men, that, when he bids 'em ch:arge, 
 Fall on like fire: Arcite shall have a fortune,^ 
 If he dare make himself a worthy lover, 
 Yet in the field to strike a battle for her; 
 And if he lose her then, he's a cold coward: 
 How bravely may he bear himself to win her, 
 If he be noble Arcite, thousand ways ! 
 Were I at liberty, I would do things 
 Of such a virtuous greatness, that this lady. 
 This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her, 
 And seek to ravish me. 
 
 Jailor. My lord, for you 
 I have this charge too. 
 
 Pal, To discharge my life r 
 
 Jailor. No ; but from this place to remove your 
 lordship ; 
 The windows are too open. 
 
 Pal. Devils take 'em, 
 That are so envious to me! Pr'ythee kill me ! 
 
 Jailor. And hang for't afterward ? 
 
 Pal. By this good light, 
 Had I a sword, I would kill thee. 
 
 Jailor. Why, my lord ? 
 
 PaL Thou bring'st such pelting* scurvy news 
 continually. 
 Thou art not worthy life ! I will not go. 
 
 Jailor. Indeed you must, my lord. 
 
 Pal. May I see the garden ? 
 
 Jailor. No. 
 
 9 Arcite shall have a fortune. ] That is, a chance. 
 
 ^ Pelting.'] This word is not used here in the sense common in old 
 writing, liz. petty, despicable, but as a general word of contempt, 
 as in Lilly's Midas—'* Attire never used but of old women and 
 pelting priests." 
 
62 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 Fal. Then I'm resolved I will not go. 
 
 Jailoj\ I must 
 Constrain you then ; and, for you are dangerous, 
 I'll clap more irons on you. 
 
 Pal Do, good Keeper ! 
 I'll shake 'em so, you shall not sleep ; 
 I'll make you a new morris ! Must 1 go? 
 
 Jailor. There is no remedy. 
 
 Pal. Farewell, kind window ! 
 May rude wind never hurt thee! — Oh, my lady, 
 If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was. 
 Dream how I sufter ! — Come, now bury me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 
 The Country. 
 
 Enter Arcite. 
 
 Arc. Banish'd the kingdom ? 'Tis a benefit, 
 A mercy, must tiiank 'em for; but banish'd 
 The free enjo) ing of that face I die for, 
 Oh, 'twas a studied punishment, a death 
 Beyond imagination ! Such a vengeance, 
 That were I old and wicked, all my sins 
 Could never pluck upon me. Palamon, 
 Thtju hast the start now; thou shalt stay and see 
 Her bright eyes break each 'morning 'gainst thy 
 
 window, 
 And let in life into thee ; thou shalt feed 
 Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty, 
 That nature ne'er exceeded, nor ne'er shall; 
 Good god-!., what happiness has Palamon! 
 Twenty to one, he'll come to speak to her; 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 53 
 
 And, if she be as gentle as she's fair, 
 
 I know she's his ; he lias a tongue will tame 
 
 Tempests, and make the wild rocks wanton. Come 
 
 what can come, 
 The worst is death; I will not leave the kingdom: 
 I know mine own is but a heap of ruins, 
 And no redress there ; if I ^o, he has her. 
 I am resolved : Another shape shall make me, 
 Or end my fortunes; either way, I am happy : 
 I'll see her, and be near her, or no more. 
 
 Enter four Country People ; one with a Garland 
 before them, 
 
 1 Coun. My masters, Fll be there, that's certain. 
 
 2 Coun. And Til be there. 
 
 3 Coun. And 1. 
 
 4 Coun. Why then, have with ye, boys! 'tis but 
 
 a chiding; 
 Let the plough play to-day! I'll tickle't out 
 Of the jades' tails to-morrow 1 
 
 1 Coun. I am sure 
 
 To have my wife as jealous as a turkey: 
 
 But that's all one, I'l! go tiirough, let her mumble. 
 
 2 Coun. Clap her aboard to-morrow night, and 
 
 stow her, 
 And all's made up again. 
 
 •6 Coun. Ay, do but put 
 A feskue* m her fist, and you shall see her 
 Take a new less«)n out, and be a good wench. 
 Do w'Q all hold, against the maying ! 
 
 4 ('owi. Hold ? what 
 Should ail us I 
 
 * Fescue.'] A small wire, by which those who teach to read point 
 at the iinteis. — Johnson. 
 
 The hidden allusion in the text is too indelicate to demand fur* 
 iher exposition.- 
 
54 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IL 
 
 3 Coti?i. Areas will be there. 
 
 *i Coun. And Sennois, 
 And Rycas ; and three better lads ne'er danced 
 Under green tree; and ye know what wenches. 
 
 Ha! 
 But will the dainty dominej the schoohnaster, 
 Keep touch, do you think? for he does all, ye know. 
 
 3 Coun. He'll eat a hornbook, ere he fail ! Go to! 
 The matter is too far driven between 
 
 Him and the tanner's daughter, to let slip now; 
 And she must see the duke, and she must dance 
 too. 
 
 4 Coun. Shall we be lusty ? 
 
 2 Coun. All the boys in Athens 
 
 Blow wind i' th' breech on us ! and here I'll be, 
 And there I'll be, for our town, and here again, 
 And there again ! Ha, boys, heigh for the weavers! 
 1 Coun. This must be done i' th' woods. 
 4 Coun. Oh, pardon me ! 
 
 .2 Coun. By any means; our thing of learning 
 says so; 
 Where he himself will edify the duke 
 Most variously in our behalfs : He's excellent i' 
 
 th' woods ; 
 Bring him to th' plains, his learning makes no cry. 
 
 3 Coun. Well see the sports ; then every man 
 
 to's tackle ! 
 And, sweet com panions, let's rehearse by any means, 
 Before the ladies see us, and do sweetly, 
 And God knows what may come on't! 
 
 4 Coun. Content : The sports 
 
 Once ended, we'll perform. Away, boys, and hold ! 
 Jrc. By your leaves, honest friends! Pray you 
 
 v/hither go you ? 
 4 Coun. Whither? why, what a question's that! 
 Arc. Yes, 'tis a question, to me that knows not. 
 3 Coun, To the games, my friend. 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 55 
 
 2 Court, Where were you bred, you know it not? 
 Arc. iVot far, sir. 
 Are there such games to-day ? 
 
 1 Coun. Yes, marry are there ; 
 
 And such as you ne'er saw : The duke himself 
 Will be in person there. 
 
 Arc. What pastimes are they ? 
 
 2 Coun. Wrestling and running. — 'Tis a pretty 
 
 fellow. 
 5 Coun. Thou wilt not go along? 
 Arc. Not yet, sir. 
 4 Comu Well, sir, 
 Take your own time. — Come, boys ! 
 
 1 Coun. My mind misgives me 
 
 This fellow has a vengeance trick o' th' hip ', 
 Mark, how his body's made for't! 
 
 2 Coun. I'll be hang'd though, 
 
 If he dare venture; hang him, plumb-porridge! 
 He wrestle ? He roast eggs. Come, let's be gone, 
 lads ! [Exeunt Countrymen, 
 
 Arc. This is an ofFer'd opportunity 
 I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled, 
 The best men call'd it excellent; and run, 
 Swifter the wind upon a field of corn^ 
 (Curling the wealthy ears) ne'er flew! I'll venture, 
 And in some poor disguise be there : Who knows 
 Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands, 
 And happiness* prefer me to a place, 
 Where I may ever dwell in sight of her? [Exit, 
 
 3 Swifter than ■wind.'] Amended by Seward and Sympson^ 
 * Happiness.] This means here good fortune. 
 
56 THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Athens, A Room in the Prison^ 
 
 Enter Jailor^ s Daughter, 
 
 Daugh. Why should I love this gentleman? 'Tis 
 odds 
 He never will affect me ; I am base, 
 My father the mean keeper of his prison, 
 And he a prince : To marry him is hopeless. 
 To be his whore is witless. Out upon'tl 
 What pushes are we wenches driven to, 
 When fifteen once has found us! First, I saw him; 
 I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man; 
 He has as much to please a woman in him, 
 (If he please to bestow it so) as ever 
 These eyes yet look'd on: Next, 1 pitied him;' 
 And so would any young wench, o'my conscience, 
 That ever dream'd, or vow'd her maidenhead 
 To a young handsome man : Then, I loved him, 
 Extremely loved him, infinitely loved him, 
 And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too; 
 But in my heart was Palamon, and there, 
 Lord, what a coil he keeps ! To hear him 
 Sing in an evening,' what a heaven it is 1 
 
 s .. 7*o hear him 
 
 an evening, SfC.'\ In All's Well that Ends Well, act i. 
 scene i. Helena says, 
 
 *' 'Twas pretty, though a plague, 
 
 To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
 
 •,« 
 
Scene HI] KINSMEN. S7 
 
 And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken 
 Was never gentleman; Wiien I come in 
 To bring him water in a morning, first 
 He bows his noble body, then aahitcs me thus : 
 *' Fair, gentle maitl, good morrow! may tliy good- 
 ness 
 Get thee a bappy husbavid !" Once he kiss'd me; 
 I loved my lip?; the better ten days after: 
 'Would he would do so every day ! He grieves 
 
 much, 
 And me as nmch to see his misery: 
 What should I do, to make him know I love him? 
 For I would fain enjoy him : Say 1 ventured 
 To set him free? what says the law then? 
 Thus much for law, or kindred ! I will do it,* 
 And this night, or to-morrow: He shall love me! 
 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 In our lieart's table : Heart, too capable 
 Of every line and trick ot hi;- sweet favour ! 
 But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 Must sanctifs his relics.' — Reed. 
 * For law or kindred : I ziill do i(. 
 And tfiis Mig/it, ur to-morruio he ihall love me.'] Seward reads, 
 very licentiously. 
 
 For law or kindred : I will do it, ay 
 
 And this night ; and to-morrow he shall love me. , 
 
 But nothing is required but regulating the punctuation, which was 
 done by the last editors. 
 
58 ^ THE TWO NOBLE [Act II. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 An open Place in the City. A short flourish of 
 cornetSf and shouts within. 
 
 Enter Thesevs, Hippolita, Perithous, Emilia, 
 Arcite disguisedy with a garland^ and Country- 
 nien» 
 
 Thes. You have done worthily ; I have not seen. 
 Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews : 
 Whate'er you are, you run the best, and wrestle, 
 That these times can allow. 
 
 Arc. I am proud to please you. 
 
 Thes. What country bred you? 
 
 Arc. This ; but far off, prince. 
 
 Thes. Are you a gentleman? 
 
 Arc. My father said so ; 
 And to those gentle uses gave me life,^ 
 
 Thes. Are you his heir ? 
 
 Arc. His youngest, sir. 
 
 Thes, Your father 
 Sure is a happy sire then. What proves you? 
 
 Arc. A little of all noble qualities : 
 I could have kept a hawk, and well have hoUoa'd 
 To a deep cry of dogs ; I dare not praise 
 My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me 
 
 ' And to those gentle uses gave me life.'] u e. Gave me life on 
 purpose to educate me gentilely. — Seward. 
 
 Seward, not content with his own proper explanation, must ex- 
 ercise his conjectural powers, and wishes to read nit/ life. 
 
Scene IV.] KINSMEN. S9 
 
 Would say it was my best piece; last, and greatest, 
 I would be thought a soldier. 
 
 Thes. You are perfect. 
 
 Per, Upou my soul a proper man ! 
 
 E7}ii. He is so. 
 
 Pe/\ How do you like him, lady ? 
 
 Hip I admire him : 
 I have not seen so young a man so noble, 
 (If he say true) of his sort. 
 
 Emi. Believe, 
 His mother was a wond'rous handsome woman ! 
 His face methinks goes that way. 
 
 Hip. But his body. 
 And fiery mind, illustrate a brave father. 
 
 Pet\ Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun, 
 Breaks through his baser garments. 
 
 Hip. He's well got, sure. 
 
 T/ies. What made you seek this place, sir ? 
 
 A?x. Noble Theseus, 
 To purchase name, and do my ablest service 
 To such a well-found wonder as thy worth ; 
 For only in thy court, of all the world, 
 Dwells fair-eyed Honour. 
 
 Per. All his words are worthy. 
 
 Thes. Sir, we are much indebted to your travel, 
 Nor shall you lose your wishes. — Peiithous, 
 Dispose of this fair gentleman, 
 
 Pe?\ Thanks, Theseus ! — 
 Whate'er you are, you are mine; and I shall give 
 
 you 
 To a most noble service, to this lady, 
 This bright young virgin : Pray observe her good- 
 ness. 
 You have honour'd her fair birth-day with your 
 
 virtues, 
 And, as your due, you are hers ; kiss her fair hand, 
 sir. 
 
60 THE TWO NO BLE [Act II. 
 
 Arc. Sir, you're a noble giver.— Dearest beauty, 
 Thus let me seal my vow'd faith ! when your ser- 
 vant 
 (Your most unworthy creature) but offends you, 
 Command him die, he shall. 
 
 Eml. That were too cruel. 
 If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see't: 
 You are mine; and somewhat better than your 
 
 rank 
 I'll use you 
 
 Per. I'll see you furnish'd : And because you 
 say 
 You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you 
 This afternoon to ride ; but 'tis a rough one. 
 
 Arc. I like him better, prince ; 1 shall not then 
 Freeze in my saddle. 
 
 77ies. Sweet, you must be ready ; 
 And you, Emilia; and yiiu, friend; and all; 
 To-morrow, by tlie .sun, to do observance 
 To flowery Ma\,* in Dian's wood. — Wait well, sir, 
 Upon your mistress ! — Emily, 1 hope 
 He ^hall not go a-foot. 
 
 Emi That were a shame, sir, 
 While I have horses. — Take your choice; and what 
 Y<'U want at any time, let me but know it ; 
 If you serve faithfully. 1 dare assure you 
 You'll find a loving mistress. 
 
 Arc. 1^' I do not. 
 Let me find that my father ever hated, 
 Disurace and blows ! 
 
 'J'hes. Go, lead the way ; you have won it ; 
 
 ' to do observance 
 
 Tu Jtotiery Ma .] Ol the rustom of going into the woods to 
 celebrate the intnxluction ot M:iy, and the several rites ob-erved 
 by diffen-nt |jei»|)le o\\ that (rccasLMi, the reader will see an ample 
 account in R -mne's Ob ei -alions on Pi-pul:ir Antiquities. See 
 Brand's edition, 8vo, 1777, printed at Newcastle, p. 255. — Reed, 
 
Scene v.] KINSMEN. 6i 
 
 It shall be so: You shall receive all dues 
 
 Fit for the honour you have won ; 'twere wrong 
 
 else ~ 
 Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant, 
 That, if I were a woman, would be masicr,* 
 But you are wise. [Flourish, 
 
 Emu I hope too wise for that, sir. lEdeunf, 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A Room in the Prison, 
 
 Enter Jailor^s Daughter, 
 
 Daugh. Let all the dukes, and all the devils 
 roar. 
 He is at liberty ! I have ventured for him ; 
 And out 1 have brought him to a little wood 
 A mile hence. 1 have sent him, where a cedar, 
 Higher than all the rest, spreads like a plane 
 Fast by a brook ; and there he shall keep close, 
 Till I provide him files and food; for yet 
 His iron bracelets are not off Oh, Love, 
 W liat a stout hearted child thou art ! !VIy father 
 Durst better have endured cold iron, than done it. 
 I love him beyond love, and beyond reason, 
 Or wit, or safety ! I have made him know it: 
 I care not; I am desperate ! If the law 
 Find me, and then condemn me for't, some wen- 
 ches. 
 Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge, 
 
62 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IL 
 
 And tell to memory my death was noble, 
 
 Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes, 
 
 I purpose is my way too : Sure he cannot 
 
 Be so unmanly as to leave me here ! 
 
 If he do, maids will not so easily 
 
 Trust men again : And yet he has not thank'd me 
 
 Tor what I have done ; no, not so much as kiss'd 
 
 me ; 
 And that, methinks, is not so well ; nor scarcely 
 Could I persuade him to become a freeman, 
 He made such scruples of the wrong he did 
 To me and to my father. Yet, I hope, 
 When he considers more, this love of mine 
 Will take more root within him : Let him do 
 What he will with me, so he use me kindly ! 
 For use me so he shall, or I'll proclaim him. 
 And to his face, no man. I'll presently 
 Provide him necessaries, and pack my clothes up, 
 And where there is a path of ground I'll venture, 
 So he be with me! by him, like a shadow, 
 I'll ever dwell. Within this hour the whoobub 
 Will be all o'er the prison : I am then 
 Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father! 
 Get many more such prisoners, and such daughters, 
 And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him \ 
 
 [Edit, 
 
Act IIL] KINSMEN. 63 
 
 ACT III. SCENE L 
 
 A Forest. Cornets in sundry places. Noise and 
 hallooing as people a-Mayiug. 
 
 Enter Arcite. 
 
 Arc. The duke has lost Hippolita ; each took 
 A several land. This is a solemn rite 
 They owe blooin'd May, and the Athenians pay it 
 To the heart of ceremony. Oh, queen Emiha, 
 Fresher than May, sweeter 
 Than her gold buttons on the houghs, or all 
 Th' enamell'd knacks o' th' mead or garden ! yea, 
 We challenge too the bank of any nymph, 
 That makes the stream seem flowers ; thou, oh, 
 
 jewel 
 O' th' wood, o' th' world, hast likewise blest a place 
 With thy sole presence,' — In thy rumination 
 That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between. 
 And chop on some cold thought! — Thrice blessed 
 
 chance. 
 To drop on such a mistress ! Expectation 
 Most guiltless of it ! Tell me, oh, lady Fortune, 
 (Next after Emily my sovereign) how far 
 
 ^ • hast likewise hkst a pace 
 
 With thy sole presence, in thy rumination 
 
 That I poor man might eftsoons cunie between. 
 
 And chop on some cold thought, thrice blessed chance, &c.] 
 
 The amendment of the puitctuation in this passage, and altering 
 
 pace to pla(;e, are by Seward. — Ed. J 7 78, 
 
64 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IIL 
 
 I may be proud. She takes strong note of me, 
 Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn 
 (The prim'st of all the year) presents me with 
 A brace of horses ; two such steeds might well 
 Be by a pair of kings back'd, in a field 
 That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas, 
 Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner ! thou 
 So little dream'st upon my fortune, that 
 Thou think'st thyself the happier thing, to be 
 So near Emilia ; me thou deem'st at Thebes, 
 And therein wretched, althougli free : But if 
 Thou knew'st my mistress breathed on me, and 
 
 that 
 I ear'd her language, lived in her eye, oh, coz, 
 What passion would enclose thee ! 
 
 Enter Palamon out of a Busk, with his Shackles ; 
 bends his Fist at Arcite. 
 
 Pal. Traitor kinsman ! 
 Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs 
 Of prisonment were off me, and this hand 
 But owner of a sword, ^y all oaths in one, 
 I, and the justice of my love, would make thee 
 A confess'd traitor! Oh, thou most perfidious 
 That ever gently look'd ! the void'st of honour 
 That e'er bore gentle token !* falsest cousin 
 That ever blood made kin ! calTst thou her thine? 
 I'll prove it in my shackles, with these hands 
 Void of appointment,* that thou liest, and art 
 
 f thou most perfidious 
 
 T^at ever gently look'd the voides of honour ^ 
 Tkat cvtr bo, e gentle token.] Tlie reader will, I believe, find 
 this diniculi i)a^siiiti' (wlucli had long puzzled us all three) at last 
 cleared up bv Mr Sympsun to emire satisfaction —Seward. 
 
 * Foid uj appoiniment.j That is, void of preparation for the 
 
 2 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 65 
 
 A very thief in love, a chaffy lord, 
 
 Nor worth the name of villain ! Had I a sword 
 
 And these house- clogs away 
 
 A7T. Dear cousin Palamon 
 
 Pal. Cozener Arcite, give me language such 
 As thou hast shew'd me feat !* 
 
 Arc Not finding, in 
 The circuit of my breast, any gross stuff 
 To form me like your blazon, holds me to 
 This gentleness of answer : 'Tis your passion 
 That thus mistakes; the which to you beingenemy, 
 Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty 
 I cherish, and depend on, howsoe'er 
 You skip them in me; and with them, fair coz, 
 I'll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleased 
 To shew in generous terms your griefs, since that 
 Your question's with your equal, who professes 
 To clear his own way, with the mind and sword 
 Of a true gentleman. 
 
 Pal. That thou durst, Arcite! 
 
 Arc. My coz, my coz, you have been well ad- 
 vertised 
 How much I dare : You have seen me use my 
 
 sword 
 Against the advice of fear. Sure, of another 
 You would not hear me doubted, but your silence 
 Should break out, though i' th' sanctuary. 
 
 Pal. Sir, 
 
 fight, having no weapons. So in Troilus and Cressida, Agamem* 
 non says to Ajax— 
 
 " Here art thou in appointment, fresh and fair, 
 Anticipating' time with starting courage." 
 
 s Cozener Arcite, give me language such 
 As thou hast shewed me feat.] That is, let your language ccr* 
 respond with the vileness of your actions,— Masfw. 
 VOL. XIII. E 
 
66 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 I have seen you move in such a place, which well 
 Might Justify your nianliood ; you were call'd 
 A good knight and a bold ; But the whole week's 
 
 not fair, 
 If any day it rain ! Their valiant temper 
 Men lose, when they incline to treachery ; 
 And then they fight like compell'd bears, would fly 
 Were they not tied. 
 
 Jrc. Kinsman, you might as well 
 Speak this, and act it in your glass, as to 
 His ear, which now disdains you ! 
 
 Pal. Come up to me ! 
 Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword 
 (Though it be rusty), and the charity 
 Of one meal lend me ; come before me then, 
 A good sword in thy hand, and do but say 
 That Emily is thine, I will forgive 
 The trespass thou hast done me, yea my life. 
 If then thou carry't ; and brave souls in shades, 
 That have died manly, which will seek of me 
 Some news from earth, they shall get none but 
 
 this, 
 That thou art brave and noble. 
 
 Arc. Be content; 
 Again betake you to your hawthorn-house ! 
 "With counsel of the night, I will be here 
 With wholesome viands ; these impediments 
 Will I file oif ; you shall have garments, and 
 Perfumes to kill the smell o' th' prison ; after, 
 Whea you shall stretch yourself, and say but^ 
 
 " Arcite, 
 I am in plight !" there shall be at your choice 
 Both sword and armour. 
 
 Fal. Oh, you heavens, dare any 
 So noble bear a guilty business ? None 
 But only Arcite ; therefore none but Arcite 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. 67 
 
 In this kind is so bold. 
 Jrc. Sweet Palamon 
 
 Pal. I do embrace you and your offer : For 
 Your offer do't I only, sir ; your person, 
 Without hypocrisy, I may not wish 
 More than my sword's edge on't. 
 
 [JFifid horns of cornets. 
 
 Arc. You hear the horns : 
 Enter your muse,'' lest this match between us 
 Be crost ere met. Give me your hand; farewell! 
 I'll bring you every needful thing : I pray you 
 Take comfort, and be strong ! 
 
 Pal. Pray hold your promise. 
 And do the deed with a bent brow ! most certain 
 You love me not ; be rough with me, and pour 
 This oil out of your language: By this air, 
 I could for each word give a cuff! my stomach 
 Not reconciled by reason. 
 
 Arc. Plainly spoken ! 
 Yet pardon me hard language : M^hen I spur 
 My horse, I chide him not ; content and anger 
 In me have but one face. [JVind hoj^ns, 
 
 ^ You hear the horns ; 
 
 ILnter your music, lest this match between's 
 
 Be crost e'er ;?(€/.] Music is evidently corrupt ; I read muse 
 
 quick ; the muse of a hare is exactly the idea the context requires. 
 
 I find this emendation in Mr Theobald's margin ; but, as I sent it 
 
 him, I know not whether he had it from me, or hit upon it before. 
 
 Seward. 
 This emendation had been made before by Sir William Dave- 
 nant, to whom, as it seems a happy conjecture, the merit of it 
 ought to be ascribed. He reads (Rivals, act iii, p. 28), 
 
 " You hear the horns : Enter your muise. Take 
 Comfort and be strong." — Reed. 
 
 Music must certainly be amended, but there is no occasion to 
 interpolate the word quick with Seward. 
 
68 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Hark, sir ! they call 
 
 The scatter'd to the banquet ; You must guess 
 
 I have an office there. 
 
 Pal. Sir, your attendance 
 Cannot please Heaven ; and I know your office 
 Unjustly is atchieved. 
 
 Arc. I have a good title,^ 
 I am persuaded : This question, sick between us, 
 By bleeding must be cured. T am a suitor 
 That to your sword you will bequeath this plea, 
 And talk of it no more. 
 
 Pal, But this one word : 
 You're going now to gaze upon my mistress; 
 For, note you, mine she is 
 
 Aix. Nay, then 
 
 Pal. Nay, pray you ! — 
 You talk of feeding me to breed me strength : 
 You are going now to look upon a sun 
 That strengthens what it looks on ; there you have 
 A vantage o'er me; but enjoy it till 
 I may enforce my remedy. Farewell ! [Ejceunt, 
 
 "^ li a good title, 
 I'm persuaded this question, &c.] The readisg and pointing 
 of former editions.— (Scwarrf. 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 69 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Jailor'' s Daughter. 
 
 Daugh. He has mistook the brake I meant ; ' 
 
 is gone 
 After his fancy. 'Tis now well-nigh morning; 
 No matter ! 'would it were perpetual night, 
 And Darkness lord o' th' world ! — Hark ! 'tis a wolf : 
 In me hath Grief slain Fear, and, but for one thing, 
 I care for nothing, and that's Palamon : 
 I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so 
 He had this file. What if I halloo'd for him? 
 I cannot halloo : if I whoop'd, what then? 
 If he not answer'd, I should call a wolf, 
 And do him but that service. I have heard 
 Strange howls this live-long night; why may't 
 
 not be 
 They have made prey of him ? He has no weapons ; 
 He cannot run ; the jingling of his gyves 
 
 * He has mistook the beake I meant. 1 Seward alters beake to 
 beck, which, says he, " is an old English word, and now in use in 
 all the northern counties ; it signifies a brook or river ; and some 
 towns, as Welbeck, Holbeck, &c. take their names from it. See 
 Ray's Northern Dialects, and Skinner on the word." 
 
 Davenant here is less successful in his alteration than in other 
 passages: He reads beach. — Reed. 
 
 A more simple, and indeed very obvious variation of Mason's 
 I have introduced in the text, where only a single letter differs 
 from the old text. By brake she means the bush in which Pala- 
 mon lay concealed* 
 
70 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Might call fell things to hsten, who have in them 
 A sense to know a man unarm'd, and can 
 Smell where resistance is. I'll set it down 
 He's torn to pieces ; they howl'd many together, 
 And then they fed on him : So much for that ! 
 Be bold to ring the bell ; how stand I then? 
 All's chared when he is gone.' No, no, I lie ; 
 My father's to be hang'd for his escape ; 
 Myself to beg, if I prized life so much 
 As to deny my act ; but that I would not, 
 Should I try death by dozens ! — I am moped : 
 Food took I none these two days; sipt some water; 
 I have not closed mine eyes,' save when my lids 
 Scowered off their brine. Alas, dissolve, my life ! 
 Let not my sense unsettle, lest I should drown, 
 Or stab, or hang myself! 
 Oh, state of Nature, fail together in me. 
 Since thy best props are warp'd ! — So ! which way 
 
 now? 
 The best way is, the next way to a grave : 
 Each errant* step besides is torment. Lo, 
 The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech- 
 owl 
 Calls in the dawn ! all offices are done, 
 Save what I fail in : But the point is this, 
 An end, and that is all ! [Emt. 
 
 5 All's chared when he is gone."] That is, " My task is done 
 then.'* Chare is frequently used for task work. 
 
 ■ Food took I none these two days, 
 
 Sipt some water, I've not closed mine eyes."] Sympson and Ma- 
 son would read, 'Cept some water; but the old text is perfectly 
 proper, for surely there is no impropriety in the restriction of the 
 WQxdi food to nourishing viands, which water is not. It is as if she 
 said, " I have taken no food these two days, only sipt some water." 
 
 * Errant.'} This word frequently occurs in the same sense as 
 erring. 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 71 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The same Part of the Forest as before. 
 
 Enter Arcite, with Meat, IVine, and Files, 
 
 Ajx. I should be near the place. — Ho, cousin 
 Palamon ! 
 
 £72^e;'PALAM0N. 
 
 Pal. Arcite? 
 
 Arc. The same : I have brought you food and 
 files. 
 Come forth, and fear not ; here's no Theseus. 
 
 Pal. Nor none so honest, Arcite. 
 
 Arc. That's no matter ; 
 We'll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage; 
 You shall not die thus beastly; here, sir; drink! 
 I know you are faint; then I'll talk further with 
 you. 
 
 Pal. Arcite, thou might'st now poison me. 
 
 Arc. I might ; 
 But I must fear you first. Sitdown; and, good now, 
 No more of these vain parlies ! let us not, 
 Having our ancient reputation with us, 
 Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health ! 
 
 \Drinks. 
 
 Pal. Do 
 
 Arc. Pray sitdown then ; and let me entreat you, 
 By all the honesty and honour in you, 
 
72 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 No mention of this woman ! 'twill disturb us ; 
 We shall have time enough. 
 
 Pal. Well, sir, I'll pledge you. 
 
 Arc. Drink a good hearty draught ! it breeds 
 good blood, man. 
 Do not you feel it thaw you ? 
 
 Pal. Stay ; I'll tell you 
 After a draught or two more. 
 
 Jrc, Spare it not ; 
 The duke has more, coz. Eat now ' 
 
 Pal. Yes. 
 
 Arc. I am glad 
 You have so good a stomach. 
 
 Pal. 1 am gladder 
 I have so good meat to't. 
 
 Arc. Is't not mad lodging 
 Here in the wild woods, cousin? 
 
 Pal. Yes, for them 
 That have wild consciences. 
 
 Arc. How tastes your victuals? 
 Your hunger needs no sauce, I see. 
 
 Pal. Not much ; 
 But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin. 
 W' hat is this ? 
 
 Arc. Venison. * 
 
 Pal. 'Tis a lusty meat. 
 Give me more wir e : Here, Arcite, to the wenches 
 We have known in our days ! The lord-steward's 
 
 daughter ; 
 Do you remember her? 
 
 Arc. After you, coz. 
 
 Pal. She loved a black-hair'd man. 
 
 Arc, She did so : Well, sir ? 
 
 Pal. And 1 have heard some call him Arcite ; 
 and — 
 
 Arc. Out with It, 'faith ! 
 
 Pal, Sh(? met him in an arbour: 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 7^ 
 
 What did she there, coz ? Play o' th' virginals?^ 
 
 Arc. Something she did, sir. 
 
 Pal. Made her groan a month for't; 
 Or two, or three, or ten. 
 
 Arc. The marshal's sister 
 Had her share too, as I remember, cousin, 
 Else there be tales abroad : You'll pledge her ? 
 
 PaL Yes. 
 
 Arc. A pretty brown wench 'tis ! There was a 
 time 
 When young men went a-hunting, and a wood, 
 And a broad beech ; and thereby hangs a tale. — 
 Heigh-ho ! 
 
 Pal. For Emily, upon my life ! — Fool, 
 Away with this strain'd mirth! I say again. 
 That sigh was breathed for Emily : Base cousin, 
 Darest thou break first ? 
 
 Arc. You are wide.* 
 
 Pal. By Heaven and earth. 
 There's nothing in thee honest ! 
 
 Arc. Then I'll leave you : 
 You are a beast now. 
 
 Pal. As thou mak'st me, traitor. 
 
 Arc. There's all things needful; files, and shirts, 
 and perfumes : 
 I'll come again some two hours hence, and bring 
 That that shall quiet all. 
 
 Pal. A sword and armour ? 
 
 J Virginals.'] A musical instrument similar to a very small kind 
 of spinnet. Blount informs us that it is so called " because maids 
 and virgins do most commonly play on them." So in The Poor 
 Man's Comfort by Daborne : 
 
 " A clap of thunder stay the clamorous noise 
 
 Of this rude multitude; these leVo'ina/ jacks 
 
 That skip and make a noise as each man moves them !" 
 
 • Wide.] That is, you arc wide of the mar^ ; an expressioH 
 from archery. 
 
74 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 ^rc. Fear me not. You are now too foul : Fare- 
 well ! 
 Get off your trinkets; you shall want nought. 
 
 Pal. Sirrah- 
 
 Arc. V\\ hear no more ! [E.viL 
 
 Pai If he keep touch, he dies fort ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Jailor s Daughter, 
 
 Daugh. I am very cold ; and all the stars are 
 out too, 
 The little stars, and all that look like aglets:* 
 The sun has seen my folly. Palamon ! 
 Alas, no ; he's in Heaven ! — Where am I now? — 
 Youder'sthesea, and there's a ship; how't tumbles! 
 And there's a rock lies watching under water; 
 Now, now, it beats upon it ! now, now, now ! 
 There's a leak sprung, a sound one ; how they cry ! 
 Spoom her before the wind,*^ you'll lose all else ! 
 
 5 Aglets."] Barret, in his Alvearie, says, " An aglet is a jewel in 
 one's cap." And Cotgrave explains ajfiquet, " Any pretty toy, 
 trinki t, or trifle of small value ; as a little brooche, flower, button, 
 cglet, &c. stucke on the hat, head, hood, or elsewhere, and worne 
 (especially by a woman) for ornament." This meaning of the 
 vord 'Uits the text better than the more common one, m, the tag 
 of a p jint. 
 
 ^ Upon /ler before the uind.] Mr Sympson thinks this is not 
 true sea language, and puts what 1 believe is, 
 
 Up mth her 'fore the wind' 
 
 Mr Theobald reads, 
 
r 
 
 Scene IV.] KINSMEN. 75 
 
 Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys ! 
 Goodnight, good night; you are gone! — I am 
 
 very hungry : 
 'Would I could find a fine frog ! he would tell me 
 News from all parts o'th' world ; then would I make 
 A carrack' of a cockle-shell, and sail 
 By East and North-east to the king of Pigmies, 
 For he tells fortunes rarely. Now, my father, 
 Twenty to one, is truss'd up in a trice 
 To-morrow morning ; I'll say never a word. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 For ril cut my green coat,* afoot ahoxe my knee ; 
 And Til clip my yellow locks, a?i inch below mine ec^ 
 Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. 
 
 Spoon her before the •wind 
 
 Either of them will do. — Seuard. 
 
 The text is probably the true reading. So in The Double Mar- 
 riage, vol. VIII. p. 35 : — 
 
 " We'll spare her our main top-sail ; 
 
 She shall not look us long, we are no starters. 
 
 Down with the foresail too ! we'll spoom before her." 
 
 ' Carrack.] A ship of heavy burthen. See vol. XII. p. Spi, 
 8 For I'll cut, &c.] Davenant altered this song in the follow- 
 
 ing manner : 
 
 '* For straight my green gown into breeches I'll make, 
 And my long yellow locks much shorter I'll take. 
 Sing down a-down, &c. 
 
 Then I'll cut me a switch, and on that ride about, 
 And wander and wander till I find him out. 
 With a heigh down, &c." — Reed. 
 1 
 
76 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Hes buy me a white cut,^ forth for to ride, 
 And ru go seek him through the world that is so wide. 
 //cj/, 7W1UUJ, 7wnny, nojiny.* 
 
 Oil, for a prick now like a nightingale,* 
 To put my breast against ! I shall sleep like a top 
 else. [Exit. 
 
 • He's buy me a "white cut,] He's is a common abbreviation of 
 he shall, still common among the vulgar ; and there is no occasion 
 to read with Mason — he'll. Cut is an old term for a bad horse. 
 So in The Merry Devil of Edmonton : — 
 
 " Tl.e milk-white cuts shall turn the wenches off, 
 And lay their dossers tumbling in the dust." 
 
 ' Hey nonny.] This was a common burden of songs, and was 
 peculiarly appropriated to such as were sung by distracted girls. 
 See Reed's Shakspeare, vol. XVII. p. 469, and XVIII, p. 292, 
 293. 
 
 * Oh, for a prick now, like a nightingale. 
 
 To pvt my breast against.] This allusion is very frequent in 
 our ancient poets : From several examples which might be pro- 
 duced, we shall select the following from a poem written by Flet- 
 cher's cousin, which at present is scarcely known : 
 
 " So Philomel perch't on an aspin sprig. 
 Weeps all the night her lost virginitie, 
 
 And sings her sad tale to the merrie twig, 
 That dances at such joyfull miserie, 
 Ne ever lets sweet rest invade her eye ; 
 But leaning on a thorn her dainty chest, 
 For fear soft sleep should steal into htr bresi. 
 Expresses in her song grief not to be exprest." 
 
 Christs Victorie and Triumph in Heaven and Earth over and af- 
 ter Death. By Giles Fletcher, 2d edit. 4to, 1032, p. GS.—rBeerf. 
 
 1 
 
Scene V.] KINSMEN. 77 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A Grove in the Forest, 
 
 Enter Gerrold, four Countrymen^ as Morris^ 
 dancers, (and the Bavian,^) Jive JVenclieSy with a 
 Taborer. 
 
 Get. Fy, fy ! 
 What tediosity and disensanity 
 
 ' The 'BaX!ian.'\ This is a very unusual character in a morris- 
 dance, and is not mentioned in any other old play. His occupa- 
 tion may be gathered from the sequel :— 
 
 Where's the '^a-cian ? 
 
 My friend, carry your tail without offence 
 Or scandal to the ladies ; and be sure 
 You tumble with audacity and manhood ! 
 And when you bark, do it with judgement. 
 
 The Bavian is only the particular kind of fool in the present mor- 
 ris-dance, not a separate character, as Mr Steevens supposed, mis- 
 understanding the following passage : 
 
 ■■ and next the fool, 
 
 The Bavian, with long tail and eke long tool. 
 
 Mr Douce, who has thrown great light on the curious subject of 
 the morris-dance, observes on this passage, in his Illustrations of 
 Shakspeare, (vol. II. p. 459) :— " Here are not two fools described. 
 The construction is, ' next comes the fool, i, e. the Bavian fool. 
 Sec' This might have been the idiot fool, and so denominated 
 from his wearing a bib, in French bavon, because he drivelled. 
 Thus in Bonduca, act v. Decius talks of a *' dull slavering fool." 
 The Tricks of the Bavian, his tumbling and barking like a dog, 
 suggested perhaps by the conduct of Robert the Devil, when dis- 
 guised as a fool in his well-known and once popular romance, 
 were peculiar to the morris-dance described in The Two Nobis 
 
78 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Is here among ye ! Have my rudiments 
 Been labour'cl so long with ye, milk'd unto ye, 
 And, by a figure, even the very plumb-broth 
 And marrow of my understanding laid upon ye, 
 And do ye still cry where, and how, and wherefore ? 
 Ye most coarse freeze capacities, ye jave judg- 
 ments,* 
 
 Kinsmen, which has some other characters which seem to have 
 been introduced for stage effect, and not to have belonged to the 
 genuine morris. The tail was the fox-tail that was sometimes 
 ■worn by the morris fool, and the long tool will be best understood 
 by referring to the cut of the idiot in the genuine copy of the 
 Dance of Death, usually, though improperly, ascribed to Holbein, 
 and by reflecting on some peculiar properties and qualifications 
 of the idiot character." To the word bavon, Mr Douce subjoins 
 the follov/ing note — " Baton, or bavette, is from bave, spittle. 
 Hence the middle-age Latin term for a fool, bavosus. See Du- 
 cange, Gloss. This is a very plausible etymology, and might stand 
 well enough by itself; but it must not be concealed, that in some 
 of the northern languages -Bauiaft signifies a monkey or baboon. 
 Whether Fletcher, who seems the only writer who has made use 
 of this word, applied it to the fool in question on account of the 
 monkey tricks that he played remains to be ascertained." This sup- 
 position is very plausible, as Bavian is Dutch, and as it is not im- 
 probable that the English baboon and the French babouin are mere 
 corruptions of the former ; for Skinner's derivation from babe is 
 perfectly absurd. 
 
 The characters in the morris of the present scene are enume- 
 rated in the speech of the Schoolmaster, viz. the lord and lady of 
 May, with their servingman and chambermaid, mine host and 
 hostess, the clown and the Bavian fool, cum multis aliis. The Lord 
 of May is still preserved at the Whitsun-ale; and Ralph, in The 
 Knight of the Burning Pestle, personates the character— 
 
 " With gilded staff and crossed skarf." 
 
 The Lady of INIay is no other than the celebrated Maid Marian. 
 The four next characters are probably of Fletcher's own invention. 
 That the clown and fool are made two distinct personages is ano- 
 ther deviation from the regular morris, 
 
 * Ye jave judgments.'] Whether jave be some sort of coarse 
 cloth as well a.^ freeze, or a mistake of the press, must be uncer- 
 tain to all who arc unacquainted with the word. Supposing it the 
 
Scene v.] KINSMEN. 79 
 
 Have I said thus let be, and there let he, 
 And then let be, and no man understand me? 
 Froh Deiwi, 7nedius fidius ; ye are all dunces ! 
 For why ? herestand I ; here the duke comes; there 
 
 are you, 
 Close in the thicket; the duke appears, I meet him, 
 And unto him I utter learned things. 
 And many figures; he hears, and nods, and hums. 
 And then cries rare ! and I go forward ; at length 
 I fling my cap up ; mark there ! then do you, 
 As once did Meleager and the hoar, 
 Break comely out before him, like true lovers, 
 Cast yourselves in a body decently, 
 And sweetly, by a figure, trace, and turn, boys ! 
 
 1 Conn. And sweetly we will do it, master Ger- 
 
 rold. 
 
 2 Conn. Draw up the company. Where's the ta- 
 
 borer ? 
 
 3 Conn. Why, Timothy ! 
 
 Tab. Here, my mad boys ; have at ye ! 
 Ger, But I say where 's their women ? 
 
 latter, I have two conjectures to offer, first, ye bays Judgments, or 
 ye sleave judgments. Sleave is the term the silk-weavers use for 
 the ravelled, knotty, gouty partsof the silk, from whence Shakspeare 
 has taken an extremely beautiful metaphor, that has been hitherto 
 generally misunderstood, and therefore disliked, and even discard- 
 ed from the text as spurious, by Mr Pope and the Oxford edition. 
 It is in Macbeth, in the fine scene after the murder of the king : 
 
 ** Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care." 
 
 It should have been sleave. The trouble that this ravell'd knotty 
 silk gives the knitter or weaver : and the confusion and embarras- 
 ment of the sleave itself, makes it an exceeding proper emblem of 
 the perplexities and uneasiness of care and trouble. See Skinner 
 on the word. I owe the emendation in Shakspeare to an ingeni- 
 ous friend. — Seward. 
 
 Seward is probably right; but, as it might turn out that the word 
 in the text may have had an analogous meaning, I have not dis- 
 carded it. Possibly we should read, *' Ye Jay or jVnt judgments." 
 
80 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 4 Coun. Here's Friz and IVIaudlin. 
 
 2 Conn, And little Luce, with the white legs, 
 
 and bouncing Barbery. 
 
 1 Coun. And freckled Nell, that never fail'd her 
 
 master. 
 Ger. Where be your ribbands, maids ? Swim 
 with your bodies, 
 And carry it sweetly, and deliverly ; 
 And now and then a favour, and a frisk ! ^ 
 Nell. Let us alone, sir. 
 Ger. Where's the rest o' th* music ? 
 
 3 Coun. Dispersed as you commanded. 
 Ger. Couple then, 
 
 And see what's wanting. Where's the Bavian? 
 My friend, carry your tail without offence 
 Or scandal to the ladies ; and be sure 
 You tumble with audacity, and manhood ! 
 And when you bark, do it with judgment. 
 
 £av. Yes, sir. 
 
 Ger. Quo usque tandem ? Here's a woman want- 
 ing. 
 
 4 Coun. We may go whistle ; all the fat's i' th' 
 
 fire ! 
 Ger. We have, 
 As learned authors utter, wash'd a tile ; 
 We have been faiuus, and labour'd vainly. 
 
 2 Coun. This is that scornful piece, that scurvy 
 
 hilding,^ 
 That gave her promise faithfully she would be here, 
 Cicely, the sempster's daughter ! 
 The next gloves that I give her shall be dog's skin ! 
 Nay, an she fail me once— You can tell, Areas, 
 
 5 And now and then a favour and a frisk,"] I suppose favour 
 means here a kiss given to the male dancers. 
 
 ^ Hildi»g.] A common term of contempt from hilder ling, which. 
 is still common in some counties. 
 
 3 
 
Scene V.] KINSMEN. 81 
 
 She swore, by wine and bread, she would not break. 
 
 Ger. An eel and woman, 
 A learned poet says, unless by th' tail 
 And with thy teeth thou hold, will either fail. 
 In manners this was false position. 
 
 1 Coun. A fire ill take her!' does she flinch now? 
 
 3 Coun. What 
 
 Shall we determine, sir? 
 
 Ger. Nothing; 
 Our business is become a nullity, 
 Yea, and a woful, and a piteous nullity ! 
 
 4 Coun. Now, when the credit of our town lay 
 
 on it, 
 Now to be frampal,' now to piss o' th' nettle ! 
 Go thy ways ; I'll remember thee, I'll fit thee ! 
 
 Enter Jailor s Daughter ^ and sings, 
 
 Daugh. The George alow came from the South, 
 From the coast of Barbary-a. 
 And there he met with brave gallants of war. 
 By one, by two, by three-a. 
 
 ' yi fire ill take her.'\ This may be defended ; but as the expres- 
 sion is not a very common or eligible one, and the dialogue is with 
 a schoolmaster, who says of himself, that 
 
 He humbles with a ferula the tall ones, 
 
 I hope I only restore the original in reading, 
 
 ^ feril take Aer.— Seward. 
 
 We believe there is no such word as feril. May we not under- 
 stand by FIRE ill a mighty ill, a severe punishment ? A simi- 
 lar useof /?re adjectively is frequent. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 I suspect we should transpose the words, and read — '* An ill fire 
 take her." Seward's ferula is quite out of the question in the 
 countryman's speech. 
 
 8 Frampal.] See Wit at Several Weapons, vol. XI. p. 325. 
 VOL. XII r. F 
 
89 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 JFell haifd, well haiVd, you jolly gallants ! 
 
 And whither ?fow are you bound-a ? 
 Ohf let me have your company 
 
 Till [we] come to the Sound-a ! 
 
 There teas three fools, fell out about an howlet ; 
 
 The one said "'twas an owl. 
 
 The other he said nay. 
 The thii^d he said it was a hawk. 
 
 And her bells were cut away. 
 
 5 Coun. There's a dainty mad woman, master, 
 comes i' th' nick ; 
 As mad as a March hare ! 
 If we can get her dance, we are made again: 
 I warrant her, slie'll do the rarest gambols ! 
 
 1 Coun* A mad woman ? We are made, boys ! 
 
 Ger. And are you mad, good woman ? 
 
 Daugh, I would be sorry else ; 
 Give me your hand. 
 
 Ger. Why? 
 
 Daugh. I can tell your fortune : 
 You are a fool. Tell ten : ' I have poz'd him. Buz ! 
 Friend, you must eat no white bread ; if you do, 
 Your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we dance, 
 
 ho? 
 I know you ; you're a tinker : Sirrah tinker, 
 Stop no more holes, but what you should ! 
 
 Ger. Dii boni! 
 A tinker, damsel? 
 
 Daugh. Or a conjurer : 
 Raise me a devil now, and let him play 
 Qui passa, o' th' bells and bones I 
 
 Ger* Go, take her, 
 
 9 You are a fool. Tell ten.] It has been before observed, that 
 it was a trial of idiocy to make the person count his fingers. 
 
I 
 
 Scene V.] KINSMEN. $3 
 
 And fluently persuade her to a peace :' 
 Atque opus exegi, quod nee Jovis irOf nee ignis — 
 Strike up, and lead her in ! 
 
 2 Coun. Come, lass, let's trip it ! 
 
 Daugh. I'll lead. [IVind horns, 
 
 3 Coun. Do, do. 
 
 Ger. Persuasively, and cunningly; away, boys! 
 \^E.veu?it all but Gehrold. 
 I hear the horns : Give me some meditation, 
 And mark your cue. Pallas inspire me ! 
 
 Enter Theseus, Perithous, Hippolita, Emilia, 
 Arcite, a?id Train, 
 
 Thes. This way the stag took. 
 
 Ger. Stay, and edify ! 
 
 Thes. What have we here ? 
 
 Per. Some coun try -sport, upon my life, sir. 
 
 Thes. Well, sir, go forward ; we will edify. 
 Ladies, sit down ! we'll stay it. 
 
 Ger. Thou doughty duke, all hail ! all hail, sweet 
 ladies! 
 
 Thes. This is a cold beginning. 
 
 Ger. If you but favour, our country pastime 
 made is. 
 We are a ^qw of those collected here, 
 That ruder tongues distinguish villager ; 
 And to say verity, and not to fable, 
 Wc are a merry rout, or else a rabble, 
 Or company, or, by a figure, chorus, 
 That 'fore thy dignity will dance a morris. 
 And I that am the rectifier of all, 
 By title Pedagogus, that let fall 
 
 * Persuade her to a peace.] I think we should read appease, i. e. 
 be quiet or silent.— -Reed. 
 
 Mr Mason wishes to read place ; I suspect the original was — 
 « pace, i. e. a dance, as Gerroid wishes her to join in the morris. 
 
84 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 The birch upon the breeches of the small ones, 
 
 And humble with a ferula the tall ones, 
 
 Do here present this machine, or this frame : 
 
 And, dainty duke, whose doughty dismal fame 
 
 Prom Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar, 
 
 Is blown abroad; help me, thy poor well-wilier, 
 
 And, with thy twinkling eyes, look right and 
 
 straight 
 Upon this mighty morr — of mickle weight; 
 Is — now comes in, which being glew'd together 
 Makes morris, and the cause that we came hither. 
 The body of our sport, of no small study, 
 I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy, 
 To speak before thy noble grace, this tenor: 
 At whose great feet I offer up my penner.* 
 The next, the lord of May, and lady bright, 
 The chambermaid, and servingman by night. 
 That seek out silent hanging: Then mine host, 
 And his fat spouse, that welcome to their cost 
 The galled traveller, and with a beck'ning 
 Informs the tapster to inflame the reck'ning : 
 Then the beast-eating clown, and next the fool, 
 The Bavian, with long tail, and eke long tool; 
 Cum multis aliis, that make a dance ; 
 Say ayt and all shall presently advance. 
 
 Thes. Ay, ay, by any means, dear domine ! 
 
 Per. Produce. 
 
 Ger. Intratejilii! Come forth, and foot it. 
 
 Enter Coiintriimeni PFefickes, S;c. They dance a 
 Morris. 
 
 Ladies, if we have been merry,^ 
 And have pleased ye with a derry, 
 
 * PennerJ] A case for holding pens. 
 
 ' Ladies, if we have, &c.] We have ventured to prefix the 
 Schovl?nastei-*s name to this speech. It has always been given t» 
 PmMo«5.— Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene V.] KINSMEN. 85 
 
 And a derry, and a down, 
 
 Say the schoolmaster's no clown, 
 
 Duke, if we have pleased thee too, 
 
 And have done as good boys should do, 
 
 Give us but a tree or twain 
 
 For a Maypole, and again. 
 
 Ere another year run out, 
 
 We'll make thee laugh, and all this rout. 
 
 Thes, Take twenty, do??iine, — How does my 
 sweetheart? 
 
 Hip. Never so pleased, sir. 
 
 Emi. 'Twas an excellent dance ; and, for a pre- 
 face, 
 I never heard a better. 
 
 T/ies. Schoolmaster, I thank you.— 
 One see 'em all rewarded ! 
 
 Fet\ And here's something 
 To paint your pole withal. 
 
 Thes, Now to our sports again ! 
 
 Ger, May the stag thou hunt'st stand long, 
 And thy dogs be swift and strong ! 
 May they kill him without letts. 
 And the ladies cat's dowsets ! 
 
 Come, we are all made ! \TVind horns. 
 
 DiiDeagueomnes ! ye have danced rarely, wenches. 
 
 [^Exeunt* 
 
 The stage-direction in the quarto is—" Knocke for Schoole, 
 Enter the Dance," 
 
S6 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Another Part of the Forest, 
 
 Enter Palamon from the Bush. 
 
 Pal, About this hour my cousin gave his faith 
 To visit me again, and with him bring 
 Two swords, and two good armours ; if he fail, 
 He's neither man, nor soldier. When he left me, 
 I did not think a week could have restored 
 My lost strength to me, I was grown so low 
 And crest-faU'n with my wants : I thank thee, 
 
 Arcite, 
 Thou art yet a fair foe ; and I feel myself, 
 With this refreshing, able once again 
 To out-dure danger. To delay it longer 
 Would make the world think, when it comes to 
 
 hearing. 
 That I lay fatting like a swine, to fight. 
 And not a soldier : Therefore, this blest morning 
 Shall be the last ; and that sword he refuses, 
 If it but hold, 1 kill him with ; 'tis justice ; 
 So, Love and Fortune for me ! — Oh, good-morrow I 
 
 Enter Arcite with Armours and Swords, 
 
 Arc. Good- morrow. Noble Kinsman! 
 Pal. 1 have put you 
 To too much pains, sir. 
 Arc, That too much, fair cousin, 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 87 
 
 Is but a debt to honour, and my duty. 
 
 Pal. 'Would you were so in all, sir ! I could wish 
 you 
 As kind a Kinsman, as you force me find 
 A beneficial foe, that niy embraces 
 Might thank you, not my blows. 
 
 Arc. I shall think either, 
 Well done, a noble recompense. 
 
 Pal. Then I shall quit you. 
 
 Arc. Defy me in these fair terms, and you shew 
 More than a mistress to me : No more anger. 
 As you love any thing that's honourable ! 
 We were not bred to talk, man ; when we are armed, 
 And both upon our guards, then let our fury, 
 Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us ! 
 And then to whom the birthright of this beauty 
 Truly pertains (without upbraidings, scorns, 
 Despisings of our persons, and such poutings 
 Fitter for girls and schoolboys) will be seen, 
 And quickly, yours, or mine. Wilt please you arm, 
 
 sir? 
 Or if you feel yourself not fitting yet, 
 And furnish'd with your old strength, I'll stay, 
 
 cousin. 
 And every day discourse you into health, 
 As I am spared : Your person I am friends with, 
 And I could wish I had not said I loved her, 
 Though I had died ; but loving such a lady, 
 And justifying my love, I must not fly from't. 
 
 Pal. Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy, 
 That no man but thy cousin's fit to kill thee; 
 I am well, and lusty ; chuse your arms ! 
 
 Ai'c. Chuse you, sir ! 
 
 Pal. Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it 
 To make me spare thee ? 
 
 Arc. If you think so, cousin. 
 You are deceived ; for, as 1 am a soldier. 
 
88 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 I will not spare you ! 
 
 Pal. That's well said ! 
 
 Arc. You'll find it. 
 
 Pal. Then, as I am an honest man, and love 
 With all the justice of affection, 
 I'll pay thee soundly ! This I'll take. 
 
 Arc. That's mine then ; 
 I'll arm you first. [Puts on Palamon*s armour. 
 
 Pal. Do pray thee, tell me, cousin, 
 Where got'st thou this good armour ? 
 
 Arc. "Tis the duke's; 
 And, to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you? 
 
 Pal. No. 
 
 Arc. Is't not too heavy ? 
 
 Pal. I have worn a lighter; 
 But I shall make it serve. 
 
 Arc. I'll buckle't close. 
 
 Pal. By any means. 
 
 Aix. You care not for a grand-guard ?* 
 
 Pal. No, no ; we'll use no horses : 1 perceive 
 You would fain be at that light. 
 
 Arc. I am indifferent. 
 
 Pal. 'Faith, so am 1. Good cousin, thrust the 
 buckle 
 Through far enough ! 
 
 Arc. I warrant you. 
 
 Pal. My casque now ! 
 
 Arc. Will you fight bare-arm'd ? 
 
 Pal We shall be the nimbler. 
 
 Arc. But use your gauntlets though : Those arc 
 o' th' least; 
 Pr'ythee take mine, good cousin ! 
 
 Pal. Thank }ou, Arcite ! 
 How do I look ? am 1 fall'n much away ? 
 
 * Grand'guard.l A part of the armour worn by knights on horse- 
 back. 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 89 
 
 Arc. 'Faith, very little ; Love has used you 
 kindly. 
 
 Pal. ril warrant thee, I'll strike home. 
 
 Arc. Do, and spare not ! 
 I'll give you cause, sweet cousin. 
 
 Pal. Now to you, sir I 
 Methinks this armour's very like that, Arcite, 
 Thou wor'st that day the three kings fell, but 
 lighter. 
 
 A}r. That was a very good one ; and that day, 
 I well remember, you out-did mc, cousin ; 
 I never saw such valour : VVhen you charged 
 Upon the left wing of the enemy, 
 I spurred hard to come up, and under mc 
 I had a right good horse. 
 
 Pal. You had indeed; 
 A bright- bay, I remember. 
 
 Arc. Yes. But all 
 Was vainly labour'd in me ; you out-went me, 
 Nor could my wishes reach you : Yet a little 
 I did by imitation. 
 
 Pal. More by virtue ; 
 You are modest, cousin. 
 
 Ajx. When I saw you charge first, 
 Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder 
 Break from the troop. 
 
 Pal. But still before that flew 
 The lightning of your valour. Stay a little ! 
 Is not this piece too straight ? 
 
 Arc No, no ; 'tis well. 
 
 Pal. I would have nothing hurt thee but my 
 sword ; 
 A bruise would be dishonour. 
 
 Arc. Now I'm perfect. 
 
 Pal. Stand off then ! 
 
 Arc. Take my sword ! I hold it better. 
 
90 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IIL 
 
 Pal. I thank you, no ; keep it ; your life lies 
 
 on it : 
 
 Here's one, if it but hold, I ask no more 
 
 For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me ! 
 
 [They bow s€ve?'al ways ; then advance and stand. 
 
 A7X. And me, my love ! Is there aught else to 
 
 say? 
 Pal. This only, and no more: Thou'rt mine 
 aunt's son, 
 And that blood we desire to shed is mutual ; 
 In me, thine, and in thee, mine : My sword 
 Is in my hand, and if thou killest me 
 The gods and I forgive thee ! If there be 
 A place prepared for those that sleep in honour, 
 I wish his weary soul that falls may win it ! 
 Fight bravely, cousin : Give me thy noble hand ! 
 Arc Here, Palamon ! This hand shall never 
 more 
 Come near thee with such friendship. 
 Pal. 1 commend thee. 
 
 Arc. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward; 
 For none but such dare die in these just trials.' 
 Once more, farewell, my cousin ! 
 
 Pal. Farewell, Arcite ! [Fight, 
 
 [^Horns within ; they stand. 
 Arc. Lo, cousin, lo ! our folly has undone us ! 
 Pal. Why? 
 
 Arc. This is the duke, a-hunting as I told you; 
 If we be found, we are wretched ! Oh, retire, 
 
 ' If J fall, curse rue, and say I uas a coward. 
 
 For none but such dare die in these just trials.'] Mr Sympsoti 
 thinks this a strange sentiment, and indeed it must appear so, till 
 we recollect that our scene lies in the land of knight errantry ra- 
 ther than in Athens : That our authors follow Chaucer, and dress 
 their heroes alter the manners of his age, when trials by the sword 
 were thought just, and the conquered always supposed guilty and 
 held infamous.— 6'ea)a/-(/, 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 91 
 
 For Honour's sake and safety, presently* 
 
 Into your bush again, sir ! We shall find 
 
 Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin, 
 
 If you be seen you perish instantly, 
 
 For breaking prison ; and I, if you reveal me, 
 
 For my contempt : Then all the world will scorn us, 
 
 And say we had a noble difference, 
 
 But base disposers of it. 
 
 Pal. No, no, cousin ; 
 I will no more be bidden, nor put off 
 This great adventure to a second trial! 
 I know your cunning, and 1 know your cause. 
 He that faints now, sbame take him! Put thyself 
 Upon thy present guard • 
 
 Arc. You are not mad ? 
 
 Pal. Or 1 will make the advantage of this hour 
 Mine own ; and what to come shall threaten me, 
 I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin, 
 I love Emilia! and in that I'll bury 
 Thee, and all crosses else ! 
 
 Arc. Then come what can come, 
 Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well 
 Die as discourse, or sleep : Only this fears me, 
 The law will have the honour of our ends. 
 Have at thy life ! 
 
 Pal. Look to thine own well, Arcite ! 
 
 [Fig lit again. Horns. 
 
 and safely presentli/ 
 
 Into yuur bush again.'\ Tlie very slight alteration in the text 
 wai made by Theobald and Seward, and though rejected by the 
 last editors, it improves the sense so much, that I have restored 
 it. Arcite conjures his cousin, for the sake and preservation of his 
 honour, to retire. 
 
92 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Perithous, 
 and Train. 
 
 Thes. Wliat ignorant and mad malicious traitors 
 Are you, that, "gainst the tenor of my laws, 
 Are making battle, thus like knights appointed, 
 Without my leave, and officers of arms ? 
 By Castor, both shall die ! 
 
 Pal. Hold thy word, Theseus ! 
 We are certainly both traitors, both despisers 
 Of thee, and of thy goodness : I am Palamon, 
 That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison; 
 Think well what that deserves ! and this is Arcite; 
 A bolder traitor never trod thy ground, 
 A falser ne'er seem'd friend : This is the man 
 Was begg'dand banished; this is he contemns thee, 
 And what thou dar'st do; and in this disguise, 
 Against this known edict,' follow^s thy sister, 
 That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia 
 (Whose servant, if there be a right in seeing, 
 And first bequeathing of the soul to, justly 
 I am ;) and, which is more, dares thmk her his ! 
 This treachery, like a most trusty lover, 
 I call'd him now" to answer : If thou be'st, 
 As thou art spoken, great and virtuous, 
 The true decider of all injuries, 
 Say, "Fight again!" and thou shalt see me, Theseus, 
 Do such a justice, thou thyself wilt envy; 
 Then take my life ! I'll woo thee to't. 
 
 Per. Oh, Heaven, 
 What more than man is this ! 
 
 Thes. 1 have sworn. 
 
 Arc. We seek not 
 
 "> Edict.'] This word is generally accented on tHe last syllable by 
 our authors, as again in the next speech of Arcite. 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. > 93 
 
 Thy breath of mercy, Theseus! 'Tis to me 
 
 A thing as soon to die, as thee to say it. 
 
 And no more moved. Where this man calls me 
 
 traitor. 
 Let me say thus much : If in love be treason. 
 In service of so excellent a beauty. 
 As I love most, and in that faith will perish; 
 As I have brought my life here to confirm it; 
 As I have served her truest, worthiest; 
 As I dare kill this cousin, that denies it; 
 So let me be most traitor, and you please me. 
 For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady 
 Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me 
 Stay here to love her; and \^ she say traitor, 
 I am a villain fit to lie unburied. 
 
 PaU Thou shalt have pity of us both, oh, The- 
 seus, 
 If unto neither thou shew mercy ; stop, 
 As thou art just, thy noble ear against us; 
 As thou art valiant, for thy cousin's soul, 
 Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory, 
 Let's die together, at one instant, duke ! 
 Only a little let him fall before me, 
 That I may tell my soul he shall not have her. 
 
 Thes. I grant your wish; for, to say true, your 
 cousin 
 Has ten times more oflended, for I gave him 
 ]\Iore mercy than you found, sir, your offences 
 Being no more than his. — None here speak for 'em! 
 For, ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever. 
 
 Hip. Alas, the pity ! Now or never, sister, 
 Speak, not to be denied : That face of yours 
 Will bear the curses else of after-ages, 
 For these lost cousins I 
 
 Emi. In my face, dear sister, 
 I find no anger to 'em, nor no ruin; 
 The misadventure of their own eyes kills 'em : 
 
(^4 THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Yet that I will be woman, and have pity, 
 
 My knees shall grow to the ground but I'll get 
 
 mercy. 
 Help me, dear sister ! in a deed so virtuous, 
 The powers of all women will be with us. 
 Most royal brother [They kneel. 
 
 Hip. Sir, by our tic of marriage 
 
 Emi By your own spotless honour 
 
 Hip. By that faith, 
 That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave 
 me 
 
 Emi. By that you would have pity in another, 
 By your own virtues infinite 
 
 Hip. By valour, 
 By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you — 
 
 Thes. These are strange conjurings ! 
 
 Per. Nay, then I'll in too: [Kneeh, 
 By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers, 
 By all you love most, wars, and this sweet lady 
 
 Emi. By that you would have trembled to deny 
 A blushing maid 
 
 Hip. By your own eyes, by strength, 
 In which you swore I went beyond all women, 
 Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus- 
 
 Per, To crown all this, by your most noble soul, 
 Which cannot want due mercy ! I beg first. 
 
 Hip. Next, hear my prayers ! 
 
 Emi. Last, let me entreat, sir ! 
 
 Per. For mercy ! 
 
 Hip. Mercy! 
 
 E?}ii. Mercy on these princes ! 
 
 Thes. You make my faith reel : Say I felt 
 Compassion to *em both, how would you place it? 
 
 Emi. Upon their lives; but with their banish- 
 ments. 
 
 Thes. You're a right woman, sister; you have 
 pity, 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 95 
 
 But want the understanding where to use it. 
 
 If you desire their lives, invent a way 
 
 Safer than banishment : Can these two live, 
 
 And have the agony of love about 'em, 
 
 And not kill one another ? Every day 
 
 They would fight about you ; hourly bring your 
 
 honour 
 In public question with their swords : Be wise then, 
 And here forget 'em ! it concerns your credit, 
 And my oath equally: I have said, they die! 
 Better they fall by the law, than one another. 
 Bow not my honour. 
 
 Ej?ii Oh, my noble brother. 
 That oath was rashly made, and in your anger; 
 Your reason will not hold it: If such vows 
 Stand for express will, all the world must perish. 
 Beside, I have another oath 'gainst yours. 
 Of more authority, I am sure more love; 
 Not made in passion neither, but good heed. 
 
 Thes. What is it, sister? 
 
 Per. Urge it home, brave lady! 
 
 JEffii. That you would ne'er deny me any thing 
 Fit for my modest suit^ and your free granting; 
 I tie you to your word now; if you fail in't, 
 Think how you maim your honour; 
 (For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf 
 To all but your compassion !) how their lives 
 Might breed the ruin of my name, opinion 1* 
 
 how their lives 
 
 Might breed the ruin of my name ; opinion, 
 
 Shall any thing that loves me perish for me f] Opinion is often 
 iised by the old writers in the sense of reputation, in which sense 
 it is here to be taken. Macbeth says, 
 
 " We will proceed no farther in this business : 
 He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which should be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon." — Ed. 1778. 
 
 9 
 
96 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IIL 
 
 Shall any thing that loves me perish for me ? 
 That were a cruel wisdom ! do men prune 
 The straight young boughs, that blush with thou- 
 sand blossoms, 
 Because they may be rotten r Oh, duke Theseus, 
 The goodly mothers that have groan'd for these, 
 And all the longing maids that ever loved, 
 If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty, 
 And, in their funeral songs for these two cousins. 
 Despise my cruelty, and cry woe-worth me, 
 Till I am nothing but the scorn of women : 
 For Heaven's sake save their lives, and banish *em ! 
 
 T/ies. On what conditions ? 
 
 JEmi. Swear 'em never more 
 To make me their contention, or to know me. 
 To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be, 
 Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers 
 To one another. 
 
 Fal. I'll be cut a-pieces 
 Before I take this oath ! Forget I love her? 
 Oh, all ye gods, despise me then ! Thy banish- 
 ment 
 I not mislike, so we may fairly carry 
 Our swords and cause along: Else, never trifle. 
 But take our lives, duke ! 1 must love, and will; 
 And tor that love, must and dare kill this cousin, 
 On any piece the earth has ! 
 
 Thes. Will you, Arcite, 
 Take these conditions? 
 
 Pal. He's a villain then! 
 
 Per. These are men ! 
 
 Arc. No, never, duke; 'tis worse to me than 
 begging. 
 To take my life so basely. Though I think 
 
 I suspect, with Theobald and Mason, that we should read— 
 *' ni)' nhmts opinion." 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 97 
 
 I never shall enjoy her, yet I'll preserve 
 The honour of affection, and die for her, 
 Make death a devil ! 
 
 Thes. What may be done ? for now I feel com- 
 passion. 
 
 Per. Let it not fall again, sir ! 
 
 Thes. Say, Emilia, 
 If one of them were dead, as one must, are you 
 Content to take the other to your husband? 
 They cannot both enjoy you ; they are princes 
 As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble 
 As ever Fame yet spoke of; look upon 'em, 
 And, if you can love, end this difference ! 
 I give consent :- — Are you content too, princes ? 
 
 Both. With all our souls. 
 
 Thes. He that she refuses 
 Must die then. 
 
 Both. Any death thou canst invent, duke. 
 
 Pal. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour. 
 And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes. 
 
 Arx, If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed 
 me, 
 And soldiers sing my epitaph. 
 
 Thes. Make choice then ! 
 
 Ejiii. I cannot, sir; they are both too excellent: 
 For me, a hair shall never fall of these men. 
 
 Hip. What will become of 'em? 
 
 Thes, Thus I ordain it; 
 And, by mine honour, once again it stands. 
 Or both shall die ! — You shall both to your coun- 
 try; 
 And each within this month accompanied 
 With three fair knights, appear again in this place. 
 In which I'll plant a pyramid : And whether,* 
 
 ^ Whether."^ Whether is here used in the sense of whichever, or 
 which of the two. — Mason. 
 
 VOL. xur. Cr 
 
9$ THE TWO NOBLE [Act III. 
 
 Before us that are here, can force his cousin 
 By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar. 
 He shall enjoy her ; the other lose his head/ 
 
 * The other lose his head. 
 
 And all his friends ] Chaucer's doom on this occasion h only 
 banishment, and our authors altered it to render the catastrophe 
 more interesting. As to the probability of their procuring each 
 three seconds upon such odd terms, it may shock us to suppose 
 any such gallant idiots; but even so low as our authors' age it was 
 reckoned cowardice to refuse any man, even a stranger, to be a se- 
 cond in almost any duel whatever, of which there is a most inimi- 
 table burlesque in the Little French Lawyer. INIankind were mad 
 after knight-errantry; and the reader must catch a little of the 
 spirit himself, or he'll lose a great part of the beauties of this play; 
 he mast kindle with the flames of military glory, think life a small 
 stake to hazard in such a combat, and death desirable to the con- 
 quered as a refuge from shame. While the judicial trials by the 
 duello were part of our laws, this was really the spirit of our an- 
 cestors. I have a treatise now before me of Mr Selden, wrote ia 
 1610, probably about the very time of our authors publishing this 
 play, where these duello trials are very learnedly traced, with all 
 their forms and ceremonies, from the Norman conquest to Jame& 
 the First, in whose reign they still continued part of the laws of 
 cur land, and seem to have been not out of fashion ; for we find, 
 ty all the writers of that age, how common the private extrajudi- 
 cial duel then was, and this author, after reciting the decrees of 
 two popes against such trials, and the thunder, as he calls it, of 
 the council of Trent, with a very serious face subjoins: " To those 
 which were the observant sonnes of the Roman church, this and the 
 other decrees extend their inhibitions ; but the English customs ne- 
 ver permitted themselves to be subjected to such clergy canons; 
 alwaies (under parliament correction) retaining, as whatsoever they 
 have by long use or allowance approved, so this of the duel." — I 
 am told by lawyers, that this superstitious and barbarous law has 
 never to this day met with parliament correction, but has by cus- 
 tom only sunk into obsoleteness. Our ancestors in this instance, 
 as well as that of our calendar, most resolutely avoided the ex- 
 ample of Papists, even where the latter were evidently right. — 
 Seward . 
 
 The decrees of the council of Trent had as little effect in France, 
 and some other catholic countries, as in England. In the notes t» 
 the Little French Lawyer, (vol. V. p. 152,) an instance is quoted 
 from Brantome, of a duel where two seconds were engaged on each 
 side. 
 
Act IV.] KINSMEN. 99 
 
 And all his friends : Nor shall he grudge to fall, 
 Nor think he dies with interest in this lady. 
 Will this content ye ? 
 
 Pal. Yes. Here, cousin Arcite, 
 I am friends again till that hour. 
 
 Arc. I embrace you. 
 
 Thes, Are you content, sister? 
 
 Emi. Yes : I must, sir ; 
 Else both miscarry. 
 
 Thes. Come, shake hands again then ; 
 And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel 
 Sleep till the hour prefix'd, and hold your course I 
 
 Pal, We dare not fail thee, Theseus. 
 
 Thes. Come, I'll give ye 
 Now usage like to princes, and to friends. 
 When ye return, who wins, I'll settle here ; 
 Who loses, yet I'll weep upon his bier. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Athens. A Room in the PrUon, 
 
 Enter Jailor and a Friend. 
 
 Jailor. Hear you no more ? Was nothing said of 
 me 
 Concerning the escape of Palamon ? 
 Good sir, remember ! 
 
 1 Friend, Notliing that I heard ; 
 
100 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 For I came home before the business 
 
 Was fully ended : Yet I might perceive, 
 
 Ere I departed, a great likelihood 
 
 Of both their pardons; for Hippolita, 
 
 And fair-eyed Emily, upon their knees 
 
 Begg'd with such handsome pity, that the duke 
 
 Methought stood staggering whether he should 
 
 follow 
 His rash oath, or the sweet compassion 
 Of those two ladies ; and to second them, 
 That truly noble prince Perithous, 
 Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope 
 All shall be well: Neither heard I one question 
 Of your name, or his 'scape. 
 
 Enter Second Friend, 
 
 Jailor. Pray Heaven, it hold so ! 
 
 2 Friend. Be of good comfort, man ! I bring you 
 news. 
 Good news. 
 
 Jailor. They are welcome. 
 
 2 Friend. Palamon has clear'd you, 
 And got your pardon, and discover'd how 
 And by whose means he 'scaped, which was your 
 
 Daughter's, 
 Whose pardon is procured too; and the prisoner 
 (Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness) 
 Has given a sum of money to her marriage, 
 A large one, I'll assure you. 
 
 Jailor. You're a good man, 
 And ever bring good news. 
 
 1 Friend. How was it ended? 
 
 2 Friend. VV'hy, as it should be; they that never 
 
 beggd 
 But they prevail'd, had their suits fairly granted. 
 The prisoners have their lives. 
 
Scene L] KINSMEN. lOl 
 
 1 Friend. I knew 'twould be so. 
 
 2 Friend. But there be new conditions, which 
 
 you'll hear of 
 At better time. 
 
 Jailor. I hope they are good. 
 
 2 Friend. They are honourable ; 
 How good they'll prove, I know not. 
 
 1 Friend. 'Twill be known. 
 
 Filter Wooer, 
 
 Wooer. Alas, sir, where's your Daughter? 
 
 Jailor. Why do you ask ? 
 
 Wooer. Oh, sir, when did you see her? 
 
 2 Friend. How he looks ! 
 Jailor. This morning. 
 
 Wooer. Was she well? Was she in health, sir? 
 When did she sleep? 
 
 1 Friend. These are strange questions. 
 
 Jailor. I do not think she was very well ; for, now 
 You make me mind her, but this very day 
 I ask'd her questions, and she answered me 
 So far from what she was, so childishly, 
 So sillily, as if she were a fool, 
 An innocent !* and I was very angry. 
 But what of her, sir ? 
 
 Wooer. Nothing but my pity ; 
 But you must know it, and as good by me 
 As by another that less loves her. 
 
 Jailor. Well, sir? 
 
 1 Friend. Not right? 
 
 2 Friend. Not well ? 
 JFooer. No, sir ; not well : 
 
 'Tis too true, she is mad. 
 
 * An innocent.] In the northern parts of this kingdom, the com- 
 mon appellation of an idiot is an innocent to this day.— ilcet^. 
 
102 
 
 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. i 
 
 1 Friend. It cannot be. 
 
 Wooer. Believe, you 11 find it so. 
 
 Jailor. I half suspected 
 "What you [have] told me ; the gods comfort her I 
 Either this was her love to Palamon, 
 Or fear of my miscarrying on his 'scape, 
 Or both. 
 
 JVooer. 'Tis likely. 
 
 Jailor. But why all this haste, sir ? 
 
 Wooer. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was ang- 
 ling' 
 In the great lake that lies behind the palace, 
 From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges. 
 As patiently I was attending sport, 
 I heard a voice, a shrill one ; and attentive 
 I gave my ear ; when I might well perceive 
 'T was one that sung, and, by the smallness of it, 
 A boy or woman. 1 then left my angle 
 To his own skill, came near, but yet perceived not 
 Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds 
 Had so encompass'd it: I laid me down, 
 And listen'd to the words she sung; for then, 
 
 ^ As I late, &c.] This description bears a striking resemblance 
 tx3 the following in Hamlet : 
 
 *' There is a willow grows aslant a brook, 
 
 That shews his hoar leaves in the glassy stream: 
 
 There with fantastic garlands did she come, 
 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: 
 
 There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds 
 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 
 When down her weedy trophies and herself 
 
 Fell in the weeping brook ; her clothes spread wide, 
 
 And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up: 
 
 Which time she cbaunted snatches of old tunes, 
 
 As one incapable of her own distress, 
 
 Or like a creature native, and indued 
 
 Unto that element." — Reed. 
 
Scene I.] KINSMEN. J05 
 
 Through a small glade cut by the fishermen, 
 I saw it was your Daughter. 
 
 Jailor, Pray go on, sir ! 
 
 Wooer. She sung much, but no sense ; only I heard 
 her 
 Repeat this often : " Palamon is gone, 
 Is gone to th' wood to gather mulberries; 
 I'll find him out to-morrow." 
 
 ] Fritnd. Pretty soul ! 
 
 Wooer. " His shackles will betray him, he'll be 
 taken ; 
 And what shall I do then? I'll bring a heavy,* 
 A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do, 
 With chaplets on their heads, of daffadillies, 
 With cherry lips, and cheeks of damask roses. 
 And all we'll dance an antic 'fore the duke, 
 And beg his pardon." Then she talk'd of you, sir; 
 That you must lose your head to-morrow morning, 
 And she must gather flowers to bury you, 
 And see the house made handsome: Then she sung 
 Nothing but " Willow, willow, willow;"^ and be- 
 tween, 
 Ever was, " Palamon, fair Palamon!" 
 And " Palamon was a tall young man !" The place 
 W^as knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses, 
 A wreath of bull-rush rounded f about her stuck 
 Thousand fresh-water flowers of several colours ; 
 That methought she appear'd like the fair nymph 
 That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris 
 Newly dropt down from Heaven ! Rings she made 
 Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke 
 The prettiest posies; "Thus our true love's tied;'* 
 
 * Beavy.'\ An obsolete word for a company, an assembly. 
 
 5 Willu-w, 8fc.] Sec Othello. Tlie song here alluded to is prints^ 
 in Percy's Reliques of Ancient Votixy.—Rted. 
 
 * A wreak of bull rush,"] Corrected in 1750. 
 
104 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 " This you may loose, not me;" and many a one: 
 And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh*d, 
 And with the same breath smiled, and kisther hand. 
 
 2 Friend. Alas, what pity 'tis ! 
 
 TVooer. I made in to her; 
 She saw me, and straight sought the flood ; I saved 
 
 her, 
 And set her safe to land ; when presently 
 She slipt away, and to the city made ; 
 With such a cry, and swiftness, that, believe me, 
 She left me far behind her : Three, or four, 
 I saw from far off cross her, one of 'em 
 I knew to be your brother; where she stay'd, 
 And fell, scarce to be got away ; I left them with 
 
 her, 
 And hither came to tell you. Here they are ! 
 
 Enter Brother ^ Daughter^ and others. 
 
 Daugh. [Sings.] May you never Qnore enjoy the 
 lightj &c. 
 
 Is not this a fine song ? 
 
 Brother. Oh, a very fine one ! 
 
 Daiigh. I can sing twenty more. 
 
 Brother, I think you can. 
 
 Daugh. Yes, truly can I; I can sing the Broom,' 
 
 ' I can sing the Broom.]] This very popular song is thus quoted 
 by Moros in the old interlude, '* The longer thou livest the more 
 Fool thou art," by W. Wager ; 
 
 *' Brome, brome on hill, 
 The gentle brome on hill hill : 
 Brome, broine on Hiue hill, 
 The gentle brome on Hiue hill, 
 The brome stands on Hiue hill.'* 
 
 It is also mentioned by Laneham as one of the songs in the pos- 
 session of Captain Cox, a mason at Coventry. 
 
I 
 
 Scene L] KINSMEN. 105 
 
 And bonny Robin.^ Are not you a tailor ? 
 
 Brother. Yes. 
 
 Daugh. Where's my wedding-gown? 
 
 Brother. I'll bring it to-morrow. 
 
 Daugh. Do very rearly ; ** I must be abroad else. 
 To call the maids, and pay the minstrels ; 
 For I must lose my maidenhead by cock-light; 
 'Twill never thrive else. 
 
 Oh, fair i oh, sweet, &c. [Sings, 
 
 Brother. You must even take it patiently. 
 
 Jailor. 'Tis true. 
 
 Daugh. Good even, good men ! Pray did you 
 
 ever hear 
 Of one young Palamon ? 
 Jailor. Yes, wench, we know him. 
 Daugh, Is't not a fine young gentleman ? 
 Jailor. 'Tis love ! 
 Brother. By no means cross her; she is then 
 
 distemper'd 
 Far worse than now she shews. 
 1 Friaid. Yes, he's a fine man. 
 Daugh. Oh, is he so ? You have a sister ? 
 1 Friend. Yes. 
 
 ' Bonny Robin.'] Ophelia, in Shakspearc's Ilamlet, sings th« 
 following line, which is probably the burthen of the song :— • 
 
 " For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy," 
 
 Stccvens and Ritson mention two songs to the tune of " Bonny 
 sweet Robin." 
 
 9 Do, xery rarely.] I had put early into the text here before I 
 received Mr Sympson's reading rearly, i. e. betimes in the morn- 
 ing. If there is such a word, it is undoubtedly the true one ; but 
 as he quotes no authority, and I can hnd none in my glossaries, 
 I must let early remain, which Mr Theobald has likewise put in 
 his margin. — Sc-xard. 
 
 Sympson had the authority of Gay, who uses rear^ in his Shep- 
 herd's Week, as a provincial word for early. 
 
106 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 Daugh. But she shall never have him, tell her so. 
 For a trick that 1 know : You had best look to her, 
 For if she see him once, she's gone; she's done, 
 And undone in an hour. All the young maids 
 Of our town are in love with him; but I laugh 
 
 at 'em, 
 And let 'em all alone; is't not a wise course? 
 
 1 Finend. Yes. 
 
 Daugh. There is at least two hundred now with 
 child by him, 
 There must be four ; yet I keep close for all this, 
 Close as a cockle ; and all these must be boys, 
 He has the trick on't ; and at ten years old 
 They must be all gelt for musicians, 
 And sing the Wars of Theseus. 
 
 2 Friend. This is strange. 
 
 Daugh. As ever you heard ; but say nothing. 
 
 1 Fntnd. No. 
 
 Daugh. They come from all parts of the duke- 
 dom to him ; 
 ril warrant you, he had not so few last night 
 As twenty to dispatch ; hell tickle't up 
 In two hours, if his hand be in. 
 
 Jailor. She's lost, 
 Past all cure ! 
 
 Brother. Heaven forbid, man ! 
 
 Daugh. Come hither ; you are a wise man. 
 
 1 Friend. Does she know him ? 
 
 2 Friend. No ; 'would she did ! 
 Daugh. You are master of a ship ? 
 Jailor. Yes 
 
 Daugh. Where's your compass ? 
 
 J at lor. Here. 
 
 Daugh. Set it to th' North ; 
 And now direct your course to the wood, where 
 
 Palamon 
 Lies longing for me ; for the tackling 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 10/ 
 
 Let me alone : Come, weigh my hearts, cheerly ! 
 
 All. Owgh, owgh, owgh ! 'tis up, the wind is fair, 
 Top the bowling ; out with the main-sail ! 
 Where is your whistle, master? 
 
 Brother. Let's get her in. 
 
 Jaihr. Up to the top, boy. 
 
 Brother. Where's the pilot ? 
 
 1 Friend. Here. 
 
 Daugh. What ken'st thou? 
 
 2 Friend. A fair wood. 
 
 Daugh. Bear for it, master ; tack about ! [Shigs. 
 
 JVhen Cynthia with her borrowed light, Sec. 
 
 \Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 A Room in the Palace, 
 
 Enter Emilia with two Pictures. 
 
 Emi. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that 
 
 must open 
 And bleed to death for my sake else : I'll chuse, 
 And end their strife ; two such young handsome 
 
 men 
 Shall never fall for me : Their weeping mothers. 
 Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons. 
 Shall never curse my cruelty. Good Heaven, 
 What a sweet face has Arcite ! If wise Nature, 
 With all her best endowments, all those beauties 
 She sows into the births of noble bodies, 
 
108 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 Were here a mortal woman, and had in her 
 The coy denials of young maids, yet douhtless 
 She would run mad for this man : What an eye ! 
 Of what a fiery sparkle, and quick svveetness, 
 Has tliis young prince ! here Love himself sits 
 
 smiling ; 
 Just such another wanton Ganymede 
 Set Jove a-fire with,' and enforced the god 
 Snatch up the goodly boy, and set him by him, 
 A shining constellation ! what a brow, 
 Of what a spacious majesty, he carries, 
 Arch'd like the great-eyed Juno's, but far sweeter, 
 Smoother than Pelops' shoulder! Fame and Honour, 
 Mcthinks, from hence, as from a promontory 
 Pointed in Heaven, should clap their wings, and 
 
 sing 
 To all the under-world, the loves and fights 
 Of gods, and such men near 'em. Palamon 
 Is but his foil ; to him, a mere dull shadow ; 
 He's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy 
 As if he had lost his mother;* a still temper, 
 No stirring in him, no alacrity ; 
 
 * Jiere Love himself sits smilingy 
 
 Just such another icanton Ganymede, 
 
 Set Love ajire "with, and enforced the god 
 Snatch up the goodly boy, ] The only amendment neces- 
 sary is to rea(i Jove instead of Love [in the third line.] The mean- 
 ing of the passage is — *' Here Love sits smiling ; and with just such 
 another smile Ganymtde set Jove a-fire." The substantive smile 
 being understood and comprehended in the participle smiling,-— 
 Mason. 
 
 Seward proposes three several amendments. 
 
 * As if he'd lost his mother.] This seems directly opposite to the 
 sense intended, the etl'emmacy of Palamon compared with Arcite. 
 Perhaps we should read, As h' had not lost his mother, i. e, the 
 mother in his mind. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 This note is worth preserving for its curious and quaint absur- 
 dity. The whole description of Palamon docs not prove him in 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 109 
 
 Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile. 
 
 Yet these that we count errors, may become him : 
 
 Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly. 
 
 Oh, who can find the bent of woman's fancy ? 
 
 I am a fool, my reason is lost in me ! 
 
 I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly 
 
 That women ought to beat me On my knees 
 
 I ask thy pardon, Palamon ! Thou art alone, 
 
 And only beautiful ; and these thy eyes, 
 
 These the bright lamps of beauty, that command 
 
 And threaten love, and what young maid dare 
 
 cross 'em ? 
 What a bold gravity, and yet inviting. 
 Has this brown manly face ! Oh, Love, this only 
 From this hour is complexion ; lie there, Arcite! 
 Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gipsy, 
 And this the noble body — I am sotted, 
 Utterly lost ! my virgin's faith has fled me, 
 For if my brother but even now had asked me 
 Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite ; 
 Now if my sister, more for Palamon. 
 Stand both together ! Now, come, ask me, brother; 
 Alas, I know not ! ask me, now, sweet sister ; 
 I may go look ! What a mere child is fancy, ^ 
 That, having two fair gawds of equal sweetness. 
 Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both ! — 
 
 the least effeminate, but of a serious melancholy temper; and it is 
 surely a very sufficient cause for a " heavy eye," the loss of a kind 
 parent. 
 
 3 JFhat a mere child is fancy. 3 Fancy is loxe, as in many other 
 passages of old plays. So in The Midsummer Night'b Dream : — 
 
 — " Let us teach our trial patience, 
 
 Because it is a customary cross, 
 
 As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs. 
 
 Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers." 
 
 12 
 
no THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman, 
 
 How now, sir? 
 
 Ge}if. From the noble duke your brother, 
 Madam, I bring you news : The knights are come. 
 
 Emi. To end the quarrel ? 
 
 Gefif. Yes. 
 
 Emi, 'Would I might end first ! 
 What sins have I committed, chaste Diana, 
 That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd 
 With blood of princes? and my chastity 
 Be made the altar, where the lives of lovers 
 (Two greater and two better never yet 
 Made mothers' joy) must be the sacrifice 
 To my unhappy beauty ? 
 
 jEw/cr Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, and At' 
 
 tendants, 
 
 Thes. [E?itermg.] Bring 'em in 
 Quickly by any means ! 1 long to see 'em. — 
 Your two contending lovers are returned. 
 And with them their fair knights : Now, my fair 
 
 sister. 
 You must love one of them. 
 
 Emi. I had rather both, 
 So neither for my sake should fall untimely. 
 
 Thes. Who saw 'em ? 
 
 Per. I a while. 
 
 Gent, And L 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 Scene II.] KINSMEN. ill 
 
 Enter Messenger.'^ 
 
 Thes, From whence come you, sir ? 
 
 Aless. From the knights. 
 
 Thes. Pray speak, 
 You that have seen them, what tlicy are. 
 
 Mess. I will, sir. 
 And truly what I think : Six braver spirits 
 Than these they have brought, (if we judge by the 
 
 outside) 
 I never saw, nor read of. He that stands 
 In the first place with Arcitc, by his seeming 
 Should be a stout man, by his face a prince 
 (His very looks so say him); his complexion 
 Nearer a brown, than black ; stern, and yet noble. 
 Which shews him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers ; 
 The circles of his eyes shew far within him,^ 
 And as a healed lion, so he looks ; 
 His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining 
 Like ravens' wings; his shoulders broad, and strong; 
 
 * Enter Messengers. Curtix.'] So the old quarto. Curtis was 
 probably the name of the pertormer who acted this subordinate 
 part. 
 
 ^ The circles of his eyes shew fair •within him. 
 
 And as a heated lion, so he looks.^ He is described of a very 
 dark-brown complexion, with raven-black hair, of a noble but 
 Avithal of so stern a look, that his eyes were like those of n heated 
 lion. To every part of this description the adjective fair is dia- 
 metrically opposite, not only as to the colour, but to the sternness 
 and fierceness of his looks,^a<> conveying the idea of openness and 
 mildness. But the corruption consists only in the addition of a 
 single vowel, which being removed, the expression regains its ori- 
 ginal strength and propriety : 
 
 The circles of his eyes shew far within him.—SewaTd. 
 
 The description of these attendant knights is closely copied from 
 Chaucer, as well as the orisons to Venus, Mars, and Diana in the 
 next act. 
 
112 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 Arm'd long and round f and on his thigh a sword 
 Hung by a curious baldrick,' when he frowns 
 To seal his will with ; better, o' my conscience. 
 Was never soldier's friend. 
 
 Thes. Thou hast well described him. 
 
 Per. Yet a great deal short, 
 Methinks, of him that's first with Palamon. 
 
 Thes. Pray speak him, friend. 
 
 Per. I guess he is a prince too, 
 And, if it may be, greater; for his show 
 Has all the ornament of honour in't. 
 He's somewhat bigger than the knight he spokeof, 
 But of a face far sweeter ; his complexion 
 Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy ; he has felt, 
 Without doubt, what he lights for, and so apter 
 To make this cause his own ; in's face appears 
 All the fair hopes of what he undertakes ; 
 And when he's angry, then a settled valour 
 (Not tainted with extremes) runs through his body, 
 And guides his arm to brave things ; fear he can- 
 not. 
 He shows no such soft temper ; his head's yellow, 
 Hard-hair'd, and curl'd, thick twined, Uke ivy tops, 
 Not to undo with thunder ; in his face 
 The livery of the warlike maid appears, 
 Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blest him ; 
 And in his rolling eyes sits Victory, 
 As if she ever meant to crown his valour ; * 
 
 * Arm'd long and round.] Seward reads, " Arms long and round ;" 
 feut the text has the same meaning. So in act v. sc. iii.— 
 
 Arm your prize. I know you will not lose her. 
 
 ' Baldrick.] See The Beggars' Bush, vol. III. p. 19I. 
 
 ' siis Victory f 
 
 As if she ever meant to correct his valour.'] How does victo- 
 ry correct valour ? The word is undoubtedly corrupt, and equal- 
 ly hurts both the measure and -sense. Crown is what the context. 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. HS 
 
 His nose stands high, a character of honour. 
 His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies. 
 
 Emi. Must these men die too ? 
 
 Per. When he speaks, his tongue 
 Sounds like a trumpet ; all his lineaments 
 Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and clean; 
 He wears a well-steel'd axe, the staff of gold; 
 His age some five-and-tvventy. 
 
 Mess. There's another, 
 A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming 
 As great as any ; fairer promises 
 In such a body yet I never look'd on. 
 
 Per, Oh, he that's freckle-faced ? 
 
 Mess, The same, my lord: 
 Are they not sweet ones ? 
 
 Per. Yes, they are well. 
 
 Aless. INIethinks, 
 Being so few, and well-disposed, they shew 
 Great, and fine art in Nature. He's white hair'd. 
 Not wanton-white, but such a manly colour 
 Next to an auburn ; tough, and nimble set, 
 Which shews an active soul ; liis arms are brawny, 
 Lined w^ith strong sinews ; to the shoulder- piece 
 Gently they swell, like women new-conceived, 
 Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting 
 Under the weight of arms ; stout-hearted, still, 
 But, when he stirs, a tiger ; he's grey-eyed. 
 Which yields compassion wherehe conquers; sharp 
 To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em, 
 He's swift to make 'em his ; he does no wrongs, 
 Nor takes none ; he's round-faced, and when he 
 smiles 
 
 evidently requires, and though it differs much in its letters from 
 the old reading, yet it is rather a proof what great mistakes print- 
 ers sometimes make, than an argument against its being admitted 
 for the genuine text.— <Sea'ar(/. 
 
 VOL. XII r. H 
 
114 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 He shews a lover, when he frowns, a soldier; 
 About his head he wears the winner's oak, 
 And in it stuck the favour of his lady; 
 His age, some six-and- thirty. In his hand 
 He bears a charging-staff, emboss'd with silver. 
 
 Thes. Are they all thus ? 
 
 Per. They are all the sons of honour. 
 
 Thes. Now, as I have a soul, I long to see 'em ! 
 Lady, you shall see men fight now. 
 
 Hip. I wish it. 
 But not the cause, my lord : They would shew 
 Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms;' 
 'Tis pity Love should be so tyrannous. — • 
 Oh, my soft-hearted sister, what think you ? 
 Weep not, till they weep blood, wench! it must be. 
 
 Tlies. You have steel'd 'em with your beauty. — 
 Honour'd friend, 
 To you I give the field ; pray order it, 
 Fitting the persons that must use it! 
 
 Per. Yes, sir. 
 
 Thes. Come, I'll go visit 'em : I cannot stay 
 (Their fame has fired me so) till they appear; 
 Good friend, be royal ! 
 
 Per. There shall want no bravery.* 
 
 End. Poor wench, go weep ; for whosoever wins 
 Loses a noble cousin for thy sins. [E.reimt. 
 
 * But not the cause, my lord, they "would shew 
 Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms.] Seward introduces 
 the word Jighting alter bravely without necessity. Our poets ne- 
 ver counted the syllables of their lines upon the ten fingers. 
 
 * Bravery.'] That is, decoration, magnificence. 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 115 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Room in the Prison, 
 
 Enter Jailor, IFooer, and Doctor, 
 
 Doctor. Her distraction is more at some time 
 of the moon than at other some, is it not ? 
 
 Jailor. She is continually in a harmless distem- 
 per ; sleeps little, altogether without appetite, 
 save often drinking ; dreaming of another world, 
 and a hetter ; and what broken piece of matter 
 soe'er she is about, the name Palamon lards it ; 
 that she farces ^ every business withal, fits it to 
 every question. 
 
 Enter Daughter. 
 
 Look, where she comes ! you shall perceive her 
 behaviour. 
 
 Daugh. I have forgot it quite; the burden on't 
 was dow7i-a-down-a ; and pennVl by no worse man 
 than Giraldo, Emilia's schoolmaster : He's as fan- 
 tastical too, as ever he may go upon's legs ; for 
 in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and then 
 will she be out of love with iEneas. 
 
 Doctor. What stuff's here ? poor soul ! 
 
 3 Farces.^ i. e. Stuffs. So in Jonson's Every Man in his Hu- 
 mour ;— 
 
 — — ^^ farce thy lean ribs with it too." 
 
lie THE T^yO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 Jailor. Even thus all day long. 
 
 Daugh. Now for this charm that I told you of; 
 you must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your 
 tongue, or no ferry : Then if it be your chance to 
 come M'here the blessed spirits [are,] (there's a 
 sight now)* wc maids that have our livers perish'd, 
 crack'd to pieces with love, we shall come there, 
 and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with 
 Proserpine ; then will I make Palamon a nosegay ; 
 then let him — mark me — then ! 
 
 Doctor. How prettily she's amiss ! note her a 
 little further ! 
 
 Daugh. Taith, I'll tell you ; sometime we go to 
 barley-break,^ we of the bless'd : Alas, 'tis a sore 
 life they have i' th' other place, such burning, fry- 
 ing, boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing,* 
 
 * Where the blessed spirits (as there's a sight.)"] The slight va- 
 riation, which seems absolutely necessary, is Mason's. 
 
 * Barley-break.] See the nature of this game explained, vol. H 
 p. 265. 
 
 * Faith I'll tell you^ sometime we go to the barley-break^ 
 We of the blessed ; alas, 'tis a sore life they have i' 
 Th' other place, such burning, frying, boiling, hissing, 
 Howling, chattering, cursing, ike] The printers here, contrary 
 
 to their usual custom, have divh.ed the lines of this whole scene as 
 if they were verse, though it is evidently all prose. — Seward. 
 
 The printers having divided the lines as verse, is a strong pre- 
 sumption of their having been so written. They often run verse 
 into prose, but we remember no instance of the reverse. A kind 
 of loose measure, often used by our authors, was probably intend- 
 ed here ; as such we have given it, endeavouring to make out the 
 verse as nearly as possible according to the division of lines in the 
 old books Ed. 1778. 
 
 Had the editors been conversant in the old plays even down to 
 the beginning of the last century, they would have known that 
 prose was as often printed as verse, as the reverse. In Jonson's edi- 
 tion of Etherege's Plays, for inslance, printed in 1723, the whole 
 Js printed as verse, though the slightest inspection will convince 
 the reader that it is prose. This is evidently the case with the pre- 
 s'ent scene. 
 
 10 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 117 
 
 oh, they have shrewd measure ; take heed ! If 
 one be mad, or hang, or drown themselves, thi- 
 ther they go ; Jupiter bless us ! and there shall 
 we be put in a caldron of lead and usurers' grease, 
 amongst a whole million of cut-purses, and there 
 boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be 
 enough. 
 
 Docto7\ How her brain coins! 
 
 Daugh. Lords and courtiers, that have got maids 
 with child, they are in this place; they shall stand 
 in fire up to the navel, and in ice up to the heart, 
 and there the offending part burns, and the deceiv- 
 ing part freezes : In troth, a very grievous pu- 
 nishment, as one would think, for such a trifle ! 
 believe me, one would marry a leprous witch, to 
 be rid on't. Til assure you. 
 
 Doctor. How she continues this fancy ! 'Tis not 
 an engrafted madness, but a most thick and pro- 
 found melancholy. 
 
 Daugh. To hear there a proud lady, and a proud 
 city-wife, howl together ! 1 were a beast, an I'd 
 call it good sport : one cries, " Oh, this smoke !" 
 another, " this fire !" one cries, *' Oh, that ever I 
 did it behind the arras !" and then howls ; the 
 other curses a suing fellow and her garden-house. 
 
 \_Sings. 
 
 I zvill be true J my stars , myfate^ &c. 
 
 \Exit Daughter. 
 
 Jailor. What think you of her, sir? 
 
 Doctor. I think she has a perturbed mind which 
 I cannot minister to. 
 
 Jailor. Alas, what then ? 
 
 Doctor. Understand you she ever aflected any 
 man, ere she beheld Palamon ? 
 
 Jailor. I was once, sir, in great hope she had 
 fixed her liking on this gentleman, my friend. 
 
118 THE TWO NOBLE [Act IV. 
 
 Wooer, I did think so too ; and would account 
 I bad a s^reat pen'vvorth on't, to give half my state, 
 that both she and I at this present stood unfeign- 
 cdly on the same terms. 
 
 Doctor. That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath 
 distemper'd the other senses ; they may return, 
 and settle again to execute their preordain'd fa- 
 culties ; but they are now in a most extravagant 
 vagary. This you must do : confine her to a place 
 where the light may rather seem to steal in than 
 be permitted. Take upon you (young sir, her 
 friend) the name of Palamon ; say you come to 
 eat with her, and to commune of love ; this will 
 catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon ; 
 other objects that are inserted 'tween her mind 
 and eye, become the pranks and friskins of her 
 madness ; sing to her such green songs of love, 
 as she says Palamon hath sung in prison ; come to 
 her, stuck in as sweet flowers as the season is 
 mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some 
 other compounded odours, which are grateful to 
 the sense : all this shall become Palamon, for Pa-» 
 lamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and every 
 good thing ; desire to eat with her, carve her, 
 drink to her, and still among intermingle your 
 petition of grace and acceptance into her favour ; 
 learc what maids have been her companions, and 
 play-pheers;' and let them repair to her with Pa- 
 lamon in their mouths, and appear with tokens, 
 as if they suggested for him : it is a falsehood she 
 is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated. 
 This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce 
 what's now out of square in her, into their former 
 
 ' Play-P^eers.j i. e. Play-fellows. See the next scene, p, 125, 
 note 1. 
 
Act v.] KINSMEN. 119 
 
 law and regiment :® I have seen it approved, how 
 many times I know not; but to make the number 
 more, I have great hope in this. I will, between 
 the passages of this project, come in with my ap^ 
 pliance. Let us put it in execution ; and hasten 
 the success, which, doubt not, will bring forth 
 comfort, [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 Be/ore the Temple of Mars, which appears in the 
 Back-ground. 
 
 A Flourish. Enter Theseus, Perithous, Hippo- 
 LiTA, and Attendants. 
 
 Thes. Now let 'em enter, and before the gods 
 Tender their holy prayers! let the temples 
 Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars 
 In hallow'd clouds commend their swelling incense 
 To those above us ! Let no due be wanting! 
 
 *& 
 
 « Regiment.'\ Thus the old quarto, and right, signifying gorer/i- 
 ment. Regimen (which other copies exhibit) conveys another 
 idea.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 Regiment was anciently used for regimen. Mr Steevens observes, 
 that the old translation of the, ScAe/a Salernitana is called The Ue* 
 giment of Health, 
 
120 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 They have a noble work in hand, will honour 
 The very powers that love 'em. 
 
 A Flourish of Cornets, Enter Palamon^, Arcite, 
 and their Knights, 
 
 Per. Sir, they enter. 
 
 Tlies. You valiant and strong-hearted enomies, 
 You royal germane foes, that this day come 
 To blow that nearness out that flames between ye, 
 Lay by your anger for an hour, and dove-like 
 Before the holy altars of your helpers 
 (The all-fear'd gods) bow down your stubborn 
 
 bodies ! 
 Your ire is more than mortal ; so your help be ! 
 And, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice ! 
 I'll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye. 
 I part my wishes. 
 
 Per. Honour crown the worthiest ! 
 
 [E^ceunt all but Palamon, Arcite, and their 
 K /tights. 
 
 Pal. The glass is running now that cannot finish 
 Till one of us expire : Think you but thus ; 
 That were there aught in me which strove to shew 
 Mine enemy in this business, were't one eye 
 Against another, arm oppress'd by arm, 
 I would destroy th' offender; coz, I would, 
 Though parcel' of myself ! then from this gather 
 How I should tender you ! 
 
 Arc. I am in labour 
 To push your name, your antient love, our kindred. 
 Out of my memory ; and i' th' self-same place 
 To seat something I would confound : So hoist we 
 The sails, that must these vessels port' even where 
 
 ' Parcel.] A common word in old authors, bearing the same 
 import as part, division. 
 
 * T^e sails that must these vessels part.] This reading, so differ- 
 
Scene!.] KINSMEN. 121 
 
 The heavenly Limiter pleases ! 
 
 Pal. You speak well : 
 Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin! 
 This I shall never do again. 
 
 Arc. One farewell ! 
 
 Pal. Why, let it be so : Farewell, coz ! 
 
 Arc. Farewell, sir ! — 
 
 [Exeunt Palamon^ and his Knights. 
 Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices, 
 True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you 
 Expels the seeds of fear, and th* apprehension, 
 AVhich still is father of it,* go with me 
 Before the god of our profession ! There 
 Require of him the hearts of lions, and 
 The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too ! 
 Yea, the speed also ! to go on, I mean. 
 Else wish we to be snails : you know my prize 
 Must be dragg'd out of blood ! force and great feat 
 Must put my garland on, where she will stick 
 The queen of flowers ; our intercession then 
 Must be to him that makes the camp a cestron' 
 Brimm'd with the blood of men ; give me your aid, 
 And bend your spirits towards him ! — 
 
 [Tfiei/ enter the Temple, and fall prostrate before 
 the Statue o/'Mars. 
 
 ent from the poet's meaning, is in several of the last editions.— 
 Ed. 1778, 
 
 The old quarto and folio read port ; Seward's edition — part. 
 
 * True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you 
 Expels the seeds of fear, and th' apprehension^ 
 Which is still farther off it.'] This appears corrupt, for how can 
 apprehension be farther off the spirit of Mars than fear ? I have 
 therefore adopted an emendation of Theobald's, which greatly im- 
 proves the sense and poetical beauties of the speech, though it was 
 rejected by Seward, and not even noticed by the last editors. Ma- 
 son I find also adopts the correction, and observes, " wc may fair- 
 ly say that apprehension, that is, a sensibility of danger, is the pa- 
 rent of fear." 
 
 ' Cesiron.] We now say— 'Cistern, 
 
ISfi THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 Thou mighty one, that with thy powtr hast turn'd 
 Green Neptune into purple ;* [whose approach] 
 Comets prewarn ; whose havock in vast field 
 Unearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows 
 
 down 
 The teeming Ceres' foyzon;^ who dost pluck 
 With hand armipotent*^ from forth blue clouds 
 The mason'd turrets ; that both mak'st and break'st 
 The stony girths of cities ; me thy pupil, 
 Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day 
 With military skill, that to th} laud 
 I may advance my streamer, and by thee 
 Be styled the lord o' th' day ! Give me, great Mars, 
 Some token of thy pleasure ! 
 
 [Hei^e thty fall on their faces as formerly, and 
 there is heard clang ing of armour, with a short 
 
 ♦ Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned 
 
 Green Neptune into purple. 
 
 Comets prewarn, whose havock in vast field, &c.] With this 
 great deficiency ot sense and measure has this passage been hither- 
 to printed. The sense is easily restored, because, though half the 
 sentence is lost, the two remaining words, Coinets prewarn, suffi- 
 ciently point out the meaning ; for that Comets prewarn orforetel 
 wars'n the vulgar as well as poetical creed ; thus Milton, 
 
 — — " and like a comet burn'd, 
 That fires the length of Ophiucus huge 
 In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war." 
 
 The rage, the ravage, the devastations of Mars will give the idea 
 required ; but among these and many other words that would suit 
 the sense, only two have occurred that supply both sense and mea- 
 sure, viz. approach and destructions ; the tormer is certainly the 
 best word, therefore bids very fair for having been the original.— 
 Seward. 
 
 s Foyzon.l 1. e. Abundance. This word also occurs in the Tem- 
 pest, act ii. sc i. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 ^ Armenypotent.~\ Corrected by Seward ; who observes that 
 " Armipotent is applied to Mars by Chaucer in the same tale of 
 Palamon and Arcite." — Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene II.] KINSMEN. 123 
 
 thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon 
 they all rise, and bow to the altar. 
 Oh, great corrector of enormous times, 
 Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider 
 Of dusty and old titles, that heal'st with blood 
 The earth when it is sick, and cur'st the world 
 O' th' plurisy' of people ; I do take 
 Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name 
 To my design march iDoldly. Let us go ! 
 
 {^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Temple of Venus. 
 Enter Palamon aiid his Knights, fall prostrate, and 
 
 Pal. Our stars must ghster with new fire, or be 
 To-day extinct : Our argument is love, 
 Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives 
 Victory too : Then blend your spirits with mine, 
 You, whose free nobleness do make my cause 
 Your personal hazard ! To the goddess Venus 
 Commend we our proceeding, and implore 
 Her power unto our party ! — \Tf^^y kneel. 
 
 ' 0' th' plurisy of people.'] The editions of Seward and Col- 
 maii erroneously read pleurisy. The text does not allude directly 
 to the disease called pleurisy, but to the old tcrjn plurisy, signif}- 
 ing superabundance, which occurs in many old plays. So in 
 J'aacies Chaste and Noble, by Ford : — 
 
 " Thou art fallen suddenly 
 
 Into a plurisy of faithless impudence." 
 
124 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 Hail, sovereign queen of secrets! who hast power 
 To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage, 
 To weep unto a girl ; that hast the might 
 Even with an eye-glance to choak Mars's drum. 
 And turn th' alarm to whispers ; that canst make 
 A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him 
 Before Apollo ; that may'st force the king 
 To be his subject's vassal, and induce 
 Stale Gravity to dance; the polled bachelor,* 
 (Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires, 
 Have skipt thy flame) at seventy thou canst catch, 
 And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat 
 Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power 
 Hast thou not power upon ? To Phoebus thou 
 Add'st flames, hotter than his; the heavenly fires 
 Did scorch his mortal son, thine him ; the huntress 
 All moist and cold, some say, began to throw 
 Her bow away, and sigh ; take to thy grace 
 Me, thy vow'd soldier! who do bear thy yoke 
 As 'twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier 
 Than lead itself, stings more than nettles : 
 I have never been foul-mouth'd against thy law ; 
 Ne'er reveal'd secret, for I knew none, would not 
 Had 1 ken'd all that were; I never practised 
 Upon man's wife, nor would the libels read 
 Of liberal wits ; I never at great feasts 
 Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush'd 
 At simpering sirs that did ; I have been harsh 
 To large confessors, and have hotly ask'd them 
 If they had motiiers? I had one, a woman, 
 And women 'twere they wrong'd. I knew a man 
 Of eigiity winters, (tliis I told them) who 
 A lass of fourteen brided ; 'twas thy power 
 
 8 The pould bachelor ] Varied by Seward ; who says, " Pould 
 is what we now spell poll'd, depilatus ; bald-beaded. Chaucer's 
 word is pilled, as ' The pardoner with his pilled poll."— Ed. 177S'» 
 
Scene IL] KINSMEN. 125 
 
 To put life into dust ; the aged cramp 
 Had screw'd his square foot round, 
 The gout had knit his fingers into knots, 
 Torturing convulsions from liis globy eyes 
 Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life 
 In him seem'd torture ; this anatomy^ 
 Had by his young fair pheer a boy,' and I 
 Believed it was his, for she swore it was, 
 And who would not believe her? "Brief, I am 
 To those that prate, and have done, no companion; 
 To those that boast, and have not, a defier ; 
 To those that would, and cannot, a rejoicer: 
 Yea, him I do not love, that tells close offices 
 The foulest way, nor names concealments in 
 The boldest language ;* such a one I am. 
 And vow tliat lover never yet made sigh 
 Truer than I. Oh, then, most soft sweet goddess, 
 Give me the victory of this question, which 
 Is true love's merit, and bless me with a sign 
 Of thy great pleasure ! 
 
 [Here i?vtsic is heard, doves are seen to flutter, 
 they fall again upon their faces, then on their 
 knees. 
 Oh, thou that from eleven to ninety reign'st 
 In mortal bosoms, whose chace is this world, 
 And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks 
 For this fair token ! which being laid unto 
 
 9 Anatomy. 1 The usual term for a skeleton at the time, 
 
 * Pheer ;'\ i. e. Companion. Cole's Diet. l677» where it is 
 marked as then obsolete. — The word occurs in Titus Andronicus, 
 act iv. sc. i. In the Silent Woman, Morose says, 
 
 — " her that I mean to chuse for my bed-pheer." 
 
 In this play, p. 1 1 8, play-pheers are spoken of. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 * Nor names concealments in 
 
 The boldest language.] That is, that talks not in the grossest 
 language ot what ought to be concealed.— il/a.'o«. 
 
126 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance 
 
 ]\jv body to thi^ business. Let us rise 
 
 And bow before the goddess ! Time comes on. 
 
 \^lhey b(rw, and exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 The Temple ^Diana. 
 
 \ St ill music of records.'^ 
 Enter Emilia in tthitet her hair about her shouldei^Sf 
 a uheaten wreath ; one in white holding up her 
 trainy her hair stuck withfloxvers ; one before her 
 carrying a silver Hind, in which is conveyed in- 
 cense and sweet odours, which being set upon the 
 Altar, her AJ aid standing aloof', she setsjire to it; 
 then they curtesy and kneel. 
 
 Emi. Oh, sacred, shadowy, cold and constant 
 queen, 
 Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative. 
 Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure 
 As wnnd-fann'd snow,"^ who to thy female knights 
 Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush, 
 Which is their order's robe ; 1 here, thy priest, 
 
 3 Records.'] This is the same as recorder, i. e. flageolets. See 
 vol. V. p. 193. 
 
 * And pure 
 
 As wind-Jann'd snow.] Very similar to this are, a passage in 
 The Double Marriage, and one in Coriolanus : the reader may 
 find them both in vol. VIII. p. 74, of this work. In Comus also, 
 Milton gives a most nervous eulogium on chastity. — Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene III.] KINSMEN. 127 
 
 Am humbled 'fore thine altar. Oh, vouchsafe, 
 With that thy rare green eye,* which never yet 
 Beheld thing- maculate, look on thy virgin ! 
 And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear 
 (Which ne'er heard scurril term, into whose port 
 Ne'er enterVl wanton sound") to mv petition, 
 Season'd with holy fear ! This is mv last 
 Of vestal office ; I am bride-liahited. 
 But maiden-hearted ; a husband 1 have 'pointed. 
 But do not know him ; out of two I should 
 Chuse one, and pray for his success, but I 
 Am guiltless of election of mine eyes ; 
 W>re I to lose one, (they are equal precious) 
 I could doom neither; that which perish'd should 
 Go to't unsentenced : Therefore, most modest 
 
 queen. 
 He, of the two pretenders, that best loves me 
 And has the truest title in't, let him 
 Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant 
 The file and quality I hold I may 
 Continue in thy band I 
 
 [Hef^e the Hind vanishes under the Altar, and 
 
 in the place ascends a rose-tree, having one 
 
 rose upon it. 
 See what our general of ebbs and flows 
 
 5 With that thy rare green eye.] Seward reads, " sheen eye, t. e. 
 extremely shining." We believe the old text genuine. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 Green eyes were considered as peculiarly beautilul. So in Ro- 
 meo and Juliet : — 
 
 " an eagle, madam. 
 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair au eye." 
 
 The Spanish writers are peculiarly enthusiastic in the praise of 
 green eyes. So Cervantes, in his novel Del Zeloso Estremenno : 
 '* Ay que ojos tan grandes, y tan razgados ! y por cl siglo de mi 
 madre que eon verdes, que no parecen sino que son de esmaraldas," 
 
128 THE TWO NOBLE [ActV. 
 
 Out from the bowels of her holy altar 
 With sacred act advances ! But one rose ? 
 If well inspired, this battle shall confound 
 Both these brave knights, and I a virgin flower 
 ]\Just grow alone unpluck'd. 
 
 [//e;T is heard a sudden twang of instruments, 
 and the rose falls from the tree. 
 The flower is fallen, the tree descends I Oh, mis- 
 tress, 
 Thou here dischargest me ; I shall be gather'd, 
 I think so ; but I know not thine own will : 
 Unclasp thy mystery ! — I hope she's pleased ; 
 Her signs were gracious. 
 
 ]They curtesy^ and exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A darkened Apartment in the Prison. 
 
 Enter Doctor, Jailor^ and Wooer (in habit of Pa- 
 
 LAMON.) 
 
 Doctor. Has this advice I told you done any 
 
 good upon her? 
 Wooer. Oh, very much : The maids that kept 
 her company 
 Have half persuaded her that I am Palamon ; 
 Within this halt hour she came smiling to me, 
 And asked me what I would eat, and when I would 
 
 kiss her; 
 I told her presently, and kiss'd her twice. 
 
I 
 
 Scene IV.] KINSMEN. 129 
 
 Doctor. 'Twas well done ! twenty times had been 
 far better ; 
 For there the cure lies mainly. 
 
 JVooer. Then she told me 
 She would watch with me to-night, for well she 
 
 knew 
 What hour my fit would take me. 
 
 Doctor. Let her do so ; 
 And when your fit comes, fit her home and pre- 
 sently ! 
 
 JVooer. She would have me sing. 
 
 Doctor. You did so ? 
 
 IVooer. No. 
 
 Doctor. 'Twas very ill done then ; 
 You should observe her every way. 
 
 JVooer. Alas, 
 I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way. 
 
 Doctor. That's all one, if you make a noise : 
 If she entreat again, do any thing ; 
 Lie with her, if she ask you. 
 
 Jailor. Hoa there. Doctor ! 
 
 Doctor. Yes, in the way of cure. 
 
 Jailor. But first, by your leave, 
 r th' way of honesty ! 
 
 Doctor. That's but a niceness : 
 Ne'er cast your child away for honesty; 
 Cure her first this way ; then, if she will be honest, 
 She has the path before her. 
 
 Jailor. Thank you. Doctor ! 
 
 Doctor. Pray bring her in, 
 And let's see how she is. 
 
 Jailor. I will, and tell her 
 Her Palamon stays for her : But, Doctor, 
 Methinks you are i' th' wrong still. [Edit, 
 
 Doctor. Go, go ! You fathers are fine fools : Her 
 honesty ? 
 An we should give her physic till we find that — 
 
 VOJL, XIII. I 
 
150 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 Wooer. Why, do you think she is not honest, sir? 
 
 Doctor. How old is she ? 
 
 IVooer. She's eighteen. 
 
 Doctor. She may be ; 
 But that's all one, 'tis nothing to our purpose : 
 W^hate'er her father says, if you perceive 
 Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of, 
 Videlicet, the way of flesh — you have me ? 
 
 IVooer. Yes, very well, sir. 
 
 Doctor. Please her appetite, 
 And do it home ; it cures her, ipsojacto. 
 The melancholy humour that infects her. 
 
 Wooer. I am of your mind, Doctor. 
 
 Enter Jailo)\ D aught er^ and Maid, 
 
 Doctor. You'll find it so. She comes; pray hu- 
 mour her !*^ 
 
 Jailor. Come ; your love Palamon stays for you, 
 child ; 
 And has done this long hour, to visit you. 
 
 Ddugh. I thank him for his gentle patience ; 
 He's a kind gentleman, and I'm much bound to 
 
 him. 
 Did you ne'er see the horse he gave me? 
 
 Jailor. Yes. 
 
 Daugh. How do you like him ? 
 
 Jailor. He's a very fair one. 
 
 Daugh. You never saw him dance ? 
 
 Jailor. No. 
 
 Daugh. I have often ; 
 He dances very finely, very comely ; 
 And, for a jig, come cut and long tail to him !' 
 
 ^ Pray honour her."] Amended in 1750. 
 
 ' Come cut and long tail to him."] A proverbial phrase not yet 
 obsolete, meaning, corae [poor or rich. Of all the explanations 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 Scene IV.] KINSMEN. 131 
 
 He turns you like a top. 
 
 Jailor. That's fine indeed. 
 
 Daugh. He'll dance the morris twenty mile an 
 hour, 
 And that will founder the best hobby-horse 
 (If I have any skill) in all the parish ; 
 And gallops to the tune^ of Light o' Love ; * 
 What think you of this horse ? 
 
 Jailor. Having these virtues, 
 I think he might be brought to play at tennis, 
 
 Daugh. Alas, that's nothing. 
 
 Jailor. Can he write and read too ? 
 
 Daugh, A very fair hand ; and casts himself the 
 accounts 
 Of all his hay and provender ; that hostler 
 Must rise betime that cozens him, You know 
 The chesnut mare the duke has ? 
 
 Jailor. Very well. 
 
 Daugh. She is horribly in love with him, poor 
 beast ; 
 But he is like his master, coy and scornful. 
 
 Jailor. What dowry has she ? 
 
 Daugh. Some two hundred bottles* 
 And twenty strike of oats : But he'll ne'er have her; 
 He lisps in's neighing, able to entice 
 
 oflered by the commentators, that of Reed bids fairest to be the 
 right one. He derives the term from horses, whose tail was either 
 docked, or suffered to grow. Cut is frequently used for a bad 
 horse, and hence cut and long tail may mean a horse whose tail 
 was cut because he was used for drudgery, in opposition to one 
 who was allowed to wear it for pomp or shew. 
 
 9 Gallops to the turne.] Corrected by Theobald and Seward. 
 
 * Light o' Love.] This appears to have been a very popular tune, 
 and is frequently mentioned by our authors and their conlempo- 
 laries.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 See vol. VII. p. 19. 
 
 ! Bottles.'] i.e. Bottles of hay ; some spellit^o/^/e^.— Seward. 
 
152 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 A miller's mare ; he'll be the death of her. 
 
 Doctor. What stuff she utters ! 
 
 Jailor. Make curt'sy ; here your love comes! 
 
 IVooer. Pretty soul, 
 How do you ? That's a fine maid ! there's a curt'sy ! 
 
 Dough. Yours to command, i'th' way of honesty. 
 How far is't now to th' end o' th' world, my mas- 
 ters? 
 
 Doctor. VVhy, a day's journey, wench. 
 
 Daugh. Will you go with me? 
 
 Wooer. What shall we do there, wench? 
 
 Daugh. Why, play at stool-ball : 
 What is there else to do? 
 
 Wooer. I am content, 
 If we shall keep our wedding there. 
 
 Daugh. 'Tis true ; 
 For there I will assure you we shall find 
 Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture 
 To marry us, for here they are nice and foolish ; 
 Besides, my father must be hang'd to-morrow, 
 And that would be a blot i' th' business. 
 Are not you Palamon ? 
 
 Wooer. Do not you know me? 
 
 Daugh. Yes ; but you care not for me ! I have 
 nothing 
 But this poor petticoat, and two coarse smocks. 
 
 Wooer. That's ail one ; 1 will have you. 
 
 Daugh, Will you surely? 
 
 Wooer. Yes ; by this fair hand, will 1. 
 
 Daugh. We'll to bed then. 
 
 Wooer. Even when you will. 
 
 Jailor, Oh, sir, you would fain be nibbling.* 
 
 ' Daugh. Oh, sir J you ivould fain he nibbling.'] Seward says, 
 "This seems evidently to belong to the Father, who cannot easily 
 consent to the remedy proposed by the Doctor ;" but we think it 
 doubtful.— Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene IV.] KINSMEN. 133 
 
 Wooer. Why do you rub my kiss off? 
 
 Daugh. 'Tis a sweet one, 
 And will perfume me finely 'gainst the wedding. 
 Is not this your cousin Arcite ? 
 
 Doctor. Yes, sweetheart ; 
 And I am a;lad my cousin Palamon 
 Has made so fair a choice. 
 
 Daugh. Do you think he'll have me? 
 
 Doctor. Yes. wirh.out doubt. 
 
 Daugh. Do you think so too? 
 
 Jailor. Yes. 
 
 Daugh. We shall have many children. — Lord, 
 how you're grown ! 
 My Palamon I hope will grow too, finely, 
 Now he's at liberty : Alas, poor chicken, 
 He was kept down with hard meat, and ill lodging, 
 But 1 will kiss him up again. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 
 Mess. What do you here ? 
 You'll lose the noblest sight that e'er was seen. 
 
 Jailor. Are they i' th' field ? 
 
 Mess. They are : 
 You bear a charge there too. 
 
 Jailor. I'll away straight. — 
 I must even leave you here. 
 
 Doctor. Nay, we'll go with you ; 
 I will not lose the fight. 
 
 Jailor. How did you like her ? 
 
 Doctor. I'll warrant you within these three or 
 four days 
 I'll make her right again. — You must not from her, 
 
 I have no doubt that Seward is right, as the Daughter is very 
 willing throughout, like all girls infected with madness. 
 
134 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 But still preserve her in this way. 
 
 Wooer. I will. 
 
 Doctor. Let's get her in. 
 
 Wooer. Come, sweet, we'll go to dinner; 
 And then we'll play at cards. 
 
 Daugh. And shall we kiss too ? 
 
 JFooer. A hundred times. 
 
 Daugh. And twenty ? 
 
 JVooer. Ay, and twenty. 
 
 Daugh. And then we'll sleep together ? 
 
 Doctor. Take her offer. 
 
 Wooer, Yes, marry will we. 
 
 Daugh, But you shall not hurt me. 
 
 Wooer. I will not, sweet. 
 
 Daugh, If you do, love, I'll cry, [Exeuttt* 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 An Apartment in the Palace, 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Perithous, 
 and Attendants,* 
 
 Emi, I'll no step further. 
 
 Per, Will you lose this sight? 
 
 Emi. I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly, 
 Than this decision : Every blow that falls 
 Threats a brave life ; each stroke laments 
 
 * and some attendants-^ T. Tucke, Curtis.] So the quarto. 
 
 See above, p. 1 11. 
 
 12 
 
Scene V.] KINSMEN. 135 
 
 The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like 
 A bell, than blade : I will stay here : 
 It is enough, my hearing shall be punish'd 
 With what shall happen, ('gainst the which there is 
 No dealing) but to hear, not taint mine eye 
 With dread sights it may shun. 
 
 Per. Sir, my good lord, 
 Your sister will no further. 
 
 Thes. Oh, she must: 
 She shall see deeds of honour in their kind, 
 Which sometime shew well, pencill'd:* Nature now 
 Shall make and act the story, the belief 
 Both seal'd with eye and ear. You must be present; 
 You are the victor's meed, the price and garland 
 To crown the question's title. 
 
 Emi. Pardon me ; 
 If I were there, I'd wink. 
 
 Thes. You must be there ; 
 This trial is as 'twere i' th' night, and you 
 The only star to shine. 
 
 Emi. I am extinct; 
 There is but envy' in that light, which shews 
 The one the other. Darkness, which ever was 
 The dam of Horror, who does stand accursed 
 Of many mortal millions, may even now, 
 By casting her black mantle over both 
 That neither could find other, get herself 
 Some part of a good name, and many a murder 
 
 ♦ She shall set deeds of honour in their hind, 
 Which sometime shew well pencill'd.^ The last editors point 
 thus— 
 
 Which sometime shew well pencill'd. 
 
 The pointing in the text is Mason's, who observes, that " the word 
 •well is connected with shew, not with pencilled ; and the meaning 
 is, she shall see deeds of honour actually performed, which shew 
 well when represented in painting." 
 
 ^ Envy.] This word means here, as in many old plays, malice. 
 
156 THE TWO NOBLE [ActV. 
 
 Set off whereto she's guilty. 
 
 Hip. You must go. 
 
 Ejni. In faith I will not. 
 
 Thes. Why, the knights must kindle 
 Their valour at your eye: Know, of this war 
 You are the treasure, and must needs he by 
 To give the service pay. 
 
 Emi. Sir, pardon me; 
 The title of a kingdom may be tried 
 Out of itself. 
 
 Thes. Well, well then, at your pleasure! 
 Those that remain with you could wish their office 
 To any of their enemies. 
 
 Hip. Farewell, sister! 
 I am like to know your husband 'fore yourself, 
 By some small start of time : He whom the gods 
 Do of the two know best, I pray them he 
 Be made your lot! 
 
 [Ea:eu7it Theseus, Hippolita, Perithous, S^c. 
 
 Emi. Arcite is gently visaged ; yet his eye 
 Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon 
 In a soft sheath ; Mercy, and manly courage, 
 Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon 
 Has a most menacing aspect; his brow 
 Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on; 
 Yet sometimes 'tis not so, but alters to 
 The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye 
 Will dwell upon his object; melancholy 
 Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite's mirth; 
 But Palamon's sadness is a kind of mirth. 
 So mingled, as if Mirth did make him sad. 
 And Sadness, merry ; those darker humours that 
 Stick misbecomingly on others,* on him 
 
 those darker humours that 
 
 Stick jnisbecomingly on others ; on them 
 Live injair dwelling.] Corrected by Seward. 
 
I 
 
 Scene v.] KINSMEN. 137 
 
 Live in fair dwelling. 
 
 [Comets, Trumpets sound as to a charge^ within. 
 Hark, how yon spurs' to spirit do incite 
 The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me; 
 And yet may Palamon wound Arcite, to 
 The spoiling of his figure. Oh, what pity 
 Enough for such a chance ! If I were by, 
 I might do hurt; for they would glance their eyes 
 Toward my seat, and in that motion might 
 Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence,* 
 Which craved that very time ; it is much better 
 
 ' Harli how yon spurs.] We have not, for several plays past, 
 amused our readers wiih an account of the amendments which the 
 editors of 1730 pretend to have made, in order to enhance the idea 
 of their own ingenuity : We have not, however, discontinued that 
 information for want of matter (there has all along been abun- 
 dance!) but for fear of becoming troublesome. After so long a 
 recess, it may not be disagreeable to resume the character of de- 
 tectors, and reveal the falsehoods told of the play now before us. 
 
 In the passage quoted at the head of this note, they pretend to 
 have altered your to yon; p. 58, 1. last, ^i?a^ to J'ect ; p. 63, I. 3, 
 A jewel to O jewel ; p. 6", !• 17, o?j7 to out, though Davenant, as 
 well as our old quarto, reads out ; p. 101, 1, 23, and innocent to an 
 innocent; p. 122, 1. 7, "when to -with; j). 124, 1. Q, state to stale; 
 p. 125, 1. 7, sphere to pheer ; and, p. 133, I. 13, to have added the 
 word groxcn. — Every one of these passages stands right in the first 
 quarto, which their own notes prove they were possessed of. — Ed, 
 1778. 
 
 8 Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence.] Mr Sympson would read 
 defence, but 'iiard and defence is the same thing. Ofence is the 
 reverse to ward, as weapons of oflence and defence. To forfeit an 
 oftcnce, therefore, is to miss the opportunity of striking some ad- 
 vantageous blow, that might give the victory. The weapon used 
 in the legal duello in England was only a batoon or truncheon, and 
 this was designed by the authors to be understood of the present 
 combat. It is extremely beautiful to have this duel performed be- 
 hind the scenes, yet within hearing. All battles on the stage make, 
 as Shakspeare says, but brawls ridiculous. Here is a method of 
 concealing all the awkwardness of such combats, and keeping the 
 attention of the audience upon the full stretch. It was an art well 
 known to the Greek tragedians, as in the famous instance of Cly- 
 
138 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 I am not there ; oh, better never born 
 Than minister to such harm ! — 
 
 [Co?^nets. Cry within, A Palamon !] 
 — What is the chance ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The cry's a Palamon. 
 EiJii. Then he has won. 'Twas ever likely : 
 He look'd all grace and success, and he is 
 Doubtless the prim'st of men. I pr'ythee run 
 And tell me how it goes. 
 
 \_Shout, a?2d Cornets j cry, A Palamon! 
 Serv. Still Palamon. 
 
 Emi. Run and enquire. Poor servant, thou hast 
 lost! 
 Upon my right side still I wore thy picture, 
 Palamon's on the left : Why so, I know not ; 
 I had no end in't else;' Chance would have it so. 
 On the sinister side the heart lies ; Palamon 
 Had the best boding chance. — [^Another cry and 
 shout within, and Cornets.^ — This burst of 
 clamour 
 Is sure the end o' the combat. 
 
 tpniiiestra's murder, who is heard to deprecate her son's vengeance 
 behind the scenes, and Electra upon the stage continues to irritate 
 it. — Sexcard. 
 
 5 / had no end irit ; eJse chance would have it so.] Former edi- 
 tions. JNIr Sympson would read less, i. e. unless : And that too 
 was my first conjecture. But more probably the particle else may 
 be a mere interpolation, for the sense and measure are better with- 
 out it. — Scxcard. 
 
 The word else should not be struck out, as it is frequently in- 
 troduced in these plays in the same manner. It is quite in the 
 style of the authors.— illason. 
 
Scene V.] KINSMEN. 139 
 
 Enter Servant, 
 
 Serv. They said that Palamon had Arcite's body 
 Within an inch o' th' pyramid, that the cry 
 Was general " a Palamon ;" but anon, 
 The assistants made a brave redemption, and 
 The two bold tilters at this instant are 
 Hand to hand at it. 
 
 Emi. Were they metamorphosed 
 Both into one — Oh, why ? there were no woman 
 Worth so composed a man ! Their single share, 
 Their nobleness peculiar to them,» gives 
 The prejudice of disparity, value's shortness 
 To any lady breathing. — More exulting? 
 
 [Coi^nets, Cry within, Arcite, Arcite ! 
 Palamon still ? 
 
 Serv. Nay, now the sound is Arcite. 
 
 Emi. I pr'ythee lay attention to the cry; 
 Set both thine cars to th' business. 
 [Cornets. A great shout, and cry, Arcite, Victory \ 
 
 Serv. The cry is 
 Arcite, and victory ! Hark ! Arcite, victory ! 
 The combat's consummation is proclaimed 
 By the wind-instruments. 
 
 Etni. Half-sights saw 
 That Arcite was no babe : God's lid, his richness 
 And costliness of spirit look'd through him! it could 
 No more be hid in him than fire in flax, 
 Than humble banks can go to law wnth waters. 
 That drift-winds force to raging. I did think 
 Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not 
 Why I did think so: Our reasons are not prophets, 
 
 * Thcirnobleness, SfC.J This line is now first restored from the 
 old quarto. The consequent deficiency of sense greatly distresses 
 Seward.— Ed. 1778. 
 
140 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 When oft our fancies are. They are coming off: 
 Alas, poor Palamon ! [Cornets, 
 
 Enter Thlsevs, Hippolita, Perithous, Arcite 
 as victor, Attendants, 8$c. 
 
 Thes. Lo, where our sister is in expectation, 
 Yet quaking, and unsettled. Fairest Emilia, 
 The gods, by their divine arbitrament, 
 Have given you this knight: He is a good one 
 As ever struck at head. Give me your hands ! 
 Receive you her, you him; be plighted with 
 A love that grows as you decay ! 
 
 Arc, Emily, 
 To buy you I have lost what's dearest to me, 
 Save what is bought ; and yet I purchase cheaply, 
 As I do rate your value. 
 
 Tlies. Oh, loved sister, 
 He speaks now of as brave a knight as e'er 
 Did spur a noble steed: Surely the gods 
 AV^ould have him die a bachelor, lest his race 
 Should shew i' th' world too godlike ! His beha- 
 viour 
 So charm 'd me, that methought Alcides was 
 To him a sow of lead : If I could praise 
 Each part of him to th' all I have spoke, your Arcite 
 Did not lose by't ; for he that was thus good, 
 Encountci'd yet his better. I have heard 
 Two emulous Philomels' beat the ear o' th' night 
 
 * Two emulous Philomels.'] I rannot pass by this simile without 
 begging tlie reader t<» i;ivL- a due altt ntion to it, as it may rank 
 with ihp most beautilul descriptions of the nightingale that are met 
 with in Virgil ami JM.,ton. It it> aNo totally different from all the 
 attitU'les of this angel of night that those poets, who were so ena- 
 moured ot her song, have ever painted her in. It may be further 
 observed, ihat ihnse similies strike the miist which, in their own 
 natures, seem totally averse to their archetype, but are joined to 
 
 I 
 
Scene v.] KINSMEN. 141 
 
 With their contentious throats, now one the higher* 
 Anon the other, then again the first, 
 And by and by out-breasted,* that the sense 
 Could not be judge between 'em : So it fared 
 Good space between these Kinsmen ; till Heavens 
 
 did 
 Make hardly one the winner. — Wear the garland 
 With joy that you have won ! For the subdued. 
 Give them our present justice, since I know 
 Their lives but pinch 'em ; let it here be done. 
 The scene's not for our seeing: Go we hence, 
 Right joyful, with some sorrow ! Arm your prize,^ 
 I know you will not lose her. Hippolita, 
 I see one eye of yours conceives a tear, 
 The which it will deliver. [Flourish. 
 
 Emi. Is this winning? 
 Oh, all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy? 
 But that your wills have said it must be so, 
 And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, 
 This miserable prince, that cuts away 
 A life more worthy from him than ail women, 
 I should, and would die too. 
 
 Hip. Infinite pity, 
 That four such eyes should be so fix'd on one, 
 That two must needs be blind for't! 
 
 Thes. So it is. [E^'eiaii. 
 
 it in perfect union by the art of the poet. What, at first sight, 
 could be more unlike than the fury of a combat to the singing of 
 nightingales ? Yet how charmingly are they married together ? 
 They who arc conversant in Homer, Virgil, Spenser, Milton, &c. 
 will be able to recollect many instances of the like nature.— 
 Sexvard. 
 
 * Ou^breasted.] Sec a note on the Pilgrim, vol. V. p. 4()8. 
 ' Arm t/our prize.'] i. e. Take the lady whom you have won by 
 the hand.— Ed. 1778. 
 
142 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 An open Place in the City with a Scaffold, 
 
 Enter Palamon and his Knights pinioned. Jailor^ 
 Execiitio7iei\ and Guard. 
 
 Pal. There's many a man alive, that hath out- 
 lived 
 The love o' th' people ; yea, i' th' self-same state 
 Stands many a father with his child : Some comfort 
 We have by so considering; we expire, 
 And not without men's pity ; to live still, 
 Have their good wishes ; we prevent 
 The loathsome misery of age, beguile 
 The gout and rheum, that in lag hours attend 
 For grey approachers ; we come towards the gods 
 Young, and unwapper'd,* not halting under crimes 
 
 * Young and unwapper'd,] i. e. says Mr Sympson, young and 
 vnfrighteii'd. He quotes no authority, nor can I find one in my 
 dictionaries. Mr Theobald concurs with lue in reading unwarp'dy 
 which, supposing the former word to be true English, and to give 
 the idea mentioned, rather better agrees with the sense, and much 
 better with the measure of the context. Thus Valerio, in A Wife 
 for a Month, says in the like circumstances, 
 
 To die a young man is to be an angel ; 
 Our yet good parts put wings unto our souls. 
 
 And again, 
 
 As it [age"] encreases, so vexations, 
 
 Griefs of' the mind, pains of the feeble body^ 
 
 Rheums, coughs, catarrs ; we're but our living coffins. 
 
 Besides, the fair soul's old too, it grows covetous, 
 
 And we are earth again.-'^^ See the whole scene, act ii. 
 
 I 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 145 
 
 Many and stale ; that sure shall please the gods 
 Sooner than such, to give us nectar with 'em, 
 For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen, 
 Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down, 
 You have sold 'em too, too cheap. 
 
 1 Knight, What ending could be 
 
 Of more content? O'er us the victors have 
 Fortune, whose title is as momentary 
 As to us death is certain ; a grain of honour 
 They not o'er-weigh us. 
 
 2 Knight. Let us bid farewell ; 
 
 And with our patience anger tottering Fortune, 
 Who at her certain'st reels ! 
 
 3 Kjiight. Come ; who begins ? 
 
 Pal. Even he that led you to this banquet, shall 
 Taste to you all.— Ah ha, my friend, my friend ! 
 Your gentle Daughter gave me freedom once ; 
 You'll see't done now for ever. Pray how does she? 
 I heard she was not well; her kind of ill 
 Gave me some sorrow. 
 
 Jailor. Sir, she's well restored, 
 And to be married shortly. 
 
 Pal. By my short life, 
 I am most glad on't ! 'tis the latest thing 
 
 P. S. I find in the Glossary to Urry*s Chaucer, -aapid and a-w- 
 
 hapid, daunted, astonished. This is probably the same word that 
 
 Mr Sjnipson may have somewhere found spelt wapper'd. — Seward. 
 
 The old text must be restored, as it is undoubtedly the opposite 
 
 to wappered in Shakspeare's Timon of Athens :— 
 
 " This it is 
 
 That makes the ~u:appered widow wed again." 
 This passage has greatly puzzled the editors of Shakspeare, and the 
 subject is not yet entirely cleared up. From different passages in 
 old writers, quoted in the notes, (Reed's edition, vol. XIX. p. 136,) 
 it appears, that icappering means, in cant language, " company- 
 keeping with a woman," and hence Mr Steevens explains tlie word 
 in the text, " undebilitated by venery, i. e. not halting under critncs 
 fnanif and stale," 
 
141 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 I shall be glad of; pry thee tell her so; 
 Commend me to her, and to piece her portion 
 Tender her this. 
 
 1 Knight. Nay, let's be offerers all ! 
 
 2 Knight. Is it a maid? 
 Pal. Verily, I think so ; 
 
 A right good creature, more to me deserving 
 Than I can quite' or speak of! 
 
 AU Knights. Commend us to her. 
 
 \Gi-ve their purses. 
 
 Jailor. The gods requite you all, 
 And make her thankful ! 
 
 Pal. Adieu ! and let my life be now as short 
 As my leave-taking. [^Lies on the block, 
 
 1 Knight. Lead, courageous cousin ! 
 
 2 Knight. We'll follow cheerfully. 
 
 \A great noise within, crying, Run, save, hold ? 
 
 Enter in haste a Messenger, 
 Mess, Hold, hold! oh, hold, hold, hold! 
 Enter Perithous in haste. 
 
 Per. Hold, hoa ! it is a cursed haste you made, 
 If you have done so quickly. — Noble Palamon, 
 The gods will shew their glory in a life 
 That thou art yet to lead. 
 
 Pal. Can that be, when 
 Venus 1 have said is false ? How do things fare ? 
 
 Per. Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear 
 That are most dearly sweet and bitter !^ 
 
 5 Quite.'] Requite, recompence. 
 
 * That are most early sweet and bitter.'] Mr Sympson and I 
 agree in rejecting earli/ as a corruption, but he reads rarely sweet, 
 and I dearly. The adverb dearly, in the sense oi exceedingly or ex- 
 
Scene VL] KINSMEN. 145 
 
 Pal. What 
 Hath waked us from our dream ? 
 
 Per. List then ! Your cousin, 
 Mounted upon a steed that Emily 
 Did lirst bestow on him, a black one, owing 
 Not a hair worth of white/ which some will say 
 Weakens his price, and many will not buy 
 His goodness with this note ; which superstition 
 Here finds allowance: On this horse is Arcite, 
 Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins' 
 Did rather tell than trample; for the horse 
 AVould make his length a mile, if't pleased his rider 
 To put pride in him : As he thus went counting 
 The flinty pavement, dancing as 'twere to th' musip 
 His own lioofs made (for, as they say. from iron 
 Came music's origin) what envious flint, 
 Cold as old Saturn, and like him possess'd 
 With fire malevolent, darted a spark, 
 Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made. 
 
 tremdy, seems particularly beautiful when expressive of any of the 
 tender passions, whether of joy or sorrow, and after I had inserted 
 it in my notes, I found in the last speech of this play a confir- 
 mation of it : 
 
 for whom 
 
 But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry, 
 As glad of Arcite : Sewurd. 
 
 * A black horse, owing 
 
 Not a hair worth of white, which some will say, Ȥc.] Such a 
 horse is called by tlie French, zain ; and Cotgrave'ti explanation of 
 this will prove a good comment on the text — " A horse that's all 
 of one dark colour, without any starr}' spot or mark about him, 
 and thereby commonly vicious." 
 
 ' Calkins ;'] i. e. Hoofs, we suppose, from the Latin calx. - ■ 
 There are some hard and odd passages, mixed with much poetical 
 expression, in tliis description. — Ed. 177S. 
 
 The description bears not the least resemblance to the style of 
 Fletcher, Beaumont, or almost any author but Shakspeare. 
 VOL. XI 11. K 
 
U6 THE TWO NOBLE [ActV. 
 
 I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire, 
 Took toy at this, and fell to what disorder 
 His power could give his will, bounds, comes on 
 
 end, 
 Forgets school-doing, being therein trainVl, 
 And of kind manage ; pig-like he whines 
 At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather 
 Than any jot obeys ; seeks all foul means 
 Of boisterous and rough jadry, to dis-seat 
 His lord that kept it bravely : When naught served, 
 When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor 
 
 diff 'ring plunges 
 Dis-root his rider whence he grew, but that 
 He kept him 'tween his legs, on his hind-hoofs 
 On end he stands,* 
 
 That Arcite's legs being higher than his head, 
 Seem'd with strange art tohang : His victor's wreath 
 Even then fell oif his head ; and presently 
 Backward the jade comes o'er, and his full poize 
 Becomes the rider's load. Yet is he living, 
 But such a vessel 'tis that floats but for 
 The surge that next approaches: He much desires 
 To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears ! 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Emilia, Arcite 
 brought in a Chair. 
 
 Pal. Oh, miserable end of our alliance ! 
 The gods are mighty ! — Arcite, if thy heart. 
 Thy worthy manly heart, be yet unbroken, 
 Give me thy last words ! I am Palamon, 
 
 * He Jccpt him 'tween his legs on his hind hoofs 
 
 on end he stands."] So the quarto, 
 from which it should seem that the first part of the second line was 
 omitted by the compositor, being illegible in the manuscript. The 
 sense is, however, perfect as it stands. 
 
 i 
 
Scene VI.] KINSMEN. 147 
 
 One that yet loves thee dying. 
 
 A?'c. Take Emilia, 
 And with her all the world's joy. Reach thy hand ; 
 Farewell ! I have told my last hour. I was false,* 
 Yet never treacherous : Forgive me, cousin ! 
 One kiss from fair Emilia ! [Kisses her."] 'Tis done : 
 Take her. I die ! [DieSm 
 
 Pal. Thy brave soul seek Elysium ! 
 
 E771L I'll close thine eyes, prince ; blessed souls 
 be with thee ! 
 Thou art a right good man ; and while I live 
 This day I give to tears. 
 
 Pal. And I to honour. 
 
 T/ies. In this place first you fought; even very 
 here 
 I sunder'd you : Acknowledge to the gods 
 Our thanks that you are living. 
 His part is play'd, and, though it were too short, 
 He did it well : Your day is lengthen'd, and 
 The blissful dew of Heaven does arrose you ;' 
 
 ♦ I ivasfalse.'\ I believe the reader will not be easily convinced 
 that Arcite had been false. But our authors seem to have been 
 so possessed of the story from Chaucer, that they even forgot that 
 they had inserted an essential part of it, the oath between the Two 
 Kinsmen never to rival, but always to assist each other in love. 
 This, as was before observed, would justify Palamon's anger, and 
 render him the more amiable character.— SeioarJ. 
 
 The characters of Palamon and Arcite are finely discriminated. 
 Palamon is certainly the aggrieved party ; yet there is a gallantry 
 in Arcite that redeems his falsehood ; and a passion in Palamon 
 that renders him still more amiable and interesting from the very 
 infirmity of his temper. — Either Seward or his printer have made 
 a mistake here; for our authors have not inserted the oath.— 
 Ed. 1778. 
 
 ' Arowze 1/ou.'] i. e. Water^ sprinkle ; bedew, from the French, 
 arroser. — Seward. 
 
 It should then be spelt arrose : Arouse is an English word of 
 very different import. — Ed. 1778. 
 
148 THE TWO NOBLE [Act V. 
 
 The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar, 
 And given you your love; our master Mars 
 Has vouch'd his oracle, and to Arcite gave 
 The grace of the contention : So the deities 
 Have shew'd due justice. Bear this hence ! 
 
 Pal. Oh, cousin, 
 That we should things desire, which do cost us 
 The loss of our desire ! That nought could buy 
 Dear love, but loss of dear love ! 
 
 Thes. Never Fortune 
 Did play a subtler game : The conquer'd triumphs, 
 The victor has the loss ; yet in the passage 
 The gods have been most equal. Palamon, 
 Your Kinsman hath confess'd the right o' the lady 
 Did lie in you ; for you first saw her, and 
 Even then proclaim'd your fancy; he restored her, 
 As your stolen jewel, and desired your spirit 
 To send him hence forgiven : The gods my justice 
 Take from my hand, and they themselves become 
 The executioners. Lead your lady off; 
 And call your lovers* from the stage of death, 
 Whom I adopt my friends ! A day or two 
 Let us look sadly, and give grace unto 
 The funeral of Arcite ! in whose end 
 The visages of bridegrooms we'll put on. 
 And smile with Palamon ; for whom an hour. 
 But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry. 
 As glad of Arcite ; and am now as glad. 
 As for him sorry. Oh, you heavenly charmers,' 
 
 » Your lovers;] i.e. The knights who assisted you. — Ed. 177S. 
 
 ' Heavenly charmers.} i. e. Enchanters, ruling us at their will, 
 whose operations are beyond our power to conceive, till we see the 
 effects of them. — Sezcard. 
 
 "So in Othello, act iii. scene iv. — 
 
 " That handkerchief 
 
 Did an Egyptian to my mother give : 
 
> 
 
 Scene VI.] KINSMEN. U9 
 
 What things you make of us ! For what we lack 
 We laugh, for what we have are sorry ; still 
 Are children in some kind.* Let us be thankful, 
 For that which is, and with You leave dispute 
 That are above our question ! Let's go otT, 
 And bear us like the time ! [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 She was a charmer^ and could almost read 
 The thoughts of people." — Reed. 
 
 '^ For what toe have are sorry still, 
 
 Are children in some kind.} The punctuation in the text was 
 proposed by iMason. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 I WOULD now ask ye how ye like the play ; 
 
 But, as it is with schoolboys cannot say, 
 
 I am cruel fearful ! Pray yet stay a while, 
 
 And let me look upon ye ! No man smile ? 
 
 Then it goes hard, I see : He that has 
 
 Loved a young handsome wench then, shew his face ! 
 
 'Tis strange if none be here; and if he will 
 
 Against his conscience, let him hiss, and kill 
 
 Our market ! 'Tis in vain, I see, to stay ye ; 
 
 Have at the worst can come, then ! Now what aay ye ? 
 
 And yet mistake me not : I am not bold ; 
 
 We have no such cause. If the tale we have told 
 
 (For 'tis no other) any way content ye, 
 
 (For to that honest purpose it was meant ye) 
 
 We have our end ; and ye shall have ere long 
 
 I dare say many a better, to prolong 
 
 Your old loves to us : We, and all our might, 
 
 Rest at your service. Gentlemen, good-night ! [FlourisL^ 
 
 • This whole play, Mr Seward observes, ** abounds with such subli- 
 mity of sentiment and diction, that were the beauties to be marked with 
 asterisms, after Mr Pope and Mr Warburton's manner, scarce a page 
 would be left uncovered with them." 
 
 The capital defect in the piece is hinted at in these words of the epi- 
 logue, 
 
 ■ If the Tale we have told 
 {For 'tis NO OTHER) 
 
 It is indeed rather a tale than a drama, particularly towards die conclu* 
 sion, which has perhaps so long prevented its representation on the stage ; 
 where some scenes of it would produce a great effect, though there are 
 in tliis dramatic tale many excellent passages, more calculated to please 
 the reader than spectator. The mixture of Gothic with ancient manners 
 was the common vice of the writers of the age in which it was wrote. It 
 is, however, a most noble play, replete with animated jdiscourse and su- 
 blime touches of poetry.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 I 
 J 
 
OBSERVATIONS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 PARTICIPATION OF SHAKSPEARE 
 
 IN THE 
 
 TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. 
 
 The following observations of Mr Colman on this curious sub- 
 ject he inserted in the edition of 1778 : — 
 
 " The Two Noble Kinsmen, on the authority of the title-page to 
 the first edition, has been looked on as the production of Shak- 
 speare and Fletcher ; but not being able to find any satisfactory 
 proof (nor indeed presumptive, except that it contains many pas- 
 sages not unworthy of him) that the former was joint author of it, 
 we acknowledge we doubt the tradition of his being at all con- 
 cerned in the piece. Little stress can be laid on the title-page in 
 question, (the only shadow of authority,) which bears evident marks 
 of the craft of a jiublisher, and was not printed till nine years af- 
 ter the death of Fletcher, and sixteen after Shakspeare's. Seward, 
 however, takes it for granted to be the production of the poets to 
 whom it has been attributed ; of which he does not mention a doubt, 
 but says, 
 
 " I. ' It will be an entertainment to the curious to distinguish 
 the hand of Shakspeare from that of Fletcher. The only exter- 
 nal evidence that I ever heard of, is a tradition of the play-house, 
 that the first act only was wrote by Shakspeare ; and this Mr War- 
 burton says in his preface to that author. If it is true it does great 
 honour to Fletcher, for though there are many excellent things in 
 that act, it is in every respect much inferior to the four others. 
 Had it fallen within Mr Warburton's province to have examined 
 the internal evidence, I know no man so capable of striking light 
 out of obscurity. I shall lay before the reader the reasons which 
 make me doubt the authenticity of this tradition, and shall endea- 
 vour to prove that either Shakspeare had a very great hand in all 
 the acts of this play, particularly in the whole charming charac- 
 ter of the Jailor's Daughter, or else that Fletcher more closely imi- 
 tated him in this than in any other part of iiis works,' 
 
( 152 ) 
 
 " II. The prison scene between Palamon and Arc'ilc, ' is/ says 
 Seward, ' more worthy of Shakspeare than any loui,' one in the 
 first act. it is in Shakspeare's second best manner, or in Flet- 
 cher's BEST, and these are not easily distinguishable. If the reader 
 will consult the first scene of the Two Brothers, with their sup- 
 posed tather comin;:^ "ut of the cave in Cynibeline, and the de- 
 scription of the Spartan hounds by Theseus in Midsummer-Night's 
 l)rean), he will find a great similitude of sentiment, style, and spi- 
 rit: Add to these the following lines in Richard II. Mowbray be- 
 ing banished, thus complains of his want of foreign languages : 
 
 ' Within my mouth you have engoal'd my tongue, 
 Doubly portcuUised with my teeth and lips, 
 And dull unfeeling barren Ignorance 
 Must be the jailor lo attend on me/ 
 
 All but the second of these are noble lines, though so great a man 
 as Mr Pope discarded them from the text. The end of Arcite'.s 
 former speech (which Milton very closely follows, bewailing his 
 blindness in his Hymn to Light) and the lines referred to in the 
 emendation above, have the sublimity of these lines of Mowbray 
 without the quaintness of thought that disgraces one of them, not- 
 withstanding its similitude to the fcxc? c^onm of Homer. These 
 reasons may induce one to place this scene to Shakspeare." Here, 
 however, arise doubts: " On the t.ther hand, the simile of a wild 
 boar in chase to the Parthian archer, (who, by a bold poetic liber- 
 ty, is called the Parthian quiver,) the bristles and darts sticking on 
 his back to the arrows on the archer's shoulder, and the frequent 
 and furious turnings of the boar to the Parthian's turning to shoot 
 as he flies. This noble s'mile is a favourite of Fletcher's, and he 
 uses it in another play that seems to have been wrote before this. 
 And I believe it no where occurs in Shakspeare. As to the ana- 
 chronism of making Parihian archers talked of in Theseus's time, 
 it is an impropriety that both Shakspeare and Fletcher are equally 
 guilty of/ 
 
 " III. Speaking of the Jailor's Daughter, ' The Aurora of Guido 
 has not more strokes of the same hand which drew his Bacchus 
 and Ariadne, than the sweet description of this pretty maiden's 
 love-distraction has to the like distraction of Ophelia in Hamlet : 
 That of Ophelia ending in her death, is, like the Ariadne, more 
 moving, but the images here, like those in Aurora, are more nu- 
 merous, and equally exquisite in grace and beauty. May we not 
 then pronounce, that either this is Shakspeare's, or that Fletcher 
 has here equalled him in his very best manner ?' 
 
 " IV. In p 147, the reader will find Mr Seward propose a mode 
 of justification for Paiamon's anger ; after which he adds, ♦ This 
 seems the whol<^ that is wanting (which might be added in three 
 lines) to render this play equal to Cymbeline, Measure for Mea- 
 
( lo3 ) 
 
 .sure, TweWth-Night, As You Like it, and all the plaj's of the se- 
 cond CLASS of Shakspeare ; and to The Maid's Traiiedy, The False 
 One, The Bloody Brother, A King and No Kioij. Philaster, The 
 Double Marriage, and the rest of the first-kate plays of Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher.* 
 
 " V. The description of female friendship, p. 28, ef scq. he says, 
 ' was probably Shakspeare's, and in his second, if not in his vt-ry 
 BEST manner, which will evidently appear by its preference, which 
 it may justly claim to the like description in Midsummer-Night's 
 Dream, act iii. scene viii. — 
 
 ' We, Herraia, like two artificial gods 
 Created with our needles both one flower. 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion ; 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds 
 Had been incorporate; so we grew together. 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted. 
 But yet an union in partition. 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem ; 
 Or with two seeming bodies, but one heart. 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.' 
 
 *' VL Relative to the madness of the Jailor's Daughter, ' There 
 are,' says Seward, * such characterising strokes, and such strong 
 features of both Ophelia and Lear in their phrensies, that one can- 
 not but believe that the same pencil drew them all.' 
 
 " VJL We will now mention a doubt or two more. * If the rea- 
 der will please to consult the soliloquy of Richard IL in prison, he 
 will find several stroke* much resembling some in this scene, [the 
 prison scene between Palamon and Arcite] and whilst he com- 
 pares them, may be apt to ascribe them both to the same hand ; 
 but the following lines t>ut of Fletcher's Lovers' Progress may again 
 stagger our opinion, and make us as aj^t to ascribe the whole set ne 
 to Fletcher. Lidian, a young lover, in a fit of despair, turns her-> 
 mit, and thus describes the happiness of solitude : 
 
 " These wild fields are my gardens; 
 
 The crystal rivers they aft'ord their waters. 
 
 And grudge not their sweet streams to quench afTIictioDS 
 
 The hollow rocks their beds, \>h:ch thouirh they're liard 
 
 (The emblems of a doting lover's firttme) 
 
 Yet they are quiet, and the weary sii:i^ihe:s 
 
 The eyes catch there, softer than beds ot town; 
 
 The birds my bell to call me to devotions; 
 
 My book the story of my wand'ring life. 
 
( 134 ) 
 
 In which I find more hours due to Repentance 
 'J'han Time hath told me yet.' 
 See the whole dialogue, act iv. scene iii.* 
 
 " Vin. Aj:^ain, ' What was said of the difficulty of judging whe- 
 ther Shakspcare or Fletcher had the greatest hand in the scene of 
 The Two Kinsmen in prison, is applicable to this, [the temple 
 scene,] and indeed to all the scenes in which they appear. Flet- 
 cher Irequenll}'' writes as well, and Shakspeare perhaps alone of 
 all our dramatic poets can be said ever to have wrote better.* 
 
 " IX. Again, * This Schoolmaster and his fellow-comedians seem 
 very like the farcical clowns in Midsummer-Night's Dream, and 
 other plays of Shakspeare ; yet it seems probable that Fletcher had 
 the greatest share of this, as the quotation from Tully's Oration 
 against Catiline, and all the Latinisms of the Schoolmaster, seem 
 wrote by one who was more ready in Latin quotations than Shak- 
 speare; who, notwithstanding all the pains which learned men 
 have taken to prove the contrary, seems to have had no more Latin 
 than falls to the share of a very young school-boy, the Grammar 
 and a little of Ovid.* At the same time, I allow him an excellent 
 scholar in English, French, and Italian, which comprehend a vast 
 extent in literature.' 
 
 " X. Shakspeare's supposed want of erudition, Mr Seward con» 
 siders as an argument for some other particular parts being attri- 
 buted to Fletcher : Thus, after observing that the method of con- 
 cealing combats was an art well known to the Greek tragedians, 
 he says, • I don't remember either in Shakspeare or Fletcher any 
 instance of this kind before this combat. As Fletcher was a scho- 
 lar, and Shakspeare not one in Greek, the former was probably the 
 author here.' 
 
 " XL Again, speaking of Theseus's address to the First Queen, 
 wherein he mentions Juno's mantle, Seward says, * As there is 
 more display of learning in this speech than is usually seen in Shak- 
 speare's, may we not probably suppose this scene to have been 
 Fletcher's, contrary to the received opinion ?' 
 
 " XIL The modesty of the expression, * Weak as we are,' in the 
 prologue, makes Seward think it ' probable, that the play vv'as 
 acted before the death of Shakspeare, and that it was wrote in con- 
 junction as much as those which Beaumont joined in.' And the 
 modesty of promising, in the epilogue, ' many a better play,' 
 says he, ' strengthens the probability of the two great authors ha- 
 ving nearly an equal share of the play. Had Fletcher tiuished a 
 
 ' Shakspeare had no more of Ovid than of any other Latin poet; the 
 translations from that author in the spurious editions of his poems being 
 Icnown to have been written by Hejwood. 
 
( 155 ) 
 
 work of Shakspeare*s, he would probably have spoke in a different 
 style.' 
 
 " I. Seward is rather unfortunate in his beginning*; forWarbiir- 
 ton does not even mention The Two Noble Kinsmen in the pre- 
 face — Pope speaks of it in his preface in the f()llowin<]f manner: 
 — * If that play be his, as there goes a tradition it was, (and indeed 
 it has little resemblance of Fletcher, and more of our author than 
 some of those which have been received as genuine:') An asser- 
 tion which that great man would not have made had he ever read 
 Fletcher with attention — MrStcevens ranks this play in the same 
 list with Locrine, London Prodigal, Sir John Oldcastle, and the 
 other plays ascribed to Shakspeare, by catalogues and editions 
 whose authority has not been sufficient to gain the several pieces 
 there mentioned a place among the dramas at present received as 
 Shakspeare's; and, except the posthumous title-page of llj'ji, there 
 is indeed no kind of authority. 
 
 " II. III. IV, Seward is very fond of the idea of Fletcher's best 
 manner resembling Shakspeare's second-best; but we cannot help 
 thinking it childish to account the po( try of those scenes which 
 he cites Shakspeare's second-best. Whether they were his work 
 or Fletcher's, they are most excellent; and might have been pro- 
 duced by either, or by Beaumont. That Shakspeare is, taken al- 
 together, superior to our authors, is certain ; but there often occur 
 passages in their plays far beyond the promise of the subject, and 
 equal to the pen of any writer ancient or modern, as may be evin- 
 ced by numberless passages in Philaster, The Maid's Tragedy, King 
 and No King, Bonduca, Wile for a Month, Cupid's Revenge, &c. 
 &c. &c. notwithstanding what is above quoted from the preface of 
 that great man, Mr Pope. 
 
 " V. In our opinioii, there is more ease, spirit, and nature, in the 
 description in The Midsummer- Night's Dream, than in that of The 
 Two Noble Kinsmen. However, if it be otherwise, Fletcher has 
 confessedly so much poetical merit, that to attribute his most ex- 
 quisite beauties to Shakspeare, is doing him an injury. And in 
 this injury we are sorry to find Dr Farmer has taken part, who, 
 speaking of Emilia's fine comparison of a maid to a rose, which he 
 highly praises, says, ' I have no doubt those lines were written 
 by Shakspeare.' And because the speech of Theseus, p. 3 4-, is 
 particularly beautiful, Seward thinks that it * looks extremely like 
 the hand of Shakspeare.' 
 
 " VI. Though there is much poetical fancy in the phrensy of the 
 Jailor's Daughter, we cannot with Mr Seward think it equal to the 
 natural madness painted by Shakspeare. Like the assumed dis- 
 traction of Hamlet and Edgar, 
 
 " Though this be madness, yet there's method in't j" 
 
( i56 ) 
 
 more apparent method than in ih^. drawing of Ophelia and Lear. 
 
 " Vll. VI 11. IX. Nothing need hn said of the doubts. 
 
 •* X. \I. What is here said, tending to invalidate Shakspeare's 
 claim, is ajiart from the argument ; but we may, however, just re- 
 mark, that there are many speeches in Shakspeare as much abound- 
 ing with learned allusions as any part of Theseus's address. 
 
 "" XII. That the play was 'wrote in conjunction,' we will readily 
 suppose; but no kind of information can be derived from eitlier 
 Prologue or Epilogue ivho the associate was. 
 
 " We have now gone through all that Mr Seward has said on this 
 subject; wherein we cannot find one plausible argument for as- 
 criliing to Shakspeare any part of The Two Noble Kinsmen; 
 which certainly abounds with the peculiar beauties and defects 
 that distinguish the rest of this collection, and should, in our opi- 
 nion, (if a joint work,) be attributed to the same authors. There 
 are, too, many particular passages and expressions in this play, 
 which bear a striking similarity to others wrote between them : 
 Of this sort are trace, (md turn, boys .' p. 78 : On the same mob- 
 occasion, the same expression occurs in Philaster. In that play 
 too, the Prince talks of discoursing from a pyramid to all the un- 
 der-world : So here, p. 108, Emilia says, in one of the most beau- 
 tiful passages of the play, 
 
 " Fame and Honour, 
 
 Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory 
 Pointed in Heaven, should clap their wings, and sing 
 To all the under-iuorld,' 
 
 and various others might be quoted. Writers often unknowingly 
 copy themselves as well as other authors; and though it might 
 here be answered, that Fletcher is allowed to have wrote in both, 
 and the similar passages may be his, yet Beaumont (who had a 
 great share in Philaster) is as likely to have produced them in both 
 as his associate. And (what is rather remarkable) it will appear 
 to any attentive reader, that the chief similarities are to pieces in 
 which Beaumont is universally allowed to have been connected, 
 not where his assistance is doubted.— Had Shakspeare been con- 
 sidered as one of the joint authors, is it not natural to suppose, that 
 a play of so much excellence would have found a place in the col- 
 lection of his dramas published by Hemings and Condell ? but they 
 have neither admitted the piece, nor taken the least notice of Shak- 
 speare's being at all concerned in it. We must not, indeed, rest 
 too much upon this, as it is certain they omitted Troilusand Cres- 
 sida, a play, however, of much less eminence : on the whole, we 
 think that there ought to be more authority than an uncertain tra- 
 dition, to take the credit of this play from Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 the joint authors of so many other excellent dramas, written very 
 
( 1^7 ) 
 
 much in the style and spirit of the play before us. Place Shak- 
 speare's name before several other of the dramas, how many cri- 
 tics, like Seward, would labour to ascertain the particular passages 
 that came from his hand !" — 
 
 Mr Steevens, in a note subjoined to Pericles, Prince of Tyre, 
 has taken great pains to prove that The Two Noble Kinsmen was 
 written by Fletcher alone, without the assistance of Shakspeare, 
 and the great and deserved reputation of that critic renders it ne- 
 cessary to insert his observations in this place before venturing to 
 combat his arguments : — " On Mr Pope's opinion, relative to this 
 subject, no great reliance can be placed ; for he who reprobated 
 The Winter's Tale as a performance alien to Shakspeare, could 
 boast of little acquaintance with the spirit or manner of the author 
 whom he undertook to correct and explain. 
 
 " Dr Warburton expresses a belief, that our great poet wrote 
 * the first act, but in his worst manner.' The Doctor, indeed, 
 only seems to have been ambitious of adding somewhat (though 
 at random) to the decision of his predecessor. 
 
 " Mr Seward's inquiry into the authenticity of this piece has 
 been fully examined by Mr Colman, who adduces several argu- 
 ments to prove that our author had no concern in it. Mr Colman 
 might have added more to the same purpose ; but, luckily for the 
 public, his pen is always better engaged than in critical and anti- 
 (}uarian disquisitions. 
 
 " As Dr Farmer* has advanced but little on the present occasion, 
 I confess my inability to determine the point on which his con- 
 clusion is founded. 
 
 " This play was not, however, printed till eighteen years after 
 the death of Shakspeare ; and its title page carries all the air of a 
 canting bookseller's imposition. Would any one else have thought it 
 necessary to tell the world that Fletcher and his pretended coadjutor 
 were * memorable worthies?' The piece, too, was printed for one 
 John Waterson, a man who had no copy-right in any of our author's 
 other dramas. It was equally unknown to the editors in 1623 and 
 1632; and was rejected by those in 1661- and J 685. — hi 1661., 
 Kirkman, another knight of the rubrick post, issued out The Birth 
 of Merlin, by Rowley and Shakspeare. Are we to receive a part 
 of this also as a genuine work of the latter? for the authority of 
 Kirkman is as respectable as that of Waterson. I may add, as a 
 similar instance of the craft or ignorance of these ancient Curls, 
 that in 164-0, the Coronation, claimed by Shirley, was printed in 
 Fletcher's name, and (I know not why) is still permitted to hold 
 a place among his other dramas. 
 
 * Dr Farmer seems to have been convinced of the co-operation of 
 Shakspeare in this play. See his Essay on the Learning of Shakspeare, 
 tiliHfl Kc'cd's edition, vol. II. p. 80. 
 
( lo8 J 
 
 " That Shakspeare had the slightest connection with Beaumont 
 and Fletcher has not been proved by evidence of any kind. There 
 are no verses written by either in his commendation; but they 
 both stand convicted of having aimed their ridicule at passages in 
 several of his plays.^ His imputed intimacy with one of them is 
 therefore unaccountable. Neither are the names of our great con- 
 federates enrolled with those of other wits who frequented the li- 
 terary symposia held at the Devil Tavern in Fleet-street. As they 
 were gentlemen of family and fortune, it is probable that they 
 aspired to company of a higher rank than that of needy poets or 
 mercenary players. Their dialogue bears abundant testimony to 
 this supposition ; while Shakspeare's attempts to exhibit such 
 sprightly conversations as pass between young men of elegance 
 and fashion are very rare, and almost confined (as Dr Johnson re- 
 marks) to the characters of Mercutio and his associates. Our au- 
 thor could not easily copy what he had few opportunities of ob- 
 serving. So much for the unlikeliness of Fletcher's having united 
 with Shakspeare in the same composition. 
 
 " But here it may be asked — Why was the name of our author 
 joined with that of Beaumont's coadjutor in The Two Noble Kins- 
 men rather than in any other play of the same author that so long 
 remained in manuscript? 1 answer — ^I'hat this event might have 
 taken its rise from the play-house tradition mentioned by Pope, 
 and founded, as 1 conceive, on a singular occurrence, which it is 
 my present office to point out and illustrate to my readers. 
 
 " The language and images of this piece coincide perpetually 
 with those in the dramas of Shakspeare. The same frequency of 
 coincidence occurs in no other individual of Fletcher's works; and 
 how is so material a distinction to be accounted for? Did Shakspeare 
 assist the survivor of Beaumont in his tragedy ? Surely no ; for if 
 he had, he would not (to borrow a conceit from Moth, in Love's 
 Labour's Lost) have written as if he had been at a great feast qf 
 tragedies, and stolen the scraps. It was natural that he should more 
 studiously have abstained from the use of marked expressions in 
 this than in any other of his pieces written without assistance. He 
 cannot be suspected of so pitiful an ambition as that of setting his 
 seal on the portions he wrote, to distinguish them from those of 
 his colleague, h was his business to coalesce with Fletcher, and 
 not to withdraw from him. But were our author convicted of this 
 jealous artifice, let me ask where we are to look for any single 
 dialogue ni which these lines of separation ate not drawn ? If they 
 are to be regarded as land-marks to ascertain our author's proper- 
 
 1 
 
 ^ It is wonderful to find Mr Steevens join with the last editors of 
 Beaumont and Fletcher in accusing them of having sneered at Shak- 
 speare, when they assumed the very innocent and common privilege of 
 parody. See the preceding volumes pussim. 
 
 9 
 
( 159 ) 
 
 ty, they stand so constantly in our way, that we must adjudge the 
 whole literary estate to him, I hope no one will be found who 
 supposes our duumvirate sat down to correct what each other wrote. 
 To such an indignity Fletcher could not well have submitted ; 
 and such a drudgery Shakspeare would as hardly have endured. 
 In Pericles, it is no difficult task to discriminate the scenes in 
 which the hand of the latter is evident. I say again, let the critic 
 try if the same undertaking is as easy in The Two Noble Kinsmen. 
 The style of Fletcher on other occasions is sufficiently distinct 
 from Shakspeare's, though it may mix more intimately with th:\i 
 of Beaumont. 
 
 <]>a^t^t avft.piDyjTat Upov poov.— Apol. Rhod. 
 
 From loud Araxes Lycus' streams divide. 
 But roll with Phasis in a blended tide. 
 
 " But that my assertions relative to coincidence may not appear 
 without some support, I proceed to insert a few of many in- 
 stances that might be brought in aid of an opinion to which I am 
 ready to subjoin, — The first passage hereafter quoted is always 
 from The Two Noble Kinsmen : — 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 I — Dear ^/cs5 of ladies. — p. 12, 1. 10. 
 2— He was indeed the glass 
 
 Wherein the noble youths did dress themselves.— .ATiny 
 Henry IV. P, II. 
 
 1 — blood-seized field. — p. 12,1. 10. 
 
 2 — o'et'sized with coagulate ^'ore.— Hamlet. 
 
 1 — as ospret/s do the fish 
 
 Subdue before they touch. — ]). 1 4-, I. 1 6. 
 2 — as is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
 
 By sovereignt)' of nature. — Coriolanus. 
 
 1 His ocean needs not my poor drops.— p. 26, 1. 5. 
 2— as petty to his ends 
 
 As is the morn-dew on a myrtle-leaf 
 
 To his grand sea. — Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 1 Their inleriangled roots of love. — p. 28, I. 22. ~, 
 
 2 — Grief and patience, rooted in him both. 
 Mingle their spirits together. — Cymbeline. 
 
 1 Lord, lord, the difference of men ! — p. 40, I. 10. 
 
 2 Oh, the difierence of man and man. — King Lear. 
 
 I — like lazy clouds. — p.+l, 1. 9. 
 
 2 — the /azy-pacing c/o/a/i.— Romeo and Juliet. 
 
( 1^0 ) 
 
 1 — the angry swine 
 
 Flics like a Parthian. — p. 42, 1. 17. 
 '2 Or like the Parthian I shzWjlying fight— Q/wie/Zn?. 
 
 Mr Seward observes that this comparison occurs no where ia 
 Shakspcare. 
 
 1 Banished the kingdom, &c. — p 52, 1. 16. 
 
 2 fciee the speech ol" Roraeo on the same occasion — Romeo and 
 Juliet. 
 
 1 He has a tongue will tame 
 
 Tempests. — p. 53, 1. 2. 
 2 — She would sing the savageness out of a bear. — Othello. 
 
 Cl Theseus.'] To-morrow by the sun, to do observance 
 
 \ To flowery May. — p. 60, 1. 20. 
 
 j2 Theseus.] — they rose up early to observe 
 
 (^ The rite of May. — Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Cl Let all the dukes and all the devils roar, 
 
 \ He is at liberty. — p. 01, 1. 1 1. 
 
 I 2 And if the devil come and loar for them, 
 
 L He shall not have them. — Kitig Henry IV. P. I. 
 
 f"! — in thy rumination, 
 
 \ That I, poor n)an, might eftsoons come between.^— p. 63, 1. 16. 
 "l 2 — N^'mph, in thy orisons 
 {_ Be all my sins remember'd ! — Hamlet. 
 
 f 1 Dear cousin Palamon — 
 J Pal. Cozener Arcite. — p. Q5, 1. 4. 
 j 2 — Gentle Harry Percy, and kind cousin,— ~ 
 (^ The devil take such cozeners. — King Henry IV. P. I. 
 
 r 1 — this question, sick between us, 
 
 ^ By bleeding must be cured p. 68, 1. 8. 
 
 l_2 Let's purge this choler without letting blood,— King Richard II. 
 
 r^l — swim with your body, 
 
 J And cany it sweetly — p. 80, 1. 6. 
 
 (_2 Bear your body more seemly, Audrey. — As You Like it. 
 
 C 1 And rfainty rfuke, whose rfoughty rfismal fame. — p. 84, 1. 4. 
 -5 2 Whereat with /^lade, with Moody Mameful Jlade. — Midsummer 
 (_ Night's Dream, 
 
 r 1 — and then she sung 
 
 J Nothing but willow, willoiv, — p. 103, 1. 20. 
 
 l_2 — sing willow willow. — Othello. 
 
 J 1 O who can find the bent of woman's fancy. — p. 109, 1. 4. 
 "^2 undistinguished space of woman's w'lW.'^King Lear. 
 
( 161 ) 
 
 i I — like the great-eyd J anOf but far s:veeler.~-p. lOS, i. 12, 
 ^ 2 — sweeter than lids of Juno's eyes.— The Winter's Tale. 
 
 { 
 
 { 
 
 { 
 
 { 
 
 [ 
 
 I — better, o' my conscience. 
 
 Was never soldier's friend. — p. 112, 1. 3. 
 2 A better never did itself sustain 
 
 Upon a soldier's thigh. — Othello. 
 
 1 — his tongue 
 
 Sounds like a trumpet. — p. 11 3, 1. 5. 
 2 — Would plead like angels irumpet-tongued, — Macbeth. 
 
 1 — they would shew bravely 
 
 Fighting about the titles of two kingdoms. — p. 1 14, 1. II. 
 2 — Such a sight as this 
 
 Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss Hamlet. 
 
 1 Look, where she conies ! you shall perceive her behaviour. — 
 p. 115, 1. 14.. 
 
 2 — Lo you where she comes ! This is her verj/ gnise-^—^lacheth. 
 
 1— The burden on't was down-a doivn-a. — p. 115, 1. 16. 
 
 2 You must sing doivn-a down-a : oh, how the wheel becomes 
 it. — Hamlet. 
 
 1 How her brain coins J — p. 117, 1. 8. 
 
 2 This is the very coinage of your brain. — Hamlet. 
 
 1 Doctor,'] — not an engrafted madness, but a most thick and 
 profound melancholy.— p. 117, 1. 17. 
 
 2 Doctor.] — not so sick, my lord. 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming {dincies.~~Macbeth. 
 
 1 Doctor.] I think she has sl perturbed mind which I cannot mi- 
 
 nister to. — p. 1 1 7, 1. 30. 
 
 '2 perturbed spirit ! — Hamfet. 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ? 
 Doctor.] — therein the patient 
 Must minister to himself. — Blacbeth. 
 
 1 — to him that makes the camp a cistern 
 Brinund with the blood of men. — p. 121, 1. 21. 
 
 2 The mailed INIars shall on his altar sit 
 
 Up to the ears in blood. — King Henry IV. P. 
 
 1 hast turned 
 
 Green Neptune into purple. — p. 122, 1. 2. 
 2 the multitudinous seas incarnardine. 
 
 Making \\\e green one red. — Macbeth. 
 
 VOL. XJII. X- 
 
1 
 i 
 
 { 
 
 ( 162 ) 
 
 I— 'lover, never yet made sigh. 
 
 Truer than I.—p. 125, I. 16. 
 2 — never man 
 
 Sighed truer breath. — Coriolanus, 
 
 1 arms in assurance 
 
 My body to this business. — p. 126, 1. I. 
 2 bends up 
 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feai.—MsiQhtih, 
 
 1 — thy female knights. — p. 126, 1. 19. 
 
 2 — thy virgin knight. — Much Ado about Nothing, 
 
 I — with that thy rare green eye. — p. 127, 1. 2. 
 
 2 Hath not so quick, so green, so fair an eye Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 His eyes were green as leeks. — Midsummer Niglu's Dream. 
 
 (" 1 His costliness of spirit look'd through him — p. 139, 1. 24. 
 I 2 Your spirits shine through you. — Macbeth. 
 
 /• 1 — to dis-scat his lord. — p. 146, 1. 9. 
 
 3 2 — or dis-seat me now. — Macbeth, 
 
 i N. B. I have met with no other instances of the use of this 
 
 ^ word. 
 
 5 1 Disroot his rider whence hegreto. — p. 146, 1. 13. 
 i 2 This gallant grew unto his seat. — Hamlet. 
 
 r 1 And bear us like the time. — p. 149, 1. 6. 
 
 3 2 — to beguile the time 
 
 (_ Look like the ^2me.-— Macbeth. 
 
 " It will happen on familiar occasions that diversity of expres- 
 sion is neither worth seeking, or easy to be found, as in the fol- 
 lowing instances : 
 
 Cer. Look to the lady. — Pericles. 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. — Macbeth. 
 
 Cap. Look to the baked meats. — Ro7neo and Juliet. 
 
 Pal. Look to thy life well, Arcite. — Two Noble Kinsmen. 
 
 Dion. How chance my daughter is not with you ? Pericles. 
 
 K. Hen. Hoxv chance thou art not with the prince thy brother?— 
 King Henry IV. P. II. 
 
 Dion. How now, Marina ? why do you keep «/owe ?— Pericles. 
 L. Macb. How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone. — Mac- 
 beth. 
 
 < Coun. —have with you, boys ! — Two Noble Kinsmen. 
 * Bel. Have with you, boys / — Cymbeline. 
 
 I 
 
( 163 ) 
 
 C Daugh. Yours to command i' th' vjai/ of honeity. — ^Two Noble 
 
 ^ Kinsmen. 
 
 (^ Faulc. For 1 was got i' th' way ofkonesh/. — King John. 
 
 <■ Thai. — if I can get him mitkin my pistol's length Pericles. 
 
 ■j Fang. — an if he come but ivithin my vice. — K. Henry IV. P. II. 
 
 " All such examples I have abstained from producing; but the 
 peculiar coincidence of many among those already given, suflers 
 much by their not being viewed in their natural situation. 
 
 " Let the critics who can fix on any particular scenes which 
 thev conceive to have been written by Shakspeare, or let those 
 who suppose him to have been so poor in language as well as ideas, 
 that he was Constrained to borrow, in the compass of half the 
 ^foble Kinsmpn, from above a dozen entire plays of hi* own com- 
 position, advance some hypothesis more plausible than the fol- 
 lowing; and yet I flatter myself that readers may be found who 
 will concur with me in believing this tragedy to have been writ- 
 ten by Fletcher in silent imitation of our author's manner. No 
 other circumstance could well have occasioned such a frequent oc- 
 currence of corresponding phrases, &c. ; nor, in my opinion, could 
 any particular but this have induced the players to propagate the 
 report that our author was Fletcher's coadjutor in this piece. — 
 There is nothing unusual in these attempts at imitation. Dryden, 
 in his preface to All for Love, professes to copy the style of Shak- 
 speare. Rowe, in his Jane Shore, arrogates to himself the merit 
 of having pursued the same plan. How far these poets have suc- 
 ceeded it is not my business to examine; but Fletcher's imitation, 
 like that of many others, is chiefly verbal; and yet (when joined 
 with other circumstances) was perfect enough to have misled the. 
 judgment of the players. Those people, who in the course of their 
 profession must have had much of Shakspeare's language recent 
 in their memories, could easily discover traces of it in this per- 
 formance. They could likewise observe, that the drama opens 
 with the same characters as first enter in A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream ; that Clouns exert themselves for the entertainment of 
 Theseus in both ; that a pedagogue likewise directs the sports in 
 Love's Labour's Lost ; that a character of female frenzy, copied 
 from Ophelia, is notorious in the Jailor's Daughter; and that 
 this girl, like Lady Macbeth, is attended by a. physician, who de- 
 scribes the difficulties of her case, and comments on it in almost 
 similar terms. They might, therefore, conclude, that the play be- 
 fore us was in part a production of the same writer. Over this 
 line the critics behind the scene were unable to proceed. Taeir 
 sagacity was insufficient to observe that the general current of the 
 style was even throughout the whole, and bore no marks of a di- 
 vided hand. Hence, perhaps, the sol geminus and duplices Thelite 
 
( 164 ) 
 
 of these very Incompetent judges, who, like staunch match-makers, 
 were desirous that the widowed muse of Fletcher should not long 
 remain without a bed-fellow. 
 
 " Lest it should be urged that one of my arguments against 
 Shakspcare's co-operation in The Two Noble Kinsmen would 
 equally militate against his share in Pericles, it becomes neces- 
 sary for me to ward off any objection to that purpose, by remark- 
 ing, that the circumstances attendant on these two dramas are not 
 exact I \- parallel. Shakspeare probably furnished his share in the 
 latter at an early period of his authorship, and afterwards (having 
 never owned it, or supposing it to be forgotten,) was willing to pro- 
 fit by the most valuable lines and ideas it contained. But he would 
 scarce have been considered himself as an object of imitation be- 
 fore he had reached his meridian famej and, in my opinion. The 
 Two Noble Kinsmen could not have been composed till after 1611, 
 nor perhaps antecedent to the death of Beaumont and our author, 
 when assistance and competition ceased, and the poet who resem- 
 bled the latter most had the fairest prospect of success. During the 
 life of Beaumont, which concluded in 16 15, it cannot well be sup- 
 posed that Fletcher would have deserted him to write in concert with 
 any other dramatist, Shakspeare survived Beaumont only by one 
 year, and during that time is known to have lived in Warwickshire, 
 beyond the reach of Fletcher, who continued to reside in London 
 till he fell a sacrifice to the plague in 1625; so that there was no 
 opportunity for them to have joined in personal conference relative 
 to the Two Noble Kinsmen ; and without frequent interviews be- 
 tween confederate writers, a consistent tragedy can hardly be pro- 
 duced. Yet such precautions MvWl be sometimes inefficient in pro- 
 ducing conformity of plan, even when confederate authors are 
 iffithin reach of each other. Thus Dryden, in the third act of Oe- 
 dipus, has made Tiresias say to the Theban monarch, 
 
 if e'er we meet again, 'twill be 
 
 In mutual darkness; we shall feel before us 
 To reach each other's hand.— — 
 
 But, alas ! for want of adverting to this speech, Lee has counteract- 
 ed it in the fourth act, where Tiresias has another interview with 
 Oedipus before the extinction of his eyes, a circumstance that does 
 not take place till the fifth act. 
 
 " But, at u hatever time of Shakspeare's life Pericles was brought 
 forth, it will not be found, on examination, to comprize a fifth part 
 of the coincidences which may be detected in its successor; neither 
 will a tenth division of the same relations be discovered in any 
 one of his thirty-five dramas which have hitherto been published 
 together. 
 
 " To conclude, it is peculiarly apparent, that this tragedy of The 
 Two Noble Kinsmen was printed from a prompter's copy, as it ex- 
 
( 165 ) 
 
 liibits such stage directions as I do not remember to havo seen in 
 any other drama of the same period. We may likewise take notice, 
 that there are fewer hemistichs in it than in any other of Shakspeare's 
 acknowledged productions. If one speech concludes with an im- 
 perfect verse, the next in general completes it. This is some indi- 
 cation of a writer more studious of neatness in composition than 
 the pretended associate of Fletcher. 
 
 " In the course of my investigation, I am pleased to find that I 
 diflPer but on one occasion from Mr Colman; and that is, in my dis- 
 belief that Beaumont had any share in this tragedy. The utmost 
 beauties that it contains were within the reach of Fletcher, who 
 has a right to wear. 
 
 Without corrival, all his dignities: 
 But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! 
 
 because there is no reason for supposing any poet but Chaucer 
 has a right to dispute with him the reputation which the tale of 
 Palamon and Arcite has so long and so indisputably maintained." 
 — Reed's Shakspeare, 1803. vol. XXL p. 401. 
 
 Mr Lamb, in his Specimens of English Dramatic Poets who lived 
 about the time of Shakspeare, (Lond. 1 SOS, 8 vo,) has extracted three 
 scenes from the present tragedy, and subjoined the following note, 
 which, as it in general coincides with, and supports, the opinion of 
 the present editor on this interesting question, has been inserted, 
 before proceeding to a more detailed examination of the subject. 
 " This scene [the dialogue of Palamon and Arcite in prison, p. 
 40,] bears indubitable marks of Fletcher: The two which pre- 
 cede it, [p/s. the first scene of the first act, and the description of 
 female friendship in the second scene of the same, p. 28,]] give 
 strong countenance to the tradition that Shakspeare had a hand in 
 this play. The same judgment may be formed of the deatii of Ar- 
 cite, and some other passages not here given. They have a luxu- 
 riance in them, which strongly resembles Shakspeare's manner in 
 those plays where, the progress of the interest being subordinate, 
 the poet was at leisure for description. I mi^iht fetch instances 
 from Troilus and Timon. That Fletcher should have copied Shak- 
 speare's manner in so many entire scenes (which is the theory of 
 Steevens,) is not very probable; that he could have done it with 
 such facility, is, to me, not certain. His ideas moved slow; his 
 versification, though sweet, is tedious; it stops every moment; he 
 lays line upon line, making up one after the other; adding image 
 to image so deliberately, that we see where they join : Shakspeare 
 mingles every thing; he runs line into line, embarrasses sentences 
 and metaphors ; before one idea has burst its shell, another is 
 hatched and clamorous for disclosure. If Fletcher wrote some 
 scenes in imitation, why did he stop ? Or shall we say that Shak- 
 speare wrote the other scenes in imitation of Fletcher r That he 
 
( 166 ) 
 
 gave Shakspcare a curb and a bridle, and that Shakspeare gave 
 him a pair of spurs; as Biackniore and Lncan are brought in ex- 
 changing cjifts. in the Battle of the Books !" 
 
 As to Mr (.'oiraan's arguments, he seems to have been so little ac- 
 quainted with the minute criticism which is required for a subject 
 like the present, and the observations of Seward, which they are 
 intended to refute, are so vague and indeterminate, so entirely ha- 
 zarded by chance, and without due examination of correlative cir- 
 cumstances, that any examination would be wasted in the attempt 
 to confute them. Besides, every thing which he has advanced of 
 any moment is so much more accurately stated by Steevens, that 
 the following observations may be confined to the strictures of the 
 latter, without any injustice to Mr Colman, 
 
 The strongest argument to prove the co-operation of Shakspeare 
 in The Two Noble Kinsmen, is, certainly, the entire difference be- 
 tween some scenes and others, in point of language, metaphor, and 
 versification; which is so strong, that it is very wonderful how 
 Steevens could fail to be struck with it. He calls upon any critic to 
 select the scenes which they would be inclined to ascribe to Shak- 
 speare, asserting that the general current of the style " is even 
 throughout, and bears no marks of a divided hand." Now this was 
 certainly said at random, without the usual critical sagacity of Mr 
 iSieevens. Nothing can be more distinct than the style, for instance, 
 of the first and second act In the first, the language is far more me- 
 taphorical and involved, so that the body of notes requisite to illus- 
 trate the text, is about three times the volume of those necessary in 
 the latter. Another and a still more decisive variation appears in 
 the versification. In the first act, the lines, as Mr Lamb observes, 
 are run one into the other; in the second, the peculiarities of Flet- 
 cher's versification, w hich the same critic notices, are extremely ap- 
 parent. Most of the lines finish a division of a sentence; a full 
 point very rarely occurs in the midst of a verse; and, what Mr 
 Lamb has not noticed, the number of double terminations of the 
 verses is greater here, as well as in all the plays of Fletcher, than 
 in the metre of any contemporary dramatist.' Another strong pre- 
 sumption that Shakspeare shared in this drama is, the number of 
 uncommon words in the particular scenes which he may be suppo- 
 sed to have written,^ whereas the reraauiing parts exhibit very few 
 
 * Taking an equal number of lines in the different parts which are at- 
 tributed to Shakspcnre and to Fletcher, tiic nuniberof female, or double 
 terminations in the former, is less than one to four ; on the contrary, ia 
 t'le scenes attributed to Fletcher the number of double and triple ter- 
 minations is nearly three times that of tlie single ones. 
 
 ^ For instance — connter-reflect, (a noun); meditance ; couch, and cors- 
 let, (used as verbs) j operance : appointjiieut, for military accoutrements ; 
 masoned; glohi/ eyes ; scurril ; disroot; dis-seat Ike. 6ic. 
 
167 
 
 indeed ; and Fletcher's language is, in general, peculiarly free 
 from such words, which Shakspeare is remarkably fond of. lu 
 short, an attentive reader will easily perceive that some of the 
 scenes so strongly resemble the style of Shakspeare, and that of 
 none of his contemporaries, and others bear the equally well-mark- 
 ed stamp of Fletcher, that no adventitious circumstances can over- 
 weigh this evidence, when combined with the authority of the 
 title-page, and the play-house tradition, which is acknowledged by 
 Steevens himself. The internal evidence, indeed, induced so judi- 
 cious and even sceptical a critic as Dr Farmer to state his unqua- 
 lified belief in Shakspeare's claim to a share in this tragedy. 
 
 But it is necessary to examine the rest of the evidence adduced 
 by Steevens, to prove that Fletcher was the sole author of The Two 
 Noble Kinsmen; and, though the well-known antiquarian learning 
 of that commentator is of great weight, yet the task of refuting his 
 argument is not altogether liopeless. 
 
 In the first place, the pulT in the title-page, " those memorable 
 worthies," otfends Mr Steevens; but a slight acquaintance with the 
 verbosity of the titles of the old quartos of Shakspeare's plays, in 
 comparison of which this is remarkably modest, will easily excuse 
 this epithet in a bookseller, who wished to dispose of the impres- 
 sion to the best advantage. The circumstance of John Waterson 
 having no copyright in Shakspeare's plays is of little moment; he 
 published several of Fletcher's dramas, and might have obtained 
 the manuscript of the present play from the comedians at the 
 IJlackfriars, in the same manner as he procured the others after 
 Fletcher's death. The omission of the tragedy in the folios of 
 Shakspeare appears at first sight a weighty objection, which will, 
 however, fall to the ground, when it is considered that Ben Jonson 
 omitted several plays which he had wrote in conjunction with others, 
 (such as Eastward-Hoe and the Widow,) in the folio which he 
 published. Besides, the publishers of the folios of 1623 and 1632 
 might not have been able, from various circumstances, to obtain 
 a copy of The Two Noble Kinsmen, which was not printed till 
 1634'. Add to this, that they omitted The Yorkshire Tragedy, 
 which Mr Steevens has taken great and successful means to prove 
 the work of Shakspeare. As to the editors of the third and 
 fourth folios, (printed in 1664- and 1685,) they have too clearly 
 proved their ignorance of the subject to deserve any attention. 
 Kirkman's ascribing The Birth of Merlin to Shakspeare and Row- 
 ley is not of equal authority with the title-page of our play, as he 
 did not publish it till after the Restoration, when such an imposi- 
 tion might be practised with far less chance of detection, as the 
 civil wars had almost obliterated all remembrance of the golden 
 aera of the stage. 
 
 '1 he next argument of Steevens is, that we do not know of any 
 
( 168 ) 
 
 intimacy having taken place between the two poets, and the little 
 likelihood of a gentleman of fortune "associating with needy poets 
 and mercenary players." With regard to the former, we know that 
 the poetical friendships of the time were peculiarly wavering; that 
 Ben Jonson quarrelled and fought with Marston, once his most inti- 
 mate friend; and that the same poet received Shakspcarc's active 
 assistance in the composition of Sejanus, notwithstanding the ri- 
 valry which certainly took place between them. As to the lat- 
 tcr objection, we know the contrary from direct evidence. Flet- 
 cher wrote ia conjunction with Daborne, Massinger, and Field a 
 player, >vho were so needy at the time, that they were compelled 
 to request a loan of five pounds on the money they were to receive 
 for the play in question, in order to bail them out of prison. Nor 
 is there any proof that Fletcher was ever on bad terms with the 
 bard of Avon. 
 
 In the next paragraph, IMr Steevens advances his theory, that 
 Fletcher wrote this play in inntation of Shakspeare, without ad- 
 verting to the ine(]uality of the language in the diflerent acts, which 
 Iras been noticed before. He says, that the associates would have 
 coalesced more completely ; but w hen it is considered that the por- 
 tions of any one jjlay written by Beaumont and Fletcher are gener- 
 ally distinguishable, surely ihe much more distinct styles of the lat- 
 ter and Shakspeare must be still more so. INJr Steevens has not been 
 able to adduce a single play w here one poet imitated the style of an- 
 other previous to the appearance of Drj'den's All for Love, and 
 Rowe's Jane Shore, and the ill success of these professed imitations 
 proves the difficulty, if not impossibility, of the undertakinfj. Jn 
 Jater times a female dramatist (Joanna Baillie) has succeeded nmch 
 better; but none of her scenes approach to the very identity of 
 JShakspeare's style exhibited in portions of the Noble Kinsmen. 
 
 We now come to the parallel passages selected by Steevens- 
 from the present play and the dramas of Shakspeare, which, in- 
 stead of rendering the co-operation of the latter improbable, strong- 
 ly support the likelihood of it. About two-thirds of them, and those 
 in general the most striking, occur in those portions which exhibit 
 so strongly the style and language of Shakspeare. Mr Steevens 
 observes, that they are more numerous than the coincidences in 
 any other plays of that poet, in the ratio of ten to one ; but this 
 assertion is made at random, and might be easily disproved. In 
 the observations on Pericles, to which the remarks on the present 
 ])lay are subjoined, Mr Steevens himself proves the occurrence 
 of the same metaphor, expressed in similar words, in five dilTerent 
 places of Shakspeare's plays, and refers to another note of his own, 
 where the metaphor, expressed with equal similarity, is traced 
 to three different plays. Besides, the parallel passages he quotes 
 are in general mere recurrences of the same words. 
 
 3Ir Steevens takes it for granted^ that the dramatic partnership. 
 
( 1^9 ) 
 
 if it did take place, must have happened in the year between tlie 
 deaths of Beaumont and Shakspeare, on the supposition that Flet- 
 cher never wrote previously without the assistance of Beaumont. 
 But the contrary of this is known. Fletcher wrote several plays 
 before he associated himself with the latter,' and the drama men- 
 tioned above, which he wrote with Daborne, Field, and Massinger, 
 was produced between the years 1612 and 1615, previous to Beau- 
 mont's decease. Mr Steevens's supposition, that The Noble Kins- 
 men was written after 1611, is unsupported by any evidence. It 
 might be the case and it might not, as there is no circumstance 
 which can determine the date of the play. 
 
 The quarto being printed from a prompter's copy proves no- 
 thing; and Mr Steevens might have found similar stage directions 
 in the first folio of Beaumont and Fletcher. Finally, the number 
 of hemistichs may not be equal to that in some others of Shak- 
 speare's plays, but they are far more numerous than in the ac- 
 knowledged productions of Fletcher; and almost all which do occur 
 are in those parts which are written in Shakspeare's style. That 
 poet is peculiarly fond of finishing a scene with a hemistich, as in 
 the first, second, and fourth scenes of the first act, and in the very 
 conclusion of the drama. In the same manner the addresses of Pa- 
 lamon, Arcite, and Emilia, to Mars, Venus, and Diana, contain a 
 great number of hemistichs, and are generally finished with one. 
 
 With regard to Beaumont's having no share in the composition, 
 I entirely agree with Mr Steevens; but Fletcher must be content 
 to resign part of the applause which this play deserves, to a cor- 
 rival, by whose fellowship he gains additional glory." 
 
 It remains to enumerate those portions of The Noble Kinsmen, 
 which, in the opinion of the editor, were furnished by Shakspeare. 
 The supposition of Warburton, that the first act was his, is sup- 
 ported strongly by internal evidence; but lew will agree with his 
 ipse dixit, that it is written in Shakspeare's worst manner. The 
 second act bears all the marks of Fletcher's style. Of the third, 
 I should be inclined to ascribe the first scene to Shakspeare, and 
 in the fourth, the third scene, which is written in prose; wliile 
 the other scenes, in which the madness of the Jailor's Daugh- 
 ter is delineated, are in verse, according to the usual practice of 
 Fletcher. The entire last act, perhaps with the exception of the 
 fourth scene, strongly indicates that it was the composition of 
 Fletcher's illustrious associate. Nothing can prove his co-opera- 
 tion more strongly, than the beautiful description oi" the accident 
 which occasioned the death of Arcite. 
 
 ' There is evidence to suppose that Fletcher wrote for the stage iu 
 1596, when Beaumont was only eleven years of age. 
 
THE 
 
 MAID IN THE MILL, 
 
 BV 
 
 PLETCflRR & ROWLEV. 
 
4 
 
 I 
 
THE 
 
 MAID IN THE MILL. 
 
 We learn from tlie extracts made by Mr I\Ialonc, in his Histo- 
 rical Account of the English Stage, from Sir Henry Herbert's of- 
 ficr-books, that this comedy was licensed and performed at the 
 Globe, August 29» l625 ; and that it was composed by Fletcher 
 in conjunction with Rowley, no doubt William Rowley, a dramatic 
 author of considerable reputation at the time, and of no mean 
 poetical powers. In the same year it was performed three times 
 at court, which strongly evinces a very favourable reception : the 
 first time on Michaelmas night ; again, with reformations, on All- 
 hallow's night; and, lastly, on St Steven's day. It was first print- 
 ed in the folio edition of 16+7. After the Restoration, it was re- 
 vived by the company at the Duke's Theatre with applause, but 
 since that period seems to have been entirely neglected. 
 
 Amongst the second class of the comedies in the present collec- 
 tion. The Maid in the iNlill holds a very distinguished place, be- 
 ing sprightly and entertaining, though evidently produced in 
 haste, and without having undergone any very accurate revision. 
 Indeed the circumstance of Fletcher having chosen to write in 
 conjunction in his latter days, which he was perhaps induced to 
 do in order to serve Rowley, who was a player, and who himself 
 performed one of the characters, seems to preclude any severe 
 scrutiny. There is no very accurate definition of character; and 
 the poetry, without descending to meanness, never aspires to 
 pre-eminent excellence. The combination of the two plots is, 
 however, skilfully managed ; and, upon the whole, the come- 
 dy will always amuse in the closet, while a skilful alteration 
 could hardly fail to meet with success on the stage. From the 
 unusually rugged versification in the second and fourth acts, I 
 
( 174 ) 
 
 should be inclined to ascribe them to the pen of Rowley, wliose 
 metre is seldom very harmonious ; while the greater part of the 
 three remaiiu'ng acts exhibits all the beauties and defects of Flet- 
 cher's versification. 
 
 The plot, from which the play takes its name, is founded on the 
 thirty-sixth novel of the second volume of Bandello, which also 
 occurs in Belleforesl's Histoircs Tragiques, and in Goulart's His- 
 toires Admirablts de notre temps. The outline of Bandello's story 
 is as follows : — " Pietro, one of the favourites of Alessandro de Me- 
 dici, endeavoured in vain to gain the love of the beautiful daugh- 
 ter of a miller, who dwelt near his country-house. However, with 
 the assistance of his friends, he forcibly brought her to his house, 
 and there he gratified his desires. The miller proceeded to Flo- 
 rence, and complained of this violence to the duke, who, promising 
 to redress bis wrongs, advised him to return to his mill. Alessandro 
 followed him, and then proceeded on a visit to Pietro, and inspect- 
 ed his house. The latter, however, excused himself from show- 
 ing one of the smaller rooms, pretending that it was in great con- 
 fusion, and that the steward had taken away the key. The duke, 
 liowever, insisting to see the apartment, Pietro replied, laughing;, 
 • that he had a young girl concealed there whom he did not wish to 
 be seen.* The girl, however, at this moment cried out, the door was 
 burst open, and the whole matter cleared up to the duke, who 
 threatened to behead Pietro if he did not give her a portion of two 
 thousand ducats, and each of his companions one thousand. The 
 duke then adopted her as his daughter, gave her in marriage to 
 him, and threatened vengeance if he did not use her well." 
 
 The second plot of Antonio, Martine, Ismenia, and Aminta, is 
 taken from a novel then very popular. It was written in Spanish 
 by Don Gonzalo de Cespedes y Meneces, and an English transla- 
 tion by Leonard Digges, under the title of Gerardo, or the Unfor- 
 tunate Spaniard, was printed in l622. The passage in question 
 begins at p. 350 of the translation, and the following is an abridge- 
 ment: 
 
 " Geraldo, the hero of the novel, having unexpectedly met his 
 friend Don Jayme off the coast of Barbary, and related to him his 
 own adventures, requested him to mention the causes which had 
 led him to so remote a shore. Don Jayrae hereupon narrated, 
 that, during his residence at Zaragoza, a dispute arose at a public 
 feast between his uncle Don Julio de Aragon and Don Lisauro ; 
 the latter conceiving himself oflended by the former. The quarrel 
 was followed by serious rencontres, and the nobles ranged them- 
 selves into factions on the sides of the disputants. Don Julio was 
 obliged to take a journey out of the town, and his nephew, Don 
 Jayme, accompanied him. They travelled about three leagues, 
 when they were compelled by a violent storm to put up at a coun- 
 1 
 
{ 175 ) 
 
 try-house. Entering the court-yard, thej^ fbund a coach just ar- 
 rived, driven thither by the same necessity. After remaining there 
 some time, the old gentleman wished to pursue his journey, whea 
 Don Jayme, curious to view the females whom he supposed to 
 be in the coach, lifted up one of the boot-lids and looked in. Sud- 
 denly two men issued out, who, laying their hands on their swords, 
 
 • as they jointly blamed this unmannerly act, obliged him to do 
 the like, and the rather, he knowing them to be no other than Li- 
 sauro and his kinsman Thirso, his vowed enemies.' The affray ex- 
 tended to the servants of the parties, and a general scuffle ensued, 
 accompanied by the outcries of the women in the carriage. Don 
 Julio, too eager to revenge his quarrel upon Lisauro, was thrown 
 down, and Thirso, the nephew of the latter, wishing to pursue the 
 advantage, attacked the fallen man, who was effectually relieved by 
 Don Jayme. The latter disarmed his adversary, and would have 
 followed up his good success, had he not been prevented by the la- 
 mentations of the two ladies in the coach. At the intercession of 
 one of them, who • had her face all covered with tiffany, which, 
 serving as a mask, only discovered two fair eyes, but at this time 
 covered with some tears,' he put an end to the fray, and * signified 
 to the unknown dame, that her discreet and noble carriage gained 
 him to be her servant.' He with difficulty persuaded his uncle to 
 mount his horse, and, in the hurry, forgot to take leave of the gen- 
 tlewomen. Upon their return to Znragoza, he absented himself by 
 the advice of his uncle, and spent twenty days in a neighbouring 
 village. The officers of justice having with difficulty pacified the 
 parties, he returned, and endeavoured to obtain information who 
 the unknown ladies were. One evening, ' being to meet some friends 
 at primero,' a masked servant delivered a letter to him, which con- 
 tained thanks for his interference, and gave him some distant hints 
 of the lady's affection for him. According to appointment he an- 
 swered the letter, and expressed his desire to see her and ' submit 
 himself to her.' — * 'Twas now about the gladsome time of Shrove- 
 tide, more solemnly kept in Zaragoza than any other city of Spain ; 
 at which time, with some friends and kinsmen of his own age and 
 condition, clad in colours and vizards, Don Jayme marched up 
 and down the streets, enjoying many a mirthful opportunity : for 
 at this time of the year the women have full liberty, and dispense 
 with their ordinary reservedness.* The youthful friends visited 
 several houses where revels were kept, and at last entered that of 
 sennor BcUidcs, one of the opposite faction. Don Jayme was im- 
 mediately struck by the rare beauty of one of the ladies. She dis- 
 covered him, and addressed him by name, cxprcbsing her satisfaction 
 at seeing him, when she was interrupted by one of the gallants, who 
 
 • invited her out to a galliard.' The lover communicated the state 
 of his heart to one of his friends, and was informed that she was 
 
( ire ) 
 
 the daughter of Don Bellides, which still more perplexed and invol- 
 ved him in mi'ditations how his purpose could be accomplished. 
 During the merry Shrove-tide, he met the lady divers times, but 
 could never obtain a moment's conversation with her. His passion 
 for the daughter of Don Bellides did not blot out of the memory 
 of Don Jayme the remembrance of the lady whom he had beheld 
 in tbe country, and who sent him a letter full of jealous complaints. 
 She ' particularized also the most singular acts and signs, even to 
 the very phrase he used to the dame of the revels,' which astonish- 
 ed and greatly perplexed him. He resolved to deny all, and re- 
 quested an interview. But she did not attend to his solicitations, 
 and he, ' slackening the return of answers to her tickets,* resolved 
 to ' re-prosecute his amorous intents with the spritely dame of the 
 revels,' and revealed them to her in a serenade, which was heard 
 not only by her, but the whole neighbourhood. The following day 
 he was upbraided for this want of fidelity by the supposed country- 
 lady, and invited to an interview the ensuing night. He was ac- 
 cordingly conducted into a narrow lane, and left under a ruinous 
 wall to expect further notice. After a long hour a woman ap- 
 peared at a window, who bade him mount the wall, from whence 
 he perceived that his inamorata was no other than tbe daughter 
 of sennor Bellides. Having framed an address to the country-dame, 
 he was unprepared for such a discovery, and stood mute till she in- 
 formed him that she and the latter were the same, that her name 
 was Ismenia, and that nothing but the enmity of their parents had 
 prevented her hitherto from giving him an assignation. The thoughts 
 of the lovers ' turned strait into mirthful pastime,' and the circum- 
 stances of their first meeting were mutually explained. Ismenia 
 was on that day to set out with her mother, ' the fore-mentioned 
 woman in the fray,' to a neighbouring village to visit her sick fa- 
 ther. Day came on ; the lovers parted, and appointed subsequent 
 meetings in the same place. The next night, Don Jayme having 
 again mounted the old wall, three or four persons entered the lane, 
 whom he heard closely whispering. His confusion was increased 
 by Ismenia appearing at the window, calling upon him to draw 
 nearer. The men approached, and the lover suddenly * let fly at 
 them outrageously,' and killed one of them. The rest fled, others 
 came to their assistance, and Don Jayme thought it prudent to re- 
 tire. The following morning he understood that the persons whom 
 he had assailed were in search of a criminal, and was warned by 
 Ismenia to absent himself for some time from Zaragoza. On his 
 return he again proceeded to the appointed place of meeting, ac- 
 companied by his friend Don Martin de Urrea. These visits were 
 frequently repeated, and the passion of the lovers increased so vio- 
 lently, that a night was appointed for the final consummation of 
 their wishes ; Don Jayme taking * Heaven a,nd her true servant to 
 
( -^If ) 
 
 witness of his hand and faithful vow to be her spouse.' His uneasi- 
 ness the next morning was perceived by Don .Martin, who wrung 
 the "-ecret out of him, being considered by the lover as his most 
 laithful friend. Don Martin resolved to accompany him, and, un- 
 der pretence of a more complete disguise, persuaded Don Jayme to 
 exchange his cloak with him. The latter having mounted the wall, 
 two men came into the lane, and suddenly set upon his companion. 
 Don Jayme leaped down and drove them off. On his return he 
 perceived the window to be closely shut which he supposed to be 
 on account of Ismenia's having heard the cLishing of swords, and 
 her apprehcnduig a discovery in consequence. The next morning 
 her servant brought him a letter, expressing her eagerness to renew 
 the transports of the former night. The lover, full of grief and per- 
 plexity, went to Don Martin's lodgings, but could obtain no nd- 
 mitlance. He instantly flew to Ismenia, who upbraided him v.ith 
 his present sadness, and the utter silence he hud preicrvcd the 
 preceding night. Don Jayme, hearing his suspicions confirmed, 
 swooned in her arms ; and a nurse left by him, who ' posse-*;ed the 
 place and her honour,' in which a little book bearing Don Martui's 
 name was inclosed, led to a final disclosure of his treachery. The 
 maid immediately confessed that he had frcquemly importuned her 
 to awaken the jealousy of Ismenia. and to inform her of Don Jayme's 
 infidelity, adding, that his only desire was to revenge himself upon 
 the house of Bellides ; at the same time declaring his own afiection. 
 When he perceived that these arts were unavailing, he pretend- 
 ed that his only purpose had been to try the fidelity of Ismenia to 
 his friend. Dtm J;)\me 'mmediately resolved upon vengeance. He 
 lay in wait for the traitor, but soon understood th.il he had abscond- 
 ed. He proceeded to the post-office, and looking through the letters, 
 found one addressed to one of his kinsmen. Breaking it open he 
 discovered that it came from Don Martin, and contained a request 
 to his relation to send him certain monies and trunks of apparel 
 to Oran, in Barbary. Having acquainted Ismenia with this wel- 
 come discovery, he set out for Oran, ' to kill his enemy.' After a 
 short passage he arrived, in a small bark, at the port of Massalquibir, 
 and was there informed, by a soldier, of Don Martin's arrival. He 
 sent the soldier into the town to inform Don Martin that his trunks 
 were landed, who promised to fetch them away that night. Don 
 Jayme set out towards Oran, and waited two or three hours under 
 some rocks, almost despairing of the fidelity of his messenger. At 
 last a horseman appeared, and askrd him whether he travelled to- 
 wards the city or the port. Don Jayme, recognising his enemy, 
 exclaimed, ' Thyself, false Don Martin, art the port and haven to 
 which I go, at which the satisfaction of my revenge must safely 
 VOL. XIII. M 
 
( 178 ) 
 
 land/ He then bade him stand on his defence ; and, when his 
 treacherous friend endeavoured to excuse him^t-lf, ht* would not 
 hear hira, but attacked ari'l killed him on the spot Don Jayrae 
 concluded his relation to Gf rardo, by declaring bis resolution upon 
 his return to espouse Ismenia." 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Don Philippo, king of Spain. 
 
 Otrante, a Spanish county in love with Florimel. 
 
 Julio, a nobleman, uncle to Antonio. 
 
 BellideSj/tf/Acr to Ismenia^ enemy to Julio. 
 
 Lisauro, brother to Ismeniay Bt Hides' son, 
 
 Terzo, kinsman to Lisauro, and friend to BelUdes. 
 
 Antonio, in love with Ismeniay an enemy to BelUdes, 
 
 INIartine,' friend to Antonio, and his secret rival, 
 
 GcrdiStOy friend to Otrante, 
 
 Pedro. > . 
 
 , , , \ two courtiers, 
 
 Moncado, > 
 
 Gostanzo, ~i 
 
 Giraldo, > three gentlemen, friends to Julio, 
 
 Philippo, J 
 
 Vertigo, a French tailor, 
 
 Franio, a miller, supposed father to Florimel, 
 
 Bustopha, Ftanid's son, a clown, 
 
 Pedro, a songster. 
 
 Lords attending the king in progress. 
 
 Gentlemen, shepherd, constable, oj/icers, servants, a 
 
 boy, &c. 
 
 Ismenia, daughter to BelUdes, mistress of Antonio. 
 Aminta, cousin to Ismenia, atid her private compe* 
 
 titrix in Antonio's love. 
 Florimel, supposed daughter to Franio, daughter to 
 
 Julio, stolen from him a child. 
 
 * Mariine.'l This character has been called Martino in the 
 modern copies, though he is called Martine in the first folio 
 throughout, and though the measure is frequently spoiled by the 
 alteration. 
 
( 180 ) 
 
 Gillian, Franws ujfe. 
 Country maids. 
 
 SCENE, — Toledo and the neighbouring Country. 
 The principal Actors werCy 
 
 Joseph Taylor. John Thomson. 
 
 John Lowin. Robert Benfield. 
 
 John Underwood. Tho. Polard. 
 William Rowley. 
 
 k 
 
THE 
 
 MAID IN THE MILL. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 The Country, 
 
 Enter Lisauro, Terzo, Ismenia, and Aminta. 
 
 Lisauro. Let the coach go round ! we'll walk 
 along these meadows, 
 And meet at port' again. — Come, my fair sister. 
 These cool shades will delight you. 
 
 Amin, Pray be merry : 
 The birds sing as they meant to entertain you ; 
 Every thing smiles abroad; methinks the river, 
 As he steals by, curls up his head, to view you : 
 Every thing is in love. 
 
 Ism. You would have it so. 
 You, that are fair, are easy of belief, cousin ; 
 
 ' At fort.'\ That is, at the gate of the city.— iVaion. 
 
188 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act I. 
 
 The theme slides from your tongue 
 
 Amin. I fair? I thank you! 
 Mine is but shadow wlien your sun shines by me. 
 
 Isnu No more of this ; you know your worth, 
 Aminta. 
 Where are we now ? 
 
 Amin. Hard by the town, Ismenia. 
 
 Ttrzo. Close by the gates. 
 
 Ism. 'Tis a fine air. 
 
 Lis. A delicate ; 
 The way so sweet and even, that the coach 
 Would be a tumbling trouble to our pleasures. 
 Methinks I am very merry. 
 
 Ism. I am sad. 
 
 Amin. You are ever so when we entreat you, 
 cousin. 
 
 Ism. I have no reason. Such a trembling here, 
 Over my heart, methinks 
 
 Amin. Sure you are fasting, 
 Or not slept well to-night ; some dream, Ismenia? 
 
 Ism, My dreams are like my thoughts, honest 
 and innocent ; 
 Yours are unhappy.* Who are these that coast us ?* 
 You told me the walk was private. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Martine. 
 Terzo. 'Tis most commonly. 
 
 * Unhappy.'] That is, wicked. So in The Miseries of Inforced 
 Marriage, by Wilkins — 
 
 — '* I am sure ihey are great sinners 
 That made this match, and were unhappy men." 
 3 Coast us, &c.] This passage supports the propriety of the fol- 
 lowing lines in The Loyal Subject, where Mr Reed wished to read 
 cote for coast :— 
 
 — — ** Lord Burris, 
 Take you those horse and coast Vm." 
 
Scene I.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 183 
 
 Ism. Two proper men ! It seems they have some 
 business ; 
 With me none sure. I do not like their faces; 
 They are not of our company. 
 
 Terzo. No, cousin. — 
 Lisauro, we are dogg*d. 
 
 Lis. I find it, cousin. 
 
 Ant. What handsome lady ? 
 
 Mart. Yes, she's very handsome ; 
 They are handsome both. 
 
 A?it. Martine, stay ; we are cozen'd. 
 
 Mart, I will go up ; A woman is no wildfire. 
 
 Ant, Now, by my life, she is sweet. Stay, good 
 Martine ! 
 They are of our enemies, the house of BeUides ; 
 Our mortal enemies. 
 
 Mart. Let them be devils, 
 They appear so handsomely, I will go forward. 
 If these be enemies, I'll ne'er seek friends more. 
 
 Ant. Pry thee, forbear! the gentlewomen 
 
 Mart. That's it, man, 
 That moves me like a gin.* Pray ye stand off. — 
 Ladies 
 
 Lis, They are both our enemies, both hate us 
 equally; 
 ^y this fair day, our mortal foes ! 
 
 Terzo. I know *em. — 
 And come here to affront ! How they gape at us ! 
 They shall have gaping work. {They draw. 
 
 Ism. Why your swords, gentlemen? 
 
 Terzo, Pray you stand you off, cousin ; — 
 And good now leave your whistling !-^We are 
 
 abused all ! — 
 Back, back, I say ! 
 
 Lis. Go back ! 
 
 * That moves me like a gin.] That is, an engine or instrument. 
 
184 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act L 
 
 Ant, We arc no dogs, sir, 
 To run back on command. 
 
 Terzo. We'll make ye run, sir. 
 
 Ant. Having a civil charge of handsome ladies, 
 We are your servants ! Pray ye no quarrel, gen- 
 tlemen. 
 There's way enough for both. 
 
 Lis. We'll make it wider. 
 
 Ant. If you will fight, arm'd for this saint, have 
 at ye ! {Theijjight, 
 
 Ism Oh, me unhappy ! Are ye gentlemen, 
 Discreet and civil, and in open view thus^ 
 
 Amin. What will men think of us ! Nay, you 
 may kill us. 
 Mercy o' me ! through my petticoat ? what bloody 
 gentlemen ! 
 
 Ism. IVlake way through me, ye had best, and 
 kill an innocent ! 
 Brotlier! why, cousin! by this light, I'll die too! 
 This gentleman is temperate; be you merciful! 
 Alas, the swords ! 
 
 Amin, You had best run me through the belly ! * 
 'Twill be a valiant thrust. 
 
 Ism. I faint amongst ye. 
 
 Ant. Pray ye be not fearful ! I have done, sweet 
 lady; 
 My sword's already awed, and shall obey you. 
 I come not here to violate sweet beauty ; 
 I bow to that. 
 
 Ism. Brother, you see this gentleman, 
 This noble gentleman — 
 
 Lis. Let him avoid then, 
 And leave our walk ! 
 
 Atit. The lady may command, sir ; 
 
 5 You had best run me through the belly.] The two last words 
 are omitted in the second folio and the modern copies. 
 
f 
 
 Scene!] THE MATD IN THE MILL. 185 
 
 She bears an eye more dreadful than your weapon. 
 
 Ism. What a sweet nature this man has ! Dear 
 brother. 
 Put up your sword. 
 
 Terzo. Let them put up, and walk then. 
 
 Ant. No more loud words ! there s time enough 
 before us 
 For shame, put up ! do honour to these beauties. 
 
 Mart. Our way is this; we will not be denied it. 
 
 Terzo. And ours is this, we will not be cross'd 
 in it. 
 
 Ant. Whate'er your way is, lady, *tis a fair one ; 
 And may it never meet with rude hands more, 
 Nor rough uncivil tongues ! 
 
 [Exeunt Antonio and Martine. 
 
 Ism. I thank you, sir, 
 Indeed I thank you nobly ! — A brave enemy: 
 Here's a sweet temper now ! This is a man, brother; 
 This gentleman's anger is so nobly sealed. 
 That it becomes him ; yours proclaim ye monsters. 
 What if he be your house-foe? we may brag on't; 
 We have ne'er a friend in all our house so honour- 
 able : 
 I had rather from an enemy, my brother, 
 Learn worthy distances and modest difference,* 
 Than from a race of empty friends loud nothings. 
 I am hurt between ye. 
 
 Amin. So am 1, I fear too. 
 I am sure their swords were betweenmy legs.' Dear 
 
 cousin, 
 Why look you pale? where are you hurt? 
 
 * And modest difference.] Sympson and Seward suppose this a 
 corruption of orthography, and read deference^ vih\c\\ the last edi- 
 tors retain. The old text is, however, probably right, meaning a 
 difference, or quarrel, modestly maintained. 
 
 ' Vm sure t/ieir swords were between my legs."] These words are 
 retrieved from the first folio. — Ed, 1778. 
 
1 86 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act I. 
 
 Ism. I know not ; 
 But here methinks. 
 
 Lis. Unlace her, gentle cousin. 
 
 Is77i. My heart, my heart ! and yet I bless the 
 hurter. 
 
 Amin. Is it so dangerous ? 
 
 Ism. Nay, nay, I faint not. 
 
 A77iin. Here is no blood that I find; sure 'tis in- 
 ward. 
 
 Ism. Yes,yes, 'tis inward; 'twas a subtle weapon; 
 The hurt not to be cured, I fear. 
 
 Lis. The coach there ! 
 
 Amin. May be a fright. 
 
 Ism. Aminta, 'twas a sweet one; 
 And yet a cruel. 
 
 Amin. Now I find the wound plain : 
 A wond'rous handsome gentleman 
 
 Ism. Oh, no deeper ! 
 Pr'y thee be silent, wench ; it may be thy case. 
 
 Amin. You must be search'd ; the wound will 
 rankle, cousin. — 
 And of so sweet a nature 
 
 Ism. Dear Aminta, 
 Make it not sorer ! 
 
 Amin. And on my life admires you. 
 
 Ism. Call the coach, cousin, 
 
 Amin. The coach, the coach ! 
 
 Terzo. 'Tis ready. Bring the coach there ! 
 
 Lis. Well, my brave enemies, we shall yet 
 meet ye, 
 And our old hate shall testify 
 
 Terzo. It shall, cousin. {Exeunt. 
 
 \ 
 
Scene IL] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 187 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Toledo. A Room in the House of Antonio. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Martine. 
 
 Ant. Their swords ! alas, I weigh 'em not, dear 
 friend ; 
 The indiscretion of the owners blunts 'em ; 
 The fury of the house affrights not me, 
 It spends itself in words. Oh me, Martine ! 
 There was a two-edged eye, a lady carried, 
 A weapon that no valour can avoid, 
 Nor art, the hand of spirit, put aside. 
 Oh, friend, it broke out on me, like a bullet 
 Wrapt in a cloud of fire ; that point, Martine, 
 Dazzled my sense,* and was too subtle for me; 
 Shot like a comet in my face, and wounded 
 (To my eternal ruin) my heart's valour. 
 
 Mart. Methinks she was no such piece. 
 
 Ant. Blaspheme not, sir ! 
 She is so far beyond weak commendation, 
 That Impudence will blush to think ill of her. 
 
 Mart. I see it not, and yet I had both eyes open, 
 And I could judge ; 1 know there is no beauty 
 Till our eyes give it 'em, and make 'em handsome ; 
 
 * Dazzled my sense.] Seward thinks it would be keeping closer 
 to the metaphor to read, baffled my fence ; but the old read- 
 ing carries on the metaphor best. Dazzled is much most appli- 
 cable to the ■point of a two-edged eye, which he immediately after 
 compares to a comet. — Ed. 1778. 
 
1 88 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act L 
 
 What's red and white, unless we do allow *em? 
 A green face else ; and methinks such another — 
 Ant. Peace, thou lewd heretic ! thou judge of 
 
 beauties? 
 Thou hast an excellent sense for a sign-post, frietid. 
 Didst thou not see, (I'll swear thou art stone-blind 
 
 else,' 
 As blind as Ignorance) when she appear'd first, 
 Aurora breaking in the East? and through her face, 
 (As if the hours and graces had strew'd roses) 
 A blush of wonder flying ? when she was frighted 
 At our uncivil swords, didst thou not mark 
 How far beyond the purity of snow 
 The soft wind drives, whiteness of innocence, 
 Or any thing that bears celestial paleness. 
 She appeared o' th' sudden? Didst thou not see 
 
 her tears 
 When she entreated ? Oh, thou reprobate ! 
 Didst thou not see those orient tears flow'd from 
 
 her, 
 The little worlds of love ? A set, Martine, 
 Of such sanctified beads, and a holy heart to love, 
 I could live ever a religious hermit. 
 
 Mart. I do believe a little ; and yet, methinks, 
 She was of the lowest stature. 
 
 Ant. A rich diamond, 
 Set neat and deep ! Nature's chief art, Martine, 
 Is to reserve her models curious. 
 Not cumbersome and great ; and such a one, 
 For fear she should exceed upon her matter, 
 Has she framed this. Oh, 'tis a spark of beauty ! 
 And where they appear so excellent in little. 
 They will but flame m great ; ' extension spoils 'em. 
 
 " Dost thou not see {I'll swear thou art soon blind else.) Amend- 
 ed in 1750. 
 
 ' Thei^ 111111 but flame in great,] If this be genuine, _/?amc, when 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 189 
 
 Martine, learn this ; the narrower that our eyes 
 Keep way unto our object, still the sweeter 
 That comes unto us : Great bodies are like coun- 
 tries, 
 Discovering still, toil and no pleasure finds em. 
 
 Mart. A rare cosmographer for a small island ! 
 Now I believe she's handsome. 
 
 Ant. Believe heartily ; 
 Let thy belief, though long a-coming, save thee. 
 
 Mart. She was, certain, fair. 
 
 Ant. But hark you, friend Martine ! 
 Do not believe yourself too far before me ; 
 For then you may wrong me, sir. 
 
 Mart. Who bid you teach me ? 
 Do you shew me meat, and stitch my lips, Antonio } 
 Is that fair play.'* 
 
 Ant. Now if thou shouldst abuse me — 
 And yet I know thee for an arrant wencher, 
 A most immoderate thing; thou canst not love long. 
 
 Mart. A little serves my turn ; I fly at all games ; 
 But I believe 
 
 Ant, How if we never see her more ? 
 She is our enemy. 
 
 Mart. Why are you jealous then ? 
 As far as 1 conceive, she hates our whole house. 
 
 Ant. Yet, good Martine 
 
 Mart. Come, come; I have mercy on you : 
 You shall enjoy her in your dream, Antonio, 
 
 applied to beauty, must be a term of contempt, whereas it is, I 
 believe, universally applied to it as a term ot excellence. I verily 
 think the original was, not flame, and then the reason that follows 
 is just, because extension spoils 'em. — Seward. 
 
 This [the text] is the true reading, and Seward mistakes the 
 meaning of the passage. The allusion, though rather obscurely 
 expressed, is to the rays of light, which are infinitely more bright 
 when collected in a small focus, (a spark of beauty,) (ban when 
 dispersed j for then they only flame, but without brilliancy.— 
 MasQ7i. 
 
190 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act L 
 
 And I'll not hinder. Though, now I persuade 
 
 myself — 
 Ant. Sit with persuasion down, and you deal 
 
 honestly; 
 I will look better on her. 
 
 Enter Aminta with a Letter, 
 
 Mart. Stay ; who's this, friend ? 
 
 Ant. Is't not the other gentlewoman? 
 
 Mart. Yes. A letter ! 
 She brings no challenge sure? If she do, Antonio, 
 I hope she'll be a second too ; I am for her. 
 
 Amin. A good hour, gentlemen ! 
 
 Ant. You are welcome, lady ! 
 'TIS like our late rude passage has pour'd on us 
 Some reprehension. 
 
 A?nm. No, I bring no anger; 
 Though some deserved it. 
 
 Ant. Sure we are all to blame, lady : 
 But for my part, in all humility, 
 And with no little shame, I ask your pardons ! 
 Indeed I wear no sword to fright sweet beauties. 
 
 Amin. You have it ; and this letter, pray you, 
 sir, view it, 
 And my commission's done. 
 
 Mart, Have you none for me, lady ? 
 
 Amin. Not at this time. 
 
 Mart, I am sorry for't ; I can read too. 
 
 Amin. I am glad : But, sir, to keep you in your 
 exercise. 
 You may chance meet with one ill written. 
 
 Mart. Thank you ! 
 So it be a woman's, I can pick the meaning; 
 Eor likely they have but one end. 
 
 Amin, You say true, sir. [Exit. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MRL. 19\ 
 
 Ant. Martine, my wishes are come home and 
 loaden, 
 Loaden with brave return ; most happy, happy ! 
 I am a blessed man ! — Where's the geurlewoman? 
 
 Mai't Gone, the spirit's gone ; what news? 
 
 Jilt. 'Tis from the lady ; 
 From her we saw ; from tliat same miracle ! 
 I know her name now. Read but these three lines; 
 Read with devotion, friend ! the lines are holy. 
 
 A/art. [Read?ng.] " I dare not chide you in my 
 letter, sir; 
 'Twill be too gentle : If you please to look me 
 In the West-street, and find a fan stone window 
 Carved with white Cupids, there I'll entei tain you : 
 Night and discretion guide you. Call me Isme- 
 nia." 
 
 Ant. Give it me again ! Come, come ; fly, fly ! 
 I am all fire ! 
 
 Mart. There may be danger. 
 
 Afit. So there is to drink, 
 When men are thirsty ; to eat hastily, 
 When we are hungry ; so there is in sleep, friend, 
 Obstructions then may rise and smother us; 
 We may die laughing-choak'd; even at devotions, 
 An apoplexy,* or a sudden palsy. 
 May strike us down. 
 
 Mart. May be, a train to catch you. 
 
 A7it. Then 1 am caught ; and let Love answer 
 for it! 
 'Tis not my folly, but his infamy ; 
 And if he be adored, and dare do vile things 
 
 Alart. Well, I will go. 
 
 Ant. She is a lady, sir, 
 A maid, I think, and where that holy spell 
 
 * IVe may die laughing, choak'd even at devotions : 
 An apoplexi/f &c.] Corrected by Seward. 
 
 8 
 
19SI THE MATD IN THE MILL. [Act I. 
 
 Is flung about me, I ne'er fear a villainy. 
 *Tis almost night ; away, friend ! 
 
 Mart. I am ready : 
 I think I know the house too. 
 
 Aiit. Then we are happy. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Night, A Street before the House of Bellides. 
 
 Eiiter IsMENiA <7W(/ Aminta. 
 
 Ism. Did you meet him? 
 
 Amin. Yes. 
 
 Ism. And did you give my letter? 
 
 Ainln. To what end went 1 ? 
 
 Ism. Are you sure it was he ? 
 Was it that gentleman ? 
 
 Amin. Do you think I was blind ? 
 I went to seek no carrier, nor no midwife. 
 
 Ism, What kind of rnan was he? Thou may 'st 
 be deceived, friend. 
 
 Amin. A man with a nose on's face; I think he 
 had eyes too; 
 And hands, for sure he took it. 
 
 Is)Ji. What an answer! 
 
 Amin. What questions are these to one that's hot 
 and troubled ! 
 Do you thmk me a babe ? Am I not able, cousin, 
 At my years and discretion, to deliver 
 A letter handsomely? is that such a hard thing? 
 Why every wafer-woman' will undertake it : 
 
 ' Wqfer'tooman.^ A woman who sells cakes. See vol. X. p« 41. 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 193 
 
 A sempster's girl, or a tailor's wife, will not miss it: 
 A puritan hostess, cousin, would scorn these ques- 
 tions. 
 My legs are weary. 
 Ism. I'll make 'em well again. 
 Amin, Are they at supper? 
 Ism. Yes, and I am not well, 
 Nor desire no company. Look out, 'tis darkish. 
 Amin. I see nothing yet. Assure yourself, Is- 
 menia. 
 If he be a man, he will not miss. 
 
 Ism. It may be he is modest. 
 And that may pull him back from seeing me ; 
 Or has made some wild construction of my easi- 
 ness : 
 I blush to think what I writ. 
 
 Amm. What should you blush at? 
 Blush when you act your thoughts, not when you 
 
 write 'em ; 
 Blush soft between a pair of sheets, sweet cousin. 
 Though he be a curious carried gentleman, 1 can- 
 not think 
 He's so unnatural to leave a woman, 
 (A young, a noble, and a beauteous woman) 
 Leave her in her desires : Men of this age 
 Are rather prone to come before they are sent for. 
 Hark! I hear something: Up to th' chamber, cou- 
 sin ! 
 You may spoil all else. 
 
 Enter Antonio and. Martine. 
 
 Ism. Let me see ! They are gentlemen; 
 Jt may be they. 
 
 Amin. They are they. Get you up, 
 
 VOL. XIII. U 
 
194 THE ]\IAID IN THE MILL. [Act L 
 
 And like a load-star draw him !* 
 
 Ism. 1 am shame-faced ! 
 [Eaeuht IsiviEMA fl??i/ Aminta into the House, 
 
 j^nt This is the street. 
 
 Mart. I am looking for. the house. 
 Close, close, pray you close! — Here. 
 
 yliit. No; this is a merchant's; 
 I know the man well. 
 
 Mart. And this is a 'pothecary's : I have lain here 
 many times, 
 For a looseness in my hilts. 
 
 j^rit. Have you not past it? 
 
 Mart. No sure; 
 There is no house of mark that we have 'scaped yet. 
 
 Ant. What place is this? 
 
 Mart. Speak softer ! 'may be spies. 
 If any, this ; a goodly window too, 
 Carved fair above !' that I perceive. 'Tis dark; 
 But she has such a lustre 
 
 IsMENiA and Aminta appear at the TVindoio with 
 a Taper, 
 
 Ant. Yes, Martino; 
 So radiant she appears 
 
 Mart. Else we may miss, sir. 
 The night grows vengeance black : Pray Heaven 
 
 she shine clear ! 
 Hark, hark ! a window, and a candle too ! 
 
 Ant. Step close. 'Tis she ! I see the cloud dis- 
 perse; 
 And now the beauteous planet 
 
 Mart. Ha ! 'tis indeed. 
 
 • And like a land-sfar.] Amended in 1750. 
 s Carved far above-l Varied in 1750. 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 195 
 
 Now, by the soul of love, a divine creature ! 
 
 Ism. Sir, sir! 
 
 Ant. Most blessed lady ! 
 
 Ism. Pray you stand out. 
 
 Amin. You need not fear; there's nobody now 
 stirring. 
 
 Mart. Beyond his commendation I am taken, 
 Infinite strangely taken, [Aside, 
 
 Amin. I love that gentleman ; 
 Methinks he has a dainty nimble body : 
 I love him heartily. 
 
 Ism. Tis the right gentleman ; 
 But what to say to him ? — Sir 
 
 Amin. Speak. 
 
 Ant. I wait still; 
 And will do till I grow another pillar, 
 To prop this house, so it please you. 
 
 Is7n. Speak softly ; 
 And pray you speak truly too. 
 
 Ant. I never lied, lady. 
 
 Ism. And do not think me impudent to ask you — 
 I know you are an enemy, (speak low !) 
 But I would make you a friend. 
 
 A)it. I am friend to beauty ; 
 There is no handsomeness I dare be foe to. 
 
 Ism. Are you married? 
 
 Ant. No. 
 
 Is7n. Are you betrothed? 
 
 Ant. No, neither. 
 
 Is77u Indeed, fair sir ? 
 
 Ant. Indeed, fair sweet, I am not. 
 Most beauteous virgin, I am free as you are. 
 
 Ism. That may be, sir; then you are miserable, 
 For 1 am bound. 
 
 A7it. Happy the bonds that hold you ! 
 Or do you put them on yourself for pleasure ? 
 Sure they be sweeter far than liberty : 
 
196 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act L 
 
 There is no blessedness but in such bondage. 
 Give me that freedom, madam, I beseech you, 
 (Since you have questioned me so cunningly) 
 To ask you whom you are bound to ; he must be 
 
 certain 
 More than human, that bounds in such a beauty: 
 Happy that happy chain! sucli links are heavenly. 
 
 Ism. Pray you do not mock me, sir. 
 
 Ant. Pray you, lady, tell me. 
 
 Ism. Will you believe ? and will you keep it to 
 you? 
 And not scorn what I speak? 
 
 Ant. I dare not, madam ; 
 As oracle, what you say I dare swear to. 
 
 Ism* I'll set the candle by, for I shall blush now— 
 Fy, how it doubles in my mouth! It must out. — 
 'Tis you I am bound to. 
 
 Ant. Speak that word again ! 
 I understand you not. 
 
 Ism. 'Tis you I am bound to. 
 
 Ant. Here is another gentleman. 
 
 Ism. 'Tis you, sir. 
 
 Am,in. He may be loved too. 
 . Mart. Not by thee; first curse me! [Aside, 
 
 Ism. And if 1 knew your name 
 
 Ant. Antonio, madam. 
 
 Ism. Antonio, take this kiss; 'tis you I am bound 
 to 
 
 Ant. And when I set you free, may Heaven for- 
 sake me ! 
 Ismenia 
 
 Ism. Yes, now I perceive you love me ; 
 You have learned my name. 
 
 Ant. Hear but some vows I make to you ; 
 Hear but the protestations of a true love. 
 
 Ism. No, no, not now : Vows should be cheer- 
 ful things, 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 19? 
 
 Done in the clearest light, and noblest testimony : 
 No vow, dear sir ! tie not my fair belief 
 Tosuchstrict terms; thosemenhavebrokencredits, 
 Loose and dismember'd faiths, my dear Antonio, 
 That splinter 'em with vows. Am I not too bold? 
 Correct me when you please. 
 
 Ant. I had rather hear you, 
 For so sweet music never struck mine ears yet. 
 Will you believe now ? 
 
 Is?}i. Yes, 
 
 Ant. I am yours. 
 
 Is7n. Speak louder; 
 If you answer the priest so low, you'll lose your 
 wedding. 
 
 Mart. Would I might speak ! I would holloa. 
 
 Afit. Take my heart ; 
 And if it be not firm and honest to you, 
 Heaven 
 
 Ism. Peace ; no more ! I'll keep your heart, and 
 credit it : 
 Keep you your word. When will you come again, 
 
 friend ? 
 For this time we have woo'd indifferently : 
 I would fain see you, when I dare be bolder. 
 
 A tit. Why, any night. Only, dear noble mistress, 
 Pardon three days! My uncle Julio 
 Has bound me to attend him upon promise, 
 Upon expectation too : We have rare sports there. 
 Rare country sports; 1 would you could but see 
 
 'em ! 
 Dare you so honour me ? 
 
 Isjn. I dare not be there ; 
 You know I dure not; no, I must not, friend. 
 Where I may come with honourable freedom — 
 Alas, I am ill too ; we in love 
 
 Ant, You flout me. 
 
198 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act L 
 
 Ism. Trust me, I do not ; I speak truth, I am 
 sickly, 
 And am in love ; but you must be physician. 
 Ant. ril make a plaister of my best affection.* 
 Ism. Be gone! we have supp'd: I hear the peo- 
 ple stir. 
 Take my best wishes ! Give me no cause, Antonio, 
 To curse this happy night. 
 
 Ant. I'll lose my life first. 
 A thousand kisses ! 
 
 Ism Take ten thousand back again ! 
 Mart. I am dumb with admiration ! — Shall we 
 go, sir? [£.rcz;w^ Anton io«?i(/ Ma KTiNE. 
 Ism. Dost thou know his uncle ? 
 Amin. No, but I can ask, cousin. 
 Ism. I'll tell thee more of that. Come, let's to 
 bed both ; 
 And give me handsome dreams, Love, I beseech 
 thee ! 
 Amin. He has given you a handsome subject. 
 Ism. Pluck-to the windows.' \Ea:eunt. 
 
 * Til make a plaister of my best affection."] This is a vile phrase, 
 and would damn any modern play. — Mason. 
 
 7 This scene naturally reminds us of a similar one in Shakspeare's 
 Romeo and Juliet ; to which this, with all its beauties, must be al- 
 lowed to be mucli inferior.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 The foliowino; direction at the close of this act proves the play 
 to have been printed from a prompter's copy—" Six chairs placed 
 at the arras." 
 
Act II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 199 
 
 ACT IL SCENE L 
 
 TJic Country. Before the Mill of Franio. 
 
 Enter Bustopha. 
 
 Bust, [^Reading.'] The thundrmg seas^ whose xcatWy 
 fire 
 Washes the whiting-mops,^ 
 The gentle whale, whose feet so fell 
 Flies o'er the mountains'' tops 
 
 Fra. [Within.] Boy ! 
 Bust. The thund*ring- 
 
 Fra. [IVithin,] Why, boy Bustopha ! 
 
 Enter Franio. 
 
 3ust. Here I am. The gentle whale 
 
 Fra. Oh, are you here, sir? where's your sister? 
 
 • Whiting-mops.'\ A sort of fish so called ; our authors have the 
 tame term in the Martial Maid, act ii. scene ii. — 
 
 " Thei/ will tread you their measures like 
 
 Whiting-mops," SfC. 
 So, in the Guardian of Philip Massinger, Camillo says, 
 
 " If 'twere a fish-da)-, though you like it not, I could say 
 I have a stomach, and would content myself 
 With this pretty whiting-mop ;" 
 meaning IMirlilla.— Sywpson. 
 
 This " sort of fish so called" is, as Mr Gifford observes, a 
 young whiting. Puttenham informs us, that litlie fishes " that be 
 not come to their full growth" are called " moppes; as whiting" 
 moppeSf gurnard-raoppes," &c. 
 
200 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act II. 
 
 Bust. The gentlewJiale flies o'er themoiintains tops — 
 
 Fra. "Where's your sister, man? 
 
 Bust. TVashes the zi' hi ting-mops • 
 
 Fi^a. Thou liest! she has none to wash. Mops ? 
 The boy is half way out of his wits sure. 
 Sirrah, who am I ? 
 
 Bust. The thundering seas 
 
 Fra. Mad, stark mad ! 
 
 Bust, Will you not give a man leave to con ? 
 
 Fra. Yes, and 'fess too, 
 Ere I have done with you, sirrah. Am I your father? 
 
 Bust. The question is too hard for a child; ask 
 me any thing 
 That I have learned, and I will answer you. 
 
 Fra. Is that a hard question ? Sirrah, am not I 
 your father ? 
 
 Bust. If I had my mother-wit I could tell you. 
 
 Fra. Are you a thief? 
 
 Bust. So far forth as the son of a miller. 
 
 Fra. Will you be hang d ? 
 
 Bust. Let it go by eldership. 
 The gentle whale 
 
 Fra. Sirrah, lay by your foolish study there, 
 And beat your brains about your own affairs ; or— 
 
 Bust. I thank you ! 
 You'd have me go under the sails, and beat 
 My brains about your mill ? a natural father you 
 are ! 
 
 Fra. I charge you go not to the sports to-day : 
 Last night I gave you leave ; now I recant. 
 
 Bust. Is the wind turn'd since last night? 
 
 Fra. Marry is it, sir : 
 Go no further than my mill; there's my command 
 upon you. 
 
 Bust. I may go round about then as your mill 
 does. 
 I will see your mill gelded, and his stones fried 
 
 2 
 
Scene!.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 201 
 
 In steaks, ere I deceive the country so ! 
 Have I not my part to study ? How shall 
 The sports go forward, if I be not there? 
 
 Fra. They'll want their fool indeed, if thou be'st 
 not there. 
 
 JBw5f, Consider that, and go yourself. 
 
 Fra. I have fears, sir, tliat I cannot utter : 
 You go not, nor your sister ; there's my charge. 
 
 'Bust. The price of your golden thumb^ cannot 
 hold me. [Houtids in full cry ivithin. 
 
 Fra. Ay, this was sport that I have tightly loved ! 
 I could have kept company with the hounds 
 
 Bust. You are fit for no other company yet. 
 
 jFrfl'. Run with the hare. 
 And been in the whore's tail, i'faith ! 
 
 Bust. That was 
 Before I was born : I did ever mistrust 
 I was a bastard, because lapis is 
 In the singular number with me. 
 
 Enter Otrante and Gerasto. 
 
 Otr. Leave thou that game, Gerasto, and chase 
 here ; 
 Do thou but follow it with my desires, 
 Thou'lt not return home empty. 
 
 Ger. I am prepared. 
 My lord, with advantages : And see, 
 
 ' Golden-thumb.'^ In Chaucer's character of the Miller are the 
 following lines : — 
 
 " VVel coude he stele corn, and tolle it twye. 
 
 And yit he had a thumb of gold, parde !" 
 Dr Morell and Mr Tyrwhit both suppose that Chaucer alluded to 
 the old proverb, " Every honest miller has a thumb of gold ;" to 
 which they reply in Somersetshire, " None but a cuckold can see 
 it." To the same proverb our author evidently refers in Busto- 
 pha's speech. See Ray's Proverbs.— Jlecd. 
 Bustopha refers again to the same proverb farther on, p. 203, 1. 26. 
 
202 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IL 
 
 Yonder's the subject I must work upon. 
 
 Otr. Her brother ? 'tis : Methinks it should be 
 easy : 
 That gross compound cannot but diffuse 
 The sowl, in such a latitude of ease, 
 As to make dull her faculties, and lazy. 
 What wit, above the least, can be in him, 
 That reason tics together ? 
 
 Ger. I have proved it, sir, 
 And know the depth of it : I have the way 
 To make him follow me a hackney-pace, 
 With all that flesh about him ; yes, and drag 
 His sister after him. [Cry of hounds^ 
 
 This baits the old one ; 
 Rid you him, and leave me to the other. [^Exit, 
 
 Otr. 'Tiswell. — Oh, Franio, the good day to you! 
 You were not wont to hear this music standing; 
 The beagle and the bugle you have loved, 
 In the first rank of huntsmen. 
 
 Bust, The dogs cry out of him now.' 
 
 Fra. Sirrah, leaveyour barking ; V\\ bite youelse. 
 
 Bust. Cur! cur! 
 
 Fra. Slave, dost call me dog? 
 
 Otr, Oh fy, sir ! 
 
 * Bust. The dogs cry out of him noto."] I read for : Without 
 this trifling change, I see no humour in Bustopha's answer. The 
 •eery dogs cry out against him, does not suit the rest of his droll- 
 cries ; but the dogs cry out ior kirn as carrion proper for them, is 
 quite in his siyle.— Seward. 
 
 Franio's answer, leave your barking, seems to confirm the 
 old reading, out of him. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 I think we should read with Seward. If Franio had spoken be- 
 fore in the scene the present reading might be sense ; but as he 
 has been hitherio silent, I cannot reconcile myself to it.— Mason. 
 
 Franio has certainly spoken in this scene, though not since the 
 entrance of Otrantc. I have no doubt tlie old text is right. Of 
 him is continually used in these plays for on himf and this makes 
 perfect sense of Bustopha's speech. 
 
Scene!.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 203 
 
 He speaks Latin to you ; he would know 
 Why you'll bite him. 
 
 Bust. Respofide, cur ! You see his understanding, 
 my lord. 
 
 Fra. I shall have a time to curry you for this ! — 
 But, my lord, to answer you ; the days have been 
 I must have footed it before this hornpipe, 
 Though I had hazarded my mill a-fire, 
 And let the stones grind empty : But those dan- 
 cings 
 Are done with me : I have good will to't still, 
 And that's the best I can do. 
 
 Otr. Come, come, you shall be horsed ; 
 Your company deserves him ; though you kill him, 
 Run him blind, I care not. 
 
 Bust. He will do it 
 O' purpose, my lord, to bring him up to the mill. 
 
 Fra, Do not tempt me too far, my lord. 
 
 Otr. There is 
 A foot i' th' stirrop ; Til not leave you now. 
 You shall see the game fall once again. 
 
 Fra. Well, my lord, I will make ready 
 My legs for you, and try 'em once a-horseback. — 
 Sirrah ! my charge ; keep it ! \_Eji:it, 
 
 Bust. Yes ; 
 When you pare down your dish for conscience sake, 
 When your thumb's coin'd into bonce et legalis. 
 When you're a true man-miller. 
 
 Otr. What's the matter, Bustopha? 
 
 Bust, My lord, if you 
 Have e'er a drunken jade that has the staggers, 
 That will fall twice the heightof our mill with him, 
 Set him o' th' back on him ; a galled jennet 
 That will winch him out o' th' saddle, and break 
 
 one on's necks, 
 Or a shank of him (there was a fool 
 Going that way, but the ass had better luck; 
 
204 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act XL 
 
 Or one of your brave Barbaries, that would pass 
 The Straits, and run into his oM^n country with him: 
 The first Moor he met vrould cut bis throat 
 For complexion's sake; there's as deadly feud be- 
 tween 
 A Moor and a miller, as between black and white. 
 
 Otr. Fy, fy ! this is unnatural, Bustopha, 
 Unless on some strong: cause. 
 
 Bust. Be judge, my lord : I am studied in my part; 
 The Julian feast's to-day, the country expects me; 
 I speak all the dumb-shows; my sister chosen 
 For a nymph. " The gentle whale, whose feet sojell^ 
 'Cry mercy ! that was some of my part ; but his 
 
 charge is, 
 To keep the mill, and disappoint the revels. 
 Oti\ Indeed, there it speaks shrewdly for thee, 
 the country 
 Expecting. 
 
 Bust. Ay, and for mine own grace too. 
 
 Otr, Yes, and being studied too, and the maia 
 
 speaker too. 
 Bust. The main ? why, all my speech lies in the 
 main, 
 And the dry ground together : " The thundWing 
 
 seas, whose " 
 
 Otr. Nay, then thou must go ; thou'lt be much 
 condemned else. 
 But then, o' th' other side, obedience. 
 
 Bust. Obedience ? But speak your conscience 
 now, my lord ; 
 Am not I past asking blessing at these years? 
 Speak as you're a lord ; if you had a miller to your 
 
 father 
 
 Otr. I must yield to you, Bustopha ; 
 Your reasons are so strong, I cannot contradict. 
 This I think, if you go, your sister ought 
 To go along with you. 
 
Scene!.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 205 
 
 Bust, There I stumble now : 
 She is not at age. 
 
 Otr. Why, she's fifteen, and upwards. 
 
 Bust. Thereabouts. 
 
 Otr. That's woman's ripe age ; as full as thou art 
 At one-and-twenty : She's manable, is she not? 
 
 Bust. I think not: Poor heart, she was never tried, 
 In my conscience. 'Tis a coy thing; she will not 
 Kiss you a clown, not if he would kiss her 
 
 Otr. What, man ? 
 
 Bust. Not if he would kiss her, I say. 
 
 Otr. Oh, 'twas cleanlier than 1 expected. — Well, 
 sir, 
 I'll leave you to your own; but my opinion is, 
 You may take her along. — This is half way ; 
 The rest, Gerasto; — and I hunt my prey.* [Ex'it, 
 
 Bust. Away with the old miller, my lord ! 
 And the mill strikes sail presently. 
 
 Enter Pedro, with Gerasto disguised as a blind 
 Ballad-Singer, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ger. Come follow 7ne, you country lasses ! 
 And you shall see such sport as passes : 
 You shall dance, and I will sing ; 
 Pedro, he shall rub the string ; 
 Each shall have a loose-bodied gown 
 Of green, and laugh till you lie down. 
 Come follow me, come follow, &c. 
 
 This is half way ; 
 
 The rest, Gerasto, and I hunt my prey.] The punctuation is 
 Mason's, whoexplains the passage thu>>— '* My business is half ac- 
 complished ; the rest I leave to Gerasto, with whose aid I shall 
 kunt down the object of my pursuit." 
 
205 THE ]\rAID IN THE MILL. [Act IL 
 
 Enter Florimel. 
 
 Bust, Oh,sweetDicgo,thesweetestDiego! Stay. 
 
 — Sister Florimel ! 
 Flor. What's that, brother? 
 Bust. Didst not hear Diego ? Hear him, and 
 
 thou'It be ravish'd. 
 Flor, I have heard him sing, yet unravish'd, bro- 
 ther. 
 Bust. You had the better luck, sister. 1 was ra- 
 vish'd 
 By my own consent. Come away : for the sports ! 
 Flor. I have the fear of a father on me, brother. 
 Bust. Out! the thief is as safe as in his mill; 
 He's hunting with our great landlord, the Don 
 
 Otrante. — 
 Strike up, Diego. 
 
 Flor, But say he return before us, where*s our 
 
 excuse r 
 Bust, Strike up, Diego ! Hast no strings to thy 
 
 apron? 
 Flor. Well, the fault lie upon your head, brother. 
 Bust. My faults never mount so high, girl ; they 
 rise 
 But to my middle at most. — Strike up, Diego. 
 
 Ger. Follow me by the ear ; FU lead thee on, 
 Bustopha, and pretty Florimel thy sister. 
 Oh, that I could see her ! 
 
 Bust. Oh, Diego, there's two pities upon thee: 
 Great pity thou art blind ; and as great a pity, 
 Thou canst not see. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ger. You shall hat'e crowns of roses, daisies, 
 Buds, where the honey-maker grazes : ^ 
 
 3 Honey -maker gazes.] Corrected in 1750. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 207 
 
 You shall taste the golden thighs^ 
 Such as 171 wax-chamber lies. 
 What fruits please yvu, taste, freely pully 
 Till you have all your bellies full. 
 Comej'olkm me, &c. 
 
 Bust, Oh, Diego ! the don 
 Was not so sweet when he perfumed the steeple.* 
 
 \Ej:eunt^ 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 A Hall in the House (/Julio. 
 
 Enter Antonio ajid Mart in £. 
 
 Mart. WTiy, how now, friend ? thou art not lost 
 again ? 
 
 Ant, Not lost? Why, all the world's a wilderness; 
 Some places peopled more by braver beasts 
 Than others are ; but faces, faces, man ; 
 May a man be caught with faces ? 
 
 Mart. Without wonder, 
 'Tis odds against him : May not a good face 
 Lead a man about by the nose ? Alas, 
 The nose is but a part against the whole. 
 
 Ant, But is it possible that two faces 
 
 * Oh, Diego I the don was not so sweet 
 
 When he perfumed the steeple.] In commenting on old plays, 
 we roust of course expect to meet with allusions to contemporary 
 town talk, which we cannot explain, and of this nature Bustopha's 
 speech seems to be an instance. 
 
fOS THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IL 
 
 Should be so twinn'd in form, complexion, 
 Figure, aspect, that neither wen, nor mole, 
 The table of the brow, the eyes' lustre, 
 The lips' cherry, neither the blush nor smile, 
 Should give the one distinction from the other? 
 Does Nature work in moulds ? 
 
 Mart. Altogether ; 
 We are all one mould, one dust. 
 
 Ant. Thy reason's mouldy: 
 I speak from the form, thou the matter. Why ? 
 Was it not ever one of Nature's glories, 
 Nay, her great piece of wonder, that amongst 
 So many millions millions of her works 
 She left the eye distinction, to cull out 
 The one from other ; yet all one name, the face? 
 
 Mart. You must compare'em by some other part 
 Of the body, if the face cannot do't. 
 
 Ant. Didst ask her name? 
 
 Mart. Yes, and who gave it her ; 
 And what they promised more, besides a spoon, 
 And what apostle's picture :' She is christen'd too, 
 In token whereof she's call'd Isabella; 
 The daughter of a country plow-swain by : 
 If this be not true, she lies. 
 
 Ajit. She cannot : 
 It would be seen, a blister on her lip, 
 
 * And what they promised more, besides a spoon, 
 And ivhat apostle's picture.] Mr Steevens, in a note on Hen- 
 ry VIII. (ed. 1803, XV. 197.) gives the following note, which will 
 also serve to explain the text : — 
 
 •' It was the custom, long before the time of Shakspeare, for the 
 sponsors at christenings to offer gilt spoons as a present to the 
 child. These spoons were called apostle-spoons, because the figures 
 of tlie apostles were carved on the tops ot the handles. Such as 
 were at once opulent and generous gave the whole twelve ; those 
 who were either more moderately rich or liberal escaped at the 
 cxpence of the four evangelists ; or even contented themselves with 
 presenting one spoon only, which exhibited the figure of any saint 
 in honour of whom the child received its name." 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 209 
 
 Should falsehood touch it, it is so tender. 
 Had her name held, 't had been Ismenia, 
 And rot another of her name. 
 
 Mart. Shall I speak ? 
 
 Ant. Yes, if thou wilt speak truth. 
 Is she not wond'rous like ? 
 
 Mart. As two garments of the same fashion, 
 Cut from the same piece ; yet, if any excel, 
 This has the first ; and in my judgment 'tis so. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis my opinion. 
 
 Mart. Were it the face 
 Where mine eyes should dwell, I would please both 
 With this, as soon as one with the other. 
 
 Ant. And yet the other is the cause of this.* 
 Had I not look'd upon Ismenia, 
 I ne'er had stray'd beyond good-morrow's time 
 In view of this. 
 
 Mart. 'Would I could leave him here ! [Aside, 
 *Twere a free passage to Ismenia. 
 I must now blow, as to put out the fire ; 
 Yet kindle't more. — You not consider, sir. 
 The great disparity is in their bloods, 
 Estates and fortunes : There is the rich beauty, 
 Which this poor homeliness is not endow'd with; 
 There's difference enough. 
 
 Ant. The least of all ; 
 Equality is no rule in Love's grammar. 
 That sole unhappiness is left to princes, 
 To marry blood : We are free disposers. 
 And have the power to equalize their bloods 
 Up to our own; we cannot keep it back ; 
 
 * And yet the other is the case ofthis.^ I agree with Seward in 
 reading cause for case ; as Antonio says, that had he not looked 
 upon Ismenia before, he should not have dwelt upon the view of 
 Isabella. So that his love for Ismenia was the cause of his at- 
 tachment to Isabella.— 3/aic»«. 
 VOL. XIII. O 
 
2 1 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IL 
 
 'Tis a due debt from us. 
 
 Mart. Ay, sir, had you 
 No father, nor uncle, nor such hinderers, 
 You might do with yourself at your pleasure ; 
 But as it is 
 
 Ant. As it is? It is nothing: 
 Their powers will come too late, to give me back 
 The yesterday I lost. 
 
 Mart. Indeed, to say sooth, 
 Your opposition from the other part 
 Is of more force ; there you run the hazard 
 Of every hour a life, had you supply ; 
 You meet your dearest enemy in love 
 With all his hate about him : 'Twill be more hard 
 For your Ismenia to come home to you. 
 Than you to go to country Isabel. 
 
 Aiit. Tush ! 'Tis not fear removes me. 
 
 Mart. No more ! your uncle. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Julio. Oh, the good hour upon you, gentlemen ! 
 Welcome, nephew ! speak it to your friend, sir; 
 It may be happier received from you, 
 In his acceptance. 
 
 Ant. I made bold, uncle. 
 To do it before ; and I think he believes it. 
 
 Mart. 'Twas never doubted, sir. 
 
 Julio. Here are sports, dons, 
 That you must look on with a loving eye. 
 And without censure, unless it be giving 
 My coun try neighbours' loves their yearly offerings, 
 That must not be refus'd ; though't be more pain 
 To the spectator, than the painful actor; 
 It will abide no more test than the tinsel 
 We clad our masks in for an hour's wearing, 
 Or the livery lace sometim.es on the cloaks 
 Of a great don's followers : I speak no further 
 
 1 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 211 
 
 Than our own country, sir. 
 
 Mart. For my part, sir, 
 The more absurd, 't shall be the better welcome. 
 
 Julio. You'll find the guest you look for. — 1 heard, 
 cousin, 
 You were at Toledo the other day. 
 
 Ant. Not late, sir. 
 
 Julio. Oh fy ! must I be plainer? You changed 
 the point 
 With Terzo and Lisauro, two of the stock 
 Of our antagonists, the Bellides. 
 
 Ant. A mere proffer, sir; the prevention 
 Was quick witti us : We had done somewhat else. 
 This gentleman was engaged in't. 
 
 Julio. I am the enemy 
 To his foe for it. That wildfire will crave 
 More than fair water to quench it, I suspect : 
 Whence it will come, I know not. 
 
 Ant. I was about a gentle reconcilement ; 
 But I do fear I shall go back again. 
 
 Jul. Come, come; the sports are coming on us. 
 
 Enter Gostanzo, Giraldo, and Philippo. 
 
 Nay, I have more guests to grace it : Welcome, don 
 Gostanzo, Giraldo, Philippo ! Seat, seat all ! 
 
 [^Miisic, 
 
 Enter a Boy, as Cupid, blinded. 
 
 Cupid. " Love is little, and therefore I present 
 him; 
 Love is a fire, therefore you may lament him." ^ 
 
 ' Therefore you may lament him.'] The rhyme by this reading 
 is preserved it is true, but I am afraid the sense is lost ; for where 
 is the congruity between Love's being a fire, and our lamenting of 
 him f Besides, the next line contradicts this, which runs so : 
 
212 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act II, 
 
 Mart. Alas, poor Love ! who are they that can 
 
 quench him ? 
 Julio. He's not without those members ; fear him 
 
 not. 
 
 Cupid. " Love shoots ; therefore I bear his bow 
 about ; 
 And love is blind ; therefore my eyes are out." 
 
 Mart. I ne'er heard Love give reason for what 
 he did before. 
 
 Enter BusT0PHA,yi7r Paris. 
 
 Cupid. " Let such as can see, see such as cannot. 
 
 Behold 
 Our goddesses all three strive for the ball of gold: 
 And here fair Paris comes, the hopeful youth of 
 
 Troy, ^ 
 Queen Hecuba's darling son, king Priam's only 
 
 joy.'" 
 
 Mart. Is this Paris ? 
 
 Alas, poor Love, who are they that can quench him f 
 
 I imagine, therefore, that we should read as the line quoted gives 
 us licence, 
 
 Therefore you may quench him.-^Sympson. 
 
 No amendment is necessary in this passage. A quibble is intend- 
 ed upon the word a-Jire, which is commonly used to express ore 
 Jire. The presenter of Cupid is supposed to blunder; and instead 
 of saying that Love is 071 Jire, says, that Love is a-jire, which ren- 
 dered him an object of lamentation, and makes Martine ask, who 
 are they that can quench him f — Mason. 
 
 8 Theobald supposes this and the preceding line to be a quo- 
 tation from the same old ballad which is quoted in All's Well 
 that Ends Well; and Mr Malone supposes that the ballad was 
 The Lamentation of Hecuba and the Ladyes of Troy, entered on 
 the Stationers' books. If the two lines of the text are actually 
 a, quotation, it is not improbable that the whole of the verses it) 
 rhyme are a burlesque on some contemporary ballad. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 213 
 
 I should have taken him for Hector rather. 
 Bitst, Paris at this time : Pray you hold your 
 
 prating! 
 Ant. Paris can be angry. 
 Julio. Oh, at this time 
 You must pardon him ; he comes as a judge. 
 Mart, God's mercy on all that look upon him, 
 say I. 
 
 Bust, " The thund'ring seas, whose watery fire 
 
 washes the whiting-mops. 
 The gentle whale, whose feet so fell flies o'er the 
 
 mountain tops. 
 No roars so fierce, no throats so deep, no howls can 
 
 bring such fears, 
 As Paris can, if garden from he call his dogs and 
 
 bears." » 
 
 Mart. Ay, those they were that I feared all this 
 while. 
 
 Bust, " Yes, Jack-an-apes" 
 
 Mart. I thank you, good Paris ! 
 
 Bust. You may hold your peace, and stand fur- 
 ther out o' th' way then : 
 The lines will fall where they light. 
 
 *' Yes, Jack-an-apes he hath to sport, and faces 
 
 make' like mirth. 
 Whilst bellowing bulls the horned beasts do toss 
 
 from ground to earth. 
 Blind bear there is, as Cupid blind" • 
 
 ' As Paris caiiy if garden from he call his dogs and bears.] A 
 burlesque allusion to Paris-garden on the Bankside, then celebra- 
 ted for bear-beating. 
 
 * Yes, Jack-an-apes, he hath to sports, and faces make.] We 
 should read sport, meaning, that he hath an ape [rather apes] to 
 sport and make faces.— i)/a£0». 
 
214 THE ]\IAID IN THE MILL. [Act II. 
 
 Ant, That bear would be whipp'd for losing of 
 his eyes. 
 
 Bust. " Be-whipped man may see, 
 But we present no such content, but nymphs such 
 
 as they be." 
 ^fit. These are long lines. 
 Maj't. Can ^^ou blame him, leading bulls and 
 
 bears in 'em? 
 
 Enter Shepherd singing, with Ismenia, Aminta, 
 Florimel, {as Juno, Pallas, Venus,) a7id three 
 Nyitiphs attending. 
 
 Bust. " Go, Cupid blind, conduct the dumb ; for 
 ladies must not speak here. 
 Let shepherds sing with dancing feet, and cords 
 of music break here ! I'^ong. 
 
 Now, ladies, fight, with heels so light; by lot your 
 
 luck must fall, 
 Where Paris please, to do you ease, and give the 
 
 golden ball," {^Dance. 
 
 Mart. If you play'd Paris now, Antonio, 
 Where would you bestow it ? 
 
 Ant. I pr'ythee, friend, 
 Take the full freedom of thought, but no words. 
 
 Mart. 'Protest there is a third, which by her habit 
 Should personate Venus, and, by consequence 
 Of the story, receive the honour's prize : 
 And were I a Paris, there it should be. 
 Do you note her ? 
 
 Ant. No ; mine eye is so fix'd, I cannot move it. 
 
 Cupid. The dance is ended ; now to judgment, 
 Paris ! 
 
 Bust. " Here, Juno, here ! — But stay ; I do espy 
 A pretty gleek coming from Pallas' eye : 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 215 
 
 Here, Pallas, here ! — Yet stay again ; methinks 
 I see the eye of lovely Venus winks : 
 Oh, close them both ; shut in those golden ey'n ! 
 And I will kiss those sweet blind cheeks of thine. 
 Juno is angry ; yes, and Pallas frowns : 
 *Would Paris now were gone from Ida's downs ! 
 They both are fair ; but Venus has the mole, 
 The fairest hair, and sweetest dimple-hole : 
 To her, or her, or her, or her, or neither ; 
 Can one man please three ladies all together? 
 No ; take it, Venus ! toss it at thy pleasure; 
 Thou art the lover's friend beyond his measure." 
 
 [Gives her the apple, 
 
 Julio, Paris has done what man can do, pleased 
 one : 
 Who can do more? 
 
 Mart, Stay ; here's another person. 
 
 Enter Gerasto, as Mars. 
 
 Ger. " Come, lovely Venus ; leave this lower orb, 
 And mount with Mars up to his glorious sphere.'' 
 
 Bust. How now ? what's he ? 
 Flor. I'm ignorant what to do, sir. 
 
 Ger. " Thy silver yoke of doves are in the team, 
 And thou shalt fly thorough x^poUo's beam : 
 I'll see thee seated in thy golden throne. 
 And hold with Mars a sweet conjunction." 
 
 [Exit with Flor I MEL. 
 
 Bust. Ha! what fellow's this has carried away my 
 sister Venus ? 
 He ne'er rehearsed his part with me before. 
 Julio. What follows now, Prince Paris ? 
 Flor, [fFithin,] Help, help, help ! 
 
216 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [ActIL 
 
 Bust. Hue and cry ! I think, sir, this is Venus* 
 voice, 
 Mine own sister Florimel's. 
 
 Mart. What, is there some tragic act behind ? 
 
 Bust. No, no ; altogether comical ; Mars and 
 Venus 
 Are in the old conjunction, it seems. 
 
 Mart. 'Tis very improper then ; for Venus 
 Never cries out when she conjoins with Mars. 
 
 Bust. That's true indeed \ they are out of their 
 parts sure : 
 It may be 'tis the book-holder's fault; I'll go see. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Julio. How like you our country revels, gentle- 
 men? 
 
 All Gent. Oh, they commend themselves, sir. 
 
 Ajit. Methinks now 
 Juno and Minerva should take revenge on Paris; 
 It cannot end without it. 
 
 Mart. I did expect, 
 Instead of Mars, the storm-gaoler ^olus ; 
 And Juno proffering her deiopeia 
 As satisfaction to the blust'ring god, 
 To send his tossers forth. 
 
 Julio. It may so follow; 
 Let's not prejudicate the history! 
 
 Enter Bustopha. 
 
 Bust. Oh, oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Julio. So here's a passion* towards. 
 
 Bust. Help, help, if you be gentlemen! my sister, 
 
 * So here's a passion towards.] That is, a pathetic speech. In 
 the Old Law, by Massinger, Mitldleton, and Rowley, Lysander, af- 
 ter the raock-tragic speech of Gnotho, exclaims—" This passion 
 hath given some satisfaction yet." 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 217 
 
 My Venus ! she's storn away, 
 
 Julio. The story changes 
 From our expectation. 
 
 Bust. Help ! my father 
 The miller will hang- me else : God Mars 
 Is a bawdy villain! he said he should ride upon 
 
 doves : 
 She's hors'd, she's hors'd, M'hether she will or no. 
 
 JlJart. Sure, I think he's serious. 
 
 Bust. She's hors'd upon 
 A double gelding, and a stone-horse in 
 Tiie breech of her : i'he poor wench cries fielpj 
 And I cry help, and none of you will help. 
 
 Julio. Speak, is it the show? or dost thou bavvl? 
 
 Bust. A pox on the ball ! my sister bawls, and 
 1 bawl ! 
 Either bridle horse and follow, or give me a halter 
 To hang myself: I cannot run so fast 
 As a hog. 
 
 Julio. Why, follow me ! I'll fill 
 The country with pursuit, but I will find 
 The thief ! My house thus abused ? [E.viL 
 
 Bust. 'Tis my house that's abused ; 
 The sister of my flesh and blood ! Oh, oh ! [Ea:it. 
 
 1 1Ve?ich. 'Tis time weal I shift for ourselves, if this 
 Be serious. 
 
 2 IVench, However, I'll be gone. 
 
 3 Wench. And I. [Ejceunt. 
 Ant You need not fright your beauties, pretty 
 
 souls, 
 With the least pale complexion of a fear. 
 
 Mart. Juno has better courage, and Minerva's 
 
 more discreet. 
 Is??i. Alas, my courage was so counterfeit. 
 It might have been struck from me with a feather : 
 Juno ne'er had so weak a presenter. 
 
 Amifi, Sure I was ne'er the wiser for Minerva ; 
 
218 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act XL 
 
 That I find yet about me. 
 
 [Antonio whispers Ismenia. 
 
 Ism. My dwelling, sir ? 
 'Tis a poor yeoman's roof, scarce a league off, 
 That never shamed me yet. 
 
 Ant. Your gentle pardon ! 
 I vow my erring eyes had almost cast you 
 For one of the most mortal enemies 
 That our family has. 
 
 Ism. I am sorry, sir, 
 I am so like your foe : 'Twere fit I hasted 
 From your offended sight. 
 
 Ant. Oh, mistake not ; 
 It was my error, and I do confess it. 
 You'll not believe you're welcome ; nor can I speak 
 
 it; 
 But there's my friend can tell you ; pray hear him ! 
 
 Mart, Shall I tell her, sir? I'm glad of the em- 
 ployment. 
 
 Ant. A kinswoman to that beauty ? 
 
 Amin. A kin to her, sir; 
 But nothing to her beauty. 
 
 Ant. Do not wrong it; 
 It is not far behind her. 
 
 Amin. Her hinder parts 
 Are not far off, indeed, sir. 
 
 Mart. Let me but kiss you with his ardour now, 
 You shall feel how he loves you. 
 
 Ism. Oh, forbear ! 
 'Tis not the fashion with us. But would you 
 Persuade me that he loves me ? 
 
 Mart. I'll warrant you 
 He dies in't ; and that were witness enough on't. 
 
 Ism. Love me, sir ? Can you tell me for what 
 
 reason r 
 
 Mart. Fy ! will you ask me ? That which you 
 have about you. 
 
SceneIL] the maid in the mill. 219 
 
 Ism. I know nothing, sir. 
 
 Mart. Let him find it then ! 
 He constantly believes you have the thing 
 That he must love you for; much is apparent, 
 A sweet and lovely beauty. 
 
 Ism. So, sir ; pray you 
 Shew me one thing: Did he ne'er love before? 
 (I know you are his bosom counsellor.) 
 Kay, then, I see your answer is not ready; 
 I'll not believe you, if you study farther. 
 
 ]\Iart. Shall I speak truth to you ? 
 
 Ism. Or speak no more. 
 
 Mart. There was a smile thrown at him, from 
 a lady, 
 Whose deserts might buy him treble, and lately 
 lie received it, and I know where he lost it; 
 In this face of yours : I know his heart's within you. 
 
 Ism. ]May I know her name ? 
 
 Mart. In your ear you may, 
 With vow of silence. [They walk apart. 
 
 Amiii. He'll not give over, sir ; 
 If he speak for you, he'll sure speed for you. 
 
 Ant. But that is not the answer to my question. 
 
 Ami?2. You are the first, in my virgin-conscience, 
 That ever spoke love to her : Oh, my heart ! 
 
 A?it. How do you .? 
 
 Amin. Nothing, sir ; but 'would I had 
 A better face ! How well your pulse beats ! 
 
 Ant. Healthfully; 
 Does it not? 
 
 Amin. It thumps prettily, methinks.— 
 
 Ism. Alack, I hear it with much pity : How great 
 Is your fault too, in wrong to the good lady ! 
 
 Mart. You forget the difficult passage he has 
 to her ; 
 A hell of feud's between the families. 
 
220 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act XL 
 
 Ism. And that has often Love wrought by ad- 
 vantage 
 To peaceful reconcilement. 
 
 Mart. There impossible. 
 
 Xsm. This way 'tis worser; it may seed again 
 In her unto another generation : 
 For where, poor lady, is her satisfaction? 
 
 Mart. It comes in me. To be truth, I love her 
 (I'll go no farther for comparison) 
 As dear as he loves you. 
 
 Ism. How if she love not ? 
 
 Mart, Tush, be that my pains ! You know not 
 what art 
 I have those ways. 
 
 Ism, Beshrew you ! you have practised upon me; 
 Well, speed me here, and you with your Ismenia. 
 
 Mart. Go, the condition's drawn, ready dated; 
 There wants but your hand to't. 
 
 Amin. Truly you have taken 
 Great pains, sir. 
 
 Mart. A friendly part, no more, sweet beauty. 
 
 Amin. They are happy, sir, have such friends as 
 you are : 
 But do you know you have done well in this ? 
 How will his allies receive it? She, though I say't, 
 Is of no better blood than I am. 
 
 Mart. There 
 I leave it ; I am at farthest that way. 
 
 Ism. You shall extend your vows no larger now : 
 My heart calls you mine own, and that's enough. 
 Reason, I know, would have all yet conceal'd. 
 I shall not leave you unsaluted long. 
 Either by pen or person. 
 
 Ant. You may discourse 
 With me, when you think youVe alone; I shall 
 Be present with you. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 221 
 
 Ism. Come, cousin, will you walk ? 
 Amin, Alas, I was ready long since. In con- 
 science. 
 You would with better will yet stay behind. 
 Ism. Oh, Love ! I never thought thou hadst 
 been so blind. \Exeunt. 
 
 Mart. You'll answer this, sir. 
 Ant, If e'er it be spoke on : 
 I purpose not to propound the question. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Julio. 'Tis true the poor knave said : Some ra- 
 visher, 
 Some of Lust's blood-hounds, have seized upon her; 
 The girl is hurried, as the devil were with 'em 
 And help'd their speed. 
 
 Mart. It may be not so ill, sir. 
 A well-prepared lover may do as much 
 In hot blood as this, and perform it honestly. 
 
 Julio. What? steal away a virgin 'gainst her will? 
 
 Mart. Itmay beany man's case; despise nothing: 
 And that's a thief of a good quality, 
 ]\Iost commonly he brings his theft home again, 
 Though with a little shame. 
 
 Julio. There's a charge by't 
 Fall'n upon me : Paris (the miller's son) 
 Her brother, dares not venture home again, 
 Till better tidings follow of his sister. 
 
 Ant. You are the more beholding to the mis- 
 chance, sir : 
 Had I gone a boot-haling,^ I should as soon 
 Have stol'n him as his sister : Marry then. 
 To render him back in the same plight he is 
 Maybecostly; his fleshisnotmaintain'd with little. 
 
 3 Boot-haling.] See the Chances, vol. VII. p. 19- 
 
222 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act XL 
 
 Julio. I think the poor knave will pine away; 
 he cries 
 All-to-be--pitieci yonder. 
 
 Mart. Pray you, sir, let's go see him : I should 
 laugh 
 To see him cry, sure. 
 
 Julio. Well, you are merry, sir. — 
 Antonio, keep this charge ; (I have fears 
 Move me to lay it on you) pray forbear 
 The ways of your enemies, the Bellides. 
 I have reason for my injunction, sir. [Exit* 
 
 Enter Aminta as a Page^ with a Letter, 
 
 Ant. To me, sir? from whom? 
 
 Amin. A friend, I dare vow, sir, 
 Though on the enemies' part : The lady Ismenia. 
 
 Mart. Take heed ; blush not too deep. Let me 
 advise you 
 In your answer ; it must be done heedfully. 
 
 Ant. I should not see a masculine, in peace. 
 Out of that house. 
 
 Amin. Alas, I am a child, sir ; 
 Your hates cannot last 'till I wear a sword. 
 
 Ant. Await me for your answer. 
 
 Mart. He must see her, 
 To manifest his shame ; 'tis my advantage : 
 While our blood's under us, we keep above ; 
 But then we fall; when we do fall in love. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
Act III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 223 
 
 ACT m. SCENE I. 
 
 An Apartment in the same. 
 
 Enter Julio and Franio. 
 
 Fra. My lord, my lord, your house hath injured 
 me, 
 Robb'd me of all the joys I had on earth. 
 
 Julio. "Where wert thou brought up, fellow ? 
 
 Fra. In a mill ; 
 You may perceive it by my loud exclaims, 
 Which must rise higher yet. 
 
 Julio. Obstreperous carle,* 
 If thy throat's tempest could o'er-turn my house, 
 What satisfaction were it for thy child? 
 Turn thee the right way to thy journey's end : 
 Wilt have her where she's not ? 
 
 Fi^a. Here was she lost, 
 And here must I begin my footing after; 
 From whence, until I meet a power to punish, 
 I will not rest. You are not quick to grief; 
 Your hearing's a dead sense ! Were your's the loss, 
 Had you a daughter stol'n, perhaps be-whored, 
 (For to what other end should come the thief?) 
 You'd play the miller then, be loud and high; 
 But, being not a sorrow of your own. 
 You have no help nor pity for another. 
 
 * A car/c] A churl, a clown, — Percy. 
 
224 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IH. 
 
 Julio. Oh, thou hast oped a sluice was long shut 
 up, 
 And let a flood of grief in ; a buried grief 
 Thy voice hath waked again, a grief as old 
 As likely 'tis thy child is ! Friend, I tell thee, 
 I did once lose a daughter. 
 
 Fra. Did you, sir ? 
 Beseech you then, how did you bear her loss? 
 
 Julio. With thy grief trebled. 
 
 Fra. But was she stolen from you ? 
 
 Julio. Yes, by devouring thieves, from whom 
 cannot 
 Ever return a satisfaction : 
 The wild beasts had her in her swathing clothes, 
 
 Fra. Oh, much good do 'em with her ! 
 
 Julio. Away, tough churl ! 
 
 Fra. Why, she was better eaten, than my child. 
 Better by beasts, than beastly men devoured: 
 They took away a life, no honour, from her ; 
 Those beasts might make a saint of her; but these 
 Will make my child a devil. But was she, sir. 
 Your only daughter ? 
 
 Julio^ I ne'er had other, friend. 
 
 Enter Gillian. 
 
 Gil. Where are you, man ? Your business lies 
 not here ! 
 Your daughter's in the pound; I have found where: 
 *Twill cost you dear, her freedom. 
 
 Fra. I'll break it down, and free her without pay ! 
 Horse-locks nor chains shall hold her from me. 
 
 [Gillian whispers him, 
 
 Julio. I'll take this relief: 
 I now have time to speak alone with grief. [Exit. 
 
 Fra. How ! my landlord? he is lord of my lands, 
 But not my cattle : I'll have her again, Gil. 
 
 n 
 
Scene L] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 225 
 
 GiL You are not mad upon the sudden now ? 
 
 Fra. No, Gil ; 
 I have been mad these five hours ! I'll sell my mill 
 And buy a roaring — I'll batter down his house, 
 And make a stews on't. 
 
 Gil. Will you gather up your wits 
 A little, and hear me? The king's near by, in pro- 
 gress ; 
 Here I have got our supplication drawn, 
 And there's the way to help us. 
 
 Fjti. Give it me, Gil : 
 I will not fear to give it to the king; 
 To his own hands, God bless him, will I give it; 
 And he shall set the law upon their shoulders, 
 And hang 'em all that had a hand in it. 
 
 Gil. Where is your son ? 
 
 Fra. He shall be hang'd in flitches ! 
 The dogs shall eat him in Lent; there's cats' meat 
 And dogs' meat enough about him. 
 
 Gil. Sure the poor girl is the count's whore by 
 this time. 
 
 Fra. If she be the count's whore, the whore's 
 count / 
 
 Shall pay for't ; he shall pay for a new maidenhead ! 
 
 Gil. You are so violous ! — This I'm resolved ; 
 If she be a whore once, I'll renounce her. 
 You know, if every man had his right. 
 She's none of our child, but a mere foundling ; 
 (And I can guess the owner for a need too) 
 We have but foster'd her. 
 
 Fi^a. Gil, no more of that ? 
 Fil cut your tongue out, if you tell those tales. 
 
 [A Flourish within. 
 Hark, hark! these toaters tell us the king's coming. 
 Get you gone ; I'll see if I can find him, [EjceunU 
 
 VOL. XIII, P 
 
226 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IIL 
 
 SCENE n. 
 
 An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lisauro, Terzo, Pedro, and Moncado. 
 
 Lis. Does the king remove to-day ? 
 
 Terzo. So say the harbingers, 
 And keeps his way on to Valentia ; 
 There ends the progress. 
 
 Pedro. He hunts this morning, gentlemen. 
 And dines i' th' fields : The court is all in readiness. 
 
 Lis. Pedro, did you send for this tailor? or you, 
 Moncado ? 
 This light French demi-lance that follows us? 
 
 Pedro. No, I assure ye on my word, I am guilt- 
 less ; 
 I owe him too much to be inward* with him, 
 
 Monc. I am not quit, I am sure : There is a 
 reckoning 
 (Of some four scarlet cloaks, and two laced suits,) 
 Hangs on the file still, like a fearful comet, 
 Makes me keep off. 
 
 Lis. I am in too, gentlemen, 
 I thank his faith, for a matter of three hundred. 
 
 Terzo. And I for two. What a devil makes he 
 this way ? 
 I do not love to see my sins before me. 
 
 5 Inward."] i. e. Intimate. So in Richard III. — 
 
 *' Who is most inward with the noble duke ?" 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE IMILL. 227 
 
 Pedro. 'Tis the vacation, and these things break 
 out 
 To see the court and glory in their debtors. 
 
 Terzo. What do you call him ?* for I never love 
 To remember their names that I owe money to ; 
 *Ti8 not genteel: I shun 'em like the plague ever. 
 
 Lis. His name's Vertigo, (hold your heads, and 
 wonder !) 
 A Frenchman, and a founder of new fashions : 
 The revolutions of all shapes and habits 
 Run madding through his brains. 
 
 Enter Vertigo. 
 
 Jlforic. He's very brave 
 
 Lis, The shreds of what he steals from us, be- 
 lieve it, 
 Make him a mighty man. He comes ; have at ye ! 
 
 Fert. Save ye together, my sweet gentlemen ! 
 I have been looking — — 
 
 Terzo. Not for money, sir ? 
 You know the hard time. 
 
 Vert. Pardon me, sweet signor ! 
 'Good faith, the least thought in my heart; your 
 
 love, gentlemen, 
 Your love's enough for me. Money ? hang money ! 
 Let me preserve your love. 
 
 Lis. Yes, marry shall you, 
 And we our credit. You would see the court? 
 
 Monc. He shall see every place. 
 
 Vert, Shall I, i'faith, gentlemen? 
 
 Pedro, The cellar, and the buttery, and the 
 kitchen, 
 
 <• What did you call him for f I never love."] Corrected by 
 Sympson. 
 
228 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IIL 
 
 The pastry, and the pantry. 
 
 Terzo. Ay, and taste too 
 Of every olhce, and be free of all too; 
 That he may say, when he comes home in glory — 
 
 Vert. And I will say, i'faith, and say it openly, 
 And say it home too. Shall I see the king also? 
 
 Lis, 'Shalt see him everyday; 'shaltsee the ladies 
 In their French clothes ; shalt ride a-hunting with 
 
 him; 
 Shalt have a mistress too. — We must fool hand- 
 somely 
 To keep him in belief we honour him ; 
 He may call on us else. 
 
 Pedro, A pox upon him ! 
 Let him call at home in's own house for salt butter. 
 
 Vert. And when the king puts on a new suit — 
 
 Terzo. Thou shalt see it first, 
 And dissect his doublets, that thou may'st be 
 perfect. 
 
 Vert, The wardrobe I would fain view, gentle- 
 men. 
 Fain come to see the wardrobe. 
 
 Lis. Thou shalt see it. 
 And see the secret of it, dive into it ; 
 Sleep in the wardrobe, and have revelations 
 Of fashions five years hence. 
 
 Vert, Ye honour me. 
 Ye infinitely honour me ! 
 
 Terzo. Any thing i' th' court, sir. 
 Or within the compass of a courtier 
 
 Vert. My wife shall give ye thanks. 
 
 Terzo, You shall see any thing! 
 The privat'st place, the stool, and where His 
 emptied. 
 
 Vert. Ye make me blush, ye pour your bounties, 
 gentlemen, 
 In such abundance. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 229 
 
 Li*. I will shew thee presently 
 
 The order that the king keeps when he comes 
 
 To open view, that thou may'st tell thy neighbours 
 
 Over a shoulder of mutton, thou hast seen some- 
 thing ; 
 
 Nay, thou shalt present the king for this time — 
 Vert. Nay, I pray, sir! 
 
 Lis. That thou mayst know what state there 
 does belong to't. 
 
 Stand there, I say ! and put on a sad ' countenance, 
 
 Mingled with height! Be covered and reserved; 
 
 Move like the sun, by soft degrees, and glorious. 
 
 Into your order, gentlemen, uncovered ! 
 
 The king appears. — We'll sport with you a while, 
 sir; [Aside, 
 
 I'm sure you're merry with us all the year long, 
 tailor. — 
 
 Move softer still; keep in that fencing leg, mon- 
 sieur; 
 
 Turn to no side. 
 
 Enter Franio out of breath. 
 
 Terzo. What's this that appears to him ? 
 
 Lis. He has a petition, and he looks most la- 
 mentably. 
 Mistake him, and we are made. 
 
 Fra. This is the king sure. 
 The glorious king ! I know him by his gay clothes. 
 
 Lis. Now bear yourself, that you may say here- 
 after 
 
 Fra. I have recover'd breath ; I'll speak unto 
 him presently. 
 
 ' Sad.l i. e. Serious. In the same manner sadness was used io 
 ihe sense of seriousness. So in Alexander Brome's Cunning Lo- 
 vers — " Come, lei's leave talking of this counteffeit sleep, and see 
 if we can lake a nap in sadness/' 
 
\ 
 
 230 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IIL 
 
 May it please your gracious majesty to consider 
 A poor man's case ? [^Kneek. 
 
 Vert. What's your will, sir? 
 
 Lis. You must accept, and read it. 
 
 Terzo. The tailor will run mad upon my life for't. 
 
 Pedro, How he mumps and bridles ! He will 
 ne'er cut clothes again. 
 
 Vert. And what's your grief? 
 
 Monc. He speaks i' th' nose like his goose. 
 
 Fra. I pray you read there ; I am abused and 
 frump'd, sir. 
 By a great man, that may do ill by authority : 
 Poor honest men are hang'd for doing less, sir. 
 My child is stol'n, the Count Otrante stole her! 
 A pretty child she is, although I say it, 
 A handsome mother ;• he means to make a whore 
 
 of her, 
 A silken whore ; his knaves have filched her from 
 
 me; 
 He keeps lewd knaves, that do him beastly offices. 
 I kneel for justice: Shall I have it, sir? 
 
 Enter Philippo and Lords, 
 
 ' Phil. What pageant's this ? 
 
 Lis. The king! — 
 Tailor, stand off! Here ends your apparition. — 
 Miller, turn round, and there address your paper; 
 There, there's the king indeed. 
 
 Fra. May it please your majesty ! 
 
 Phil. Why didst thou kneel to that fellow? 
 
 Fra. In good faith, sir, 
 
 8 A handsome mother.] Mr Theobald proposes changing mO' 
 ther for matither, a word used now in Suffolk for a girt. But there 
 is no occasion at all for this change. Sir Henry Spelraan, in his 
 Glossary, tells us mother is a corruption of the Danish word moetf 
 which signifies a girl. Vide in voce moer.^-Si/tnpson, 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 23 1 
 
 I thought he had been a king, he was so gallant; 
 There's none here wears such gold. 
 
 Phil. So foolishly ? 
 You have golden business sure ! Because I am 
 
 homely 
 Clad, in no glittering suit, I am not looked on. 
 Ye fools, that wear gay clothes, love to be gaped at. 
 What are you better when your end calls on you? 
 Will gold preserve ye from the grave? or jewels? 
 Get golden minds, and fling away your trappings; 
 Unto your bodies minister warm raiments, 
 Wholesomeand good ; glitter within, and spare not! 
 Let my court have rich souls ! their suits I weigh 
 
 not. — 
 And what are you that took such state upon you? 
 Are you a prince? 
 
 Lis. The prince of tailors, sir : 
 We owe some money tohim, an't like your majesty ! 
 
 PhiL If it like him, 'would ye owed more ! Be 
 modester: — 
 And you less saucy, sir; and leave this place : 
 Your pressing-iron will make no perfect courtier. 
 Go stitch at home, and cozen your poor neighbours; 
 Shew such another pride, I'll have you whipt for't! 
 And get worse clothes ; these but proclaim your 
 
 felony. — 
 And what's your paper ? 
 
 Fi'a. I beseech you read it. 
 
 PhiL What's here ? the Count Otrante task'd 
 for a base villainy? 
 For stealing of a maid ? 
 
 Lord. The Count Otrante? 
 Is not the fellow mad, sir? 
 
 Fra. No, no, my lord ; 
 I am in my wits : I am a labouring man. 
 And we have seldom leisure to run mad : 
 We have other business to employ our heads in; 
 
232 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act III. 
 
 We have little wit to lose too. If we complain. 
 And if a heavy lord lie on our shoulders. 
 Worse than a sack of meal, and oppress our po- 
 verties, 
 We are mad straight, and whoop'd,* and tied in 
 
 fetters, 
 Able to make a horse mad, as you use us. 
 You are mad for nothing, and no man dare pro- 
 claim it; 
 In you a wildness is a noble trick. 
 And cherished in ye, and all men must love it ; 
 Oppressions of all sorts sit Hke new clothes, 
 Keatly and handsomely, upon your lordships : 
 And if we kick, when your honours spur us, 
 We are knaves and jades, and ready for the justice. 
 I am a true miller. 
 
 Phil. Then thou art a wonder. 
 
 2 Lard^ I know the man reputed for a good man, 
 An honest and substantial fellow. 
 
 Phil. He speaks sense, 
 And to the point; Greatness begets much rude- 
 ness. — 
 How dare you, sirrah, 'gainst so main a person, 
 A man of so much noble note and honour, 
 Put up this base complaint? must every peasant 
 Upon a saucy will affront great lords? 
 All fellows, miller ? 
 
 9 We are mad straight, and whop'd.] Sympson reads—- 
 We are mad straight, and whip'd. 
 
 The last editors say, " W/iop'd, in vulgar language, such as the 
 Miller might use, miglit mean beaten," This Mr Mason endea- 
 vours to reiute, and says, that " when the word hooped is used to 
 signify beaten, it is spelt without a a-, and is derived from hoop.'^ 
 Similar words, as, for instance, hubbub, are, however, frequently 
 spelt with a w in these plays. But, in the present case, 1 agree 
 with the last-mentioned commentator, that we must read whooped ; 
 that is, cried out upon, hooted, insulted with shouts. 
 12 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 233 
 
 Tra. I have my reward, sir; 
 I was told, one greatness would protect another, 
 As beams support their fellows ; now I find it. 
 If t please your grace to have me hang'd, I am 
 
 ready ; 
 'Tis but a miller, and a thief dispatched. 
 Though I steal bread, I steal no flesh to tempt me. 
 I have a wife ; an't please him to have her too, 
 With all my heart ; 'twill make my charge the less, 
 
 sir; 
 She'll hold him play a-while. I have a boy too; 
 He's able to instruct his honour's hogs, 
 Or rub his horse heels ; when it please his lord- 
 ship, 
 He may make him his slave too, or his bawd : 
 The boy is well bred, can exhort his sister. 
 For me, the prison, or the pillory, 
 To lose my goods, and have mine ears cropt off, 
 Whipt like a top, and have a paper stuck 
 Before me, for abominable honesty 
 To his own daughter I I can endure, sir ; the miller 
 Has a stout heart, tough as his toll-pin. 
 
 Phil. I suspect this shrewdly ! 
 Is it his daughter that the people call 
 The miller's fair maid ? 
 
 2 Lord. It should seem so, sir. 
 
 Phil. Be sure you be i' th' right, sirrah. 
 
 Pra. If I be i' th' wrong, sir. 
 Be sure you hang me ; I will ask no courtesy. 
 Your grace may have a daughter, (think of that, 
 
 sir) 
 She may be fair, and she may be abused too, 
 (A king is not exempted from these cases) 
 StoFn from your loving care 
 
 Phil. I do much pity him. 
 
 Fra. But Heaven forbid that she should be in 
 that venture 
 
254 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IlL 
 
 That mine is in at this hour. I'll assure your grace. 
 The lord wants a water-mill, and means to grind 
 
 with her : 
 'Would I had his stones to set ! I would fit him 
 for't. 
 Phil. Follow me, miller, andlet me talk with 
 you further ; 
 And keep this private all, upon your loyalties ! 
 To-morrow morning, though I am now beyond him, 
 And the less look'd for, I'll break my fast with the 
 
 good count. 
 No more ; away ! all to our sports ; be silent ! 
 
 [Edrufit Philippo, Franio, and Lords, 
 Vert. What grace shall I have now ? 
 Lis. Chuse thine own grace, 
 And go to dinner when thou wilt, Vertigo 5 
 W^e must needs follow the king. 
 Terzo. You heard the sentence. 
 jMoik. If you stay here, I'll send thee a shoulder 
 of venison. 
 Go home, go home ; or, if thou wilt disguise, 
 I'll help thee to a place to feed the dogs. 
 
 Pedro. Or thou shalt be special tailor to the king's 
 monkey; 
 'Tis a fine place. We cannot stay. 
 
 Vert. No money, 
 Nor no grace, gentlemen? 
 
 Terzo. 'Tis too early, tailor; 
 The king has not broke his fast yet. 
 
 Vert. 1 shall look for you 
 The next term, gentlemen. 
 
 Pedro. Thou shalt not miss us: 
 Pr'ythee provide some clothes. And, dost thou 
 
 hear, Vertigo? 
 Commend me to thy wife : I want some shirts too. 
 Vert. I have chambers for you all. 
 Lis. They are too musty ; 
 
 I 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 235 
 
 "When they are clear, we'll come. 
 
 J^ert. I must be patient 
 And provident ; I shall never get home else. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 An Apartment in the House ©/"Otrante. 
 
 Enter Otrante and Florimel. 
 
 Otr. Pr ythee be wiser, wench ! thou can'^t not 
 'scape me : 
 Let me with love and gentleness enjoy that, 
 That may be still preserved with love, and longed 
 
 for. 
 If violence lay rough hold, I shall hate thee; 
 And after I have enjoyed thy maidenhead, 
 Thou wilt appear so stale and ugly to me, 
 
 I shall despise thee, cast thee off 
 
 Flor, I pray you, sir. 
 Begin it now, and open your doors to me. 
 I do confess I am ugly ; let me go, sir ! 
 A gipsey-girl; why would your lordship touch me? 
 Fy, 'tis not noble ! I am homely bred. 
 Coarse, and unfit for you ; why do you flatter mer 
 There be young ladies many, that will love you, 
 That will dote on you : You are a handsome gentle- 
 man. 
 What will they say when once they know your 
 
 quality ? 
 " A lord, a miller? Take your toll-dish with you! 
 
236 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IIL 
 
 You that can deal with gurgeons,' and coarse flour, 
 'Tis pity you should taste what manchet means." 
 Is this fit, sir, for your repute and honour? 
 
 Otr. ni love thee still. 
 
 Flor. You cannot ; there's no sympathy 
 Between our births, our breeding, arts, conditions; 
 And where these are at difference, there's no liking. 
 This hour it may be I seem handsome to you, 
 And you are taken with variety 
 More than with beauty; to-morrow, when you 
 
 have enjoyed me, 
 Your heat and lust assuaged, and come to examine, 
 Out of a cold and penitent condition, 
 \yhat you have done, whom you have shared your 
 
 love with. 
 Made partner of your bed, how it will vex you, 
 How you will curse the devil that betrayed you! 
 And what shall become of me then ? 
 
 Ot7\ Wilt thou hear me r 
 
 Flor. As hasty as you were then to enjoy me, 
 As precious as this beauty shewed unto you. 
 You'll kick me out of doors, you'll whore, and ban 
 
 me; 
 And if I prove with child with your fair issue, 
 Give me a pension of five pound a-j^ear 
 To breed your heir withal, and so God speed me ! 
 
 Otr, I'll keep thee like a woman. 
 
 Flor. I'll keep myself, sir. 
 Keep myself honest, sir; there's the brave keeping! 
 If you will marry me 
 
 Otr. Alas, poor Florimel ! 
 
 Flor. I do confess I am too coarse and base, sir, 
 
 • Gudgeons.] Seward would read cutlinSf " a word used in tke 
 west tor greets or oats cleared of the husks ;" and Sympson, gur- 
 geons, " which is explained by the words that immediately follow." 
 We thiuk the latter right.— Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 237 
 
 To be your wife; and it is fit you scorn me ; 
 Yet such as I have crovvn'd the lives of great ones : 
 To be your whore I am sure I am too worthy, 
 (For, by my troth, sir, I am truly honest) 
 And that's an honour equal to your greatness ! 
 
 Otr. I'll give thee what thou wilt. 
 
 Flor, Tempt me no more then : 
 Give me that peace, and then you give abundance. 
 I know you do but try me; you are noble; 
 All these are but to try my modesty: 
 If you should find me easy, and once coming, 
 I see your eyes already, how they would fright me ; 
 I see your honest heart, how it would swell, 
 And burst itself into a grief against me ; 
 Your tongue in noble anger, now, even now, sir, 
 Ready to rip my loose thoughts to the bottom. 
 And lay my shame unto myself wide open. 
 You are a noble lord ; you pity poor maids. 
 The people are mistaken in your courses : 
 You, like a father, try 'em to the uttermost; 
 As they do gold, you purge the dross from them, 
 And make them shine. 
 
 Otr. This cunning cannot help you ! 
 I love you to enjoy you ; I have stol'n you, 
 To enjoy you now, not to be fool'd with circum- 
 stance. 
 Yield willingly, or else-^ 
 
 Flor. What? 
 
 Otr. I will force you : 
 I will not be delay 'd ! A poor base wench, 
 That I in courtesy make off'er to. 
 Argue with me? 
 
 Flor. Do not ; you'll lose your labour : 
 Do not, my lord ; it will become you poorly. 
 Your courtesy may do much on my nature, 
 For I am kind as you are, and as tender. 
 
238 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IIL 
 
 If you compel, I have my strengths to fly to, 
 My honest thoughts, and those are guards about 
 
 me: 
 I can cry too, and noise enough I dare make, 
 And I have curses, that will call down thunder ; 
 For all I am a poor wench, Heaven will hear me. 
 My body you may force, but my will never ! 
 And be sure I do not live, if you do force me, 
 Or have no tongue to tell your beastly story ; 
 
 For if I have, and if there be a justice 
 
 Otr. Pray ye go in here ! I'll calm myself for this 
 
 time, 
 And be your friend again. 
 
 Flo7\ I am commanded. [Exit. 
 
 Otr, You cannot 'scape me yet ; I must enjoy 
 
 you ! 
 I'll lie with thy wit, though I miss thy honesty. 
 Is this a wench for a boor's hungry bosom ? 
 A morsel for a peasant's base embraces ? 
 And must I starve, and the meat in my mouth ? 
 I'll none of that. 
 
 Enter Gerasto. 
 
 Ger. How now, my lord ? how sped you ? 
 Have you done the deed? 
 
 Otr, No, pox upon't, she's honest. 
 
 Ger, Honest! what's that? You take her bare 
 denial? 
 Was there ever wench brought up in a mill, and 
 
 honest ? 
 That were a wonder worth a chronicle. 
 Is your belief so large ? What did she say to you ? 
 
 Otr, She said her honesty was all her dowry ; 
 And preached unto me, how unfit, and homely, 
 Nay, how dishonourable, it would seem in me . 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE INIILL. 239 
 
 To act my will ; popt me i' th' mouth with mo- 
 desty — 
 Ger, What an impudent quean was that ! That's 
 
 their trick ever. 
 Otr. And then discoursed to me very learnedly, 
 What fame and loud opinion would tell of me, 
 
 A wife she touched at 
 
 Ger. Out upon her, varlet ! 
 Was she so bold? These home-spun things are 
 
 devils ! 
 They'll tell you a thousand lies, if you'll believe 
 
 'em, 
 And stand upon their honours like great ladies; 
 They'll speak unhappily too good words to cozen 
 
 you, 
 And outwardly seem saints; they'll cry down- 
 right also, 
 But 'tis for anger that you do not crush 'em. 
 Did she not talk of being with child ? 
 Otr. She touch'd at it. 
 
 Ger, The trick of an errant whore, to milk your 
 lordship ! 
 And then a pension named ? 
 
 Otr. No, no, she scorned it : 
 I offer'd any thing ; but she refused all, 
 Refused it with a confident hate. 
 
 Gcr. You thought so ; 
 You should have ta'en her then, turn'd her, and 
 
 tewed her 
 r th' strength of all her resolution, flatter'd her. 
 And shaked her stubborn will; she would have 
 
 thank'd you, 
 She would have loved you infinitely : They must 
 
 seem modest, 
 It is their parts; if you had play'd your part, sir, 
 And handled her as men do unmann'd hawks. 
 Cast her, and mail'd her up in good clean linen, 
 
240 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [ActIIL 
 
 And there have coy'd her,* you had caught her 
 
 heart-strings. 
 These tough virginities, they blow Hke white thorns, 
 In storms and tempests. 
 
 Otr. She's beyond all this ; 
 As cold, and harden'd, as the virgin crystal. 
 
 Ger. Oh, force her, force her, sir ! she longs to 
 be ravish'd ; 
 Some have no pleasure but in violence ; 
 To be torn in pieces is their paradise : 
 'Tis ordinary in our country, sir, to ravish all; 
 They will not give a penny for their sport 
 Unless they be put to't, and terribly ; 
 And then they swear they'll hang the man comes 
 
 near 'em, 
 And swear it on his lips too. 
 
 Otr. No, no forcing ; 
 I have another course, and I will follow it. 
 I command you, and do you command your fellows, 
 That when ye see her next, disgrace and scorn her; 
 I'll seem to put her out o' th' doors o' th' sudden, 
 And leave her to conjecture, then seize on her. 
 Away ! be ready straight. 
 
 Gei\ We shall not fail, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Otr. Florimel ! 
 
 Enter Florimel* 
 
 Flor. My lord. 
 
 Otr. I am sure you have now consider'd, 
 
 • And handled her as men do uumann'd hawks. 
 Cast, her, and mail'd her up in good clean linen. 
 And there have coy'd Iter.'] These are metaphors taken from 
 falconry. An unmanned hawk is one that is not yet brought to en- 
 dure company. Mailed refers to the hood used to reclaim hawks. 
 The other terms are self-evident. 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 241 
 
 And like a wise wench weigh'd a friend's displea- 
 sure, 
 Repented your proud thoughts, and cast your scorn 
 off. 
 
 Flor. My lord, I am not proud ; I was never 
 beautiful, 
 Nor scorn I any thing that's just and honest. 
 
 Otr. Come, to be short, can you love yet? You 
 told me 
 Kindness would far compel you ; I am kind to you, 
 And mean to exceed that way. 
 
 Flor. I told you too, sir, 
 As far as it agreed with modesty. 
 With honour, and with honesty, I would yield to 
 
 you. 
 Good my lord, take some other theme ; for love, 
 Alas, I never knew yet what it meant, 
 And on the sudden, sir, to run through volumes 
 Of his most mystic art, 'tis most impossible ; 
 Nay, to begin with lust, which is an heresy, 
 A foul one too ; to learn that in my childhood — 
 Oh, good my lord ! 
 
 Otr. You will not out of this song ? 
 Your modesty, and honesty ? is that all ? 
 I will not force you. 
 
 Flor. You are too noble, sir. 
 
 Otr. Nor play the childish fool, and marry you : 
 I am yet not mad. 
 
 Flor, If you did, men would imagine 
 
 Otr. Nor will I woo you at that infinite price 
 It may be you expect. 
 
 Flor. I expect your pardon. 
 And a discharge, my lord ; that's all I look for. 
 
 Otr. No, nor fall sick for love. 
 
 Flor. 'Tis a healthful year, sir. 
 
 Otr. Look ye; I'll turn ye out o' doors, and 
 scorn ye. 
 
 VOL. XIII. Q 
 
248 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act III. 
 
 Flor. Thank you, my lord. 
 
 Otr. A proud siiorhr peat* 1 found ye, 
 A fool, it may he too 
 
 Flnr. An honest woman, 
 Go'»d my lord, think me. 
 
 Otr. And a hase I leave you ; 
 So. fare you well! [Emt, 
 
 Flor, Blessing attend your lordship ! — 
 This is hot love, that vanisheth like vapours; 
 His ague's off, his hurning fits are well quench'd, 
 I thank Heaven for't. — His men ! They will not 
 force me ? 
 
 Enter Gerasto and Sermnts. 
 
 Ger. What dost thou stay for ? dost thou not 
 know the way, 
 Thou base unprovident whore? 
 
 Flor. Good words, pray ye, gentlemen! 
 
 1 Serv. Has my lord smoked ye over, good-wife 
 
 miller^ 
 Is your mill broken that you stand so useless ? 
 
 2 Serv, An impudent quean ! upon my life, she's 
 
 unwholesome ! 
 
 Some base discarded thing my lord has found her ; 
 
 He would not have turn'd her off o' th' sudden else. 
 Ge7\ Now against every sack, my honest sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 With every Smig and Smug* 
 
 * Peat] yVe now say pet, a word of endearment. So in Lin- 
 gua, or the Combat of the Five Senses : 
 
 " Tiie Gordian knot, which Alexander great 
 Did whilum cut with his all-conquerinsr sword, 
 
 Was nothing like th) busk-point, pretty peat, 
 Nor could so lair an auijury afford." 
 
 ^ Smig and Smug.] The copy of l679, and the octavo, read 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 243 
 
 Flor. I must be patient. 
 
 Ger. And every greasy guest, and sweaty*rascal, 
 For his royal hire between his fingers,^ gentlewo- 
 man ! 
 
 1 Serv. I fear thou hast given my lord the pox, 
 
 thou damned thing. 
 
 2 Sew. I have seen her in the stews. 
 Ger. The knave her father 
 
 Was bawd to her there, and kept a tipling-house. 
 You must even to't again : A modest function ! 
 
 Flor. If ye had honesty, ye would not use me 
 Thus basely, wretchedly, though your lord bid ye ; 
 But he that knows 
 
 Ger. Away, thou carted impudence, 
 You meat for every man I A little meal 
 Flung in your face, makes ye appear so proud — 
 
 Flor. This is inhuman. Let these tears persuade 
 you 
 (If ye be men) to use a poor girl better ! 
 I wrong not you, I am sure ; I call you gentlemen. 
 
 Enter Otrante. 
 
 Otr. What business is here ? Away! [E^veunt Ser- 
 vants.'] Are not you gone yet ? 
 Flor. My lord, this is not well, although you 
 hate me, 
 (For what I know not) to let your people wrong me, 
 
 Wrong me maliciously, and call me 
 
 Otr. Peace, 
 And mark me what we say, advisedly, 
 Mark, as you love that, that you call your credit ! 
 
 so, but the olflest folio, Sim and Smug : Perhaps the reader might 
 not think the various reading worth a note. — Sympson. 
 
 ' For his royal hire between his Jingers.'] Alluding to a deno- 
 mination of a coin called a royal. — Mason. 
 
244 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IIL 
 
 Yield now, or you're undone ; your good name's 
 
 i perished ; 
 Not all the world can buoy your reputation ;' 
 *Tis sunk for ever else : These people's tongues 
 
 will poison you ; 
 Though you be white as innocence, they'll taint 
 
 you; 
 They will speak terrible and hideous things ; 
 And people in this age are prone to credit ; 
 They'll let fall nothing that may brand a woman ; 
 Consider this, and then be wise and tremble 1 
 Yield yet, and yet I'll save you. 
 Flor. How? 
 Otr. I'll shew you ; 
 Their mouths I'll seal up, they shall speak no more 
 But what is honourable and honest of you, 
 And saint-like they shall worship you : They are 
 
 mine, 
 
 And what I charge them, Florimel 
 
 Flor. I am ruined ! 
 Heaven will regard me yet, they are barbarous 
 
 wretches. 
 Let me not fall, my lord ! 
 
 Otr. You shall not, Florimel : 
 Mark how I'll work your peace, and how I honour 
 
 you.— 
 Who waits there ? come all in. 
 
 Enter Gerasto and Servants, 
 
 Ger. Your pleasure, sir ? 
 
 Otr. Who dare say this sweet beauty is not hea- 
 venly ? 
 This virgin, the most pure, the most untainted, 
 The holiest thing 
 
 ♦ Can buy mi/ reputation.] Corrected by Sympson. 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 245 
 
 Ger. We know it, my dear lord : 
 We are her slaves; and that proud impudence 
 That dares disparage her, this sword, my lord 
 
 1 Serv. They are rascals base, the sons of com- 
 
 mon women, 
 That wrong this virtue, or dare own a thought 
 But fair and honourable of her : When we slight 
 
 her, 
 Hang us, or cut's in pieces; let's tug i' th* gal- 
 lies 
 
 2 Serv. Brand us for villains ! 
 
 Flor. Why, sure 1 dreanj ! these are all saints. 
 Otr. Go, and live all her slaves. 
 Ger, We are proud to do it. 
 
 {Exeunt Gerasto and Servants. 
 Otr. What think you now ? Am not I able, Flo 
 rimel, 
 Yet to preserve you? 
 
 Fbr. I am bound to your lordship ; 
 You are all honour! And, good my lord, but 
 
 grant me, 
 Until to-morrow, leave to weigh my fortunes, 
 I'll give you a free answer, perhaps a pleasing; 
 Indeed I'll do the best 1 can to satisfy you. 
 Otr. Take your good time. This kiss ! Till then, 
 farewell, sweet ! [Exeunt. 
 
246 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 ACT IV. SCENE L 
 
 Enter Antonio, Martine, and Bustopha. 
 
 Mart. By all means discharge your follower. 
 
 Aiit. If we can get him off. — Sirrah, Bustopha, 
 Thou must needs run back. 
 
 Bust. But I must not, unless you send a bier. 
 Or a lictor at my back : I do not use 
 To run from my friends. 
 
 Aiit. Well, go ! will serve turn ; I have forgot — 
 
 Bust. What, sir? 
 
 Ant, See, if I can think on't now ! 
 
 Bust. I know what 'tis now. 
 
 Ant. A pistolet of that ! 
 
 B2ist. Done ! You have forgot a device to send 
 me away. 
 You are going a-smocking perhaps ? 
 
 Mart. His own ! due, due i'faith, Antonio ; 
 The pistolet's his own ! 
 
 Ant. I confess it : 
 There 'tis ! Now if you could afford out of it 
 A reasonable excuse to mine uncle 
 
 Bust. Yes, I can; 
 But an excuse will not serve your turn ; It must be 
 A lie, a full lie; 'twill do no good else. 
 If you'll go to the price of that 
 
 Ant. Is a lie 
 Dearer than an excuse? 
 
 Bust. Oh, treble; this is 
 The price of an excuse ; but a lie is two more. 
 
I 
 
 Scene I.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 247 
 
 Look, how many foils go to a fair fall, 
 So many excuses to a full lie ; and less 
 Cannot serve your turn, let any tailor i' th' town 
 make it. 
 
 Mart. Why, 'tis reasonable; give him his price: 
 Let it be large enough now ! 
 
 Bust. I'll warrant you ; 
 Cover him all over. 
 
 Ant. I would have proof of one now. 
 
 Bust. What? stale' my invention beforehand? 
 you shall pardon me 
 For that ! Well, I'll commend you to your uncle, 
 And tell him you'll be at home at supper with him. 
 
 Ant. By no means ; I cannot come to night, man. 
 
 Bust. I know that too : You do not know a lie 
 When you see it. 
 
 Mart. Remember 
 It must stretch for all night. 
 
 Bust. I shall want stuff: 
 I doubt 'twill come to the other pistolet. 
 
 Ant. Well, lay out; you shall be no loser, sir. 
 
 Bust, It must be faced, you know; there will 
 be a yard 
 Of dissimulation at least, city-measure, 
 And cut upon an untroth or two ; lined with fables, 
 That must needs be, cold weather's coming; if it 
 
 had a galloon 
 Of hypocrisy, 'twould do well ; and hook'd together 
 
 3 Scale my invention.'\ Syrapson proposes to read stale^ which 
 the last editors rejected. The phrase is, howe\er, so common in 
 old plays that I have restored it, though the old text is certainly 
 capable of being explained. To scale, or skale. means to scatter, 
 and IS still a common phrase in the north of England ; and Bus- 
 topha may mean — '* Shall I proclaim or spread out my invention 
 before the promised reward f" The word occurs ia Shakspeare, 
 Dekkar, and other poets, their contemporaries. 
 
 8 
 
248 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 With a couple of conceits, that's necessity. 
 Well, I'll bring in my bill : I'll warrant you 
 As fair a lie by that time I have done with it, 
 As any gentleman i' th' town can swear to, 
 If he would betray his lord and master. [Ej^it. 
 
 Ant. So, so, this necessary trouble's over. 
 
 Mart. I would you had bought an excuse of him 
 Before he went; you'll want one for Ismenia. 
 
 Ant. Tush, there needs none, there's no suspicion 
 yet; 
 And I'll be arm'd before the next encounter, 
 In a fast tie with my fair Isabel. 
 
 Enter Bustopha. 
 
 Mai't. Yes, 
 You 11 find your errand is before you now. 
 
 Bust. Oh, gentlemen, look to yourselves ! ye arc 
 Men of another world else : Your enemies 
 Are upon you ! the old house of the Bellides 
 Will fall upon your heads. Signor Lisauro 
 
 Ant. Lisauro? 
 
 Bust. And don what call you him ? he's a gentle- 
 man. 
 Yet he has but a yeoman's name. Don Tarso, 
 Tarso, and a dozen at their heels. 
 
 Ant. Lisauro, Terzo, nor a dozen more. 
 Shall fright me from my ground, nor shun my path. 
 Let 'em come on in their ablest fury. 
 
 Mart. 'Tis worthily resolved; I'll stand by you, 
 sir. 
 This way ! I am thy true friend. 
 
 Bust. I'll be gone, sir. 
 That one may live to tell what is become of you. — 
 Put up, put up! Will you never learn to know a lie 
 From an ^sop's fables ? There's a taste for you now ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
Scene I.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 249 
 
 Enter Ismenia and Aminta. 
 
 Mart. Look, sir ! what time of day is it ? 
 
 Ant. I know not ; 
 My eyes go false, I dare not trust 'em now I 
 I pry'thee tell me, Martine, if thou canst, 
 Is that Ismenia or Isabella? 
 
 Mart. This is the lady ; forget not Isabella. 
 
 Ant. If this face may be borrowed and lent out, 
 If it can shift shoulders, and take other tires. 
 So, 'tis mine where'er I find it 
 
 Ism. Be sudden : 
 I cannot hold out long. [^Esit Aminta. 
 
 Mart. Believe't, she frowns. 
 
 A?it. Let it come, she cannot frown me ofFon't. 
 How prettily it wooes me to come nearer! — 
 How do you, lady, since yesterday's pains ? 
 Were you not weary ? of my faith 
 
 Ism. I think you were. 
 
 Ant. What, lady? 
 
 Ism. Weary of your faith ; it is a burthen 
 That men faint under, though they bear little of it. 
 
 Mart. So ! this is to the purpose. 
 
 Ant. You came home 
 In a fair hour, I hope. 
 
 Ism. From whence, sir? 
 
 Enter Aminta. 
 
 Ajnin. Sir, there's a gentlewoman without desires 
 To speak with you. 
 
 Ant. They were pretty homely toys ; but your 
 presence 
 Made them illustrious. 
 
 Ism. My cousin speaks to you. 
 
 Amin. A gentlewoman, sir; Isabella 
 
250 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 She names herself. 
 
 Mart, So, so ! it hits finely now. 
 
 Ant. Name yourself liow you please, speak what 
 you please, 
 I'll hear you chearfully. 
 
 Ism. You are not well ; — 
 Request her in, she may have more acquaintance 
 With his passions, and hetter cure for 'em. 
 
 Amin, She s nice in that, madam : Poor soul, it 
 seems 
 She's fearful of your displeasure. 
 
 Ism, I'll quit her 
 From that presently, and bring her in myself. [i^.tvV, 
 
 Mart. How carelessly do you behave \ourself, 
 When you should call all y.'ur best faculties 
 To counsel in you ! Ho-.v will you answer 
 The breach you made with fair Ismenia? 
 Have you forgot the retrograde vow you took 
 With her, that now is come in evidence ? 
 You'll die upon your shame; you need no more 
 Enemies of the house, but the lady now : 
 You shall have your dispatch. 
 
 Enter Ismenia habited like Juno. 
 
 Ant. Give me that face. 
 And 1 am satisfied, upon whose shoulders 
 Soe'er it grows. Juno, deliver us 
 Out of this amazement ! — Beseech you, goddess, 
 Tell us of our friends ; how does Ismenia ? 
 And how does Isabella? Both in good health, 
 I hope, as you yourself are. 
 
 Ism. 1 am at furthest [Aside. 
 
 In my counterfeit. — My Antonio, 
 I have marter against you may need pardon, 
 As i must crave of you. 
 
 Ant. Observe >ou, sir, 
 
I 
 
 Scene!.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 251 
 
 What evidence is come against me ! What think 
 
 you 
 The Hydra-headed jury will say to't? 
 
 Mart. 'Tis I am fool'd ; [Aside, 
 
 My hopes are pour'd into the bottomless tubs. 
 'Tis labour for the house of Bellides ;^ 
 I must not seem so yet. — But in sooth, lady, 
 Did you imagine your changeable face 
 Hid you from me? By this hand, I knew you! 
 
 Ant. I went by the face : And by these eyes I 
 might 
 Have been deceived. 
 
 Ism. You might indeed, Antonio; 
 For this gentleman did vow to Isabella, 
 That he it was that loved Ismenia, 
 And not Antonio. 
 
 Mart. Good ! and was not that 
 A manifest confession that I knew you ? 
 I else had been unjust unto my friend. 
 *Twas well remembered ! there I found you out ; 
 And speak your conscience now. 
 
 Ant. But did he so protest? 
 
 Ism. Yes, I vow to you, had Antonio 
 Wedded Isabella, Ismenia 
 Had not been lost; there had been her lover. 
 
 Ant, Why much good do you, friend ! take her 
 to you ; 
 I crave but one ; here have I my wish full : 
 I am glad we shall be so near neighbours. 
 
 ' My hopes are poured into the bottomless tubs, 
 ^Tis labour fur the house uJ'BeWidcs.] In this passage, iNIartine 
 alludes not only to the family of his adversaries, but to the an- 
 cient story of the Bellides, the fifty daughters of Belus, who all, 
 except Hypcrmnestra, murdered their husbands on their wedding- 
 night ; for which crime, as the poets feign, they were condenincci 
 in Tartarus to draw water eternally in sieves.— il/asoH. 
 
252 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 Mart, Take both, sir; Juno to boot, three parts 
 in one 
 Saint Hilarie bless you!' — Now opportunity, 
 Beware to meet with falsehood ! if thou canst, 
 Shun it. My friend's faith's turning from him. 
 
 Ism. Might I not justly accuse Antonio 
 For a love-wanderer? You know no other 
 But me, for another, and confess troth now ? 
 
 Ant. Here was my guide; where-eer I find this 
 face 
 I am a lover. Marry, I must not miss 
 This freckle then, (I have the number of 'em) 
 Nor this dimple; not a silk from this brow; 
 I carry the full idea ever with me. 
 If nature can so punctually parallel, 
 I may be cozened. 
 
 Ism. Well, all this is even : 
 But now, to perfect all, our love must now 
 Come to our enemies' hands, where neither part 
 Will ever give consent to it. 
 
 Ant. Most certain : 
 For which reason it must not be put to *em. 
 Have we not prevention in our own hands? 
 
 * St Hilarie bkss you.] Here I think Martine's speech should 
 end, and Antonio speak the remainder. 
 
 My friend^ s faith's turning from him, 
 
 plainly appears to be Antonio's upbraidingsto Martine.— Sezuarrf. 
 The old regulation of the speeches is right. Marline is endea- 
 vouring to prevent the gradual aberration from his friend going on 
 at the time in his mind. The pointing of the text, which is very 
 obvious, was proposed by Mason, who observes, that the words 
 " My friend's faith's turning from him," mean, that he was about 
 to lose the fidelity he owed to his friend. Hitherto the text was 
 thns ignorantly pointed : 
 
 — — Now opportunity 
 Beware to meet with falsehood, if thou canst 
 Shun it, my friend's faith's turning from hinr. 
 
 1 
 
I 
 
 Scene I.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 255 
 
 Shall I walk by the tree, desire the fruit, 
 
 Yet be so nice* to pull, 'till I ask leave 
 
 Of the churlish gardener, that will deny me ? 
 
 Ism. Oh, Antonio! 
 
 Ant. 'Tis manners to fall to 
 When grace is said. 
 
 Ism. That holy act's to come. 
 
 Mart. You may ope an oyster or two before grace. 
 
 Ant. Are there not double vows as valuable 
 And as well spoke as any friar utters? 
 Heaven has heard all. 
 
 Ism. Yes ; but stays the blessing, 
 'Till all dues be done: Heaven is not served by 
 
 halves : 
 We shall have ne'er a father's blessing here ; 
 Let us not lose the better from above ! 
 
 Ant. You take up weapons of unequal force ; 
 It shews you cowardly. Hark in your ear! 
 
 Amin. Have 1 lost all employment? 'Would this 
 proffer [^Aside. 
 
 Had been made to me, though I had paid it with 
 A reasonable penance ! 
 
 Mart. Have I past 
 All thy fore-lock. Time ? I'll stretch a long arm 
 But I'll catch hold again, (do but look back 
 Over thy shoulder) and have a pull at thee. 
 
 Ism. I hear you, sir; nor can I hear too much 
 While you speak well ; You know th' accustom'd 
 
 place 
 Of our night-parley ; if you can ascend, 
 The window shall receive you ; you may find there 
 A corrupted churchman to bid you welcome. 
 
 Ant, I would meet no other man. 
 
 * Yet be so nice to pull.} Sympson thinks we should read, Yet 
 be so nice as not to pull. So nice to pull, means to scruple pulling, 
 be so nice about it ; and is right. — Ed. 1778. 
 
254 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 Ism. Aminta, you hear this. 
 
 Amin. VVitli joy, madam, because it pleases you ; 
 It may be mine own case another time. 
 Kow you go the right way, ask the banns out; 
 Put it past father, or friends, to forbid it. 
 And then you're sure. — Sir, your Hymen taper 
 I'll light up for you; the window shall shew you 
 The way to Sestos. 
 
 Ant. I will venture drowning. 
 
 Mart. The simile holds not ; 'tis hanging rather. 
 You must ascend your castle by a ladder; 
 To the foot I'll bring you. 
 
 Ant. Leave me to climb it. 
 
 Mart. If I do turn you off? 
 
 Ant. Till night, fare well, then better. 
 
 Ism. Best it should be ;^ 
 But peevish hatred keeps back that decree. [Ej'eunt. 
 
 Mart. I never look'dso smooth as now I purpose : 
 And then, beware ! Knave is at worst of knave 
 When he smiles best, and the most seems to save. 
 
 lE:t^it, 
 
 S C E N E IL 
 
 An Apartment in Julio's House. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 Julio. My mind's unquiet; while Antonio 
 
 s Till night fare-well : then better. 
 
 Ism. Best it should be.] The pointing in the text is Mason'*. 
 Best in the last line refers to fare in the preceding one. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 255 
 
 My nephew's abroad, my heart is not at home; 
 
 Only my fears stay with me ; bad company ! 
 
 But I cannot shift *em otf. This hatred 
 
 Betwixt the house of BeUides and us 
 
 Is not fair war; 'tis civil, but uncivil. 
 
 We are near neighbours ; were of love as near, 
 
 Till a cross misconstruction ('twas no more. 
 
 In conscience) put us so far asunder: 
 
 I would 'twere reconciled ! it has lasted 
 
 Too many sun- sets. If grace might moderate, 
 
 !Man should not lose so many days of peace, 
 
 To satisfy the anger of one minute. 
 
 I could repent it heartily. I sent 
 
 The knave to attend my Antonio too, 
 
 Yet he returns no comfort to me neither. 
 
 Enter Bustopha. 
 
 Bust. No, I must not 
 
 Julio. Ha ! he is come. 
 
 Bust. I must not ; 
 Twill break his ht art to hear it. 
 
 Julio. How! there's bad tidings: ^Steps aside, 
 I must obscure and hear it; he'll not tell me, 
 For breaking of my heart; 'tis half split already. 
 
 Bust. I have spied him : Now to knock down 
 a don 
 With a lie, a silly harmless lie! 'twill be 
 Valiantly done, and nobly perhaps, 
 
 Julio. I cannot hear him now 
 
 Bust. Oh, the bloody days that we live in ! 
 The envious, malicious, deadly days 
 That we draw breath in ! 
 
 Julio. Now I hear too loud. 
 
 Bust. The children that never shall be born may 
 rue it; 
 For men, that are slain now, might have lived 
 
256 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 To have got children, that might have cursed 
 Their fatliers. 
 
 Julio. Oh, my posterity is ruined ! 
 
 Bust, Oh, sweet Antonio ! 
 
 Julio. Oh, dear Antonio ! 
 
 Bust. Yet it was nobly done of both parts : 
 When he and Lisauro met 
 
 Julio. Oh, death has parted 'em ! 
 
 Bust. " Welcome, my mortal foe," says one ! 
 " Welcome, 
 My deadly enemy," says th' other ! Off go their 
 
 doublets, 
 They in their shirts, and their swords stark naked ; 
 Here lies Antonio, here lies Lisauro; 
 He comes upon him with an embi^occado, 
 That he puts by with Sipunfa reversa ; Lisauro 
 Recoils me two paces, and some six inches back, 
 Takes his career, and then, oh 
 
 Julio. Oh! 
 
 Bust. Runs Antonio 
 Quite through 
 
 Julio. Oh, villain ! 
 
 Bust, Quite through between the arm and the 
 body; 
 So that he had no hurt at that bout. 
 
 Julio. Goodness be praised ! 
 
 Bust, But then, at next encounter. 
 He fetches me up Lisauro ; Lisauro 
 Makes out a lunge at him, which he thinking 
 To be z.passadOi Antonio's foot 
 Slipping down, oh, down 
 
 Julio. Oh, now thou art lost ! 
 
 Bust. Oh, but the quality of the thing, both 
 gentlemen, 
 Both Spanish Christians : Yet one man to shed — 
 
 Julio. Say his enemies' blood. 
 
 Bust. His hair, may come 
 By divers casualties, though he never go 
 
» 
 
 Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 257 
 
 Into the field with his foe; but a man 
 To lose nine ounces and two drams of blood 
 At one wound, thirteen and a scruple at another, 
 And to live till he die in cold blood — Yet the sur- 
 geon, 
 That cur'd him, said \f pia mater had not 
 Been perished, he had been a lives man 
 Till this day. 
 
 Julio. There he concludes he is gone. 
 
 Bust. But all this is nothing: Now I come to 
 
 the point 
 
 Julio. Ay the point, that's deadly ; the ancient 
 blow 
 Over the buckler ne'er went half so deep. 
 
 Bust. Yet pity bids me keep in my charity ; 
 For me to pull an old man's ears from his head 
 With telling of a tale — Oh, foul tale! No; be silent, 
 
 tale. 
 Furthermore, there is the charge of burial ; 
 Every one will cry blacks, blacks,^ that had 
 But the least finger dipt in his blood, though ten 
 Degrees removed when it was done. Moreover, 
 The surgeon (that made an end of him) will be 
 
 paid ; 
 Sugar-plums and sweet-breads ! yet, I say, 
 The man may recover again, and die in his bed. 
 Julio. What motley stuff is this ? Sirrah, speak 
 truth, 
 What hath befallen my dear Antonio ? 
 Restrain your pity in concealing it ! 
 Tell me the danger full ; take off your care 
 Of my receiving it; kill me that way, 
 
 ' Blacis."] The common term for mourning clothes at tLat time, 
 So in A Mad World my Masters, by Middleton: 
 
 " I'll pay him again when he dies in so many blacks." 
 VOL. XIII. R 
 
S58 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 I'll forgive my death ! what thou keep'st back from 
 
 truth 
 Thou shalt speak in pain ; do not look to find 
 A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke, 
 Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain, 
 As a worm might sup on; dispatch, or be dis- 
 patched ! 
 
 Bust. Alas, sir, I know nothing, but that Antonio 
 Is a man of God's making to this hour; 
 'Tis not two since I left him so. 
 
 Julio. Where didst thou leave him? 
 
 Bust, In the same clothes he had on when he 
 went from you. 
 
 Julio. Does he live ? 
 
 Bust. I saw him drink. 
 
 Julio. Is he not wounded ? 
 
 Bust. He may have a cut i' th' leg by this time : 
 for Don Martine 
 And he were at whole slashes. 
 
 Julio. Met he not with Lisauro? 
 
 Bicst. I do not know her. 
 
 Julio. Her ? Lisauro is a man, as he is. 
 
 Bust. I saw 
 Ne'er a man like him. 
 
 Julio, Didst thou not discourse 
 A fight betwixt Antonio and Lisauro? 
 
 Bust. Ay, to myself; 
 I hope a man may give himself the lie 
 If it please him. 
 
 Julio. Didst thou lie then ? 
 
 Bust. As sure as you live now. 
 
 Julio. I live 
 The happier by it. When will he return? 
 
 Bust. That he sent me to tell you ; within these 
 Ten days at furthest. 
 
 Julio. Ten days ? he's not wont 
 To be absent two. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 259 
 
 Bust. Nor I think he will not ; 
 He said he would be at home to-morrow ; but I love 
 To speak within my compass. 
 
 Julio. You shall speak within mine, sir, now. 
 Within there ! 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Take this fellow into custody ! 
 Keep him safe, I charge you ! 
 
 Bust. Safe ? Do you hear ? take notice 
 What plight you find me in ; if there want but a 
 
 collop. 
 Or a steak o' me, look to't ! 
 
 Julio. If my nephew 
 Return not in his health to-morrow, thou goest 
 To the rack. 
 
 Bust, Let me go to th' manger first; 
 I had rather eat oats than hay. 
 
 [Eiit, with Servants. 
 
 Enter Bell ides xvith a Letter. 
 
 Bel. By your leave, sir. 
 
 Julio. For aught I knowyet, you are welcome, sir. 
 
 Bel. Read that, and tell me so ; or if thy spec- 
 tacles 
 Be not easy, keep thy nose unsaddled, and ope 
 Thine ears : I can speak thee the contents ; I made 
 
 'em. 
 'TIS a challenge, a fair one, I'll maintain't : 
 I scorn to hire my second to deliver't, 
 I bring't myself. Dost know me, Julio ? 
 
 Julio. Bellides? 
 
 Bel. Yes ; is not thy hair on end now? 
 
 Julio. Somewhat amazed at thy rash hardiness : 
 How durst thou come so near thine enemy ? 
 
260 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 Bel. Durst? 
 I dare come nearer : Tliou art a fool, Julio. 
 
 Julio. Take it home to thee, with a knave to boot. 
 
 Bel. Knave to thy teeth again ! and all that's 
 quit. 
 Give me not a fool more than I give thee, 
 Or. if thou dost, look to hear on't again. 
 
 Julio. What an encounter's this ! 
 
 Bel. A noble one ! 
 My hand is to my words ; thou hast it there : 
 There I do challenge thee, if thou dar'st, be 
 Good friends with me; or I'll proclaim thee coward. 
 
 Julio. Be friends with thee ? 
 
 Bel. I'll shew thee reasons for't : 
 A pair of old coxcombs, (now we go together) 
 Such as should stand examples of discretion. 
 The rules of grammar to unwilling youth 
 To take out lessons by ; we, that should check 
 And quench the raging fire in others' bloods. 
 We strike the battle to destruction ? 
 Read 'em the black art ? and make 'em believe 
 It is divinity ? Heathens, are we not? 
 Speak thy conscience ; how hast thou slept this 
 
 month, 
 Since this fiend haunted us ? 
 
 Julio. Sure some good angel 
 Was with us both last night ! Speak thou truth now; 
 Was it not last night's motion ? 
 
 BeL Dost not think 
 I would not lay hold of it at first proffer, 
 Should I ne'er sleep again ? 
 
 Julio. Take not all from me ; 
 I'll tell the doctrine of my vision. 
 " Say that Antonio, best of thy blood. 
 Or any one, the least allied to thee, 
 Should be the prey unto Lisauro's sword, 
 Or any of the house of JBellides" 
 
) 
 
 Sc£NE II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 261 
 
 Bel. Mine was the just inversion ; on, on ! 
 
 Julio. " How would mine eyes have emptied 
 thee in sorrow, 
 And left the conduit* of Nature dry ! 
 Thy hands have turn'd rebeUious to the balls, 
 And broke the glasses ; with thine own curses 
 Have torn thy soul, left thee a statue 
 To propagate thy next posterity !" 
 
 Bel. " Yes, and thou causer !" so it said to me, 
 *' They fight but your mischiefs; the young men 
 
 u^ere friends, 
 As is the life and blood coagulate, 
 And curded in one body ; but this is yours, 
 An inheritance that you have gather'd for 'em, 
 A legacy of blood to kill each other 
 Throughout your generations." Was't not so? 
 
 Julio. Word for word. 
 
 Bel, Nay, I can go farther yet. 
 
 Julio. 'Tis far enough : Let us atone it here, 
 And in a reconciled circle fold 
 Our friendship new again. 
 
 Bel. The sign's in Gemini ; 
 An auspicious house ! 'thas join'd both ours again. 
 
 Julio. You cannot proclaim me coward now, Don 
 Bellides. 
 
 Bel. No ; thou'rt a valiant fellow ; so am I ; 
 I'll fight with thee at this hug, to the last leg 
 I have to stand on, or breath or life left. 
 
 Julio. This is the salt unto humanity, 
 And keeps it sweet. 
 
 Bel. Love ! oh, life stinks without it. — 
 I can tell you news. 
 
 Julio. Good has long been wanting. 
 
 * Condiment. 1 So the first folio reads, which is, however, utter 
 nonsense, though the metre is better than in the second, from which 
 the text is taken. 
 
262 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 Bel. I do suspect, and I have some proof on't, 
 (So far as a love-epistle comes to) 
 That Antonio (your nephew) and my daughter 
 Ismenia, are very good friends before us. 
 
 Jitlio. That were a double wall about our houses, 
 Which I could wish were builded. 
 
 Bel, I had it from 
 Antonio's intimate, Don Martine : 
 And yet, methought, it was no friendly part 
 To shew it me. 
 
 Julio, Perhaps 'twas his consent : 
 Lovers have policies as well as statesmen ; 
 They look not always at the mark they aim at. 
 
 Bel, We'll take up cudgels, and have one bout 
 with 'em. 
 They shall know nothing of this union ; 
 And, till they find themselves most desperate, 
 Succour shall never see 'em. 
 
 Julio. I'll take your part, sir. 
 
 Bel. It grows late ; there's a happy day past us. 
 
 Julio, The example, I hope, to all behind it. 
 
 lEj^eunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Night, Before the House of BeWidGS, 
 
 Am INT A appears at the Window with a Taper, 
 
 Amin, Srand fair, hghtof love!* which epithet 
 and place 
 
 s Idght of /ot'c] Theobald is for reading, light /ove.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 I 
 
Scene IIL] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 263 
 
 Adds to thee honour, to me it would be shame. 
 We must be weight in love, no grain too light; 
 Thou art the land-mark ; but if Love be blind, 
 (As many that can see have so reported) 
 What benefit canst thou be to his darkness ? 
 Love is a jewel (some say) inestimable,* 
 But hung at the ear, deprives our own sight, 
 And so it shines to others, not ourselves. 
 I speak my skill ; I have only heard on't, 
 But I could wish a nearer document. 
 Alas, the ignorant desire to know ! 
 
 Some say, Love's but a toy, and with a but 
 
 Now, methinks, I should love it ne'er the worse ; 
 
 A toy is harmless sure, and may be play'd with ; 
 
 It seldom goes without his adjunct, pretty, 
 
 " A pretty toy," we say ; 'tis metre to joy too.' 
 
 Well, here may be a mad night yet, for all this ! 
 
 Here's a priest ready, and a lady ready ; 
 
 A chamber ready, and a bed ready ; 
 
 Theobald might have known that light of love was the name of 
 a tune alluded to in the Chances and other plays of our authors, 
 as well as in Shakspeare's. 
 
 * Love is aje-wel {some say) inestimable. 
 But hung at the ear, deprives our own sight."] What the poets 
 designed to say seems to be this, viz. That the jexvel of love being 
 hung at the ear, is unseen by them that affixed it there ; but as this 
 is not possible to be made of the words as they stand, I imagine 
 the line might originally run thus : 
 
 Love is a jewel ■ 
 
 But hung at th' ear is deprived our own sight,— Sympson. 
 
 We think the poets designed to compare love to a jewel, whose 
 lustre is seen by the rest of the world, and not by the ivearer. The 
 mode of phrase in the text is peculiar, but we believe genuine ; 
 and what editor has a right to alter it ? — Ed. 1778. 
 
 The last editors are clearly right. 
 
 ' 'tis metre iojoy too.'\ Metre is here somewhat singular- 
 ly used for rhyme. 
 
264 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 Tis then but making unready,^ and that's soon 
 
 done. 
 My lady is my cousin ; I myself; 
 Which is nearest then ? My desires are mine ; 
 Say they be hers too, is't a hanging matter? 
 It may be ventured in a worser cause. 
 I must go question with my conscience : 
 I have the word ; centinel, do thou stand ; 
 Thou shalt not need to call, I'll be at hand. 
 
 Enter below, Antonio and Martine. 
 
 Ant, Are we not dogg'd behind us, think'st thou, 
 friend ? 
 
 Mart. I heard not one bark, sir. 
 
 Ant. There are that bite 
 And bark not, man ; methought I spied two fellows, 
 That through two streets together walk'd aloof, 
 And wore their eyes suspiciously upon us. 
 
 Mart, Your jealousy, nothing else ; or such per- 
 haps 
 As are afraid as much of us ; who knows 
 But about the like business ? but, for your fears' 
 
 sake, 
 rU advise and entreat one courtesy. 
 
 Ant. What is that, friend r 
 
 Mart. I will not be denied, sir; 
 Change your upper garments with me. 
 
 Ant. It needs not. 
 
 Mart, I think so too ; but I will have it so, 
 If you dare trust me with the better, sir. 
 
 Ant. Nay then 
 
 Mart. If there should be danger towards, 
 
 • Making unready^ In the language of the time this meant un- 
 dressing. 
 
Scene III.] THE MAID IN THE IMILL. 265 
 
 There will be the main mark, I'm sure. 
 
 Jrif. Here thou takest from me 
 
 Mart. Tush ! the general 
 Must be safe, howe'er the battle goes. 
 
 [Thei/ change cloaks. 
 See you the beacon yonder ? 
 
 Ant. Yes ; we are near shore. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen, with weapons drawn; they set 
 upon Martine; Antonio pursues them out in 
 rescue o/' Martine. 
 
 Mart. Come, land, land ! you must clamber by 
 the cliff; 
 Here are no stairs to rise by. 
 Ant. Ay ! are you there ? [Fight, and e.vcunt. 
 
 Enter Amint A above, and Martine, returned again, 
 ascends, 
 
 Amin. Antonio? 
 
 Mart. Yes. Ismenia? 
 
 Amin. Thine own. 
 
 Mart. Quench the light ; thine eyes are guides 
 
 illustrious. 
 Amin. 'Tis necessary. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Your legs have saved your lives,^ whoe'er 
 ye are. 
 Friend ! Martine ! where art thou ? not hurt, I hope ! 
 Sure I was farthest i' th' pursuit of 'em. 
 My pleasures are forgotten through my fears ! 
 
 8 Mart. Your legs have saved, Sac] The error of giving this speech 
 to Martine corrected by Sympson.— Ed, 1775. 
 
266 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act IV. 
 
 The light's extinct! it was discreetly done ; 
 They could not but have notice of the broil, 
 And, fearing that might call up company, 
 Have carefully prevented, and closed up : 
 I do commend the heed. Oh, but my friend, 
 I fear he's hurt ! — Friend ! friend ! It cannot be 
 So mortal, that I should lose thee quite, friend ! 
 A groan! any thing that may discover thee ! 
 Thou art not sunk so far, but I might hear thee. 
 I'll lay mine ear as low as thou canst fall : 
 Friend ! Don Martine ! I must answer for thee, 
 ('Twas in my cause thou fell'st) if thou be'st down. 
 Such dangers stand betwixt us and our joys, 
 That, should we forethink ere we undertake. 
 We'd sit at home, and save. — What a night's here ! 
 Purposed for so much joy, and now disposed 
 To so much wretchedness ! I shall not rest in*t ! 
 If I had all my pleasures there within, 
 I should not entertain 'em with a smile. 
 Good-night to you ! Mine will be black and sad ; 
 A friend cannot, a woman may be had.' [E.vit, 
 
 ' A friend cannot, a ivoman may he bad.] The alteration in the 
 text was made by Sympson silently, and, though rejected by the 
 last editors, has been retained as the preferable reading. 
 
 I 
 
Act v.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 267 
 
 ACT V. SCENE L 
 
 A Roo7n ifi the House of Bellides. 
 
 Enter Ismenia and Aminta. 
 
 Ism. Oh, thou false 
 
 Amin. Do your daring'st! he's mine own. 
 Soul and body mine, church and chamber mine, 
 Totally mine. 
 
 Ism. Darest thou face thy falsehood ? 
 
 Amin. Shall 1 not give a welcome to my wishes, 
 Come home so sweetly ? Farewell, your company. 
 Till you be calmer, woman ! \Exit, 
 
 Ism. Oh, what a heap 
 Of misery has one night brought with it ! 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant, Where is he? Do you turn your shamt 
 from me ? 
 You're a blind adulteress ! you know you are. 
 
 Ism, How's that, Antonio ? 
 
 Ant. Till I have vengeance, 
 Your sin's not pardonable ! I will have him, 
 If hell hide him not ! you have had your last of 
 him. \_Ej:it. 
 
 Ism. What did he speak ? I understood him not ! 
 He call'd me a foul name; it was not mine; 
 He took me for another, sure. 
 
268 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 Enter Bellides. 
 
 Bel. Ha ! are you there ? 
 Where is your sweetheart ? I have found you, trai- 
 tor 
 To my house ! wilt league with mine enemy ? 
 You'll shed his blood, you'll say : Ha ! will you so? 
 And fight with your heels upwards ? No, minion; 
 I have a husband for you, (since you're so rank) 
 And such a husband as thou shalt like him, 
 Whether thou wilt or no : Antonio ? 
 
 Ism. It thunders with the storm now. 
 
 Bel. And to-night 
 I'll have it dispatch'd; I'll make it sure, I ! 
 By to-morrow this time thy maidenhead 
 Shall not be worth a chequin,* if it were 
 Knock'd at an out-cry. Go ! I'll ha' you before me : 
 Shough, shough ! up to your coop, pea-hen ! 
 
 • Shall not be worth a chicken.] In (his pjace the unknown gen- 
 tleman reads thus, 
 
 " 'worth a chequin, 
 
 and adds, that Sir Isaac Newton, in his tables of gold and silver 
 coins, says, sequin, chequin, or zacheen, is a gold Venetian coin, 
 worth nine and sixpence. It may be so, but yet my friend will, I 
 hope, pardon me if I have not altered the line according to his di- 
 rection ; for I am not sure, that there is not a double entendre 
 couched under this word, which will be lost by his proposed cor- 
 rection of the text.— Sj/mpson. 
 
 We apprehend the old man's meaning is, " Thy maidenhead 
 shall not be worth a chicken, which (on a great demand for viands) 
 has been killed without fatting.** — Ed 1778. 
 
 There is not the least doubt that Sympson's unknown gentle- 
 man is right, and that the Italian coin chequin is aliudrd to. The 
 word outcry, which anciently meant an auction, is sufficient to 
 prove it. Besides, the word is spelt with a capital letter in the 
 iolio, and I have frequently met with it in old piays in a corrupt 
 state. The explanation of the last editors is worth preserving for 
 its ludicrous absurdity. 
 
Scene H.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 269 
 
 Ism. Then I'll try my wings. {Exit, 
 
 Bel. Ay ? are you good at that ? stop, stop, thief! 
 
 stop there ! \^Exit, 
 
 SCENE It. 
 
 An Apartment in the House o/"Otrante. 
 
 r 
 
 Enter Oirante, a7id Florimel singing, 
 
 S O NG. 
 
 Flor. Now hai'ing leisure, and a happy u'i?2d, 
 
 Tliou mayst at pleasure cause the stones to grind; 
 Sails spread, and grist here ready to be ground ; 
 Fy, stand not idly, but let the mill go round ! 
 
 Otr. Why dost thou sing and dance thus ? why 
 so merry ? 
 Why dost thou look so wantonly upon me? 
 And kiss my hands ? 
 
 Flor. If I were high enough, 
 I would kiss your lips too. 
 
 Otr. Do, this is some kindness ; 
 This tastes of willingness ; nay, you may kiss still. 
 But why o' th' sudden now does the fit take you, 
 Unoffer'd, or uncompell'd ? why these sweet cur- 
 tesies ? 
 Even now you would have blush'd to death to kiss 
 thus : 
 
270 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 Pr'y thee, let me be prepared to meet thy kindness ! 
 I shall be unfurnish'd else to hold thee play, wench: 
 Stay now a little, and delay your blessings ! 
 If this be love, methinks it is too violent : 
 If you repent you of your strictness to me, 
 It is so sudden, it wants circumstance. 
 Flor. Fy, how dull ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 How long shall I pine for love ? 
 
 How long shall I sue m vain ? 
 How long, like the turtle-dove. 
 
 Shall I lieavily thus complain ? 
 Shall the sails of my love stand still? 
 
 Shall the grist of my hopes be unground ? 
 Ohfy, ohfy, ohjyl 
 
 Let the mill^ Itt the mill go round! 
 
 Otr. Pr'ythee be calm a little ! 
 Thou makest me wonder ; thou that wert so strange. 
 And read such pious rules to my behaviour 
 But yesternight ; thou that wert made of modesty, 
 Shouldst in a few short minutes turn thus despe- 
 rate ! 
 
 Flor, You are too cold. 
 
 Otr. I do confess I freeze now ! 
 I am another thing all over me. 
 It is my part to woo, not to be courted. 
 Unfold this riddle ; 'tis to me a wonder, 
 That now o' th' instant, ere I can expect. 
 Ere I can turn my thoughts, and think upon 
 A separation of your honest carriage 
 From the desires of youth, thus wantonly, 
 Thus beyond expectation 
 
 Flor, I will tell you, 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 271 
 
 And tell you seriously, why I appear thus. 
 To hold you no more ignorant and blinded : 
 I have no modesty ; I am truly wanton ; 
 I am that you look for, sir : Now, come up roundly 1 
 If my strict face and counterfeited state! iness' 
 Could have won on you, I had caught you that way, 
 And you should ne'er have come to have known 
 
 who hurt you. 
 Pr'ythee, sweet count, be more familiar with me ! 
 However we are open in our natures, 
 And apt to more desires than you dare meet with, 
 Yet we affect to lay the gloss of good on't. 
 I saw you touch'd not at the bait of chastity, 
 And that it grew distasteful to your palate 
 To appear so holy ; therefore I take my true shape : 
 Is your bed ready, sir ? you shall quickly find me. 
 
 SONG 
 
 On the bed Fll throw thee, throw thee down ; 
 
 Down being laid, 
 
 Shall we be afraid 
 To try the rites that belong to love ? 
 Noy 710 ; there Fit woo thee with a crown. 
 
 Crown our desires ; 
 
 Kindle thejires, 
 JVhen lo'ce requires we should wanton prove. 
 Well kiss, we'll sport, we'll laugh, we'll play ; 
 If thou coynest short, for thee I'll stay ; 
 If thou unskilful art, on the ground * 
 /'// kindly teach — we'll have the mill go round. 
 
 ^ Staledness,"] So the first folio. The text is from the second. 
 
 * If thou unskilful art, the groimd.] So the first folio. The text 
 is from the secondt 
 
272 THE MAID IN THE IVIILL. [Act V. 
 
 Otr. Are you no maid ? 
 Flor* Alas, my lord, no certain ; 
 I am sorry you're so innocent to think so. 
 Is this an age for silly maids to thrive in ? 
 It is so long too since I lost it, sir, 
 That I have no belief I ever was one : 
 What should you do with maidenheads? you hate 
 
 'em ; 
 They are peevish, pettish things, that hold no 
 
 game up, 
 No pleasure neither ; th y are sport for surgeons ; 
 I'll warrant you I'll fit you beyond maidenhead : 
 A fair and easy way men travel right in. 
 And with delight, discourse, and twenty pleasures. 
 They enjoy their journey ; madmen creep through 
 
 hedges. 
 Otr. I am metamorphosed ! Why do you appear, 
 I conjure you, beyond belief thus wanton? 
 
 Flor. Because I would give you pleasure beyond 
 
 belief, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Think me still in my father s mill, 
 JVhere I have oft hecnfound-a 
 Thrown on my backy 
 On a well-fill" d sack, 
 While the mill has still gone round-a : 
 Pr'ythee, sirrah, try thy skill ; 
 And again let the mill go roimd-a ! 
 
 Otr. Then you have traded ? 
 Flor. Traded ? how should I know else how to 
 live, sir, 
 And how to satisfy such lords as you are, 
 Our best guests and our richest ? 
 Otr. How I shake now ! 
 
 6 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 273 
 
 You take no base men ? 
 
 Fbr. Any that will offer ; 
 All manner of men, and all religions, sir, 
 We touch at in our time ; all states and ages, 
 We exempt none. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The young one, the old one, 
 Thefearfuly the bold one^ 
 
 The lame one, though ne'er so unsound, 
 The Jew or the Turk, 
 Have leave for to work, 
 
 The whilst that the mill goes round. 
 
 Otr. You are a common thing then ? 
 
 Flor. No matter, since you have your private 
 pleasure, 
 And have it by an artist excellent. 
 Whether I am thus, or thus ; your men can tell you. 
 
 Otr, My men ? defend me ! how I freeze toge- 
 ther, 
 And am on ice ! Do I bite at such an orange ? 
 After my men ? I am preferr'd ! 
 
 Flor. Why stay you ? 
 Why do we talk, my lord, and lose our time ? 
 Pleasure was made for lips, and sweet embraces ; 
 Let lawyers use their tongues ! — Pardon me, Mo- 
 desty ! [Apart » 
 This desperate way must help ; or I am miserable. 
 
 Otr. She turns, and wipes her face ; she weeps 
 for certain ! 
 Some new way now ; she cannot be thus beastly ; 
 She is too excellent fair to be thus impudent : 
 She knows the elements of common looseness ; 
 
 VOL. XIII. s 
 
274 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 The art of lewdness' — that, that, that — How now, 
 sir? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The king, an't please your lordship, is 
 alighted 
 Close at the gate. 
 
 Otr. The king ? 
 
 Serv. And calls for you, sir ; 
 Means to breakfast here too. 
 
 Flor. Then I am happy ! 
 
 Otr. Stolen so suddenly ? Go, lock her up ; 
 Lock her up where the courtiers may not see her; 
 Lock her up closely, sirrah, in my closet. 
 
 Serv. I will, my lord. What, does she yield yet ? 
 
 Otr. Peace ! 
 She's either a damn'd devil, or an angel. — 
 No noise, upon your life, dame, but all silence ! 
 [Exeunt Florimel and Servant. 
 
 Enter Kingj Lords, Vertigo, Lisauro, aiidTERzo. 
 
 Otr. Your majesty heaps too much honour on me, 
 
 * The art of lewdness,: that, that, that, &c.] However Flori- 
 mel's language shews tliat she had heard of the elements at least 
 of looseness, yet 1 think Otrante should say, that he did not be- 
 lieve she knew the practical part of it, and so I would read, 
 
 Not th* art of lewdness 
 
 Or rather thus. 
 
 Not th' act of lewdness. 
 
 Art and act being often confounded both in Shakspeare and our 
 au th rs. — Sewa rd. 
 
 Seward's proposition is very specious, but not absolutely neces- 
 sary, if the pointing is rectified as in "the text. Otrante means to 
 say, that he believes " she knows the elements of lewdness, but not 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 27i 
 
 With such dehght to view each several corner 
 Of a rude pile ; there's no proportion in't, sir. 
 
 Phil. Methinks 'tis handsome, and the rooms 
 along 
 Are neat, and well contrived ; the gallery 
 Stands pleasantly and sweet. What rooms are these ? 
 
 Otr. They are sluttish ones. 
 
 Phil, Nay, I must see. 
 
 Otr. Pray you do, sir : 
 They are lodging-chambers o'er a homely garden. 
 
 Phil. Fit still, and handsome ; very well ! — and 
 those ? 
 
 Otr. Those lead to the other side o' th' house, 
 an't like you. 
 
 Phil. Let me see those. 
 
 Otr. You may ; the doors are open. — 
 What should this view mean ? I am half suspici- 
 ous. \_Aside, 
 
 Phil, This little room ? 
 
 Otr. Tis mean ; a place for trash, sir, 
 For rubbish of the house. 
 
 Phil. 1 would see this too ; 
 I will see all. 
 
 Otr. I beseech your majesty ! 
 The savour of it, and the coarse appearance 
 
 Phil. 'Tis not so bad ; you would not otFend 
 your house with it : 
 Come, let me see. 
 
 Otr. 'Faith, sir 
 
 Phil, rfaith, I will see. 
 
 Otr. My groom has the key, sir ; and 'tis ten to 
 one 
 
 Phil. But I will see it. — Force the lock, my lords 
 
 the act," without finishing the sentence. Ar( certainly means act 
 in the present case, as it does in many other places of these plays* 
 See vol. II. p. 406, 111. U2, VI. 468, VII. 129- 
 
276 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [ActV. 
 
 There be smiths enough to mend it : — I perceive 
 You keep some rare things here, you would not 
 shew, sir. 
 
 Flo RIM EL discovered, 
 
 Terzo. Here's a fair maid indeed! 
 
 Phil. By my faith is she ; 
 A handsome girl ! — Come forward ! do not fear, 
 
 wench. — 
 Ay, marry, here's a treasure worth concealing. 
 Call in the miller. 
 
 Otr* Then I am discovered ! — 
 I'll confess all before the miller comes, sir : 
 'Twas but intention ; from all act I am clear yet. 
 
 Enter Franio. 
 
 Phil. Is this your daughter ? 
 Fra. Yes, an't please your highness, 
 This is the shape of her ; for her substance, sir, 
 Whether she be now honourable or dishonourable, 
 Whether she be a white rose, or a canker, is the 
 
 question. 
 I thank my lord, he made bold with my filly : 
 If she be for your pace, you had best preserve her, 
 
 sir; 
 She's tender-mouth'd ; let her be broken hand- 
 somely ! 
 Phil. Maid, were you stol'n ? 
 Flor. I went not willingly, 
 An't please your grace ; I was ne'er bred so boldly. 
 Phil. How has he used you ? 
 Flor. Yet, sir, very nobly. 
 Phil. Be sure you tell truth. — And be sure, my 
 lord, 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 277 
 
 You have not wrongVl her ; if you have, I tell you, 
 You have lost me, and yourself too ! — Speak again, 
 wench. 
 
 Flor. He has not vvrong'd me, sir ; I am yet a 
 maid : 
 By all that's white and innocent, I am, sir ! 
 Only I suffer'd under strong temptations, 
 The heat of youth ; but Heaven deliver'd me. — 
 My lord, I am no whore, for all I feign 'd it, 
 And feign'd it cunningly, and made you loath me : 
 'Twas time to out-do you ; 1 had been robb'd else, 
 I had been miserable ; but I forgive you. 
 
 Phil. What recompense for this ? 
 
 Otr. A great one, sir ; 
 First a repentance, and a hearty one. — 
 Forgive me, sweet ! 
 
 F/or. I do, my lord. 
 
 Otr. I thank you ! 
 The next, take this, and these ; all I have, Flori- 
 mel ! [Offers jeivels, 
 
 Flor. No, good my lord, these often corrupt 
 maidens ; 
 I dare not touch at these, they are lime for virgins ; 
 But if you'll give me 
 
 Otr. Any thing in my power. 
 Or in my purchase. 
 
 Fbr. Take heed, noble sir ! 
 You'll make me a bold asker. 
 
 Otr, Ask me freely. 
 
 Flor. Ask you ? I do ask you, and I deserve you ; 
 I have kept you from a crying sin would damn you 
 To men and time ; I have preserved your credit. 
 That would have died to all posterity : 
 Curses of maids shall never now afflict you, 
 Nor parents' bitter tears make your name barren. 
 If he deserves well that redeems his country, 
 
278 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 And as a patriot be remember'd nobly, 
 
 Nay, set the highest ; may not I be worthy 
 
 To be your friend, that have preserved yourhonour? 
 
 Otr. You are, and thus I take you ; thus I seal you 
 Mine own, and only mine. 
 
 Phil. Count, she deserves you : 
 And let it be my happiness to give you ! 
 
 [^Gives her to Otrante. 
 I have given a virtuous maid now, I dare say it; 
 *Tis more tlian blood. I'll pay her portion, sir j 
 And it shall be worthy you. 
 
 Fra. ril sell my mill, 
 I'll pay some too ! I'll pay the fiddlers, 
 And we'll have all i' th' country at this wedding. 
 Praylet megive her too :~Here, my lord, take her, 
 Take her with all my heart, and kiss her freely. 
 'Would I could give you all this hand has stol'n 
 
 too, 
 In portion with her ! 'twould make her a little 
 
 whiter. 
 The wind blows fair now ; get me a young miller ! 
 
 Vert. She must have new clothes. 
 
 Terzo. Yes. 
 
 Vert. Yes, marry must she. — 
 If t please ye, madam, let me see the state of your 
 
 body; 
 I'll fit you instantly. 
 
 Phil. Art not thou gone yet I 
 
 Vert. An't please your grace, a gown, a hand- 
 some gown now, 
 An orient gown 
 
 Phil. Nay, take thy pleasure of her. 
 
 Vert. Of cloth of tissue — I can fit you, madam : 
 (IVly lords, stand out o' th' light !) a curious body ! 
 The neatest body in Spain this day — with em- 
 broider'd flowers, 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 2,79 
 
 A clinquant* petticoat of some rich stuff, 
 To catch the eye : 1 have a thousand fashions. 
 Oh, sleeve, oh, sleeve ! I'll study all night, madam, 
 To magnify your sleeve. 
 
 Ot7\ Do, superstitious tailor, 
 When you have more time. 
 
 Flor. Make me no more than woman, and I am 
 thine. 
 
 Ot7\ Sir, happily my wardrobe, with your help, 
 May fit her instantly ; will you try her r 
 
 Vert. If I fit her not, your wardrobe cannot : 
 But if the fashion be not there, you mar her. 
 
 Enter Antonio, Constable, and Officers, 
 
 Ant. Is my offence so great, ere I be convict, 
 To be torn with rascals? If it be law. 
 Let 'em be wild horses rather than these. 
 
 Phil. What's that ? 
 
 Con. This is a man suspected of murder, if it 
 please your grace. 
 
 Phil. It pleases me not, friend. But who sus- 
 pects him ? 
 
 Con. We that are your highness' extraordinary 
 officers, we that have taken our oaths to maintain 
 you in peace. 
 
 Phil. 'Twill be a great charge to you. 
 
 Con. 'Tis a great charge indeed ; but then we 
 call our neighbours to help us. This gentleman 
 
 * Clinquant.^ That is, glittering, shining. So in Henry VIII.— 
 
 — ** To-day the French, 
 
 All clinquant^ all in gold, like heathen gods, 
 
 Shone down the English." 
 
 Again in Brome's Sparagas Garden : — "These are courtiers cliri' 
 quant y and no counterfeit stuff upon 'em." 
 
280 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 and another were fallen out (yet that is more than 
 I am able to say, for 1 heard no words between 
 'em, but what their weapons spoke, clash, and 
 clatter) which we seeing, came with our bills of 
 government, and first knock'd down their wea- 
 pons, and then the men. 
 
 Phil. And this you did to keep the peace ? 
 
 Con. Yes, an't like your grace, we knock'd 'em 
 down, to keep the peace : This we laid hold on, 
 the other we set in the stocks. That I could do 
 by mine own power, without your majesty. 
 
 Phil. How so, sir? 
 
 Con. I am a shoemaker by my trade. 
 
 Enter Aminta. 
 
 Ambi. Oh, my husband ! 
 Why stands my husband as a man endanger'd ? 
 Restore him me, as you are merciful ! 
 I'll answer for him. 
 
 Ant, What woman's this ? Whathusband ? — Hold 
 thy bawling ! 
 I know thee for no wife. 
 
 Amin. You married me last night. 
 
 Ant. Thou liest ! I neither was 
 In church nor house last night, nor saw I thee. 
 A thing that was my friend, I scorn to name now, 
 Was with Ismenia, like a thief, and there 
 He violated a sacred trust : This thou may's t know. 
 Aminta. 
 
 Amin. Are not you he ? 
 
 Ant. No, nor a friend of his : 
 'Would I had killed him ! I hope I have. 
 
 Amin. That was my husband, royal sir, that man. 
 That excellent man ! 
 
 Ant. That villain, that thief? 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 281 
 
 Enter Bellides. 
 
 Bel. Have I caught you, sir ? Well overtaken ! 
 This is mine enemy. — Pardon, my sovereign ! 
 
 Phil. Good charity, to crave pardon for your 
 enemy ! 
 
 Bel. Mine own pardon, sir, for my joy's rudeness. 
 In what place better could I meet my foe, 
 And both of us so well provided too ? 
 He with some black blood-thirsty crime upon him, 
 That (ere the horse-leech burst) will suck him dry ; 
 I with a second accusation, 
 Enough to break his neck, if need should be ; 
 And then to have even Justice' self to right us ! 
 How should I make my joys a little civil, 
 They might not keep this noise ? 
 
 A7it. Here is some hope : 
 Should the axe be dull, the halter is preparing. 
 
 Phil. What is your accusation, sir ? W^e have 
 heard 
 The former. 
 
 Enter Julio. 
 
 Bel. Mine, my lord ? A strong one. 
 
 Julio. A false one, sir, 
 At least malicious ; an evidence 
 Of hatred and despite : He would accuse 
 My poor kinsman of that he never dreamed of, 
 Nor, waking, saw, — the stealing of his daughter; 
 She whom, I know, he would not look upon. — 
 Speak, Antonio, didst thou ever see her ? 
 
 Ant. Yes, sir ; I have seen her. 
 
 Bel. Ah, ha, friend Julio ! 
 
 Julio. He might; but how ? With an unheedful 
 eye, 
 
282 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 An accidental view, as men see multitudes, 
 That the next day dare not precisely say 
 They saw that face, or that, amongst *em all.-— 
 Didst thou so look on her? 
 
 Bel. Guilty, guilty ! 
 His looks hang themselves. 
 
 Phil. Your patience, gentlemen ! 
 I pray you tell me if I be in error; 
 I may speak often when I should but hear : 
 This is some show you would present us with, 
 And I do interrupt it. Pray you speak, 
 (It seems no more) is't any thing but a show? 
 
 Bel. My lord, this gentlewoman can shew you all, 
 So could my daughter too, if she were here : 
 By this time they are both immodest enough. 
 She is fled me, and I accuse this thief for't. 
 Don Martine, his own friend, 's my testimony ; 
 A practised night-work ! 
 
 Phil. That Martine's the other 
 In your custody ; he was forgotten : 
 Fetch him hither. 
 
 Con. We'll bring the stocks and all else, 
 An't please your grace ! 
 
 Amin. That man's my husband certain, instead 
 Of this ; Both would have deceived, and both be- 
 guiled. ' 
 
 ' Both would have deceived, and both beguiled.] What, deceived 
 and beguiled too ? Aminta purposed no such tautology, but only 
 that she and Martine were two designing cheats, and had been as 
 well fitted for their purposed knavery. But as the old reading 
 does not, nay cannot, make out this sense, I suspect we should write 
 thus, 
 
 Both (i. e. of us) would have deceived, and both are beguiled.'^ 
 Sympson. 
 
 The old reading bears the same sense.<— 'Ed. 177^* 
 
 \ 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 28S 
 
 Enter Bustopha and Ismenia as Juno. 
 
 Bust So ho, miller, miller ! look out, miller ! Is 
 there ne'er a miller amongst you here, gentlemen? 
 
 Terzo, Yes, sir, here is a miller amongst gentle- 
 men, 
 A gentleman miller. 
 
 Bust. I should not be far off then ; here went 
 but a pair of sheers and a bodkin between us. — 
 Will you to work, miller ? Here's a maid has a 
 sack full of news for you : Shall your stones walk ? 
 Will you grind, miller? 
 
 Phil. This your son, Franio ? 
 
 Fra. My ungracious, my disobedient, 
 My unnatural, my rebel son, my lord. 
 
 Bust. Fy ! your hopper runs over, miller. 
 
 Fra, This villain 
 (Of my own flesh and blood) was accessary 
 To the stealing of my daughter. 
 
 Bust. Oh mountain, shalt thou call a molehill a 
 scab upon the face of the earth ? Though a man 
 be a thief, shall a miller call him so ? Oh, egre- 
 gious ! 
 
 Julio. Remember, sirrah, who you speak before. 
 
 Bust. I speak before a miller, a thief in grain ; 
 for he steals corn ; He that steals a wench, is a 
 true man to him. 
 
 PhiL Can you prove that? 
 You may help another cause that was in pleading. 
 
 Bust. I'll prove it strongly. He that steals corn, 
 steals the bread of the commonwealth ; he that 
 steals a wench, steals but the flesh. 
 
 Phil. And how 
 Is the bread-stealing more criminal than the flesh? 
 
 Bust. He that steals bread, steals that which is 
 lawful every day ; he that steals flesh, steals no- 
 
284 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 thing from the fasting day : ergOj to steal the 
 bread is the arranter theft. 
 
 Phil. This is to some purpose. 
 
 Bust. Again, he that steals flesh, steals for his 
 own belly full ; he that steals bread, robs the guts 
 of others : Ergo, the arranter thief the bread- 
 stealer. Again, he that steals flesh, steals once, 
 and gives over ; yes, and often pays for it ; the 
 other steals every day, without satisfaction. To 
 conclude, bread-stealing is the more capital crime ; 
 for what he steals, he puts it in at the head ; he 
 that steals flesh (as the Dutch author says) puts 
 it in at the foot (the lower member). — Will you 
 go as you are now, miller ? 
 
 Phil. How has this satisfied you, Don Bellides ? 
 
 BeL Nothing, my lord ; my cause is serious ! 
 I claim a daughter from that loving thief there. 
 
 Ant. I would I had her for you, sir ! 
 
 Bel. Ah, ha, Julio ! 
 
 Julio. How said you, Antonio ! Wish you, you 
 had his daughter ? 
 
 Ant. With my soul I wish her ; and my body 
 Shall perish, but I will enjoy my soul's wish. 
 I would have slain my friend for his deceit, 
 But I do find his own deceit hath paid him. 
 
 Julio. Will you vex my soul forth? no other 
 choice 
 But where my hate is rooted ? — Come hither, girl ! 
 Whose pretty maid art thou ? 
 
 Ism. The child of a poor man, sir; 
 
 Julio. The better for it. With my sovereign's 
 leave, 
 I will wed thee to this man, will he, nill he. 
 
 Phil. Pardon me, sir, I'll be no love-enforcer ; 
 I use no power of mine unto those ends. 
 
 Julio. Wilt thou have him ? 
 
 Ism, Not unless he love me. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 285 
 
 Jnt. I do love thee : Farewell all other beauties ! 
 I settle here. — You are Ismenia ? 
 
 [Aside to Ismenia. 
 
 Ism. The same I was ; better, nor worse, Anto- 
 nio. 
 
 Ant. I shall have your consent here, I am sure, 
 sir. 
 
 Bel. With all my heart, sir ; nay, if you accept it, 
 ril do this kindness to mine enemy, 
 And give her as a father. 
 
 Ant. She'll thank you as a daughter ; — 
 Will you not, Ismenia? 
 
 Bel. How ! Ismenia ? 
 
 Ism. Your daughter, sir. 
 
 Bel. Is't possible ? — 
 Away, you feeble-witted things ! You thought 
 You had caught the old ones ! You wade, you wade 
 In shallow fords ; we can swim, we : Look here! 
 We made the match ; we are all friends, good 
 
 friends ; 
 Thin, thin ! Why, the fool knew all this, this fool. 
 
 Bust. Keep that to yourself, sir ; what I knew 
 I knew : This sack is a witness. — Miller, this is 
 not for your thumbing: Here's gold lace;* you 
 may see her in the holiday clothes if you will ; I 
 was her wardrobe-man. 
 
 Enter Martine, Aminta, Constable and Officers. 
 
 Ant. You beguiled me well, sir. [7b Julio. 
 Mart. Did you speak to me, sir ? 
 Ant. It might seem to you, Martine ; 
 Your conscience has quick ears. 
 Mart. My sight was 
 
 • —^ miller, this is not for your thumbiog : Here's gold iace.] 
 See above, p. 201. 
 
286 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 A little dim i' th' dark indeed ; so was 
 My feeling cozen'd ; yet I am content : 
 I am the better understander now ; 
 I know my wife wants nothing of a woman ! 
 There you're my junior. 
 
 Ant. You are not hurt ? 
 
 Mart. Not shrewdly hurt ; 
 I have good flesh to heal, you see, good round flesh. 
 
 Thesecherrieswill be worth chopping, crack stones 
 
 and all ; 
 I should not give much to boot to ride in your new, 
 And you in my old ones now. 
 
 Ant. You mistake the weapon: Areyounothurt? 
 Mart, A little scratch ; but I shall claw it off 
 well enough. 
 
 Enter Gillian. 
 
 Gil. I can no longer own what is not mine, 
 With a free conscience — My liege, your pardon. 
 
 Phil For what? — Who knows this woman ? 
 
 Fra. I best, my lord; I have been acquainted 
 with her 
 These forty summers, and as many winters. 
 Were it spring again : She's like the gout ; I can get 
 No cure for her. 
 
 Phil. Oh, your wife, Franio ? 
 
 Fra. 'Tis " oh, my wife" indeed, my lord ; 
 A painful stitch to my side; 'would it were pick'd 
 out! 
 
 Phil. Well, sir, your silence ! 
 
 Bust. Will you be older and older every day 
 than other? The older you live the older still? 
 Must his majesty command your silence, ere you'll 
 hold your tongue ? 
 
 Phil. Your reprehension runs into the same fault : 
 Pray, sir, will you be silent ? 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 287 
 
 Bust, I have told him of this before now, my 
 liege ; but age will have his course, and his weak- 
 nesses — 
 
 Phil. Good sir, your forbearance. 
 
 Bust, And his frailties, and his follies, as I may 
 say, that cannot hold his tongue ere he be bid- 
 den 
 
 Phil. Why, sirrah ! 
 
 Bust. But 1 believe your majesty will not be 
 long troubled with him : I hope that woman has 
 something to confess will hang 'em both. 
 
 Phil. Sirrah, you'll pull your destiny upon you, 
 If you cease not the sooner. 
 
 Bust. Nay, I have done, my liege ; yet it grieves 
 me that I should call that man father that should 
 be so shameless, that, being commanded to hold 
 his tongue 
 
 Phil. To the porter's lodge with him.* 
 
 Bust. I thank your grace ! I have a friend there. 
 
 Phil. Speak, woman ! 
 If any interruption meet thee more, it shall 
 Be punish'd sharply. 
 
 Gil. Good my liege, (I dare not) 
 Ask you the question why that old man weeps. 
 
 Phil. Who? Count Julio? I observed it not. — 
 You hear the question, sir ; will you give the cause ? 
 
 Julio. Oh, my lord, it hardly will get passage, 
 (It is a sorrow of that greatness grown) 
 'Less it dissolve in tears, and come by parcels. 
 
 Gil. I'll help you, sir, in the delivery. 
 And bring you forth a joy : You lost a daughter. 
 
 Julio, 'Twas that recounted thought brought 
 forth these sorrows. 
 
 • To the porter's lodge mth him.'] It has been before observed, 
 that servants who Irad transgressed against their masters were an- 
 ciently whipped at the porter's lodge. 
 
288 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 Gil. She's found again. Know you this mantle, 
 
 sir? 
 Julio. Ha! 
 Gil. Nay, leave your wonder, I'll explain it to 
 
 you. 
 
 This did enwrap your child, whom ever since 
 I have call'd mme, when nurse Amaranta, 
 In a remove from Mora to Corduba, 
 Was seized on by a fierce and hungry bear; 
 She was the ravin's prey, ' as Heaven so would ! 
 He, with his booty fill'd, forsook the babe: 
 All this was in my sight; and so long I saw, 
 Until the cruel creature left my sight; 
 At which advantage I adventured me 
 To rescue the sweet lamb : I did it, sir; 
 And ever since I have kept back your joy, 
 And made it mine. But age hath wearied me, 
 And bids me back restore unto the owner 
 What I unjustly kept these fourteen years. 
 
 Julio. Oh, thou hast ta'en so many years from me, 
 And made me young as was her birth-day to me. 
 Oh, good my liege, give my joys a pardon ! 
 I must go pour a blessing on my child, 
 Which here would be too rude and troublesome. 
 
 Phil, Franio, you knew this before ? 
 
 Bust. Oh, oh ! Item for you, miller ! 
 
 Fra. I did, my liege ; I must confess I did : 
 And I confess, I ne'er would have confess'd, 
 Had not that woman's tongue begun to me. 
 We poor ones love, and would have comforts, sir, 
 As well as great. This is no strange fault, sir ; 
 There's many men keep other men's children, 
 As though they were their own. 
 
 * She was the ravin's prey.] That is, the ravenous creature's 
 prey j not the raven's^ as the modern editors read. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL.' 289 
 
 Bust. It may stretch farther yet ; I beseech 
 3'ou, my liege, let this woman be a little farther 
 examined ; let the wards of her conscience be 
 search'd: * I would know how she came by me ; 
 I am a lost child, if I be theirs t Though I have 
 been brought up in a mill, yet I had ever a mind, 
 methought, to be a greater man. 
 
 Phil. She will resolve you sure. 
 
 Gil. Ay, ay, boy ; thou art mine own flesh and 
 blood, 
 Born df mine own body. 
 
 Bust. 'Tis very unlikely that such a body should 
 bear me ! There's no trust in these millers. Wo- 
 man, tell the truth ! My father shall forgive thee, 
 whatsoever he was, were he knight, squire, or 
 captain ; less he should not be. 
 
 Gil. Thqu art mine own child, boy. 
 
 Bust. And was the miller my father? 
 
 Gil, Wouldst thou make thy mother a whore, 
 knave ? 
 
 Bust. Ay, if she make me a bastard. — The rack 
 must make her confess, my lord ; I shall never 
 come to know who I am else. I have a worship- 
 ful mind in me, sure ; methinks I do scorn poor 
 folks. 
 
 Enter Otrante, Florimel, Julio, ^c» 
 
 Phil. Here comes the brightest glory of the day; 
 Love yoked with love, the best equality. 
 Without the level of estate or person. 
 
 Julio. You both shall be rewarded bountifully ; 
 
 • Let the words ttf her conscience be search'd.] Sympson readi 
 tvounds for words. We think wards is as much more congruous to 
 the sense as it is nearer the trace of the letters.— Ed. 1778. 
 VOL. XIII. T 
 
&90 THE MAID IN THE MILL. [Act V. 
 
 We'll be a-kin too ; brother and sister shall 
 Be changed with us ever. 
 
 Bust. Thank you, uncle ! My sister is my cousin 
 yet, at the last cast : Farewell, sister-foster ; if I 
 had known the civil law would have allowed it> 
 thou hadst had another manner of husband than 
 thou hast ; but much good do thee ! I'll dance at 
 thy wedding, kiss the bride, and so — 
 
 Julio. Why, how now, sirrah ? 
 
 Bust. Tis lawful now, she's none of my sister, 
 
 [Sings, 
 
 It was a miller and a lord 
 
 That had a scabbard and a sword. 
 
 He put it upy in the country word; 
 
 The miller and his daughter. 
 
 She has a face, and she can sing, 
 She has a grace^ and she can spring. 
 She has a place with another thing, 
 Tradoodle^ 
 
 Fra, A knavish brother of yours, my lord. 
 
 Bust. 'Would I were acquainted with your tai» > 
 lor, noble brother. 
 
 Otr. You may ; there he is ! mine, newly enter- 
 tain 'd. 
 
 Vert. If you have any work for me, I can fit 
 you, sir ; 
 I fitted the lady. 
 
 Bust. My sister, tailor? What fits her will hard- 
 ly fit me. 
 
 Vert. Who fits her 
 May fit you, sir ; the tailor can do both. 
 
 Bust. You have a true yard, tailor ? 
 
 Vert, Ne'er a whit too long, I warrant you. 
 
Scene II.] THE MAID IN THE MILL. 291 
 
 Bust, [Sings.] Thejiy tailor ^ march with me away ! 
 J scorn these robes y I must be gay ; 
 My noble brother he shall pay 
 
 Tom bailor. [Exeunt. 
 
 Phil. Your recovered friendships are sound, gen- 
 tlemen ? 
 Bel. At heart, at heart, my lord : The worm 
 shall not 
 Beyond many ages find a breach to enter at. 
 
 Phil. These lovers' unities I will not doubt of. 
 How happy have you made our progress then, 
 To be the witness of such fair accords ! 
 Come, now we'll eat with you, my lord Otrante : 
 'Tis a charge saved ; you must not grudge your 
 
 guest ; 
 'Tis both my welcome, and your wedding-feast. 
 
 [^Ej^eunt, 
 
» 
 
 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
i 
 
LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 This comedy was first printed in the folio of 1 6^7 > The prologue 
 Qpeaks of more than one author ; and it has been generally sup- 
 posed, that, having been left imperfect at the death of Fletcher, it 
 was put into the hands of Shirley, and by him finished and brought 
 on the stage. Among the entries by the master of the revels is 
 the following:—" Received of Balgrove from the King's Company, 
 for the renewing of Love's Pilgrimage, the l6th of September, \635, 
 jS. 1 : : 0." It was probably at this time, that the scene from Ben 
 Jonson's unsuccessful comedy of the New Inn was introduced ; but 
 there is no reason to suppose that Shirley had any hand in this in- 
 terpolation, and in the general introduction the editor has hazard- 
 ed some conjectures that JNIassinger was the assistant of Fletcher 
 on this occasion. 
 
 Though this comedy has not been revived nor altered, to the 
 editor's knowledge, for more than a century, it is notwithstanding 
 one of the most lively and attractive productions in these volumes; 
 the incidents are romantic and full of interest, and though the unity 
 of place and time is violated in a more considerable degree than in 
 the greater part of these plays, probability is seldom set at defi- 
 ance. The characters are in general well delineated and contrast- 
 ed. The two ladies disguised as boys, and both in pursuit of one 
 tinfaitiiful object of affection, are drawn with all the masterly de- 
 licacy and truth so peculiar to Fletcher. Few readers can fail to 
 be struck with the exquisite beauty of the scenes in which Leoca- 
 dia discovers iier sex to Theodosia, and acquaints her with her 
 misfortunes; or with the manner in which the latter receives the 
 news ot Marc Antonio's infidelity. It is, however, peculiarly 
 necessary, in perusing the present comedy, to divest ourselves of 
 our present ideas of female delicacy, and to identify our feelings 
 with the demi-chivalrous notions of the romantic, and in some mea- 
 
( 296 ) 
 
 sure the actual, manners of Fletcher's time, otherwise the conduct 
 of Leocadia and Theodosia will not strike us in the same favour- 
 able light in which it was certainly intended to afl'ect us by Cer- 
 vautes and Fletcher. Again, the scene in which Philippe makes 
 an avowal of his passion to Leocadia, and the manner in which he 
 gradually overcomes her affection for Marc-Antonio, may safely 
 be compared with the most finished specimens of the same kind 
 which can be produced from any other dramatic poet. On the 
 other hand, some of the scenes wherein Alphonso and Sancho give 
 loose to the extravagant violence of their temper, are conceived in 
 the true spirit of comedy ; and the scenes of low-life in the inns 
 are replete with the vivacious and droll humour, which we have 
 had such frequent occasion to notice, as the peculiar talent of 
 Fletcher. 
 
 The comedy is in fact a pretty close dramatization of one of the 
 most delightful novels of the inimitable author of Don Quixote. It 
 is the seventh of his Novelas Exemplares, and is entitled Las dos 
 Donzellas. The chief incidents may be related shortly, and as fol- 
 lows : — " In one of the inns of Castel bianco, five leagues from Se- 
 ville, a handsome stranger ariived towards night without any at- 
 tendant. On dismounting he fell into a swoon, and when recovered 
 by the attentions of the hostess, demanded a bed-room. On hear- 
 ing that there was only one in the house, which contained two beds, 
 he immediately engaged it, and, refusing any refreshment, he lock- 
 ed the door, and laid down. The hostess and her neighbours were 
 conversing on his beauty, when another traveller equally handsome 
 appeared, who was informed that he could not be accommodated 
 with lodging. He however dismounted and ordered supper, when 
 an alguazil of the village entered, and, sitting down by his side, par- 
 took of the good chear provided, and asked innumerable ques- 
 tions. The host joined the conversation, and launched out in 
 praises of the traveller who had previously arrived. The cava- 
 lier wished to see him, and offered a crown of gold if he could 
 procure him the other bed, but the host pleaded the pre-engage- 
 ment, and the door being locked on the inside. The alguaail, how- 
 ever, undertook to get it opened, and, pretending the authority of 
 the alcayde, at last effected his purpose. The second traveller 
 excused his intrusion, but the first did not answer, and turned 
 his face to the wall to prevent his being discovered. The former 
 then laid down ; but towards midnight heard the most profound 
 sighs and a pitiable soliloquy from his companion, in which he 
 biiterly reproached one Marc-Antonio. When these lamentations, 
 which plainly discovered the stranger to be a lady in disguise, 
 ceased, the cavalier heard liim get up, and, opening the door, or- 
 ing the palfrey to be saddled. The host replied, that it was on- 
 ly midnight, and the lady returned to her bed, renewing her 
 
( 297 ) 
 
 sighSi The Cavalier tiow addresseH her, and, on his promise Got 
 to approach her bed, she related her misfortunes. She inform- 
 ed him, that she was Thcodosia, daugliter of a gentleman of Anda- 
 lusia, that her brother had been sent to the university of Salaman- 
 ca, and that in an evil hour she had become enamoured of Marc- 
 Antonio Adorno, the son of a neighbour, who, promising marriage, 
 had prevailed upon her to elope with him, and, after having obtain- 
 ed his desires, had suddenly disappeared. She had immediately re- 
 solved to search for him at Salamanca, in constant fear, however, of 
 being pursued by her parents, or discovered by her brother. In to- 
 ken of the promise of marriage, she had obtained from her lover a 
 diamond ring, with the inscription, ' Marc-Antonio is the husband 
 of Theodosia.' She concluded her relation by requesting the ca- 
 valier to counsel her respecting the course she should adopt to find 
 her husband, and induce him to acknowledge her as his wife. The 
 stranger promised not only advice but assistance, begging her to 
 repose the rest of the night, which he, however, himself prevented 
 by the sighs which he uttered. The morning sun at last broke 
 into the apartment, when, to the surprise of Theodosia, she dis- 
 covered the stranger to be her brother, Don Rafael de Villavicen- 
 cio. She feared his resentment ; but he quieted her with the fullest 
 assurance of pardon and assistance, advising her to assume the 
 name of Teodoro. Soon after a friend of Don Rafael's arrived at 
 the inn, from whom he understood that Marc-Antonio had em- 
 barked at Port St Mary's in the galleys which were proceeding to 
 Barcelona. Don Rafael having induced his friend to exchange 
 his mule for the palfrey of Theodosia, and having seen him depart, 
 communicated the welcome news to his sister, and they resolved 
 to proceed to Barcelona instantly. When they arrived within two 
 leagues of Ygualada, nine leagues distance from that city, they 
 understood that an ambassador, who was to embark for Rome in 
 the galleys coming round from St Mary's, awaited their arrival. 
 Proceeding on their journey they soon entered into a wood, and 
 met a man in great haste, who informed them that a company of 
 thirty travellers had just been robbed by a band of thieves, who 
 had stripped them to the shirts, and left them bound to trees, and 
 that they had let him loose that he might free his companions, on 
 perceiving their signal from a neighbouring bill. The muleteers 
 hearing this, told them that they might now proceed unmolested, 
 as the robbers would not return for some days to the forest. They 
 soon found the unfortunate travellers, some weeping at the losses 
 they had sustained, others laughing at their own strange appearance, 
 Theodosia and Don Rafael were particularly struck with the appear- 
 ance of a beautiful youth ofabout sixteen years of age, who had been 
 stript to the shirt. They borrowed the mantle of their muleteer to 
 cover him till ihey could procure other clothes, and understood that 
 
( 298 ) 
 
 he came from a place in Andalusia not far from their ewn native 
 village, and that he was proceeding to the wars in Italy. Having 
 distributed money to the other sufferers, among whom there were 
 above eight friars, they proceeded to Yguaiada, where they heard 
 that the galleys had arrived at Barcelona, from which city they 
 were to proceed on their voyage in two days. The travellers ac- 
 cordingly resolved to depart for that city the following morning. 
 At supper, Theodosia casting her eyes on the young stranger, ob- 
 served that his ears were bored, from which she suspected that it 
 was a disguised female hke herself. Don Rafael having asked the 
 name of his father, he answered it was Don Enrique de Cardenas; 
 and when he observed that that nobleman had no children, the 
 stranger then replied that he was the son of Don Sancho his bro- 
 ther. Don Rafael rejoined, that the latter had no son, but a daugh- 
 ter of extraordinary beauty. The stranger returned, that he was the 
 son of Don Sancho's steward. All this confirmed Theodosiain her 
 conjectures, and, having informed her brother of them, she, with his 
 consent, privately spoke to the disguised youth, who went under 
 the name of Don Francisco, and at last gaining his confidence, 
 found her suspicions well founded. The stranger was Leocadia, 
 the daughter of Don Sancho ; she also had been enamoured of 
 Marc-Antonio, and, upon obtaining a written promise of marriage, 
 had consented to receive him one night in her chamber, but he 
 had never appeared ; and having heard that he was to become the 
 spouse of Theodosia, had she left her father's house, and, having 
 provided herself with money, and changed her dress at Ossuna, she 
 had set out for Barcelona to proceed with the galleys to Italy, 
 She concluded her relation with the determination of finding out; 
 her rival, and punishing her with the loss of her life; nor could 
 the arguments of Theodosia move her from her purpose. The lat- 
 ter, with the consent of Leocadia, related her story to her brother, 
 who had not beheld the beauty of the strange lady without emo- 
 tion, and who had passed the night in love-sick soliloquies. In the 
 morning he purchased a suit of apparel from the host, which he 
 presented to Leocadia. They set out for Barcelona, where they 
 soon arrived. On entering the city they heard a great uproar, and 
 learnt that it proceeded from a quarrel between the citizens and 
 the sailors of the galleys. Don Rafael determined to proceed to the 
 place of combat, and on coming to the sea-shore, they beheld, 
 on board of the chief galley, the captain-general, Don Pedro Vique, 
 who was endeavouring to appease the tumult, and ordering a can- 
 non without ball to be fired into the city. Among the combatants, 
 a youth of about twenty years of age fought with peculiar courage, 
 and Theodosia and Leocadia at once exclaimed, ' Either my eye- 
 sight fails me, or the cavalier in green is Marc- Antonio,' They 
 immediately leaped from their mules^ and drawing their swords, 
 
( 299 ) 
 
 rushed into the fight, and placed themselves by the side of their 
 lover. Don Rafael followed them, but Marc-Antonio took no 
 notice of his defenders, but performed prodigies of valour. The 
 townsmen increasing, obliged the sailors at last to retire to their 
 vessels. A Catalan knight of the family of the Cardonas now ar- 
 rived, and endeavoured to appease the citizens, who, however, 
 continued to throw stones at their opponents, one of which vio- 
 lently hit Marc-Antonio, and felled him into the sea. Both Theo- 
 dosia and Leocadia raised him in their arms. The former was 
 overcome by fatigue, but the latter accompanied her lover on 
 board the galley. The Catalan knight, Don Sancho de Cardona, 
 BOW invited Don Rafael and Thendosia to his house, which they 
 were obliged to comply with, notwithstanding their jealousy to see 
 Leocadia and Marc-Antonio together. At their request, the knight 
 caused the wounded cavalier to be biought to his house, with the 
 fictitious Don Francisco. The surgeon of the gallies exaggerated 
 the danger of the wound, and the two enamoured damsels were 
 in utter despair. Leocadia coming to the bed-side of the patient, 
 addressed him; conjuring him before his death to execute his pro- 
 mise of marriage ; but Marc-Antonio, who believed himself to be 
 at the point of death, urged the impossibility of complying with 
 her desires, as he had previously engaged himself to Theodosia, 
 and had actually consummated his marriage with her. Don Ra- 
 fael now came forward, and, embracing him as his old friend and 
 his brother-in-law, presented to him the disguised Theodosia. When 
 the unfortunate Leocadia beheld her rival in the arms of Marc- 
 Antonio, she quitted the room in desperation, determined to leave 
 the sight of men for ever. Don Rafael, however, followed, and 
 overtook her at the harbour, where she was calling out to the sail- 
 ors on the principal galley to take her on board. He declared 
 to her his passion, and at last obtained her consent to espouse 
 him. They then returned to the house of Don Sancho de Cardona, 
 vhere the friar, who had already joined the hands of Marc- An- 
 tonio and Theodosia, after having directed Leocadia to put on fe- 
 male garments, which were furnished by the wife of Don Sancho, 
 united her to Don Rafael. Marc-Autonio had vowed a pilgrimage 
 on foot to St James of Galicia, and Don Rafael, Leocadia, and 
 Theodosia, resolved to accompany him. He was completely re- 
 covered at the end of a fortnight, and having taken leave of Don 
 Sancho, they set out, and completed their pilgrimage. The^, how- 
 ever, resolved not to quit their pilgrim's dress till they arrived at 
 their parents' home. When they came within sight of the house 
 of Don Sancho, the father of Leocadia, they beheld two knights 
 in full armour, who furiously attacked one another, and a third 
 looking on the combat. Don Rafael hastened to the field of 
 battle, followed by his cempanions ; and the helmet of one of the 
 
( 300 ) 
 
 Knights falling oft", he discovered him to be his father, and Mare- 
 Antonio found the other to be his. They imraediately parted the 
 combatants, and informed them who they were, and what adven- 
 tures had befallen them. The third knight proved to be the fa- 
 ther of Leocadia. A troop of armed men now arrived to their 
 succour, but their assistance was unnecessary. The occasion of 
 the combat had been a challenge from the fathers of Theodosia 
 and Leocadia to the father of ]Marc-Antonio, on account of the 
 conduct of the latter. Every difference being now adjusted, they 
 proceeded to the house of Marc-Antonio, where the nuptials were 
 celebrated with great splendour." 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 To tbis place, gentlemen, full many a day 
 We have bid ye welcome, and to many a play c 
 And those whose angry souls Were not diseased 
 With law, or lending money, we have pleased ; 
 And make no doubt to do again. This night, 
 No mighty matter, nor no light,* 
 We must entreat you look for : A good tale, 
 Told in two hours, we will not fail. 
 If we be perfect, to rehearse ye. New 
 I am sure it is, and handsome ; but how true 
 Let them dispute that writ it. Ten to one 
 We please the women, and I'd know that man 
 Follows not their example ! If ye mean 
 To know the play well, travel with the scene, 
 For it lies upon the road : If we chance tire, 
 As ye are good men, leave us not i' th' mire; 
 Another bait may mend us : If you grow 
 A little gall'd or weary, cry but '* hoa," 
 And we'll stay for ye. When our journey ends, 
 Every man's pot I hope, and all part friends. 
 
 ' Nor no light.l The context, as well as the measure, seems to require 
 us to read. 
 
 No mighty matter, nor no very light. 
 We must entreat yon look fur ; 
 
 or something to that purpose. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 As there is another defect in the ne.xt line but one, tlie irrejularlty of 
 the metre is probably the efibct of hasty coDipoeition. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Alonso, governor of Barcelona, 
 
 Leonardo, a noble Genoese, father to Af a re- Antonio* 
 
 Sanchio, an old lame angry soldier, father to Leocadia, 
 
 Alphonso, a choleric don, father to Theodosia, 
 
 Philippo, son to Alphonso, lover of Leocadia^ 
 
 Marc-Antonio, son to Leonardo, 
 
 Tedro, friend to Leonardo. 
 
 Roderigo, general of the Spanish gallics* 
 
 Incubo, bailiff of Castel-Blanco, 
 
 Diego, host ofOssuna. 
 
 Lazaro, hostler to Diego, 
 
 Bailiff } ofYgualada, 
 
 Chirurgeons, soldiers, townsmen, attendants, passen" 
 gers, boys, servants, 
 
 Theodosia, daughter to Alphonso, V^^n^^^^^ ^^f% 
 Leocadia, daughter to Sanchio, i -f^ P^^^^^^ y 
 
 Eugenia, wife to the governor of Barcelona, 
 
 Hostess, wife to Diego. 
 
 Wife to the Host of Barcelona, 
 
 SCENE—Sp^m, and at Sea. 
 
 * This and the subsequent character have been hitherto called 
 Host and Bailiff of Barcelona ; whereas it is directly mentioned, 
 that the inn in which they appear is two leagues from the city. 
 The name of the place is taken from the novel of Cervantes in the 
 introduction. Again, the scene is as absurdly described — Bar- 
 celona and the Road ; whereas it shifts from Andalusia to Cata- 
 lonia, and in one scene it is even oa board a vessel at sea. 
 
LOVES PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Ossuna, The Inn, 
 
 Enter Incubo and Diego. 
 
 Incuho, Signor Don Diego, and mine host, save 
 thee ! 
 
 Diego. I thank you, master Baily. 
 
 Inc. Oh, the block ! 
 
 Diego. Why, how should I have answer'd ? 
 
 I}ic. Not with that 
 Negligent rudeness ; but, " I kiss your hands, 
 Signor Don Incubo de Hambre ;" and then 
 My titles ; " master Baily of Castel-Blanco,'* 
 Thou ne'er wilt have the elegancy of an host ; 
 I sorrow for thee, as my friend and gossip ! — 
 No smoke, nor steam out-breathing from the kit* 
 chen? 
 
304 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 There's little life i' th' hearth then. 
 
 Diego, Ay ; there, there ! 
 That is his friendship, hearkening for the spit, 
 And sorry that he cannot smell the pot boil. 
 
 Inc. Strange an inn should be so cursed, and 
 not the sign 
 Blasted nor wither'd ; very strange ! three day» 
 
 now, 
 And not an egg eat in it, or an onion. 
 
 Diego. I think they ha' strew'd the highways 
 with caltraps,* I ; 
 No horse dares pass 'em ; I did never know 
 A week of so sad doings, since I first 
 Stood to my sign-post. 
 
 I?ic. Gossip, I have found 
 The root of all : Kneel, pray ; it is thyself 
 Art cause thereof; each person is the founder 
 Of his own fortune, good or bad : But mend it; 
 Call for thy cloak and rapier. 
 
 Diego. How ! 
 
 Ific. Do, call, 
 And put 'em on in haste : Alter thy fortune, 
 By appearing worthy of her. Dost thou think 
 Her good face e'er will know a man in cuerpof* 
 In single body, thus ? in hose and doublet, 
 The horse-boy's garb ? base blank, and half-blank 
 
 cuerpo ? 
 Did I, or master dean of Sevil, our neighbour, 
 
 " Caltrops.] These are instruments composed of three spikes of 
 iron, and so disposed as to wound the feet of horses in whatever way 
 they lie. — Mason. 
 
 * In cuerpo.'] A phrase from the Spanish, meaning, in a doublet 
 without a cloalc. It frequently occurs ; for instance, in Nabbes't 
 Bride, acted in J 638. — 
 
 " Kiclcshatv. I say vill have a my cloak. 
 Squirrel. Not without my reckoning. 
 , Kick. We must den walk in quirpo.'* 
 4 
 
 i 
 
Scene L] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 305 
 
 E'er reach our dignities in ciierpo, think'st thou? 
 In squirting hose and doublet ? Signor, no ; 
 There went more to't : There were cloaks, gowns, 
 
 cassocks, 
 And oihtx par ament OS :^ Call, I say. — 
 His cloak and rapier here! 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Hostess. What means your worship ? 
 
 Inc. Bring forth thy husband's sword. — So! hang 
 it on. 
 And now his cloak ! here, cast it up. — I mean, 
 Gossip, to change your luck, and bring you guests. 
 
 Hostess. Why, is there charm in this ? 
 
 Inc. Expect. Now walk ; 
 But not the pace of one that runs on errands ! 
 For want of gravity in an host is odious. 
 You may remember, gossip, if you please, 
 (Your wife being then th' infanta of the gipsies, 
 And yourself governing a great man's mules then) 
 Me a poor 'squire at Madrid, attending 
 A master of ceremonies (but a man, believe it, 
 That knew his place to the gold-weight;) and such, 
 Have I heard him oft say, ought every host 
 Within the catholic king's dominions 
 Be, in his own house. 
 
 Diego. How ? 
 
 Inc. A master of ceremonies ; 
 At least, vice-master, and to do nought in ciierpo; 
 That Wiis his maxim. I will tell thee of him : 
 He would not speak with an ambassador's cook, 
 See a cold bake-meat from a foreign part, 
 
 '^ ParamentosJ] i.e. Articles of dress, caparisons. The Spanish 
 language was much more generally cuUivated in Fletcher's dayi 
 than in ours. 
 
 VOL. XIII. V 
 
306 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act L 
 
 In cuerpo : Had a dog but stay'd without, 
 Or beast of quality, as an English cow. 
 But to present itself, he would put on* 
 His Savoy chain about his neck, the ruif 
 And cuffs of Holland, then the Naples hat, 
 With the Rome hatband, and the Florentine agate, 
 The Milan sword, the cloak of Genoa, set 
 With Flemish buttons ; all his given pieces, 
 To entertain 'em in ; and compliment 
 With a tame cony, as with the prince that sent it. 
 
 [Knock witliin, 
 
 Diego. List ! who is there ? 
 
 Inc. A guest, an't be thy will ! 
 
 Diego. Look, spouse ; cry " luck," an we be en- 
 counter'd. Ha ! 
 
 Hostess. Luck then, and good ; for 'tis a fine 
 brave guest, 
 With a brave horse. 
 
 Itic. Why now, believe of cuerpo 
 As you shall see occasion. Go, and meet him. 
 
 Enter Theodosia in Men^s Clothes, 
 
 Theod. Look to my horse, I pray you, well. 
 
 Diego. He shall, sir. 
 
 Inc. Oh, how beneath his rank and call was that 
 now ! 
 " Your horse shall be entreated as becomes 
 A horse of fashion, and his inches.*' 
 
 Theod, Oh! [Faints. 
 
 Inc. Look to the cavalier ! What ails he ? Stay ! 
 If it concern his horse, let it not trouble him ; 
 
 4 He ijuould put 07iy &c.] It has been before observed, that the 
 gallants of the earlier parts of the seventeenth century were pecu- 
 liarly fond of importing foreign fashions, and the sjieech of Incubo 
 was no doubt intended to ridicule this propensity. See vol, V, 
 p. 144'. 
 
Scene L] LOVE'S PILGRM AGE. 307 
 
 He shall have all respect the place can yield him, 
 Either of barley, or fresh straw. 
 
 Diego. Good sir, 
 Look up. 
 
 Inc. He sinks ! Somewhat to cast upon him ; 
 He'll go away in ciierpo else. 
 
 Diego. What, wife ! 
 Oh, your hot waters quickly, and some cold 
 To cast in his sweet face. 
 
 Hostess. Alas, fair flower ! ^E.rif, 
 
 Inc. Does any body entertain his horse ? 
 
 Diego. Yes ; Lazaro has him. 
 
 Enter Hostess with a Glass of Water. 
 
 Inc. Go you see him in person. [Exit Diego. 
 Hostess. Sir, taste a little of this ; of mine own 
 water, 
 I did distill't myself. Sweet lilly, look upon me; 
 You are but newly blown, my i)retty tulip ; 
 Faint not upon your stalk. 'Tis firm and fresh. 
 Stand up : So ! bolt upright. You are yet in grow- 
 ing. 
 Theod. Pray you let me have a chamber. 
 Hostess. That you shall, sir. 
 Theod. And where I may be private, I entreat you. 
 Hostess. For that, in troth, sir, we have no choice : 
 Our house 
 Is but a vent of need,* that now and then 
 Receives a guest between the greater towns, 
 
 As they come late ; only one room 
 
 Inc. She means, sir, 'tis none 
 Of those wild scatter'd heaps calfd inns, where 
 scarce 
 
 ^ V(nt.\ Venta, an inn. Ilispanici. — Theobald, 
 
808 LOVE'S PILGRIlNf AGE. [Act I. 
 
 The host's heard, though he wind his horn to his 
 
 people ; 
 Here is a competent pile, wherein the man, 
 Wife, servants, all do live witliin the whistle. 
 
 Hostess. Only one room 
 
 Inc. A pretty modest quadrangle ! 
 She will describe to you. 
 
 Hostess. (Wherein stand two beds, sir) 
 We have ; and where, if any guest do come, 
 He must of force be lodged ; that is the truth, 
 sir. 
 
 Enter Diego. 
 
 Theod. But if I pay you for both your beds, me« 
 thinks, 
 That should alike content you. 
 
 Hostess. That it shall, sir: 
 If I be paid, I am paid. 
 
 Theod Why, there's a ducat; 
 Will that make your content? 
 
 Hostess. Oh, the sweet face on you ! 
 A ducat? yes : An there were three beds, sir, 
 And twice so many rooms, M'hich is one more. 
 You should be private in them all, in all, sir: 
 No one should have a piece of a bed with you; 
 Not master dean of Sevil himself, I swear. 
 Though he came naked hither, as once he did, 
 When he had like to have been ta'en a-bed with 
 
 the Moor, 
 And gelt by her master ; you shall be as private 
 As if you lay in's own great house that's haunted, 
 Where nobody comes, they say, 
 
 Theod. 1 thank you, Hostess. 
 Pray you, will you shew me in ? 
 
 Hostess, Yes, marry will I, sir ; 
 
Scene L] LOVE'S PILGRIAf AGE. 309 
 
 And pray that not a flea, or a chink*^ vex you. 
 
 \ Ertiint Hostess unci TutoDusrA. 
 
 Inc. You forget supper! Gossip, move for sup- 
 per. 
 
 Diego. 'Tis strange what love to a beast may do ! 
 his horse 
 Threw liiiii into tliis fit. 
 
 I)tc. Vou shall excuse me ; 
 It was his being in cuerpo merely caused it. 
 
 Diego. Do you think so, sir ? 
 
 Inc. Most unlucky cuerpo ! 
 Nought else. He looks as he would eat partridge, 
 This guest; ha' you 'em ready in the house? 
 And a fine piece of kid now ' and fresh garlic, 
 With a sardina' and Zant. oil? — How now? 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Has he bespoke ? what, will he have a brace, 
 Or but one partridge ? or a short- leggd hen, 
 Daintily carbonadoed? 
 
 Hostess. 'Las, the dead 
 May be as ready for. a supper as he. 
 
 inc. fla? 
 
 Hostess. He has no mind to eat, more than his 
 shadow. 
 
 Inc Say you ? 
 
 Diego. How does your worship ? 
 
 Inc. I put on 
 
 * Chink.] Stevens's Spanish Dictionary explains chinche in this 
 manner: " An insect breeding in wood, and particularly in bed- 
 steads. We call them bui^s, and the French punaises, Latin citneXf 
 thence corruptly chinche.'' — Reed. 
 
 ' JVith a sardina.] A sardina, or sardiny, is an anchovy. — • 
 Sympson. 
 
 A sardina is not an anchovy, but a fish that resembles it, and 
 is often sold for the real anchoty. — Mason. 
 
310 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 My left-shoe first to-day, (now I perceive it) 
 And skipt a bead in saying them over, else 
 I could not be thus cross'd ! He cannot be 
 Above seventeen ; one of his years, and have 
 No better a stomach ? 
 
 Hostess. And in such good clothes too ! 
 Diego. Nay, those do often make the stomach 
 worse, wife ; 
 That is no reason. 
 
 Inc. I could, at his years, gossips, 
 (As temperate as you see me now) have eaten 
 My brace of ducks, with my half-goose, my cony, 
 And drank my whole twelve marvedis in wine, 
 As easy as I now get down three olives. 
 
 Diego. And, with your temperance' favour, yet 
 I think 
 Your worship would put to't at si x-and- thirty, 
 For a good wager, and the meal in too. 
 
 Inc. I do not know what mine old mouth can do ; 
 I have not proved it lately. 
 Diego. That's the grief, sir. 
 Inc. But is he, without hope then, gone to-bed? 
 Hostess. I fear so, sir; he has lock'd the door 
 close to him : 
 Sure he is very ill. 
 
 Lie. That is with fasting. 
 You should ha' told him, gossip, what you had had, 
 Given him the inventory of your kitchen; 
 It is the picklock in an inn, and often 
 Opens a close-barr'd stomach. What may he be, 
 
 trow ! 
 Has he so good a horse ? 
 
 Diego. Oh, a brave jennet, 
 As e'er your worship saw. 
 Inc. And he eats ? 
 Diego. Strongly. 
 
 Inc. A mighty solecism ! Heaven grant me pa- 
 tience ! 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 311 
 
 "What creatures has he ? 
 
 Hostess None. 
 
 Inc. And so well clothed, 
 And so well mounted ? 
 
 Diego. That's all my wonder, sir, 
 Who he should be : He is attired and horsed 
 For the constable's son of Spain. 
 
 Inc. My wonder's more 
 He should want appetite. — Well, a good night 
 To both my gossips ! 1 will for this time 
 Put off the thought of supping. In the morning 
 Remember him of breakfast, pray you. 
 
 Hostess. I shall, sir. 
 
 Diego. A hungry time, sir. 
 
 Inc. We that live like mice 
 On other's meat, must watch when we can get it. 
 
 Hostess. Yes, but I would not tell him, our fair 
 guest 
 Says, though he eat no supper, he will pay 
 For one. 
 
 Diego. Good news ! we'll eat it, spouse, to his 
 health. 
 'Twas politicly done to admit no sharers. 
 
 Enter Philippo. 
 
 Phil. Look to the mules there ! Where's mine 
 host? 
 
 Diego. Here, sir. — 
 Another fairy ? 
 
 Hostess. Bless me ! 
 
 P/iil. From what, sweet Hostess ? 
 Are you afraid o' your guests ? 
 
 Hostess. From angels, sir ; 
 I think there's none but such come here to-night. 
 My house had never so good luck before, 
 
312 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 For brave fine guests : And yet, the ill luck on't is, 
 I cannot bid you welcome. 
 
 Phil. No? 
 
 Hostess. Not lodge you, sir. 
 
 Phil. Not, Hostess ? 
 
 Hostess. No, in troth, sir; I do tell you. 
 Because you may provide in time ; my beds 
 Are both ta'en up by a young cavalier, 
 That will and must be private. 
 
 Diego. He has paid, sir, 
 For all our chambers. 
 
 Hostess. Which is one ; and beds, 
 Which I already ha' told you are two. But, sir, 
 So sweet a creature — I am very sorry 
 I cannot lodge you by him ; you look so like him ! 
 You are both the loveliest pieces 
 
 Phil. What train has he ? 
 
 Diego. None but himself. 
 
 Phil. And will no less than both beds 
 Serve him } 
 
 Hostess. He has given me a ducat for 'em. 
 
 Phil. Oh, 
 You give me reason, Hostess. Is he handsome, 
 And young, do you say ? 
 
 Hostess. Oh, sir, tlie delicat'st flesh. 
 And finest clothes withal, and such a horse, 
 With such a saddle ! 
 
 Phil. She's in love with all. 
 The horse, and him, and saddle, and clothes. — 
 
 Good woman, 
 Thou justifiest thy sex, lov'st all that's brave. 
 
 Enter Incubo. 
 
 Sure, though I lie o' th' ground, I'll stay here now, 
 And have a sight of him : You'll give me house- 
 room. 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 313 
 
 Fire, and fresh meat, for money, gentle Hostess, 
 And make me a pallet? 
 
 Inc. Sir, she shall do reason. — 
 I understood you had another guest, gossips: 
 Pray you let his mule be look'd to, have good straw, 
 And store of bran. And, gossip, do you hear, 
 Let him not stay for supper : What good fowl ha* 
 
 you ? 
 This gentleman would eat a pheasant. 
 
 Hostess. 'Las, sir. 
 We ha' no such. 
 
 Inc. I kiss your hands, fair sir. — 
 What ha' you then ? speak what you have. — I'm 
 
 one, sir. 
 Here for the Catholic king, an oflicer 
 To enquire what guests come to these places: 
 
 You, sir. 
 Appear a person of quality, and 'tis fit 
 You be accommodated. — Why speak you not ? 
 What lia' you, woman ? are you afraid to vent 
 That which you have? 
 
 Phil. This is a most strange man, 
 To appoint my meat! 
 
 Hostess. The half of a cold hen, sir, 
 And a boilVl quarter of kid, is all i' th' house. 
 Inc. Why, all's but cold. Let him see it forth; 
 cover, 
 And give the eye some satisfaction : 
 A traveller's stomach must see bread and salt; 
 His belly is nearer to him than his kindred. — 
 Cold hen's a pretty meat, sir. 
 Phil. What you please. — 
 I am resolved to obey. 
 Inc. So is your kid, 
 With pepper, garlic, and the juice of an orange: 
 She shall with sallads help it, and clean linen. — 
 Dispatch! — What news at court, sir? 
 
514 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act L 
 
 Phil. 'Faith, new tires 
 Most of the ladies have, the men old suits; 
 Only the king's fool has a new coat 
 To serve you. 
 
 Inc. I did guess you came from thence, sir. 
 
 Phil. But I do know I did not. 
 
 Inc. I mistook, sir. 
 What hear you of the archdukes? 
 
 Phil. 'Troth, your question. 
 
 Inc. Of the French business what ? 
 
 Phil. As much. 
 
 Inc. No more ? 
 
 Enter Hostess and Sej^vants, with a Table, 
 
 They say the French — Oh, that's well j come, I'll 
 
 l;elp you. — 
 Have you no giblets now ? or a broil'd rasher ? 
 Or some such present dish to assist? 
 
 Hostess, Not any, sir. 
 
 Inc. The more your fault ! you ne'er should be 
 without 
 Such aids : What cottage would ha' lack'd a phea- 
 sant 
 And kid forth quickly, 
 
 \ Exeunt Hostess and Serjeants, 
 At such a time as this ? Well, bring your hen, 
 
 Phil. That should be my prayer. 
 To 'scape his inquisition. 
 
 Lie. Sir, the French, 
 They say, are divided 'bout their match with us: 
 What think you of it? 
 
 Phil, As of nought to me, sir. 
 
 Inc. Nay, it's as little to me too; but I love 
 To ask after these things, to know the affections 
 Ofstates and princes, no wand then, forbettering — 
 
 PJiiL Of your own ignorance. 
 
Scene I.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 315 
 
 Inc. Yes, sir. 
 
 Phil. Many do so. 
 
 Inc. I cannot live without it What do you hear 
 Of our Indian fleet ? they say, they are well re- 
 turn'd. 
 
 Phil. I had no venture with 'em, sir ; had you? 
 
 Inc. Wliy do you ask, sir ? 
 
 Phil. 'Cause it might concern you ; 
 It does not me. 
 
 Enter Hostess and Servants^ zoith Meat, and exeunt. 
 
 Inc. Oh, here's your meat come. 
 
 Phil. Thanks! 
 I welcome it at any price. 
 
 Inc. Some stools here ! 
 And bid mine host bring wine. — I'll try your kid, 
 If he be sweet : He looks well. Yes ; he is good. 
 I'll carve you, sir. 
 
 Phil. You use me too, too princely ; 
 Taste, and carve too ! 
 
 Inc. I love to do these offices. 
 
 Phil. I think you do; for whose sake? 
 
 Inc. For themselves, sir; 
 The very doing of them is reward. 
 
 Phil. He had little faith would not believe you, 
 sir. 
 
 Inc. Gossip, some wine ! 
 
 ^nter Diego, "with Wine, 
 
 Diego. Here 'tis, and right Saint Martin, 
 Inc. Measure me out a glass. 
 Phil. I love the humanity 
 Used in this place. 
 
 Inc. Sir, I salute you here. 
 Phil. I kiss your hands, sir. 
 
316 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act L 
 
 Inc. Good wine! it will beget an appetite: 
 Fill him, and sit down, gossip; entertain 
 Your noble gnest here, as becomes your title. 
 
 Dic^o. Please you to like this wine, sir? 
 
 P/itl. I dislike 
 Nothing, mine host, but that I may not see 
 Your concealed guest. Here's to you ! 
 
 Diego. In good faith, sir, 
 I wish you as well as him ; 'would you might sec 
 him ! 
 
 Inc. And wherefore may he not ? 
 
 Diego. He has lock\l himself, sir, 
 Up; and has hired both the beds o' my wife 
 At extraordinary rate. 
 
 Phil, ril give as much 
 (If that will do't) for one, as he for both : 
 What say you, mine host? The door once open, 
 I'll fling myself upon the next bed to him, 
 And there's an end of me till morning; noise 
 I will make none. 
 
 Diego I wish your worship well ; but 
 
 Inc. His honour is engaged ; and my she-gossip 
 Hath past her promise, hath she not ? 
 
 Diego. Yes, truly. 
 
 Inc. That toucheth to the credit of the house : 
 Well, Iwill eata little, and think. Howsayyou, sir, 
 Unto this brawn o' th' hen ? 
 
 Phil. I ha' more mind 
 To get this bed, sir. 
 
 Itic. Say you so ? why then, 
 Give't me again, and drink to me. — Mine host. 
 Fill him his wine ! Thou'rt dull, and dost not 
 
 praise it. — 
 I eat but to teach you the way, sir. 
 
 Phil. Sir, 
 Find but the way to lodge me in this chamber, 
 I'll give mine host two ducats for his bed, 
 1 
 
Scene I.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 31/ 
 
 And you, sir, two reals. Here's to you ! 
 
 Inc. Excuse me ; 
 lam not mercenary. — Gossip, pledge him forme. 
 I'll think. A little more; but even one bit; 
 And then — Talk on; you cannot interrupt me. 
 
 Diegn. This piece of wine, sir, cost me 
 
 Inc. Stay ! 1 have found 
 
 This little morsel, and then — Here's excellent 
 
 garlic ! 
 Have you not a bunch of grapes now, or some 
 
 bacon, 
 To give the mouth a relish? 
 
 Diego. Wife, do you hear? 
 
 Inc. It is no matter. — Sir, give mine host your 
 ducats. 
 
 Diego. How, sir ! 
 
 7wc Do you receive 'em : I will save 
 The honesty of your house ; and yours too, gossip; 
 And I will lodge the gentleman. Shew the cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Diego. Good sir, do you hear ? 
 
 If>c. Shew me the chamber. 
 
 Diego Pray you. sir, 
 Do not disturb my guest. ' 
 
 Inc. Distuibr I hope 
 The Catholic king, sir, may command a lodging, 
 Without disturbing, in his vassal's house, 
 For any minister of his, employed 
 In business of the state. Where is the door? — 
 Open the door! Who are you there? Within ! 
 
 [Knocks, 
 In the king's name ! 
 
 T/ieod. [trii/iin.] What would you have ? 
 
 Itic. Your key, sir. 
 And your door open : I have here command 
 
 • Guests,] Corrected in 1778« 
 
318 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 To lodge a gentleman, from the justice, sent 
 Upon the king's affairs. 
 
 Tlieod. Kings and necessities 
 Must be obey'd : The key's under the door. 
 
 Inc. How now, sir ? are you fitted ? you se- 
 cured ? 
 
 Phil. Your two reals are grown a piece of eight. 
 
 Inc. Excuse me, sir ! 
 
 Phil. 'Twill buy a hen, and wine, 
 Sir, for to-morrow. \_Exit. 
 
 Inc. I do kiss your hands, sir. — 
 Well, this will bear my charge yet to the gallies, 
 (Where I am owing a ducat) whither this night. 
 By the moon's leave, I'll march ; for in the morn- 
 ing 
 Early, they put from Port Saint Mary's. 
 
 Diego, Lazaro ! l^Exeunt all but Diego. 
 
 Enter Lazaro. 
 
 How do the horses ? 
 
 Laz. 'Would you would go and see, sir ! 
 A plague of all jades, * what a clap he has given 
 me ! 
 
 9 A plague of all jades, &c.] The scene now coming on likewise 
 occurs in Jonson's comedy of the New Inn, with scarce any vari- 
 ation in the sentiment, though a good deal in the dialogue. The 
 following is Mr VVhalley's note upon this subject ; — - 
 
 *' What follows in this scene about the tricks of ostlers, occurs 
 likewise in the first act of Fletcher's Love's Pilgrimage ; and per- 
 haps there may be some difficulty in accounting for this coinci- 
 dence. We are told that some plays of Beaumont and Fletcher 
 being left imperfect, they were fitted for the stage by Shirley, who 
 added what he thought necessary to complete them : And that it 
 is probable he here borrowed from our author's New Inn, what 
 passes between Lazaro and Diego in Love's Pilgrimage: And this 
 he thought, perhaps, might be done with safety enough, as the New 
 Jnn met with ill success in the representation. Could we certainly 
 
Scene I] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. s\9 
 
 As sure as you live, master, he knew perfectly 
 I cozen'd him on's oats ; he look'd upon me, 
 And then he sneer'd,' as who should say, *' Take 
 
 heed, sirrah !" 
 And when he saw our half-peck, * which you know 
 
 know that play to have been left deficient by i(3 author, I should 
 readily admil the solution : But i think it more probable this scene 
 was originally given to Fletcher by Jonson himself; Tleicher died 
 in 1625, and the New Inn was not brought upon the stage till 
 1629. Our author, therefore, might naturally redemand his owa 
 property, when so fair an occasion occurred for employing it him- 
 self : Otherwise, I do not see how we can account tor part of this 
 play's appearing, long before, in the performance of another author. 
 It will not, 1 believe, be said that Jonson was the borrower ; for 
 the whole scene is entirely in his manner : And we have an instance, 
 in our author's Scjanus, how extremely scrupulous he was in claim- 
 ing to himself what was the production of another person."— 
 Ed. 1778. 
 
 See in the introduction to this play, a proof that the scene was 
 inserted probably by the players after the death of Fletcher. 
 
 * And then he sneer'd.] Mason would read sneezed, but the fu- 
 tility of this and similar conjectures is proved by the old text be- 
 ing the same as that of Jonson's New Inn. 
 
 • ylnd when he saw our half-peck.] This and the other tricks of 
 ostlers, mentioned in the present scene, are thus fully exposed by 
 Dekkar. " When all the guests were profoundly sleeping, when 
 carriers were soundly snortmg, and not so much as the chamber- 
 laine of the house but was laid up, suddenly outof his bed started 
 an hostler, who, having.no apparel on but his shirt, a paire of slip- 
 shoes on his feete, and a candle burning in his hand like olde Je- 
 ronimo, siep'd into the stable amongst a number of poor hungry 
 jades, as if thiit night he had beene to ride post to the diuell. But, 
 his journey not lying that way till some other time, he neither 
 bridled nor saddled any of his foure-footed guests that stood there 
 at rack and manger, but seeing ihcm so late at supper, and know- 
 ing that to overeate themselves would till them full of diseases, 
 (they beinj^ subject to above a hundred and ihirtie alreadie) he 
 first (without a voyder) after a most unmannerly fashion, tooke 
 away, not only all the provender that was set before them, but 
 also all the hay, at which before they were glad to lick their lips. 
 The poorc horses looked very rufully upon him for this, but hee 
 rubbing their teeth only with the end of a candle (instead of a con; 
 
520 LOVE'S PILGRIIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 Was but an old court-dish, Lord, how hestampt! 
 I thought 't had been for joy ; when suddenly 
 lie cuts ine a back caper with his heels, 
 And takes me just o' th' crupper ; down came T, 
 And all my ounce of oats : Then he neigh'd out, 
 As though he had had a mare by th' tail. 
 
 Diego. 'Faith, Lazaro, 
 We are to blame, to use the poor dumb servitors 
 So cruelly. 
 
 Laz. Yonder's this other gentleman's horse, 
 Keeping Our Lady-eve ; the devil a bit 
 He has got since he came in yet ; there he stands, 
 And looks, and looks — But 'tis your pleasure, sir, 
 He shall look lean enough. He has hay before 
 
 him, 
 But 'tis as big as hemp, and will as soon choak 
 
 him, 
 Unless he eat it butter'd. He had four shoes, 
 And good ones, when he came ; 'tis a strange won- 
 der, 
 With standing still he should cast three. 
 
 rail) told them, that for their jadish tricks it was now time to 
 weane tliem. And so wishing them not to bee angry if they lay 
 upon the hard boards, considering all the beds in the house were 
 full, back againe he stole to his couch, till break of day : yet, fear- 
 ing least the sunne should shine to discover his knaverie, up hee 
 started, and into the stable he stumbled, scarce half awake, giving 
 to every jade a bottle of hay for his breakfast ; but all of them be- 
 ing troubled with the greasy tooth-ach, could eate none, which 
 their maislers in the morning espying, swore they were either sul- 
 len, or else the provender pricked them." — Villanies discovered by 
 Lanihonie and Candle Light, London, 1616, 4. sig, H. 3. 
 
 Thehe practices are again alluded to in the Knight of the Burn- 
 ing Pestle : — 
 
 " The third a gentle squire, Ostlero hight, 
 Who will our palfries slick with wisps of straw, 
 And in the manger put them oats enough. 
 And never grease their teeth with candle-snuff.'* 
 
Scene L] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 321 
 
 Diego. Oh, Lazaro, 
 The devil's in this trade ! Truth never knew it; 
 And to the devil we shall travel, Lazaro, 
 Unless we mend our manners. Once every week 
 J meet with such a knock to mollify me, 
 Sometimes a dozen to awake my conscience, 
 Yet still I sleep securely. 
 
 Laz. Certain, master, 
 We must use better dealing. 
 
 Diego. 'Faith, for mine own part, 
 (Not to give ill example to our issues) 
 I could be well content to steal but two girths, 
 And now and then a saddle-cloth'; change a bridle, 
 Only for exercise. 
 
 Laz. If we could stay there. 
 There were some hope on's, master ; but the de- 
 vil is 
 "We are drunk so early, we mistake whole saddles. 
 Sometimes a horse; and then it seems to us too 
 Every poor jade has his whole peck, and tumbles 
 Up to his ears in clean straw; and every bottle 
 Shews at the least a dozen ; when the truth is, sir, 
 There's no such matter, not a smell of provender, 
 Not so much straw as would tie up a horse-tail. 
 Nor any thing i' th' rack, but two old cobwebs. 
 And so much rotten hay as had been a hen's nest, 
 
 Diego. Well, these mistakings must be mended, 
 Lazaro, 
 These apparitions, that abuse our senses, 
 And make us ever apt to sweep the manger. 
 But put in nothing; these fancies must be forgot, 
 And we must pray it may be reveal'd to us 
 Whose horse we ought, in conscience, to cozen. 
 And how, and when : A parson's horse may suffer 
 A little greasing in his teeth, 'tis wholesome. 
 And keeps him in a sober shuftle ; and his saddle 
 
 VOL. XIII. X 
 
1 
 
 322 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I, 
 
 May want a stirrup, and it may be sworn 
 His learning lay on one side, and so broke it : 
 He bas ever oats in's cloak-bag to prevent us, ^ 
 And tberefore'tis a meritorious office 
 To titbe liim soundly. 
 
 Laz. And a grazier may 
 (For tbose are pincbingpuckfoists, '^ and suspicious) 
 Suffer a mist before bis eyes sometimes too, 
 And tbink be sees bis borse eat balf-a-busbel ; 
 Wben tbe trutb is, rubbing bis gums witb salt, 
 Till all tbe skin come off, be sball but mumble 
 Like an old woman tbat were cbewing brawn, 
 And drop 'em out again. 
 
 Diego. Tbat may do well too, 
 And no doubt 'tis but venial : But, good Lazaro, 
 Have you a care of understanding borses, 
 Horses witb angry heels, gentlemen's borses, 
 Horses tbat know tbe world ! Lettbem bavemeat 
 Till tbeir teeth ache, and rubbing till their ribs 
 Shine like a wench's forehead ; they are devils 
 
 Laz, And look into our dealings. As sure as 
 we live, 
 These courtiers' horses are a kind of Welch pro- 
 phets ; 
 Nothing can be hid from 'em : For mine own part, 
 Tbe next I cozen of that kind shall be founder'd. 
 And of all four too ; I'll no more such compliments 
 Upon my crupper. 
 
 Diego, Steal but a little longer, 
 
 ? To prevent vs."] Jonson, in his New Inn, reads what may be 
 the right here, to affront us. The corruption was easy.-^Sj/mpson. 
 
 The variation was no doubt intentional ; both readings are good 
 flense, 
 
 * Fuckfoists.'] Puckball, or puckfist, a kind of mushroom full of 
 dust. — Johnson. 
 
 The w ord is a common term of derision in old plays. See vol. 
 II. p. 2<j7. • • 
 
 3 
 
r 
 
 Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 323 
 
 Till I am lamed too, and we'll repent together; 
 It will not be above two days. 
 
 Laz» By that time 
 I shall be well again, and all forgot, sir. 
 
 Diego, Why then, I'll stay for thee. [Exeuni. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 A Bed- Room in the san\c. 
 
 Theodosia flW(;?PHiLippo discovered on several 
 Beds^ 
 
 Theod, Oh— ho! oh— ho! 
 
 Phil. Ha! 
 
 Theod, Oh — oh ! — Heart, heart, heart, heart ! 
 
 Phil. What's that? 
 
 Theod. When, wilt thou break, break, break, 
 
 break ? 
 PhiL Ha! 
 I would the voice were stronger, ' or I nearer. 
 Theod. Shame, shame, eternal shame! what have 
 
 I done 
 Phil. Done? 
 
 Theod. And to no end ! what a wild journey 
 Have I more wildly undertaken! 
 Phil. Journey ? 
 Theod. How, without counsel, care, reason, or 
 
 fear ! 
 
 ' Were strong.] I imagine we should read here, for improving 
 both metre and sense, thus, ucrc stronger, or J nearer. — Sympsun. 
 
324 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 Phil. Whither will this fit carry ? 
 
 Theod. Oh, my folly ! 
 
 Phil. This is no common sickness. 
 
 Theod. How have I left 
 All I should love, or keep ! Oh, Heaven ! 
 
 Phil. Sir! 
 
 Theod. Hal 
 
 Phil. How do you, gentle sir? 
 
 Theod. Alas, my fortune ! 
 
 Phil. It seems your sorrow oppresses : Please 
 your goodness, 
 Let me bear half, sir ; a divided burthen 
 Is so made lighter. 
 
 Theod. Oh! 
 
 Phil. That sigh betrays 
 The fullness of your grief. 
 
 Theod, Ay, if that grief 
 Had not bereft me of my understanding, 
 I should have well remembered where I was, 
 And in what company ; and clapt a lock 
 Upon this tongue for talking.* 
 
 Phil. Worthy sir, 
 Let it not add to your grief, that I have heard 
 A sigh or groan come from you ; that is all, sir. 
 
 Theod. Good sir, no more ! you have heard too 
 much, I fear : 
 'Would I had taken poppy when I spake it ! 
 
 Phil. It seems you have an ill belief of me. 
 And would have fear'd much more, had you spoke 
 
 aught 
 I could interpret. But, believe it, sir, 
 Had I had means to look into your breast, 
 And ta'en you sleeping here, that so securely 
 
 * • and clapt a lock 
 
 Upoti this tongue for talMng."] That is, to prevent its talking. 
 '^Mason. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. Sfl5 
 
 I might have read all that your woe would hide, 
 I would not have betrayed you. 
 
 Theod. Sir, that speech 
 Is very noble, and almost would tempt 
 My need to trust you. 
 
 Pliil. At your own election ; 
 I dare not make my faith so much suspected 
 As to protest again ; nor am I curio 
 To know more than is fit. 
 
 Theod. Sir, I will trust you ; 
 But you shall promise, sir, to keep your bed, 
 And, whatsoe'er you hear, not to importune 
 More, I beseech you, from me 
 
 Phil. Sir, 1 will not. 
 
 Theod. Than I am prone to utter. 
 ' Phil My faith for it ! 
 
 Theod. If I were wise, I yet should hold my 
 peace. 
 You will be noble ? 
 
 Phil. You shall make me so, 
 If you'll but think me such. 
 
 Theod. I do. Then know 
 You are deceived with whom you have talk'd so 
 
 long: 
 I am a most unfortunate lost w^oman. 
 
 Phil. Ha! 
 
 Theod. Do not stir, sir ! I have here a sword. 
 
 Phil. Not I, sweet lady. Of what blood or 
 name? 
 
 Theod. You'll keep your faith ! 
 
 Phil. I'll perish else. 
 
 Theod. Believe, then, 
 
 Of birth too noble for me, so descended 
 
 I am ashamed, no less than I'm affrighted. 
 
 Phil. Fear not : By all good things, I will not 
 wrong you ! 
 
 Theod, I am the daughter of a noble gentleman, 
 
3^6- LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 Born in this part of Spain ; my father's name, sir — 
 Bat why should I abuse that reverence, 
 When a child's duty has forsaken me? 
 
 Phil, All may be mended, in fit time too : 
 Speak it. 
 
 Thcod. Alphonso, sir. 
 
 Fh'd. Alphonso ? What's your own name ? 
 
 Theod. Any base thing you can invent. 
 
 Phil. Deal truly. 
 
 Theod. They call me Theodosia. 
 
 Phil. Ha ! and love 
 Is that that hath changed you thus ? 
 
 Theod. You have observed me 
 Too nearly, sir ; 'tis that indeed ; 'tis love, sir : 
 And love of him — oh, Heavens, why should men 
 
 deal thus? 
 Why should they use their arts to cozen us 
 That have no cunning, but our fears, about us; 
 And ever that too late too ; no dissembling 
 Or double way, but doting, too much loving? 
 Why should they find new oaths, to make more 
 wretches ? 
 
 Phil. What may his name be ? 
 
 Theod. Sir, a name that promises, 
 Methinks, no such ill usage ; Marc-Antonio, 
 A noble neighbour's son. Now I must desire you 
 To stay a while ; else my weak eyes must answer. 
 
 Pldl. I will. — Are you yet ready? What's his 
 quality? 
 
 Theod, His best, a thief, sir; that he would be 
 known by 
 Is, heir to Leonardo, a rich gentleman ; 
 Next, of a handsome body, had Heaven made him 
 A mind fit to it. To this man, my fortune 
 (My more than purblind fortune) gave my faith, 
 Drawn to it by as many shows of service 
 And signs of truth, as ever false tongue utter'd : 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 327 
 
 Heaven pardon all ! 
 
 Phil. Tis well said ! Forward, lady. 
 
 Theod. Contracted, sir, and by exchange of rings 
 Our souls delivered ; nothing left unfinished 
 But the last work, enjoying me, and ceremony; 
 For that, I must confess, was the first wise doubt 
 I ever made. Yet, after all this love, sir. 
 All this profession of his faith, when daily 
 And hourly I expected the bless'd priest. 
 He left me like a dream, as all this story 
 Had never been, nor thought of; why, I know not; 
 Yet I have call'd my conscience to confession, 
 And every syllable that might offend 
 1 have had in shrift : Yet neither loves law, signor, 
 Nor tie of maiden's duty, but desiring, 
 Have I transgressed in. Left his father too; 
 Nor whither he is gone, or why departed, 
 Can any tongue resolve me. All my hope 
 (Which keeps me yet alive, and would persuade me 
 I may be once more happy, and thus shapes nic 
 A shame to all my modest sex) is this, sir ; 
 I have a brother, and his old companion, 
 Student in Salamanca; there my last hope, 
 If he be yet alive, and can be loving, 
 Is left me to recover him : For which travel. 
 In this suit left at home of that dear brother's, 
 Thus as you find me, without fear, or wisdom, 
 I have wander'd from my father, fled my friends, 
 And now am only child of hope and danger. 
 You are now silent, sir ; this tedious story 
 (That ever keeps me waking) makes you heavy : 
 'Tis fit it should do so; for that and 1 
 Can be but troubles. 
 
 Phil. No ; I sleep not, lady : 
 I would I could!— Oh, Heaven, is this my comfort? 
 Theod. What ail you, gentle sir? 
 Phil. Oh! 
 
3S8 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act L 
 
 Theod. Why do you groan so ? 
 
 Phil. I must, I must ! oh, misery ! [Rises, 
 
 Theod. But now, sir, 
 You were my comfort : If any thing afflict you, 
 Am not I fit to bear a part on't ? and by your own 
 rule ? 
 
 Phil. No ; if you could heal, as you have wound- 
 ed me 
 
 But 'tis not in your power. 
 
 Theod. I fear intemperance. 
 
 Phil. Nay, do not seek to shun me ! I must see 
 you, 
 By Heaven, I must. — Hoa there, mine host! a 
 
 candle ! — 
 Strive not ; I will not stir you. 
 
 Theod. Noble sir. 
 This is a breach of promise. 
 
 Phil. Tender lady. 
 It shall be none but necessar}-. — Hoa there ! 
 Some light, some light, for Heaven's sake ! 
 
 Theod. Will you betray me ? 
 Are you a gentleman ? 
 
 Phil. Good woman 1 ^ 
 
 Theod. Sir! 
 
 Enter Diego, with a Light, 
 
 Phil. If I be prejudicial to you, curse me ! 
 Diego, You are early stirring, sir. 
 Phil. Give me your candle ; 
 And so, good morrow for a while. 
 
 Diego. Good morrow, sir. [Ejeit. 
 
 Theod. My brother Don Philippo? Nay, sir, 
 
 kill me ! [Kneels. 
 
 ' Good 'woman,] These words are addressed to the Hostess, 
 whom he means to call to him,— ikfa50«. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. S29 
 
 I ask no mercy, sir, for none dare know me; 
 I can deserve none. As you look upon me, 
 Behold in infinite these foul dishonours 
 My noble father, then yourself, last all 
 That bear the name of kindred, suffer in me ! 
 I have forgot whose child I am, whose sister ; 
 Do you forget the pity tied to that. 
 Let not compassion sway you ! you will be then 
 As foul as I, and bear the same brand with me, 
 A favourer of my f;iult. You have a sword, sir, 
 And such a cause to kill me in 
 
 Phil. Rise, sister ! 
 I wear no sword for women, nor no anger, 
 While your fair chastity is yet untouch'd. 
 
 Theod. By those bright stars, it is, sir. 
 
 Phil. For my sister . 
 I do believe you ; and so near blood has made us. 
 With the dear love I ever bore your virtues. 
 That I will be a brother to your griefs too. 
 Be comforted : 'Tis no dishonour, sister, 
 To love, nor to love him you do ; he is a gentleman 
 Of as sweet hopes as years, as many promises 
 As there be growing truths, and great ones. 
 
 Theod. Oh, sir ! 
 
 Phil. Do not despair. 
 
 Theod. Can you forgive ? 
 
 Phil. Yes, sister, 
 Though this be no small error, a far greater. 
 
 Theod. And think me still your sister? 
 
 Phil. My dear sister. 
 
 Theod. And will you counsel me ? 
 
 Phil. To your own peace too : 
 You shall love still. 
 
 Theod. How good you are ! 
 
 Phil. My business 
 And duty to my father, which now drew me 
 From Salamanca, I will lay aside, 
 
330 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 And only be your agent.' To persuade you 
 To leave both love, and him, and well retire you — 
 
 Theod. Oh, gentle brother ! 
 
 Phil. I perceive 'tis folly : 
 Delay's in love more dangerous * 
 
 Theod. Noble brother 1 
 
 Phil. Fear not, I'll run your own way; and to 
 help you, 
 (Love having rack'd your passions beyond counsel) 
 I'll hazard mine own fame. Whither shall we ven- 
 ture? 
 
 Theod. Alas, I know not, sir. 
 
 Phil. Come, 'tis bright morning. 
 Let's walk out, and consider. You will keep this 
 habit? 
 
 Theod, I would, sir. 
 
 Phil. Then it shall be : What must I call you? 
 Come, do not blush; pray speak ; I may spoil all 
 else. 
 
 Theod. Pray call me Theodore. 
 
 Enter Diego. 
 
 Diego. Are you ready ? 
 The day draws on apace. Once more, good-mor- 
 row ! 
 
 ' And enlj/ be your agent to persuade ye 
 To leave, &c.] The punctuation amended by a friend of Mr 
 Syrapson. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 9 Delays in love, more dangerous.'] Sympson proposes to read 
 thus — 
 
 Delays in love are dangerous, 
 
 and Mason declares him to be right. The last editors make it an 
 imperfect sentence, and say that he means, more dangerous than 
 persuading her to quit her iover. I conceive that they are in the 
 right, but the slight alteration is presumed to gender the text more 
 consonant to the explanation. 
 
r 
 
 ScexeIL] LOVE'S pilgrimage. 331 
 
 Theod. Good- morrow, gentle host. Now I must 
 thank you. 
 
 Phil. Who dost thou think tliis is? 
 
 Diego. Were you a wench, sir, 
 I think you would know before me. 
 
 Phil. Mine own brother. 
 
 Diego. By th' mass, your noses are akin ! Should 
 I then 
 Have been so barbarous to have parted brothers? 
 
 Phil. You knew it then ? 
 
 Diego. I knew 'twas necessary 
 You should be both together : Instinct, signer, 
 Is a great matter in an host. ' 
 
 Theod. I am satisfied. 
 
 Enter Pedro. 
 
 Pedro, Is not mine host up yet? 
 
 PhiL Who's that ? 
 
 Diego. I'll see. 
 
 PhiL Sister, withdraw yourself. 
 
 [Site steps aside. 
 Pedro. Signor Philippo ! 
 Phil. Noble Don Pedro ! where have you been 
 
 this way ? 
 Pedro. I came from Port Saint Maries, wheacc 
 
 the gallies 
 Put this last tide; and bound for Barcelona, 
 
 Instinct, signor, 
 
 Is a great matter in an host.] Stcevens has observed, that this 
 is the same phrase used by Falslaff in the following passage :— • 
 " By the Lord, I knew ye as wall as he that made ye. Why, hear 
 ye, my masters : was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I 
 turn upon the true prince ? Why thou knowesl I am as valiant as 
 Hercules : but beware instinct ; the lion will not touch the true 
 prince. Instinct is a great matter." The passage in the text 
 *eeixi'3 to have been suggested by tho onti quoted from Shakspeare. 
 
352 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act I. 
 
 I brought Marc- An tony upon his way. 
 
 Fhii. Marc- An tony ? 
 
 Pedro. Who is turned soldier, 
 And entertained in the new regiment 
 For Naples. 
 
 Phil. Is it possible ? 
 
 Pedro. I assure you. 
 
 Phil. And put they in at Barcelona ? 
 
 Pedro. So 
 One of the masters told me. 
 
 Phil. Which way go you, sir? 
 
 Pedro. Home. 
 
 Phil. And 1 for Sevil. Pray you, sir, say not 
 That you saw me, if you shall meet the question; 
 I have some little business. 
 
 Pedro. Were it less, sir, 
 It shall not become me to lose the caution. 
 Shall we breakfast together? 
 
 Phil. I'll come to you, sir. — \_Ejoit Pedro. 
 Sister, you hear this ; I believe your fortune 
 Begins to be propitious to you. We will hire 
 Mules of mine host here ; if we can, himself 
 To be our guide, and straight to Barcelona. 
 This was as happy news as unexpected. 
 Stay you till I rid him away. 
 
 Theod, I will, [Exeunt, 
 
Act II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. S33 
 
 ACT IL SCENE L 
 
 Before the House of Leonardo, in Andalusia, 
 
 Enter Alphonso and a Servant. 
 
 Alph. Knock at the door. 
 Serv. 'Tis open, sir. 
 Alph. That's all one ; 
 Knock when I bid you. 
 
 Serv. Will not your worship enter? 
 Alph. Will not you learn more manners, sir, and 
 do that 
 Your master bids you ? Knock, you knave, or Fll 
 knock 
 
 Such a round peal about j'our pate 1 enter 
 
 Under his roof, or come to say, '* God save you" 
 
 to him, 
 The son of whose base dealings has undone me?* 
 (Knock louder ! louder yet !) I'll starve and rot first; 
 
 * The son of whose base dealrngs—"] Theoddness of the phrase, 
 the son of base dealings, and the length of the line, make me mightily 
 inclined to believe the original might have been expressed thus, 
 
 To hitn, whose son's base dealings has undone ?nc.-— Sympson, 
 
 In Sympson's variation we have plainly the intended meaning 
 of the poet, but the present reading has the same sense, though, ac- 
 cording to a common failing of the time, not expressed with suffi- 
 cient attention to grammatical accuracy. Whose evidently stands 
 for whom's, and the meaning is, " the base dealings of the son of 
 whom have undone me." 
 
534 LOVES PILGRBIAGE, [Act II. 
 
 This open air is every man's. 
 2 So'v. [Ulthin.] Come in, sir. 
 
 Enter Second Sc?'t'ant. ' 
 
 j4lp/i. No, no, sir; I am none of these *' Come- 
 in-sirs," 
 None of those visitants : Bid your wise master 
 Come out; 1 have to talk unto him ; go, sir ! 
 
 2 Serv. Your worship may be welcome. 
 
 yllp/i. Sir, I will not; 
 I come not to be welcome. Good my three ducats^ 
 ]\ly pickled sprat a-day, and no oil to't, 
 And once a-year a cotton coat ! leave prating, 
 And tell your master I am here. 
 
 2 Serv. I will, sir. — 
 This is a strange old man. [E.vit. 
 
 Alph. I welcome to him? 
 I'll be first welcome to a pest-house. — Sirrah, 
 Let's have your valour now cased up, and quiet, 
 AVheu an occasion calls ; 'tis wisdom in you, 
 A serving-man's discretion : If you do draw, 
 Draw but according to your entertainment; 
 Pive nobles' worth of fury. 
 
 Enter Leonardo, and Sanchio (carried hy two 
 Servants in a Chair,) 
 
 Leo. Signor Alphonso, 
 I hope no discontent from my will given, 
 Has made you shun my house : I ever loved you ;* 
 
 3 Enter iuo Servants, Row] : Asliton.] So the first folio. These 
 were probably the names of the understrappers who performed 
 these parts. 
 
 . f I ever loved you.] These words are only in the first folio, from 
 which we have recovered them. — Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene L] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. $25 
 
 And credit me, amongst my fears 'tis greatest 
 To minister offences. 
 
 yilp/i. Oh, good signor, 
 I know you for Italian breed, fair-tongued ! 
 Spare your apologies; I care not for 'em ; 
 As little for your love, sir : I can live 
 Without your knowledge, eat mine own, and sleep 
 Without dependences, or hopes upon you. 
 I come to ask my daughter. 
 
 Leo. Gentle sir ! 
 
 Alp/t. I am not gentle, sir; nor gentle will be, 
 Till I have justice, my poor child restored 
 Your caper-cutting boy has run away with, 
 Young signor Smooth-face ; he that takes up 
 
 wenches 
 With smiles and sweet behaviours, songs, and 
 
 sonnets ; 
 Your high-fed jennet, that no hedge can hold : 
 They say you bred him for a stallion. 
 
 Satic. Fy, signor! there be times, and terms of 
 honour 
 To argue these things in, decidements able 
 To speak ye noble gentlemen, ways punctual, 
 And to the life of credit ; you're too rugged. 
 
 jilph. I am too tame, sir. 
 
 Leo, Will you hear but reason? 
 
 Alph. No, I will hear no reason; I come not hither 
 To be popt off with reason ; — reason then. 
 
 Sane. Why, signor, in all things there must be 
 method ; 
 You choke the child of Honour else, Discretion. 
 Do you conceive an injury ? 
 
 J/ph. What then, sir ? 
 
 Sane. Then follow it in fair terms ; let your 
 sword bite. 
 When time calls, not your tongue. 
 
 Jlph. I know, sir. 
 
536 LOVE'S PILGRIIMAGE. [Act II. 
 
 Both when and what to do, without directions, 
 And where, and how ; I come not to be tutor'd ; 
 My cause is no man's but mine own. — You, signer ! 
 Will you restore my daughter? 
 
 Leo. Who detains her ? 
 
 Alph No more of these slight shifts ! 
 
 Leo. You urge me, signor, 
 With strange injustice: Because my sonhaserr'd — - 
 
 Sane. Mark him. 
 
 Leo. Out of the heat of youth, does't follow 
 I must be father of his crimes ? 
 
 Alph. I say still. 
 Leave off your rhetoric, and restore my daughter, 
 And suddenly ; bring in your rebel too, 
 Mountdragon, he that mounts withoutcommission, 
 That I may see him punished, and severely; 
 Or, by that holy Heaven, Fll fire your house ! 
 And there's my way of honour. 
 
 Sane. Pray give me leave. 
 \yas not man made the noblest creature? 
 
 Alph. Well, sir? 
 
 Sane. Should not his mind then answer to his 
 making. 
 And to his mind his actions ? If this ought to be, 
 Why do we run a blind way from our worths. 
 And cancel our discretions, doing those things 
 To cure offences, are the most offences?^ 
 W^e have rules of justice in us ; to those rules 
 Let us apply our angers : You can consider 
 The want in others of these terminations, 
 And how unfurnish'd they appear. 
 
 Alph. Hang others ! 
 And, where the wrongs are open, hang respects 1 
 
 * The most offences,] That is, the greatest. So in Henry VI. 
 Part I.— 
 
 ■■ " always resolute in most extremes.'* 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 337 
 
 I come not to consider. 
 
 Leo. Noble sir, 
 Let's argue coolly, and consider like men. 
 
 Alph. Like men? 
 
 Leo. You are too sudden still. 
 
 Alph. Like men, sir? 
 
 Sane. It is fair language, and allied to honour. 
 
 Alph. Why, whatstrangebeastwouldyour grave 
 reverence 
 Make me appear ! Like men ? 
 
 Sane. Taste but that point, sir. 
 And you recover all. 
 
 Alph. I tell thy wisdom 
 I am as much a man, and as good a man 
 
 Leo. All this is granted, sir. 
 
 Alph. As wise a man 
 
 Sane. You are not tainted that way. 
 
 Alph. And a man 
 Dares make thee no man ; or, at best, a base man. 
 
 Sane. Fy, f y ! here wants much carriage.* 
 
 Alph. Hang much carriage ! 
 
 Leo. Give me good language. 
 
 Alph. Sirrah signor, give me my daughter. 
 
 Leo. I am as gentle ' as yourself, as free born 
 
 Sane. Observe his way. 
 
 Leo. As much respect owed to me 
 
 Sane. This hangs together nobly. 
 
 Leo, And for civil, 
 
 ' Here "wants much carriage.] That is, conduct, regulation of 
 behaviour. 
 
 7 I am as gentle as yourself.^ Gentle was very generally used 
 for well-born, of high rank. In Shakspeare's Henry V. it is used 
 as a verb — 
 
 *' be he ne'er so vile 
 
 This day shall gentle his condition." 
 VOL. XIII. Y 
 
338 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IL 
 
 A great deal more, it seems. Go look your daugh- 
 ter ! 
 
 Sane. There you went well oflf, signor. 
 
 Leo. That rough tongue 
 You understand at first. You never think, sir, 
 Out of your mightiness, of my loss ; here I stand, 
 A patient anvil to your burning angers, 
 Made subject to your dangers ; yet my loss equal: 
 "Who shall bring home my son? 
 
 Alph. A whipping beadle. 
 
 Leo. Why, is your daughter whorish ? 
 
 Alph. Ha, thou darest not 
 
 By Heaven, I know thou darest not 
 
 Leo. I dare more, sir, 
 If you dare be uncivil. 
 
 Alph. Laugh too, pigeon ? 
 
 Sane. A fitter time, for Fame's sake ! two weak 
 nurses 
 Would laugh at this. Are there no more days 
 
 coming, 
 No ground but this to argue on? No swords left, 
 Nor friends to carry this,^ but your own furies ! 
 Alas ! it shews too weakly. 
 
 Alph. Let it shew ! 
 I come not here for shows. Laugh at me, sirrah? 
 I'll give you cause to laugh, 
 
 Leo. You are as like, sir. 
 As any man in Spain. 
 
 Alph. By Heaven, I will ; 
 
 5 Nor friends to carry tJiis.'\ To carry any business, very ge- 
 nerally meant to manage or conduct it. So in Henry Vlll.— 
 
 " he'd carry it so, 
 
 To make the sceptre his." 
 The phrase was very generally applied to duels. So in the con* 
 elusion of this play — 
 
 Could Caranza himself 
 
 Carry a business better ? 
 
I 
 
 Scene I.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 339 
 
 I will, brave Leonardo ! 
 
 Leo. Brave Alphonso, 
 I will expect it then. 
 
 Sane. Hold ye there both ! 
 These terms are noble. 
 
 Alph. You shall hear shortly from me. 
 
 Sane. Now discreetly. 
 
 Alph. Assure yourself you shall. Do you see 
 this sword, sir ? 
 He has not cast his teeth yet. 
 
 Sane. Rarely carried ! 
 
 Alph. He bites deep, most times mortal : Signer, 
 I'll hound him at thee; fair and home. 
 
 Sane. Still nobly. 
 
 Alph. And at all those that dare maintain you. 
 
 Sane, Excellent ! 
 
 Leo, How you shall please, sir, so it be fair; 
 though certain 
 I had rather give you reason. 
 
 Sane. Fairly urged too ! 
 
 Alph. This is no age for reason ; prick your reason 
 Upon your sword's point 
 
 Sane. Admirably follow'd ! 
 
 Alph. And there I'll hear it. So, till I please, 
 live, sir. \_Exit. 
 
 Leo. And so, farewell ! you're welcome. 
 
 Sane. The end crowns all things. Signor, 
 Some little business past, this cause I'll argue, 
 And be a peace between ye, if't so please you, 
 And by the square of honour to the utmost. 
 I feel the old man's master'd by much passion. 
 And too high racked, which makes him overshootall 
 His valour should direct at, ^ and hurt those 
 
 9 I fear the old man's mastered by much passion, 
 And too high racked, which makes him over-slioot all 
 His valour should direct al.] Too high racked means, screw- 
 
340 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act II. 
 
 That stand but by as blenchers.' This he must 
 
 know too, 
 As necessary to his judgment; doting women 
 Areneithersafenorwise adventurers, conceive me, 
 If once their wills have wander'd : Nor is't then 
 A time to use our rages ; for why should I 
 Bite at the stone, when he that throws it wrongs me ? 
 Do not we know that women are most wooers, 
 Though closest in their carriage ? Do not all men 
 
 know, 
 Scarce all the compass of the globe can hold 'em, 
 If their affections be a-foot ? Shall I then covet 
 The follies of a she-fool, that by nature 
 Must seek her like, by reason be a woman ? 
 Sink a tall ship, because the sails defy me ? 
 No, I disdain that folly ; he that ventures 
 AVhilst they are fit to put him on, has found out 
 The everlasting motion in his scabbard.* 
 I doubt not to make peace. And so, for this time, 
 My best love and remembrance ! 
 
 Leo. Your poor servant ! [Eoceunt. 
 
 ed up too high. They formerly used screws to bend their cross- 
 bows, which they could not manage by their own strength : to 
 that practice this passage alludes— iJ/ason. 
 
 ' Blenchers.] To blench was used in the sense of slarting-off. So 
 in Troilus and Cressida : 
 
 " there can be no evasion 
 
 To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour." 
 
 The word fc/enc^ers is evidently used in the text for the by-standers 
 at an exhibition of archery ; and perhaps they were so termed on 
 account of their starting off suddenly to avoid the arrow, not be- 
 ing acquainted with its direction. 
 
 ' He that ventures, &c.] This is rather obscure ; but signifies, 
 " He that will draw his sword as often as women's conduct gives 
 hira cause, will never let it rest in the scabbard." — Ed, 1778. 
 
ScEXE ir.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 341 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 A Falsest near Ossiina. 
 
 Enter Diego, Philippo, «;/6?Theodosia. 
 
 Phil. Where will our horses meet us? 
 Diego. Fear not you, sir ; 
 Somehalf-milehenceniy worship's man will stayus. 
 How is it with my young bloods ? Come, be jovial ; 
 Let's travel like a merry flock of wild geese, 
 Every tongue talking. 
 
 Phil. We are very merry. 
 But do you know this way, sir? 
 
 Theod. Is't not dangerous ? 
 Methinks these woody thickets should harbour 
 knaves. 
 Diego, I fear none but fair wenches ; those are 
 thieves 
 May quickly rob me of my good conditions. 
 If they cry stand once. But the best is, signors. 
 They cannot bind my hands ; for any else, 
 They meet an equal knave, and there's my passport. 
 I have seen fine sport in this place ; had these trees 
 
 tongues. 
 They would tell ye pretty matters : Do not you 
 
 fear though ; 
 They are not every day's delights. 
 Phil. What sport, sir ? 
 Diego, Why, to say true, the sport of all sports. 
 
342 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act If. 
 
 Phil What was't? 
 
 Diego, Such turning-up of tafFetaes ! and you 
 know 
 To what rare whistling tunes they go, far beyond 
 A soft wind in the shrouds ; such stand there, 
 And down \ th' other place ! such supplications 
 And sub-divisions for those toys their honours I 
 One, " As you are a gentleman," in this bush ; 
 And " Oh, sweet sir, what mean you ? There's a 
 
 bracelet, 
 And use me, I beseech you, like a woman !'* 
 And her petition's heard ; another scratches. 
 And cries she will die first, and then swoons; but 
 
 certain 
 She's brought to life again, and does well after. 
 Another, " Save mine honour, oh, mine honour ! 
 My husband serves the duke, sir, in his kitchen ; 
 I have a cold pie for you ; fy, fy, fy, gentlemen ! 
 Will nothing satisfy you ? where's my husband?" 
 Another cries, " Do you see, sir, how they use me ? 
 Is there no law for these things ?" 
 
 Theod. And, good mine host. 
 Do you call these fine sports ? 
 
 Diego What should I call 'em ? 
 They have been so call'd these thousand years and 
 upwards. 
 
 Phil. But what becomes o' th' men ? 
 
 Diego. They are strip t and bound. 
 Like so many Adams, with fig-leaves afore 'em, 
 And there's their innocence. 
 
 Theod. 'Would we had known this, 
 Before we reach'd this place .' 
 
 Phil. Come, there's no danger ; 
 These are but sometimes chances. 
 
 Diego, Now we must through. 
 
Scene JI.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 348 
 
 Enter Incubo. ' 
 
 Theod. Who's that ? 
 
 Diego. Stand to it, signors! 
 
 Phil. No, it needs not; 
 I know the face, 'tis honest. 
 
 Inc. What, mine host. 
 Mine everlasting honest host? 
 
 Diego. 'Mass, Baily ? 
 Now, in the name of an ill reckoning, 
 What make you walking this round? 
 
 Inc. A pox of this round, 
 And of all business too, through woods ! and, ras- 
 cals, 
 They have rounded me away a dozen ducats, 
 Besides a fair round cloak : Some of 'em knew me, 
 Else they had cased me like a cony too, 
 As they have done the rest, and I think roasted me, 
 For they began to baste me soundly. My young 
 
 signors, 
 You may thank Heaven, and heartily, and hourly, 
 You set not out so early ; ye had been smoked else. 
 By this true hand ye had, sirs, finely smoked ; 
 Had ye been women, smock'd too. 
 Theod. Heaven defend us ! 
 
 Inc. Nay, that had been no prayer ; there were 
 those 
 That run that prayer out of breath, yet failed too. 
 There was a friar, now you talk of prayer, 
 
 ' Enter Bailiff.] The former editions make strange confusion 
 with Incubo's character, calling him in some scenes by his name, 
 and in others Bailiff, as if they were two distinct characters. This 
 error is now corrected. — Ed. 177S. 
 
 Such confusion has taken place in most of these plays, and the 
 editors have seldom taken the pains to correct it. 
 
344 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act II. 
 
 With an huge bunch of beads, like a rope of onions, 
 (I am sure as big) that, out of fear and prayer, 
 In half an-hour wore 'em as small as bugles; 
 Yet he was flead too. 
 
 Phil. At what hout was this ? 
 Inc. Some two hours since. 
 Theod. Do you think the passage sure now ? 
 Inc. Yes, a rope take 'em (as it will) and bless 
 'em ! 
 They have done for this day, sure. 
 Phil. Are many rifled r 
 I)ic. At the least a dozen, 
 And there left bound. 
 
 Theod. How came you free ? 
 Inc. A courtesy 
 They use out of their rogueships, to bequeath 
 To one, that, when they give a sign from far, 
 (Which is from out of danger) he may presently 
 Release the rest : As 1 met you, I was going, 
 Having the sign from yonder hill to do it. 
 Thtod. Alas, poor men ! 
 Phil. Mine host, pray go unty 'em. 
 Diego* Let me alone for cancelling I where are 
 
 they ? 
 Lie. In every bush, like black-birds ; you can- 
 not miss 'em. 
 Diego. I need not stalk unto 'em. [Emt, 
 
 Lie. No, they'll stand you, 
 My busy life for yours, sir. — You would wonder 
 To see the several tricks and strange behaviours 
 Of the poor rascals in their miseries : 
 One weeps, another laughs at him for weeping, 
 A third is monstrous angry he can laugh, 
 And cries, " Go to ! this is no time ;" he laughs 
 
 still; 
 A fourth exhorts to patience ; him a fifth man 
 Curses for tameness ; him a friar schools ; 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 345 
 
 All boot the friar ; here one sings a ballad ; 
 And there a little curate confutes him : and in 
 This linsey-woolsey way, that would make a doo- 
 Forget his dinner, or an old man fire. 
 They rub out for their ransoms. Amongst the rest, 
 There is a little boy robb'd, a fine child, 
 It seems a page : I must confess my pity 
 (As 'tis a hard thing* in a man of my place 
 To shew compassion) stirred at him ; so finely, 
 And without noise, he carries his afl^lictions. 
 And looks as if he had but dream'd of losing. 
 This boy's the glory of this robbery ; 
 The rest but shame the action. — Now ye may hear 
 'em. 
 
 Enter Diego, Leocadia disguised as a Boy ; a 
 Friar and other Passengers as robbed. 
 
 Diego, Come, lads, 'tis holy-day; hang clothes -, 
 'tis hot, 
 And sweating agues are abroad. 
 
 1 Passenger. It seems so ; 
 For we have met with rare physicians 
 To cure us of that malady. 
 
 Diego. Fine footing, 
 Light and deliver ; now, my boys ! Master Friar, 
 How does your holiness? Bear up, man ! what, 
 A cup of neat sack now, and a toast? ha, Friar? 
 A warm plaister to your belly, father ! 
 There were a blessing now ! 
 
 Friar. You say your mind, sir. 
 
 * ^s 'tis a hard thing, &c.l Mason very plausibly wishes to 
 read and for as ; but Incubo may mean to say — " I must confess 
 my pity stirred at him, which is the more singular, as it is a har^ 
 thing in a man of my place to shew compassion." 
 
346 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act XL 
 
 Diego. Where's my fine boy, my pointer? 
 
 I?2C. There's the wonder. 
 
 Diego. A rank whore scratch their sides till the 
 pox follow 
 For robbing thee ! thou hast a thousand ways 
 To rob thyself, boy ; dice, and a chamber-devil — 
 
 I.eoc, You are deceived, sir. 
 
 Diego. And thy master too, boy.* 
 
 Fhii. A sweet-faced boy, indeed ! what rogues 
 were these, 
 What barbarous, brutish slaves, to strip this beauty ! 
 
 Theod. Come hither, my boy. Alas ! he's cold ; 
 Mine host. 
 We must entreat your cloak. 
 
 Diego. Can you entreat it ? 
 
 Phit. We do presume so much ; you have other 
 garments. 
 
 Diego. Will you entreat those too? 
 
 Theod. Your mule must too 
 To the next town ; you say 'tis near : In pity, 
 You cannot see this poor boy perish ; I know 
 You have a better soul. We'll satisfy you. 
 
 Diego. 'Tis a strange foolish trick I have, but I 
 cannot help it ; 
 I am ever cozen'd with mine own commendations ; 
 It is determined then I shall be robb'd too, 
 To make up vantage to this dozen. Here, sir ; 
 Heaven has provided you a simple garment 
 To set you off; pray keep it handsomer 
 Than you kept your own, and let me have it ren- 
 
 der'd, 
 Brush'd and discreetly folded. 
 
 * And thy master too, boy.l That is, and of robbing thy master 
 also. This is a continuation of Diego's speech, which Leocadia 
 interrupted. There should, therefore, be no full point after cltam,' 
 ber-devil, but a break, — Masoji. 
 
 9 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIINIAGE. 347 
 
 Leoc. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Diego. Who wants a doublet? 
 
 2 Pass. I. 
 
 Diego. Where will you have it? 
 
 9. Pass. From you, sir, if you please. 
 
 Diego. Oh, there's the point, sir. 
 
 Phil. My honest friends, I am sorry for your 
 fortunes; 
 But that's but poor relief: Here are ten ducats; 
 And to your distribution, holy sir, 
 I render 'em, and let it be your care 
 To see 'em, as your wants are, well divided. 
 
 Diego. Plain dealing now, my friends ; and, fa- 
 ther Friar, 
 Set me the saddle right ! no wringing, Friar, 
 Nor tithing to the church ! these are no duties ; 
 Scour me your conscience ! if the devil tempt you, 
 Off with your cord, and swinge him ! 
 
 Friar. You say well, sir. 
 
 AIL Heaven keep your goodness ! 
 
 Tlicod. Peace keep you ! Farewell, friends ! 
 
 Diego, Farewell, light-horse-men ! 
 
 [Ed'eunt Friar and Passengers. 
 
 Phil. Which way travel you, sir ? 
 
 I?ic. To the next town. 
 
 Theod. Do you want any thing? 
 
 Inc. Only discretion to travel at good hours, 
 And some warm meat to moderate this matter ; 
 For I am most outrageous, cruel hungry. 
 
 Diego. I have a stomach too, such as it is. 
 Would pose a right good pasty ; I thank Heaven for't. 
 
 Inc. Cheese, that would break the teeth of a new 
 handsaw, 
 I could endue now like an estrich ; ^ or salt beef, 
 
 * CheesC' 
 
 I could enduxc noxp ] What my host means is plain and 
 
348 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act XL 
 
 That Cicsar left in pickle. 
 
 Phil. Take no care ; 
 We'll have meat for you, and enough. I' th' mean 
 
 time, 
 Keep you the horse-way, lest the fellow miss us; 
 We'll meet you at the end o' th' wood. 
 
 Diego. Make haste then. 
 
 [EjTCunt Diego a?7d Incubo. 
 
 Theod. My pretty sir, till your necessities 
 Be full supplied, so please you trust our friendships ! 
 We must not part. 
 
 Leoc. You have puU'd a charge upon you ; 
 Yet such a one as ever shall be thankful. 
 
 FhiL You have said enough. May I be bold to 
 ask you, 
 What province you were bred in ? and of what pa- 
 rents ? 
 
 Leoc. You may, sir : I was born in Andalusia, 
 My name Francisco, son to Don Henriques 
 De Cardinas. 
 
 Theod. Our noble neighbour ! 
 
 Phil. Son to Don Henriques ? 
 I know the gentleman : And, by your leave, sir, 
 I know he has no son. 
 
 easy, viz. that he could digest cheese which would break a hand- 
 saw's teeth, his stomach being as strong as that of an ostrich. But 
 I believe no dictionary <if our language will furnish us with such a 
 sense of the word endure. 1 have therefore taken the liberty to 
 substitute what I really believe was the original reading, viz. €«- 
 due, or endew. It is a term in falconry, which Bloome explains 
 thus : — Endew, is when an hawk digesteth her meat, that she not 
 only dischargeth her gorge thereof, but likewise cleanseth her 
 pan nel . — St/mpson. 
 
 Notwithstanding the last editors pronounce the old text proper, 
 and the variation forced, Sympson is clearly right; and this is one 
 of his most ingenious variations. The vulgar notion, that the ostrich 
 can digest iron, is alluded to, as Mason observes. I have preser- 
 ved the old manner of pronouncing the name of this bird, as it oc- 
 curs in Shakspeare and other writers of the time. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 349 
 
 Leoc. None of his own, sir, 
 Whicli makes him put that right upon his brother 
 Don Sanchio's children : One of which I am, 
 And therefore do not much err. 
 
 Phil. Still you do, sir, 
 For neither has Don Sanchio any son : 
 A daughter, and a rare one, is his heir, 
 Which, though I never was so blest to see, 
 Yet I have heard great good of, 
 
 Theod. Urse no further ! 
 He is ashamed, and blushes. 
 
 Fh'il. Sir, 
 If't might import you to conceal )'^ourself, 
 I ask your mercy, I have been so curious. 
 
 Lcoc. Alas ! I must ask yours, sir, for these lies ; 
 Yet they were useful ones ; for by the claiming 
 Such noble parents, I believed your bounties 
 Would shew more gracious. The plain truth is, 
 
 gentlemen, 
 I am Don Sanchio's steward's son, a wild boy, 
 That for the fruits of his unhappiness 
 Is fain to seek the wars. 
 
 Theod. This is a lie too, [Jpart /oPhilippo. 
 If I have any ears. 
 Phil. Why? 
 
 Theod. Mark his language. 
 And you shall find it of too sweet a relish 
 For one of such a breed. I'll pawn my hand. 
 This is no boy. 
 
 Phil. No boy ? what would you have him ? 
 Theod, I know, no boy : I watch'd how fearfully^ 
 And yet how suddenly, he cured his lies. 
 
 The right wit of a woman ; now I am sure 
 
 Phil. What are you sure ? 
 Theod. That 'tis'no boy ; I'll burn in't. 
 Phil. Now I consider better, and take counsel, 
 ^lethinks he shews more sweetness in that face, 
 
350 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act XL 
 
 Than his fears dare deliver. 
 
 Theod. No more talk on't ! 
 There hangs some great weight by it; soon at night 
 I'll tell you more. 
 
 Phil. Come, sir, whate'er you are, 
 With us, embrace your liberty, and our helps 
 In any need you have. 
 
 Leoc. All my poor service 
 Shall be at your command, sir, and my prayers. 
 
 Fhil. Let's walk apace; hunger will cut their 
 throats else. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE in. 
 
 On board of a Galley at Sea, 
 
 Enter Roderigo and Marc-Antonio ; two Chairs 
 set out. 
 
 Rod. Call up the master. 
 
 Master. [Within.^ Here, sir. 
 
 Rod* Honest master, 
 Give order all the gallies with this tide 
 Fall round, and near upon us j' that the next wind 
 We may weigh off together, and recover 
 The port of Barcelona, without parting. 
 
 Master. [JVithi?i.] Your pleasure's done, sir. 
 
 Rod. Signor Marc-Antonio, 
 Till meat be ready, let's sit here, and prepare 
 
 ' — — near upon us.] Near is here used as a verb. To near up- 
 on us is a sea phrase, and means to draw nearer to us. — Mason, 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 351 
 
 Our stomachs with discourses. 
 
 Marc. What you please, sir. 
 
 B.od. Pray you answer me to this doubt. 
 
 Marc. If I can, sir. 
 
 Rod. Why should such plants as you are, Plea- 
 sure's children, 
 That owe their blushing years to gentle objects, 
 Tenderly bred, and brought up in all fullness, 
 Desire the stubborn wars ? 
 
 Marc. In those 'tis wonder, 
 That make their ease their god, and not their ho- 
 nour : 
 But, noble general, my end is other; 
 Desire of knowledge, sir, and hope of tying 
 Discretion to my time, which only shews me, 
 And not my years, a man, and makes that more 
 Which we call handsome ; the rest is but boy's 
 
 beauty. 
 And with the boy consumed. 
 
 Rod. You argue well, sir. 
 
 Marc. Nor do I wear my youth, as they wear 
 breeches, 
 For object, but for use ; my strength for danger, 
 (Which is the liberal part of man) not dalliance: 
 The wars must be my mistress, sir. 
 
 Rod. Oh, signor, 
 You'll find her a rough wench. 
 
 Marc. When she is won once, 
 She'll show the sweeter, sir. 
 
 Rod. You can be pleased, though, 
 Sometimes to take a tamer? 
 
 Marc. 'Tis a truth, sir ; 
 So she be handsome, and not ill-condition'd. 
 
 Rod. A soldier should not be so curious. 
 
 Marc. I can make shift with any for a heat, sir. 
 
 Rod. Nay, there you wrong your youth too ; and 
 however 
 
352 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IL 
 
 You are pleased to appear to me, which shews well, 
 
 signor, 
 A tougher soul than your few years can testify ; 
 Yet, my young sir, out of mine own experience 
 When my spring was, I am able to confute you, 
 And say, you had rather come to th' shock of eyes, 
 And boldly march up to your mistress' mouth, 
 Than to the cannon's. 
 
 Marc. That's as their lading is, sir. 
 
 Rod, There be trenches 
 Fitter and warmer for your years, and safer, 
 Than where the bullet plays. 
 
 Marc. There's it I doubt, sir. 
 
 Rod. You'll easily find that faith. But come, be 
 liberal ; 
 What kind of woman could you make best wars 
 with? 
 
 Marc. They are all but heavy marchers.^ 
 
 Rod. Fy, Marc- Antonio ! 
 Beauty in no more reverence ? 
 
 Marc. In the sex, sir, 
 I honour it, and, next to honour, love it. 
 For there is only beauty ; and that sweetness. 
 That was first meant for modesty, sever it, 
 And put it in one woman, it appears not; 
 'Tis of too rare a nature, she too gross 
 To mingle with it 
 
 Rod. This is a mere heresy.* 
 
 ' Marches.'] Corrected according to Mason's proposal, 
 
 5* This is mere heresy.] Mere was continually used, as in the pre- 
 sent instance, with the sense of absolute. For instance in Pericles, 
 where the Bawd is giving directions to Marina — " To weep that 
 you live as you do, makes pity in your lovers: Seldom but that 
 pity begets you a good opinion, and that opinion begets you a mcr^ 
 profit." • And in the Merchant of Venice — 
 
 " Engaged my friend to his mere enemy." 
 
 < 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 353 
 
 Marc. Which makes 'em ever mending; for that 
 gloss 
 That cozens us for beauty, is but bravery, 
 An outward shew of things well set, no more : 
 For heavenly beauty is as Heaven itself, sir. 
 Too excellent for object, and what's seen 
 Is but the veil then, airy clouds :' Grant this. 
 It may be seen, 'tis but like stars in twinklings. 
 
 Rod. Twas no small study in their libraries 
 Brought you to this experience. But what think 
 
 you 
 Of tliat fair red and white, which we call beauty ? 
 
 Marc. Why, 'tis our creature, sir; we give it 'em 
 Because we like those colours; else 'tis certain 
 A blue face with a motley nose would do it. 
 And be as great a beauty, so we loved it : 
 That we cannot give, which is only beauty, 
 Is a fair mind. 
 
 Rod. By this rule, all our choices 
 Are to no ends. 
 
 Marc. Except the dull end, doing. 
 
 Rod. Then all to you seem equal ? 
 
 Marc. Very true, sir. 
 And that makes equal dealing : I love any 
 That's worth love. 
 
 ■what is seen 
 
 Is but the veil then, airy clouds ; — ] The monosyllable then 
 seems not to have any good authority for standing here, as having 
 nothing to which it refers. 1 suspect a corruption as well in the 
 sense as in the pointing, and that it stood originally thus: 
 
 '■ "what is seen 
 
 Is but the veil, thin, airy clouds, &c. — Sympson, 
 
 The variation is not amiss ; but the old text is good sense, and 
 we believe genuine. Then is very naturally placed here, and tol- 
 lows up the argument; which is, *' Beauty is invisible; what is 
 seen then is but the veil," — £d. 1778. 
 VOL, XIII, Z 
 
354 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IL 
 
 Bod. How long love you, sigiior ? 
 
 Marc. Till I have other business. 
 
 Rod. Do you never 
 Love stedfastly one woman? 
 
 Mure 'Tis a toil, sir, 
 Like riding- in one road perpetually ; 
 It offers no variety. 
 
 Rod. Right youth ! 
 He must needs make a soldier. — Nor do you think 
 One woman can love one man? 
 
 Marc. Yes, that may be, 
 Though it appear not often ; they are things ig- 
 norant, 
 And therefore apted to that superstition 
 Of doting fondness. Yet of late years, signor, 
 The world's well mended with 'em ; fewer are 
 
 found now 
 That love at length, and to the right mark ; all 
 Stir now, as the time stirs ; tame and fashion 
 Are ends they aim at now, and to make that love 
 That wiser ages held ambition : 
 They that cannot reach this may love by index ; 
 By every day's surveying who best promises, 
 Who has done best, who may do, and who mended 
 May come to do again ; who appears neatest 
 Either in new-stampt clothes, or courtesies, 
 Done but from hand to mouth neither ; nor love 
 
 they these things 
 Longer than new are making, nor that succession 
 Beyond the next fair feather. Take the city. 
 There they go to't by gold- weight, no gain from 
 
 *em. 
 All they can work by fire and water to 'em, 
 profit is all they point at ; if there be love, 
 'Tis shewed ye by so dark a light, to bear out 
 The bracks and old stains in't, thatye may purchase 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 355 
 
 French velvet better cheap ; all loves are endless.* 
 
 Rod. 'Faith, if you have a mistress, 'would she 
 heard you 1 
 
 Marc. 'Tu'cre but the venturing of my place, or 
 swearing- 
 I meant it but tor argument, as schoolmen 
 Dispute high questions. 
 
 Rod. What a world is this, 
 When young men dare determine what those are, 
 Age and the best experience ne'er could aim at! 
 
 Marc. They were thick-eyed then, sir; now the 
 print is bigger, 
 And they may read their fortunes without spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 Rod. Did you ne'er love? 
 
 Marc. 'Faith, yes, once after supper, 
 And the fit held till midnight. 
 
 Rod. Hot, or shaking ? 
 
 Marc. To say true, both. 
 
 Rod. How did you rid it ? 
 
 Marc. Thus, sir ; 
 I laid my hand upon my heart, and bless'd me. 
 And then said over certain charms I had learn'd 
 Against mad dogs (for love and they are all one;) 
 Last, thought upon a windmill, and so slept, 
 And was well ever after. 
 
 Rod. A rare physician ! 
 What would your practice gain you ? 
 
 Marc. The wars ended, 
 I mean to use my art, and have these fools 
 Cut in the head like cats, to save the kingdom 
 Another inquisition. 
 
 * All loves are endless.] That is, are fruitless. Marc-Antonio 
 does not mean to say that all loves are perpetual. — Ma^on. 
 
 Better cheap, \n the same line, in old phraseology, meant cheaper, 
 Iq the same naauner good cheap occurs for very cheap. 
 
355 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act XL 
 
 Rod. So old a soldier, 
 Out of the wars, I never knew yet practised. 
 
 Marc. I shall mend every day. But, noble ge- 
 neral, 
 Believe this, but as this you named, discourses. 
 
 Rod. Oh, you're a cunning gamester. 
 
 Marc. Mirths and toys 
 To cozen time withal ; for, o' my troth, sir, 
 I can love j I think, well too, well enough ; 
 And think as well of women as they are, 
 Pretty fantastic things, some more regardful, 
 And some few worth a service : I am so honest, 
 I wish *em all in Heaven ; and you know how hard, 
 
 sir, 
 'Twill be to get in therewith their great farthingals. 
 
 Rod, Well, Marc- Antonio, I would not lose thy 
 company 
 For the best galley I command. 
 
 Marc, 'Faith, general, 
 If these discourses please you, I shall fit you 
 Once every day. 
 
 Rod, Thou canst not please me better. Hark, 
 they call [Knock within* 
 
 Below to dinner : You are my cabin guest ; 
 My bosom's, so you please, sir. 
 
 Marc, Your poor servant ! [E^veunL 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 257 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Ygualada. A Room in the Inn* 
 
 Enter Host and his Wife, 
 
 Host. Let 'em have meat enough, woman, half 
 a hen ; 
 There be old rotten pilchards, put 'em off too ; 
 'Tis but a little new anointing of 'em, 
 And a strong onion, that confounds the stink, 
 
 JVife. They call for more, sir. 
 
 Host. Knock a dozen eggs down ; 
 But then beware your wenches. 
 
 IVifc, More than this too. 
 
 Host. Worts, worts, and make 'em porridge; 
 pop 'em up, wench ; 
 But they shall pay for cuUises.' 
 
 JVife. All this is nothing; 
 They call for kid and partridge. 
 
 Host. Well remember'd ; 
 Where's the falconer's half dog he left ? 
 
 Wife. It stinks, sir ; 
 Past all hope that way. 
 
 Host. Run it o'er with garlic, 
 And make a Roman dish on't. 
 
 JVife. Pray you be patient, 
 
 * Cullises.] i. e. Restorative strong broths. The Host means 
 to say they shall only have porridge, but pay for cullises. 
 
558 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act XL 
 
 And get provision in : These are fine gentlemen, 
 
 And liberal gentlemen; they have U7ide quare ; 
 
 No mangy muleteers, nor pinching posts, 
 
 That feed upon the parings of musk-melons 
 
 And radishes, as big and tough as rafters. 
 
 Will you be stirring in this business? Here's your 
 brother, 
 
 Mine old host of Ossuna, as wise as you are, 
 
 That is, as knavish ; if you put a trick, 
 
 Take heed he do not find it. 
 
 Host. I'll be wagging. [Exit. 
 
 Wife, 'Tis for your own commodity. — Why, 
 
 wenches ! 
 Serv. [Within^ Anon forsooth. 
 Wife. Who makes a fire there ? and who gets in 
 water ? 
 
 Let Oliver go to the justice, and beseech his wor- 
 ship 
 
 We may have two spits going ; and, do you hear, 
 Druce ? 
 
 Let him invite his worship, and his wife's worship, 
 
 To the left meat to-morrow. 
 
 Enter Incubo. 
 
 Inc. Where's this kitchen ? 
 
 JVife. E'en at the next door, signer. What, old 
 don ! 
 We meet but seldom. 
 
 Inc, Pr'ythee be patient, Hostess ; 
 And tell me where the meat is. 
 
 Wife. 'Faith, master Baily, 
 How have you done ? and how, man 
 
 Inc Good sweet Hostess, 
 What shall we have to dinner ? 
 
 IFife. How does your woman ? 
 And a fine woman she is, and a good woman. 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 359 
 
 Lord, how you bear your years ! 
 
 Inc. Is't veal or mutton, 
 Beef, bacon, pork, kid, pheasant ? or all these ? 
 And are they ready all ? 
 
 IVife. The hours that have been 
 Between us two, the merry hours : Lord ! 
 
 Inc Hostess, 
 Dear Hostess, do but hear ! I am hungry. 
 
 Wife. You are merrily disposed, sir. 
 
 Inc. Monstrous hungry, 
 And hungry after much meat! I have brought 
 
 hither 
 Right worshipful to pay the reckoning ; 
 Money enough too with 'ern ; desire enough 
 To have the best meat, and of that enough too : 
 Come to the point, sweet wench ; and so I kiss thee. 
 
 JFife. You shall have any thing, and instantly, 
 Ere you can lick your ears, sir. 
 
 Inc. Portly meat, 
 Bearing, substantial stuff, and fit for hunger, 
 I do beseech you, Hostess, first ; then some light 
 
 garnish, 
 Two pheasants in a dish ; if you have leverets, 
 (Rather for way of ornament, than appetite) 
 They may be look'd upon, or larks ; for fish, 
 As there's no great need, so I would not wish you 
 To serve above four dishes ; but those full ones. 
 You have no cheese of Parma? 
 
 JVife. Very old, sir. 
 
 Lie. The less will serve us ; some ten pound. 
 
 JVife. Alas, sir, 
 "We have not half these dainties. 
 
 Inc. Peace, good Hostess, 
 And make us hope you have. 
 
 JVife. You shall have all, sir 
 
 Inc, That may be got for money. 
 
360 LOVES PILGRIMAGE. [Act II. 
 
 Enter Diego and a Boy. 
 
 Diego. Where's your master ? 
 Bring nie your master, Boy ! I must have liquor 
 Fit for the myrmidons ; no dashing now, child, 
 No conjurings bv candle-light ! 1 know all ; 
 Strike me the oldest sack, a piece that carries 
 Point-blank to this place, Boy, and batters. — Hos- 
 tess, 
 I kiss thy hands, through which many a round 
 
 reckoning 
 And things of moment have had motion. 
 JVife. Still mine old brother. 
 Diego. Set thy cellar open, 
 For 1 must enter, and advance my colours. 
 I have brought thee dons indeed, wench, dons 
 
 with ducats, 
 And those dons must have dainty wine, pure Bac- 
 chus, 
 That bleeds the life-blood. — What, is your cure 
 ended ? 
 Inc. We shall have meat, man. 
 Diego. Then we will have wine, man, 
 And wine upon wine, cut and drawn with wine. 
 Wife. Ye shall have all, and more than all. 
 Inc. All, well then. 
 
 Diego. Away, about your business ! you with her. 
 For old acquaintance sake, to stay your stomach ! 
 
 [Exeunt JVtfe and Incubo. 
 And, Boy, be you my guide, ad inferos ; 
 For I will make a full descent in equipage. 
 Boy. I'll shew you rare wine. 
 Diego. Stinging geer? 
 Boy. Divine, sir. 
 
 Diego. Oh, divine Boy ! march, march, my child. 
 Rare wine, boy ? 
 
Act III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 361 
 
 Boy. As any is in Spain, sir. 
 
 Diego, Old, and strong too ? 
 Oh, my fine boy ! clear too ? 
 
 Boy. As crystal, sir, and strong as truth. 
 
 Diego. Away, boy ! 
 I am enamour'd, and I long for dalliance. 
 Stay no where, child, not for thy father's blessing, 
 I charge thee, not to sav^e thy sister's honour, 
 Nor to close thy dam's eyes, were she a-dying, 
 Till we arrive ; and, for thy recompense, 
 I will remember thee in my will. 
 
 Boy. You have said, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IIL SCENE L 
 
 A Room in the same Inn, 
 
 Enter Philippo and Host, 
 
 Phil. Mine Host, is that apparel got you spoke 
 of? 
 You shall have ready money. 
 
 Host. Tis come in, sir; he has it on, sir, 
 And I think 'twill be fit ; and o' my credit, 
 'Twas never worn but once, sir, and for necessity 
 Pawn'd to the man I told you of, 
 
 Phil. Pray bargain for't. 
 And 1 will be the paymaster. 
 
 9 
 
362 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [ActIIL 
 
 Host. I will, sir. 
 
 Phil And let our meat be ready when you please; 
 I mean as soon. 
 
 Host. It shall be presently. 
 
 Phil. How far stands Barcelona? 
 
 Host. But two leagues off, sir. 
 You may be there by three o'clock. 
 
 Phil. 1 am glad on't. [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE U. 
 
 A Grove near the same. 
 
 Enter Theodosia and Leocadia. 
 
 Theod. Signor Francisco, why I draw you hither 
 To this remote place, marvel not ; for, trust me, 
 My innocence yet never knew ill dealing ; 
 And as you have a noble temper, start not 
 Into offence, at any thing my knowledge. 
 And for your special good, would be inform'd of ; 
 Nor think me vainly curious. 
 
 Leoc. Worthy sir. 
 The courtesies you and your noble brother, 
 Even then when few men find the way todo*em, 
 I mean in want, so freely shower'd upon me, 
 So truly, and so timely minister'd. 
 Must, if I should suspect those minds that made 
 'em,* 
 
 * Minds that made 'cm."] i. e. Did 'e«?.— Sympson. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 563 
 
 Either proclaim me an unworthy taker, 
 Or worse, a base believer. Speak your mind, sir, 
 Freely, and what you please ; I am your servant. 
 Theod. Then, my young sir, know, since our 
 
 first acquaintance, 
 Induced by circumstances that deceive not, 
 To clear some doubts I have (nay, blush not, sig- 
 
 nor !) 
 I have beheld you narrowly. More blushes ? 
 Sir, you give me so much light, I find you 
 A thing confess'd already. Yet more blushes? 
 You would ill cover an offence might sink you, 
 That cannot hide yourself. Why do you shake so? 
 I mean no trouble to you. This fair hand 
 Was never made for hardness, nor those eyes 
 (Come, do not hide 'em) for rough objects. Hark 
 
 ye, 
 
 You have betray'd yourself; that sigh confirms me. 
 
 Another ? and a third too ? Then I see 
 
 These boy's clothes do but pinch you. Come, be 
 
 liberal ; 
 You have found a friend that has found you ; dis- 
 guise not 
 That loaden soul that labours to be open. 
 Now you must weep, I know it, for 1 see 
 Your eyes down-laclen to the lids ; another 
 Manifest token that my doubts are perfect : 
 Yet I have found a greater ; tell me this, 
 Why were these holes left open? there was an 
 
 error, 
 A foul one, my Francisco ! — Have I caught you? 
 Oh, pretty sir, the custom of our country 
 Allows men none in this place. Now the shower 
 comes. 
 Leoc. Oh, signor Theodoro ! [JFeeps, 
 
 Theod. This sorrow shews so sweetly, 
 
364> LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act III. 
 
 I cannot cliuse but keep it company. 
 
 Take truce and speak, sir: And I charge your 
 
 goodness, 
 By all those perfect hopes that point at virtue, 
 By that remembrance these fair tears are shed for, 
 If any sad misfortune have thus form'd you, 
 That either care or counsel may redeem, 
 Pain, purse, or any thing within the power 
 And honour of free gentlemen, reveal it. 
 And have our labours. 
 
 Leoc. I have found you noble, 
 And you shall find me true : Your doubts are cer- 
 tain, 
 Nor dare 1 more dissemble ; I am a woman. 
 The great example of a wretched woman. 
 Here you must give me leave to shew my sex. — 
 And now, to make you know how muchyour credit 
 Has won upon my soul, so it please your patience, 
 I'll tell you my unfortunate sad story. 
 
 Theod, Sit down and say on, lady. 
 
 Leoc. I am born, sir. 
 Of good and honest parents, rich, and noble. 
 And, not to lie, the daughter of Don Sanchio, 
 If my unhappy fortune have not lost me ; 
 My name caU'd Leocadia, even the same 
 Your worthy brother did the special honour 
 To name for beautiful, and without pride 
 I have been often made believe so, signor ; 
 But that's impertinent ! Now to my sorrows : 
 Not far from us a gentleman of worth, 
 A neighbour, and a noble visitor, 
 Had his abode, who often met my father 
 In gentle sports of chace, and river-hawking. 
 In course and riding; and with him often brought 
 A son of his, a young and hopeful gentleman, 
 Nobly train'd up, in years fit for affection ; 
 
Scene II.] LOVERS PILGRIMAGE. 365 
 
 A sprightly man, of understanding excellent, 
 Of speech and civil 'haviour no less powerful ; 
 And of all parts, else my eyes lied, abundant : 
 We grew acquainted, and from that acquaintance 
 Nearer into affection ; from affection 
 Into belief. 
 
 Theod. Well? 
 
 Leoc. Then we durst kiss. 
 
 Theod. Go forward ! 
 
 Leoc* But oh, man, man, unconstant, careless 
 man. 
 Oh, subtle man, how many are thy mischiefs ! 
 Oh, Marc- Antonio, I may curse those kisses ! 
 
 Theod. What did you call him, lady ? 
 
 Leoc. Marc- Antonio ; 
 The name to me of misery. 
 
 Theod. Pray, forward ! 
 
 Leoc. From these we bred desires, sir; but lose 
 me. Heaven, 
 If mine were lustful! 
 
 Theod. I believe. 
 
 Leoc. This nearness 
 Made him importunate : When, to save mine ho- 
 nour, 
 (Love having full possession of my powers) 
 I got a contract from him. 
 
 Theod. Seal'd? 
 
 Leoc. And sworn too ; 
 Which since, for some offence Heaven laid upon 
 
 me, 
 I lost amongst my monies in the robbery 
 (The loss that makes me poorest :) This won from 
 
 him. 
 Fool that I was, and too too credulous, 
 I 'pointed him a bye-way to my chamber 
 'The next night at an hour 
 
3&6 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act TIL 
 
 Tlieod. Pray stay there, lady ! — 
 And when the night came, came he ? kept he touch 
 
 with you ? 
 (Be not so shame-faced !) had ye both your wishes? 
 Tell me, and tell me true, did he enjoy ye ? 
 Were ye in one another's arms a bed r the contract 
 Contirm'd in full joys there ? did he lie with you ? 
 Answer to that ! ha ? Did your father know this. 
 The good old man, or kindred, privy to't? 
 And had you their consents? did that night's pro- 
 mise 
 Make you a mother ? 
 
 Leoc. Why do you ask so nearly ? 
 Good sir, does it concern you any thing? 
 
 Theod No, lady ; 
 Only the pity why you should be used so 
 A little stirs me. But did he keep his promise? 
 
 Leoc. No, no, signor ; 
 Alas, he never came, nor never meant it! 
 My love was fool'd, time number'd to no end, 
 My expectation flouted ; and guess you, sir, 
 What dor unto a doting maid this was,' 
 What a base breaking-off ! 
 
 Theod. \Aside.'\ All's well then. — Lady, 
 Go forward in your story. 
 
 Leoc. Not only fail'd, sir, 
 (Which is a curse in love ; and may he find it 
 
 5 Dor."] i. e. Balk, disappointment. The word also means a 
 Icind o\ insect, and hence the following quibble in the Two Merry 
 JMilk Maidb:— 
 
 Callow. What was that ? 
 Jianoff. What ? 
 
 Call. Something crust my nose. 
 J?an. A dore. a dore, the fields are full of them, 
 Smirke 111 give you the dore too, — See vol. VIII. p. 227iand 
 IX. p. 327'. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 367 
 
 When bis affections are full-wing'd, and ready 
 To stoop upon the quarry, then when all 
 His full hopes are in's arms !) not only thus, sir. 
 But more injurious, faithless, treacherous, 
 Within two days Fame gave him far removed 
 With a new love ; which, much against my con- 
 science. 
 But more against my cause, which is my hell, 
 I must confess a fair one, a right fair one, 
 Indeed of admirable sweetness, daughter 
 Unto another of our noble neighbours ; 
 The thief call'd Theodosia, whose perfections 
 I am bound to ban for ever, curse to wrinkles, 
 As Heaven 1 hope will make them soon, and aches; 
 For they have robb'd me, poor unhappy wench, 
 Of all, of all, sir, all that was my glory, 
 And left me nothing but these tears, and travel. 
 Upon this certain news, I quit my father, 
 (And, if you be not milder in construction, 
 I fear mine honour too) and like a page 
 Stole to Ossuna ; from that place to Sevil ; 
 From thence to Barcelona I was travelling 
 When you o'er-took my misery, in hope 
 To hear of gallies bound up for Italy; for never 
 Will I leave off the search of this bad man. 
 This filcher of affections, this love-pedlar! 
 Nor shall my curses cease to blast her beauties, 
 And make her name as wand'ring as her nature. 
 Till, standing face to face before their lusts, 
 I call Heaven's justice down. 
 
 T/ieocl. This shews too angry; 
 Nor can it be her fault she is beloved : 
 If I give meat, must they that eat it surfeit ? 
 Leoc. She loves again, sir, there's the mischief 
 of it, 
 And in despite of me, to drown my blessings, 
 
368 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IIL 
 
 Which she shall dearly kiiow- 
 
 Theod You are too violent. 
 
 Leoc, She has devils in her eyes, to whose devo- 
 tion 
 He offers all his service. 
 
 Theod. Who can say 
 But she may be forsaken too ? He that once wan- 
 ders 
 From such a perfect sweetness as you promise. 
 Has he not still the same rule to deceive ? 
 
 Leoc. No, no ; they are together, love together, 
 Past all deceit of that side ; sleep together, 
 Live, and delight together; and such deceit 
 Give me in a wild desert 1 
 
 Theod. By your leave, lady, 
 I see no honour in this cunning. 
 
 Leoc. Honour? 
 True, none of her part ; honour ? she deserves 
 
 none ; 
 'Tis ceased with wand'ring ladies, such as she is, 
 So bold and impudent. 
 
 Theod. I could be angry, [Aside* 
 
 Extremely angry now, beyond my nature, 
 An 'twere not for my pity : What a man 
 Is this, to do these wrongs ! — Believe me, lady, 
 I know the maid, and know she is not with him— 
 
 Leoc. I would you knew she were in Heaven ! 
 
 Theod. And so well know her, 
 That I think you are cozen'd. 
 
 Leoc. So I say, sir. 
 
 Theod. I mean, in her behaviour ; for, trust my 
 faith. 
 So much I dare adventure for her credit, 
 She never yet delighted to do wrong. 
 
 Leoc. How can she then delight in him } Dare 
 she think 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 369 
 
 (Be what she will, as excellent as angels) 
 My love so fond, my wishes so indulgent, 
 That I must take her prewnings ? stoop at that 
 She has tired upon?* No, sir, I hold my beauty, 
 (Wash but these sorrows from it) of a sparkle 
 As right and rich as hers, my means as equal, 
 My youth as much unblown ; and, for our worths 
 And weight of virtue 
 
 Theod. Do not task^ her so far. 
 
 Leoc. By Heaven she's cork, and clouds ! light, 
 light, sir, vapour ! 
 But I shall find her out, with all her witchcrafts. 
 Her paintings, and her pouncings ; for 'tis art, 
 And only art preserves her, and mere spells 
 That work upon his powers. Let her but shew me 
 A ruin'd cheek like mine, that holds his colour 
 (And writes but sixteen years) in spite of sorrows. 
 An unbathed body, smiles that give but shadows. 
 And wrinkle not the face ! Besides, she's little, 
 A demy dame, that makes no object. 
 
 Theod. Nay, 
 Then I must say you err; for, credit me, 
 I think she's taller than yourself, 
 
 Leoc. Why, let her ! 
 
 stop at that 
 
 She has tired upon Vj Mr Theobald, with whom I had the good 
 fortune to agree, reads stoop for stop, which is undoubtedly the 
 true lection, and is a term in falconry that needs no explanation. 
 — Sympson. 
 
 Very fortunate indeed, since stoop is the lection of the first 
 folio.— Ed. J 778. 
 
 To tire means to peck at; the phrases are again from falconry, 
 
 7 Task.] I. e. tax. The word is very generally used in this sense 
 by our authors. 
 
 VOL. Kill. 2 A 
 
370 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IIL 
 
 It is not that shall mate me ;' I but ask 
 My liands may reach unto her. 
 
 Theod. Gentle lady, 
 *Tis now ill tiipe of i'urther argument; 
 F'>r I perceive your anger void of counsel, 
 Which I could wish more temperate. 
 
 Lecc. Pray forgive me, 
 If I have spoke uncivilly : They that look on 
 See more than we that play ; and I beseech you 
 Impute it love's offence, not mine ; whose tor- 
 ments, 
 If you have ever loved, and found ray crosses. 
 You must confess are seldom tied to patience : 
 Yet 1 could wish 1 had said less. 
 
 Theod. No harm then ; 
 You have made a full amends. Our company 
 You may command, so please you, in your travels, 
 With all our faith and furtherance ; let it be so. 
 
 Leoc. You make too great an oiFer. 
 
 Theod. Then it shall be. 
 Go in, and rest yourself; our wholsesome diet 
 Will be made ready straight. But hark you, lady ! 
 One thing I must entreat; your leave and suffer- 
 ance, 
 That these things may be open to my brother, 
 For more respect and honour. 
 
 Leoc. Do your pleasure. 
 
 7%eo</. And do not change thishabit, by no means. 
 Unless you change yourself.' 
 
 » // is not that shall mate me.'] That is, terrify me or subdue 
 me.'— Mason. 
 
 ' And do ot change this habit, by no means, 
 Uiiksayou chavgc yourself.'] That is, unless you change so as 
 to appear in your own character. This habit means the dress of 
 a man, not the identical clothes she had on ; for these she does 
 change, but not her habit. — Mason. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 371 
 
 Leoc. Which must not yet be. 
 
 Theod. It carries you conceal'd and safe. 
 
 Leoc. I am counsel I'd. {.Exit, 
 
 Enter Philippo. 
 
 Phil. What's done ? 
 
 Theod. Why, all we doubted ; 'tis a woman, 
 And of a noble strain too: Guess ! 
 
 Phil. I cannot. 
 
 Theod. You have heard often of her. 
 
 Phil. Stay ; I think not. , 
 
 Theod Indeed you have; 'tis the fair Leocadia, 
 Daughter unto Don Sanchio, our noble neighbour. 
 
 Phil Nay? 
 
 Theod. 'Tis she, sir, o' my credit. 
 
 Phil. Leocadia r 
 Pish ! Leocadia it must not be. 
 
 Theod. It must be, or be nothing 
 
 Phil. Pray give me leave to wonder : Leocadia? 
 
 Theod. The very same. 
 
 Phil. The damsel Leocadia ? 
 I guess'd it was a woman, and a fair one. 
 I see it through her shape, transparent, plain;* 
 But that it should be she ! tell me directly. 
 
 * I see it through her shape.] That is, her disguise. Philippo 
 says in the next page but one— 
 
 Leocadia keeps her shape f 
 To which Theodosia replies- 
 Yes, and I think, by this time, 
 Has mewed her old — 
 
 Meaning that Leocadia still continued her disguise, though she 
 changed her suit. The word is used in the same sense by Vecchio 
 in the Chances, [vol. VIL p. 107 ;] and in the Double Marriage, 
 Tol, VIIL p. 84, the Boatswain says — 
 
 • But the reason why 
 
 We wear these shapes ?— Mason. 
 
372 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IIL 
 
 Theod. Bv Heavens, 'tis she. 
 
 Pliil. By Heavens, then, 'tis a sweet one. 
 
 Theod. That's granted too. 
 
 Phil. But hark you, hark you, sister ! 
 Ho\r came she thus disguised ? 
 
 Theod. I'll tell you that too ; 
 As I came, on the self-same ground, so used too. 
 
 Phil. By the same man ? 
 
 Theod. The same too. 
 
 Phil. As I live, 
 You lovers have fine fancies, wondrous fine ones ! 
 
 Theod. Pray Heaven, you never make one 1 
 
 Phil 'faith, I know not : 
 But, in that mind I am, I had rather cobble ; 
 'Tis a more Christian trade. — Pray tell me one 
 
 thing; 
 Are not you two now monstrous jealous 
 Of one another ? 
 
 Theod. She is much of me, 
 And has rail'd at me most unmercifully, 
 And to my face ; and, o' my conscience, 
 Had she but known me, either she or I, 
 Or both, had parted with strange faces, 
 She was in such a fury. 
 
 Phil. Leocadia? 
 Does she speak handsomely ? 
 
 Theod. Wond'rous well, sir, 
 And all she does becomes her, even her anger. 
 
 Phil. How seem'd she when you found her ? 
 
 Theod. Had you seen 
 How sweetly fearful her pretty self* 
 
 Had you seen 
 
 How sineetly fearful her pretty self 
 
 Betrayed herself, \ The editors [of 1778] say they have assisted 
 the metre by the addition of a syllable, [they xeziA fearfully ;] but 
 it is at the expence of poetic beauty. The editors are always more 
 anxious about the metre than the poets lhemselves.<— iV/a^o/;. 
 
Scene II.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 573 
 
 Betray'cl herself; bow neat her sorrow shew'd, 
 And in what handsome phrase she put her story; 
 And as occasion stirr'd her how she started, 
 Though roughly, yet most aptly, into anger; 
 You would have wonder'd. 
 
 Phil. Does she know you ? 
 
 Thcod. No, 
 Nor must not by no means. 
 
 Phii. How stands your difference ? 
 
 Theod. I'll tell you that some fitter time ; but, 
 trust me, 
 My Marc-Antonio has too much to answer. 
 
 P/iii. May I take knowledge of her ? 
 
 Thend. Yes, she's wiUing. 
 
 Phil. Pray use her as she is, with all respects 
 then; 
 For she's a woman of a noble breeding. 
 
 Theod. You shall not find me wanting. 
 
 Phil. Which way bears she? 
 
 Thcod. Our way, and to our end. 
 
 Phil. I am glad on't. Hark you ! 
 She keeps her shape? 
 
 Theod. Yes, and I think, by this time, 
 Has mew'd' her old. 
 
 Enter Leocadia in another Suit. 
 
 Phil. She's here : By Heaven, a rare one ! 
 An admirable sweet one! what an eye! 
 Of what a full command she bears ! how gracious 
 All her aspect shews ? Bless me from a fever ! 
 I am not well o' th' sudden. 
 
 Leoc. Noble friends, 
 Your meat and all my service waits upon ye. 
 
 Phil. You teach us manners, lady; all which 
 service 
 
 ' Me-wed."] A hawk is said to mew when she sheds her feathers. 
 
374 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IlL 
 
 Must now be mine to you, and all too poor too; 
 Blush not we know you ; for, by all our faiths, 
 With us your honour is in sanctuary, 
 And ever shall be. 
 
 Leoc. I do well believe it : 
 Will you walk nearer, sir? 
 
 [Exeunt Philippo and Leocadia. 
 
 Tfieod. She shews still fairer, 
 Younger in every change, and clearer, neater : 
 I know not ; I may fool myself, and finely 
 Nourish a wolf to eat my heart out. Certain, 
 As she appears now, she appears a wonder, 
 A thing amazes me ; what would she do then 
 In woman's helps, in ornaments apt for her, 
 And deckings to her delicacy ? Without all doubt. 
 She would be held a miracle ; nor can I think 
 He has forsaken her, say what she please ; 
 I know his curious eye : Or, say he had, 
 Put case he could be so boy-blind and foolish, 
 Yet still I fear she keeps the contract with her, 
 Not stol'n, as she affirms, nor lost by negligence ; 
 She would lose herself first, 'tis her life ; and there 
 All my hopes are dispatch'd. Oh, noble Love, 
 That thou could'st be without this jealousy. 
 Without this passion of the heart, how heavenly 
 Wouldst thou appear upon us ! Come what may 
 
 come, 
 I'll see the end on't : And since chance has cast her 
 Naked into my refuge, all I can 
 She freely shall command, except the man. [Exit, 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 575 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Before Leonardo's House^ in Andalusia. 
 
 Enter Leonardo a«^ Pedro. 
 
 Leo. Don Pedro, do you think assuredly 
 The gallies will come round to Barcelona 
 Within these two days ? 
 
 Pedro. Without doubt. 
 
 Leo. And think you 
 He will be with 'em certainly ? 
 
 Pedro. He is, sir ; 
 I saw him at their setting off. 
 
 Leo. Must they needs 
 Touch there for water, as you say ? 
 
 Pedro. They must, sir, 
 And for fresh meat too ; few or none go by it. 
 Beside, so great a fleet must needs want trimming, 
 If they have met with foul seas ; and no harbour 
 On this side Spain is able, without danger, 
 To moor 'em, but that haven. 
 
 Leo. Are the wars 
 His only end ? 
 
 Pedro. So he professes. 
 
 Leo. Bears he 
 Any command amongst 'em ? 
 
 Pedro. Good regard 
 With all ; which quickly will prefer him. 
 
 Leo. Pray, sir, tell me, 
 And as you are a gentleman be liberal. 
 
376 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act III. 
 
 Pedro. I will, sir, and most true. 
 
 Leo. Who saw you with him ? 
 
 Pedro. None but things like himself; young 
 soldiers, 
 And gentlemen desirous to seek honour. 
 
 Leo. Was there no woman there, nor none dis- 
 guised 
 That might bethought a woman? In his language, 
 Did he not let slip something of suspicion 
 Touching that wanton way ? 
 
 Pedro. Believe me, sir, 
 I neither saw, nor could suspect that face 
 That might be doubted woman's ; yet I am sure 
 Aboard him I see all that past : And 'tis impossible 
 Among so many high- set bloods there should be 
 A woman, let her close herself within a cockle. 
 But they would open her : lie, must not love 
 Within that place alone ; and therefore surely 
 He would not be so foolish, had he any, 
 To trust her there. For his discourse, 'twas ever 
 About his business, war, or mirth, to make us 
 Relish a can of wine well ; when he spoke private, 
 'Twas only the remembrance of his service, 
 And hope of your good prayers for his health, sir; 
 And so I gave him to the seas. 
 
 Leo. I thank you. 
 And now am satisfied. And to prevent 
 Suspicions that may nourish dangers, signor, 
 (For I have told you how the mad Alphonso 
 Chafes like a stag i' th' toil, and bends his fury 
 'Gainst all, but his own ignorance) I'm determined^ 
 For peace sake and the preservation 
 Of my yet untouched honour, and his cure, 
 Myself to seek him there, and bring him back, 
 As testimony of an unsought injury 
 By either of our actions; that the world 
 And he, if he have reason, may see plainly 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. yi^ 
 
 Opinion is no perfect guide, nor all fames 
 Founders of truths. In the mean time this cour- 
 tesy 
 1 must entreat of you, sir; be myself here, 
 And as myself command my family. 
 
 Pedro. You lay too much trust on me. 
 
 Leo. Tis my love, sir. 
 I will not be long from you. If this question 
 Chance to be call'd upon ere my return, 
 I leave your care to answer. So, farewell, sir! 
 
 Pedro. You take a wise way ; all my best en- 
 deavours 
 Shall labour in your absence. Peace go with you!— 
 
 [Edit Leonardo. 
 A noble, honest gentleman, free-hearted, 
 And of an open faith, much loving and much 
 
 loved. 
 And father of that goodness only malice 
 Can truly stir against ; what dare befall 
 Till his return I'll answer, l[^Exit. 
 
 Enter Alphonso and Servant. 
 
 Alph, Walk off, sirrah ; 
 But keep yourself within my call. 
 Serv. 1 will, sir. 
 
 Alph. And stir my horse, for taking cold. — 
 Within there ! 
 Hoa, people ! you that dwell there ! my brave sig- 
 
 nor ! 
 What, are ye all asleep ? is't that time with ye ? 
 I'll ring a little louder. 
 
 Enter Pedro. 
 
 Pedro, Sir, who seek you ? 
 
 Alph. Not you, sir. Where's your master? 
 
378 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IIL 
 
 Pedro. I serve no man 
 In way of pay, sir. 
 
 Alph. Where's the man o' th* house then ? 
 
 Pedro. What would you have with him, sir ? 
 
 Alph. Do you stand here, sir, 
 To ask men questions when they come ? 
 
 Pedro. I would, sir, 
 Being his friend, and hearing such alarums, 
 Know how men come to visit him. 
 
 Alph. You shall, sir : 
 Pray tell his mightiness here is a gentleman. 
 By name Alphonso, would entreat his conference 
 About affairs of state, sir. Are you answer'd r 
 
 Enter Sanchio canned in a Chair. 
 
 Pedt^o. I must be, sir. 
 
 Sa?ic. Stay; set me down. Stay, signer ! 
 You must stay, and you shall stay. 
 
 Alph. Meaning me, sir ? 
 
 Sane. Yes, you, sir; you I mean, I mean you. 
 
 Alph. Well, sir? 
 Why should I stay -^ 
 
 Sane. There's reason. 
 
 Alph. Reason, sir? 
 
 Sane. Ay, reason, sir ; 
 My wrong is greatest, and I will be served first. 
 Call out the man of fame. 
 
 Alph. How served, sir? 
 
 Sane, Thus, sir. 
 
 Alph. But not before me ? 
 
 Sane. Before all the world, sir, 
 As my case stands. 
 
 Alph. I have lost a daughter, sir. 
 
 Sane. I have lost another, worth five score of 
 her, sir. 
 
 Alph. You must not tell me so. 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 379 
 
 Sane. I have ; and, hark ye, 
 Make it up five score more. Call out the fellow ; 
 And stand you by, sir. 
 
 Pedro. This is the mad morris.* 
 
 Alph. And I stand by? 
 
 Sane. I say, stand by, and do it. 
 
 Alph. Stand by, among thy lungs.* 
 
 Sane. Turn presently. 
 And say thy prayers ; thou art dead. 
 
 Alph, I scorn thee ! 
 And scorn to say my prayers more than thou dost ! 
 Mine is the most wrong, and my daughter dearest, 
 And mine shall first be righted. 
 
 Sa)ie. Shall be righted ? 
 
 Pedro* A third may live, I see. — Pray hear mc^ 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Sane. Shall be? 
 
 Alph. Ay, shall be righted. 
 
 Sane. Now? 
 
 Alph. Now. 
 
 Sane. Instantly? 
 
 Alph. Before I stir. 
 
 Sane. Before me ? 
 
 Alph. Before any. 
 
 Sane, Dost thou consider what thou sayst? Hast 
 thou friends here 
 Able to quench my anger, or persuade me 
 
 * This is the mad morris.] See vol. X. p. 315. 
 
 * Lungs.'] Probably this is an accidental corruption of the word 
 loont, (i. e. low people) derived from the Irish Hurt, sluggish. See 
 Dr Percy's Reliques of Aatient Poetry, Glossary to vol. I. — Ed. 
 1778. 
 
 Percy's etymology is very doubtful. See Dr Jamieson's Dic- 
 tionary, voce Loan. The word in the text is no doubt the same 
 which occurs in the Knight of fhe Burning Pestle — *' The foul 
 great lungics laid unmercifully on thee" 
 
380 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IIL 
 
 (After I have beaten thee into one main bruise,*^ 
 And made thee spend thy state in rotten apples) 
 Thou canst at length be quiet? Shall I kill thee? 
 Divide thee like a rotten pumpion, 
 And leave thee stinking to posterity ? 
 There's not the least blow I shall give, but does 
 
 this. 
 Urge me no further : I am first. 
 
 Alph, I'll hang first! 
 No, goodman Glory, 'tis not your bravadoes, 
 
 Your punctual honour, nor soldadoship 
 
 Sane. Set me a little nearer. 
 Alph. Let him sally ! — 
 Lined with your quirks of carriage and discretion, ' 
 Can blow me off my purpose. Where's your credit, 
 \yith all your school-points now? your decent ar- 
 guing, 
 And apt time for performing? where are these 
 
 toys, 
 These wise ways and most honourable courses, 
 To take revenge? How dar'st thou talk of killing, 
 Or think of drawing any thing but squirts, 
 When lechery has dry-founder'd thee ? 
 
 Sane. Nearer yet ! 
 That I may spit him down ! — Thou look'st like a 
 man. 
 
 * One main bruist.] The variation was recommended by Theo- 
 bald. The mention of rotten apples (esteemed beneficial in bruises) 
 induces us to think him right. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 ' Sane. .SV^ him a little nearer. 
 
 Alph. Let him sallj/. 
 
 S. Lined with, Sec] So the first folio. In what manner this 
 S. was introduced here is not easy to comprehend. The lines are 
 evidently a continuation of Alphonso's previous speech ; and the 
 corruption was rectified by Sympson, who makes a great parade 
 of words about it, which are now omitted, the matter being per- 
 fectly obvious. 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRLMAGE. 381 
 
 Pedro. I would be thought so, sir. 
 
 Sane. Pr'ythee do but take me, 
 And fling me upon that puppy. 
 
 Alph. Do, for Heaven's sake, 
 And see but how I'll hug liim. 
 
 Sane. Yet take warning ! 
 
 Pet/r^. 'Faith, gentlemen, this is a needless quar- 
 rel. 
 
 Sane. i!\nd do you desire to make one ? 
 
 Pedro. As a friend, sir, 
 To tell you all this anger is but lost, sir; 
 For Leonardo is from home. 
 
 Alph. No, no, sir ! 
 
 Pedro. Indeed he is. 
 
 Sane. Where dare he be, but here, sir, 
 When men are wrong'd, and come for satisfac- 
 tions ? 
 
 Pedro. It seems he has done none, sir ; for his 
 business. 
 Clear of those cares, hath carried him for some 
 
 time 
 To Barcelona: If he had been guilty, 
 I know he would have stayed, and cleared all dif- 
 ference. 
 Either by free confession, or his sword. 
 
 Sane. This must not be! 
 
 Pedro. Sure as I live, it is, sir. 
 
 Alph. Sure, as we all live, 
 He's run away for ever ! — Barcelona? 
 Why, 'tis the key for Italy, from whence 
 He stole first hither. 
 
 Saiie. And having found his knaveries 
 Too gross to be forgiven, and too open, 
 He has found the same way back again : I believe 
 
 too 
 The good grass gentleman, for his own ease, 
 
382 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IIL 
 
 Has taken one o' th' fillies.* Is not his stuff sold? 
 
 Alph. I fear his worship's shoes too, to escape us ; 
 I do not think he has a dish within doors, 
 A louse left of his lineage. 
 
 Pedro. You are too wide, sir. 
 
 Alph. Or one poor wooden spoon. 
 
 Pedro. Come in and see, sir. 
 
 Alph. Ill see his house on fire, first! 
 
 Pedro. Then be pleased, 
 Sir, to give better censure. 
 
 Sane. I will after him, 
 And search him like conceal'd land,' but I'll have 
 
 him ; 
 And, though I find him in his shrift, I'll kill him. 
 
 Alph. I'll bear you company. 
 
 Sane. Pray have a care then, 
 A most especial care, indeed a feaj. 
 You do not anger me. 
 
 Alph. I will observe you ; 
 And if I light upon him handsomely 
 
 Sane. Kill but a piece of him ; leave some, Al- 
 phonso, 
 For your poor friends ! 
 
 Pedro. I fear him not for all this. 
 
 Alph. Shall we first go home, 
 (For it may prove a voyage) and dispose 
 
 • Tlie good gr&^% gentleman y for his own case, 
 Has taken one o' tk' Jillies.] Grass is evidently used in the 
 sense of the French word gras, viz. fat; but from the wordjillies 
 in the last line, I suspect the poet intended a poor pun, of which 
 he is, however, less frequently guilty than most of the playwrights 
 cf the time. 
 
 ' And search him like concealed land. 3 This refers to the com- 
 missions granted to individuals in the reign of Elizabeth, to en- 
 quire into the tenure ot lands formerly belonging to abbies and 
 monasteries. See vol. III. p. 3S5. 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 383 
 
 Of things there? Heaven knows what may follow ! 
 
 Sane. No ; 
 I'll kill him in this shirt I have on : Let things 
 Govern themselves ! I am master of my honour 
 At this time, and no more ; let wife, and land, 
 Lie lay' till I return ! 
 
 Alpli. I say A7nen to't : 
 But what care for our monies ? 
 
 Sane. I'll not spend 
 Above three shillings, till his head be here; 
 Four is too great a sum for all his fortunes. 
 Come, take me up instantl}^ 
 
 Alph. Farewell to you, sir ! 
 And if your friend be in a feather-bed, 
 Sow'd up to shrowd his fears, tell him 'tis folly; 
 For no course but his voluntary hanging 
 Can get our pardons. [Exeiwt. 
 
 Pedro. These I think would be 
 Offence enough, if their own indiscretions 
 Would suffer 'em ; two of the old seditions ! 
 When they want enemies, they are their own foes ! 
 Were they a little wiser, I should doubt em ; 
 Till when, I'll ne'er break sleep, nor suffer hunger, 
 For any harm he shall receive: For 'tis as easy, 
 If he be guilty, to turn these two old men 
 Upon their own throats, and look on, and live still, 
 As 'tis to tell five pound j a great deal sooner. 
 And so I'll to my meat, and then to hawking. 
 
 [E.vU. 
 
 * Lie lay.] This passage is a confirmation of a correction I 
 made in The Scornful Lady : Though Mv Theobald makes an un- 
 happy query whether we should not read, lie fallow : But this 
 is the same thing ; lay, as you may see in a note, (vol. II. p. 215,) 
 upon The Scornful Lady, beingy«//(;u'.— -Sympson. 
 
 The discovery is hardly worth so much exultation. The phrase 
 is still usual, and i^ employed by Dryden. 
 
384 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE L 
 
 Barcelona. The Harbour. 
 
 Enter Marc- Antonio and a Gentleman. 
 
 Alarc. Sir, this is compliment; I pray you leave 
 me. 
 
 Gent. Sir, it is not. 
 
 Marc. Why, I would only see 
 The town. 
 
 Ge?it. And only that I come to shew you. 
 
 Marc. Which I can see without you. 
 
 Geiit. So you may, 
 Plainly, not safely : For such difference 
 As you have seen betwixt the sea and earth 
 When waves rise high, and land would beat 'em 
 
 back. 
 As fearful of invasion ; such we find 
 When we land here at Barcelona. 
 
 Marc. Sir 
 
 Gent. Besides, our general of the gallies, fearing 
 Your hasty nature, charged me not return 
 Without you safe. 
 
 Marc. Oh, sir, that Roderigo 
 Is noble, and he does mistake my temper: 
 There is not in the world a mind less apt 
 To conceive wrongs, or do 'em. Has he seen me 
 In all this voyage, in the which he pleases 
 To call me friend, let slip a hasty word? — 
 
Scene I.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 385 
 
 Enter Eugenia, with divers Attendants. 
 
 'Slight, sir! yonder is a lady veil'd; 
 For properness beyond comparison, 
 And sure her face is like the rest ; we'll see't. 
 
 Gent. Why, you are hasty, sir, already. Know 
 you 
 What 'tis you go about ? 
 
 Marc. Yes ; I would see 
 The woman's face. ' 
 
 Gent. By Heaven you shall not do't ! 
 You do not know the custom of the place : 
 To draw that curtain here, though she were mean, 
 Is mortal. 
 
 Marc. Is it? Earth must come to earth 
 At last ; and, by my troth, I'll try it, sir. 
 
 Gent. Then I must hold you fast, ^y all the 
 faith 
 That can be placed in man, *tis an attempt . 
 More dangerous than death ; 'tis death and shame! 
 I know the lady well. 
 
 Marc. Is she a lady? 
 I shall the more desire to see her, sir. 
 
 Gent. She is Alanso's wife, the governor, 
 A noble gentleman. 
 
 Marc. Then let me go : 
 If I can win her, you and I will govern 
 This town, sir, fear it not, and we will alter 
 These barbarous customs then ; for every lady 
 Shall be seen daily, and seen over too.* 
 
 * Wc have at this place a curious stage direction in the first fo- 
 lio — " Joh. Bacon ready to shoot off a pistol." Bacon was un- 
 doubtedly an inferior actor or scene-bhifter at the time. 
 
 * And seen over too.'} Sympson thinks it probable we should 
 read, seen overt too ; i. e. o^jen. But the last line of the next 
 
 VOL. XIII, 2 B 
 
386 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 Gent, Come, do not jest, nor let your passions 
 bear you 
 To such wild enterprizes ! Hold you still ; 
 For, as I have a soul, you shall not do't ! 
 She is a lady of unblemish'd fame,* 
 And here to offer that affront, were base. 
 Hold on your way ; and we will see the town, 
 And overlook the ladies. 
 
 Marc. I am school'd. 
 And promise you I will. — But, good sir, see ! 
 She will pass by us now : I hope I may 
 Salute her thus far off. 
 
 Gent 'Sfoot, are you mad ? 
 'Twill be as ill as the other. 
 
 1 Attend. What's the matter ? 
 "What would that fellow have? 
 Gent. Good sir, forbear, 
 
 1 Attend. It seems you are new landed ; would 
 you beg 
 Any thing here ? 
 
 Marc. Yes, sir, all happiness 
 To that fair lady, as I hope. 
 Gent. Marc- Antonio ! 
 
 Marc. Her face, which needs no hiding, I would 
 beg 
 A sight of. 
 
 Gent. Now go on ; for 'tis too late 
 To keep this from a tumult. 
 
 1 Attend. Sirrah, you 
 Shall see a fitter object for your eyes, 
 Than a fair lady's face. 
 
 speech, And over look the ladies, seems to confirm the old read- 
 ing — Ed. 1778. 
 
 ' Rod. She is a lady of unblemished fame above.] So the 
 
 iirst folio, which is evidently wrong, and the mistake probably ori- 
 ginated in a stage-direction in the MS., that the actor who perso- 
 nated Roderigo should be ready to appear on the galley. 
 
Scene I.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 387 
 
 Eu^. For Heaven's sake, raise not 
 A quarrel in the streets for me ! 
 
 1 Attend. Slip in then ; 
 This is your door. 
 
 Eug. Will you needs quarrel then ? 
 
 1 Attend. We must, or suffer 
 This outrage. — Is't not all your minds, sirs ? speak. 
 
 AH. Yes. 
 
 Eug. Then I do beseech ye, let my lord 
 Not think the quarrel about me ; for 'tis not. 
 
 {Exit, 
 
 Enter three or four Soldiers. 
 
 Gent. See, happily some of ouY galley soldiers 
 Are come ashore. 
 
 1 Attend. Come on, sir ! you shall see 
 Faces enough. 
 
 Enter certain Townsmen, 
 
 Gent. Some one of you call to 
 Our general ! the whole roar of the town 
 Comes in upon us. — 
 
 Marc. I have seen, sir, better \To Attendants. 
 Perhaps, than that was covered ; and will yet 
 See that, or spoil yours. \J^^^yfi^ht. 
 
 £w^er Philippo, Theodosia, and Leocadia. 
 
 Phil. On ! why start you back ? 
 
 Theod. Alas, sir, they are fighting. 
 
 Leoc. Let's be gone. — [Marc- Anton loy^Z/y. 
 See, see, a handsome man struck down ! 
 
 Gent. Ho, general ! 
 Look out ! Antonio is in distress. 
 
 Theod. Antonio ? 
 
 Leoc. Antonio ? 'Tis he. 
 
388 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 [RoDERiGO appeal's on the deck of a galley. 
 
 Rod. [IVithin.] Ho, Governor ! — Make a shot 
 into the town ! 
 I'll part you. Bring away Antonio [A shot 
 
 Into my cabin. [^Exeunt Attendants and Townsmen, 
 
 Gent. I will do that office : 
 I fear it is the last that I shall do him. 
 
 \_Ea:eunt Soldiers and Genilemejty with Marc- 
 Antonio. 
 
 Theod. The last ? why, will he die ? [Faints, 
 
 Leoc. Since I have found him, happiness leave 
 me, 
 When I leave him ! * lEa'it, 
 
 Phil. Why, Theodosia ! 
 My sister ! wake ! Alas, I grieved but now 
 To see the streets so full, and now I grieve 
 To see them left so empty : I could wish 
 Tumult himself were here, that yet at least 
 Amongst the band I might espy some face 
 So pale and fearful, that would willingly 
 Embrace an errand for a cordial, 
 Or aqua-vita, or a cup of sack, 
 
 Or a physician. But to talk of these 
 
 She breathes !— Stand up ! oh, Theodosia! 
 Speak but as thou wert wont ; give but a sigh, 
 Which is but the most unhappy piece of life, 
 And I will ever after worship sadness, 
 Apply myself to grief, prepare and build 
 Altars to sorrow ! 
 
 Theod. Oh, Philippo, help me ! 
 
 Phil. 1 do : These are my arms, Philippo's arms, 
 Thy brother's arms, that hold thee up. 
 
 Theod. You help me 
 To life ; but I would see Antonio 
 That's dead. 
 
 Phil, Thou shalt see any thing. How dost thou ? 
 
 Theod. Better, I thank vou. 
 
 Phil. Why, that's well." Call up 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 389 
 
 Thy senses, and uncloud thy covered spirits. 
 How now ? 
 
 Tlieod. Recovered. But Antonio! 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Phil. We will find him. Art thou well? 
 
 Theod. Perfectly well, saving the miss of him. 
 And I do charge you here, by our alliance, 
 And by the love which would have been betwixt us, 
 Knew we no kindred; by that killing fear, 
 Mingled with twenty thousand hopes and doubts, 
 Which you may think placed in a lover's heart, 
 And in a virgin's too when she wants help, 
 To grant me your assistance to find out 
 This man, alive or dead ! and I will pay you, 
 In service, tears, or pray'rs, a world of wealth ; 
 But other treasure I have none. Alas ! 
 You men have strong hearts ; but we feeble maids 
 Have tender eyes, which only given be 
 To blind themselves, crying for what they see. 
 
 Phil. Why dost thou charge me thus ? Have I 
 been found 
 Slow to perform, what I could but imagine 
 Thy wishes were ? Have I at any time 
 Tendered a business of mine own, beyond 
 A vanity of thine ? Have I not been 
 As if I were a senseless creature, made 
 To serve thee without power of questioning? 
 If so, why fear'st thou ? 
 
 Theod. I am satisfied. 
 
 Phil. Come then, let's go! — Where's Leocadia? 
 
 Theod. I know not, sir. 
 
 Phil. Where's Leocadia ? 
 
 Theod. I do not know. 
 
 Phil. Leocadia ! 
 This tumult made the streets as dead as night; 
 A man may talk as freely ! what's become 
 Of Leocadia ? 
 
 Theod. She is run away. 
 
390 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 Phil. Be gone, and let us never more behold 
 Each other's face, till we may, both together, 
 Fasten our eyes on her ! Accursed be 
 Those tender cozening names of Charity, 
 And Natural Affection ! they have lost 
 I\le, only by observing them, what cost, 
 Travel, and fruitless wishes, may in vain 
 Search through the world, but never find again. 
 
 Theod. Good sir, be patient ! I have done no fault 
 Worthy this banishment. 
 
 Phil. Yes; Leocadia, 
 The lady so distress'd, who was content 
 To lay her story, and to lay her heart 
 As open as her story to yourself; 
 Who was content that I should know her sex, 
 Before dissembled, and to put herself 
 Into my conduct ; whom I undertook 
 Safely to guard ; is in this tumult lost ! 
 
 Theod. And can I help it, sir? 
 
 Phil. No ; 'would thou couldst ! 
 You might have done, but for that zeal'd religion 
 You women bear to swoonings : You do pick 
 Your times to faint, when somebody is by 
 Bound or by nature, or by love, or service. 
 To raise you from that well-dissembled death : 
 Inform me but of one that has been found 
 Dead in her private chamber by herself, 
 Where sickness would no more forbear than here, 
 And I will quit the rest for her. 
 
 Theod. I know not 
 What they may do, and how they may dissemble ; 
 But, by my troth, I did not. 
 
 Phil. By my troth, 
 'Would I had tried ! 'would I had let thee lain, 
 And follow'd her ! 
 
 Theod. I would you had done so. 
 Rather than been so angry. Where's Antonio ? 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 391 
 
 Phil. Why dost thou vex me with these ques- 
 tions ? 
 I'll tell thee where; he's carried to the gallies, 
 There to be chain'd, and row, and beat, and row 
 With knotted ropes, and pizzles; if he swoon, 
 He has a dose of biscuit. 
 
 Theod, I am glad 
 He is alive. 
 
 Phil. Was ever man thus troubled.^ 
 Tell me where Leocadia is ! 
 
 Theod. Good brother. 
 Be not so hasty, and I think I can : 
 You found no error in me, when I first 
 Told you she was a woman ; and, believe me, 
 Something I have found out which makes me think, 
 Nay, almost know so well, that I durst swear 
 She follow'd hurt Antonio. 
 
 Phil. What do we 
 Then lingering here ? We will aboard the gallies, 
 And find her. [Going, 
 
 Efite?' the Gover?ior, two Attendants^ and the Towns- 
 men, 
 
 Gov. Made he a shot into the town ? 
 
 1 Attetid. He did, sir. 
 
 Gov. Call back those gentlemen. 
 
 1 Attend. The Governor 
 Commands you back. 
 
 Phil. We will obey him, sir. 
 
 Gov. You gave him cause to shoot, I know : He is 
 So far from rash offence, and holds with me 
 Such curious friendship — Could not one of you 
 Have call'd me while 'twas doing? Such an uproar. 
 Before my door too ? 
 
 I Towns. By my troth, sir. 
 We were so busy in the public cause, 
 Of our own private falling out, that we forgot it. 
 
392 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 At home we see now you were not ; but as soon 
 As the shot made us fly, we ran away 
 As fast as we could to seek your honour. 
 
 Gov. 'Twas gravely done ! but no man tells the 
 cause, 
 Or chance, or what it was, that made you differ. 
 
 1 Towns. For my part, sir, if there were any that 
 I knew of, the shot drove it out of my head.—' 
 Do you know any neighbours ? 
 All. Not we, not we. 
 Gov. Not we ? — Nor can you tell ? 
 1 Attend. No other cause, 
 But the old quarrel betwixt the town and the gallies. 
 Gov. Come nearer, gentlemen ! What are your 
 
 names ? 
 Phil. My name Philippo. 
 Theod. And mine Theodoro. 
 Gov Strangers you are, it seems. 
 Phil. Newly arrived. 
 
 Gov. Then you are they begun this tumult, 
 Phil No, sir. 
 Gov. Speak one of you. 
 1 Attend. They are not ; I can quit 'em. 
 Theod. Yet we saw part, and an unhappy part. 
 Of this debate ; a long-sought friend of ours 
 Struck down for dead, and borne unto the gallies; 
 His name is Marc-Antonio. 
 
 PhiL And another 
 Of our own company, a gentleman 
 Of noble birth, besides accompanied 
 With all the gifts of Nature, ravish'd hence 
 We know not how, in this dissention. — 
 
 Gov. Get you home all, and work ; and when I 
 hear 
 You meddle with a weapon any more, 
 But those belonging to your trades, I'll lay you 
 Where your best customers shall hardly find you. — 
 
 [Exeunt Townsmen, 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 393 
 
 I am sorry, gentlemen, I troubled you, 
 
 Being both strangers, by your tongues, and looks, 
 
 Of worth : To make ye some part of amends, 
 
 If there be any thing in this poor town 
 
 Of Barcelona that you would command, 
 
 Command me ! 
 
 Theod. Sir, this wounded gentleman, 
 If it might please you, if your power and love 
 Extend so far, I would be glad to wish 
 Alight be removed into the town for cure : 
 The gal lies stay not ; and his wound, I know. 
 Cannot endure a voyage. 
 
 Gov. Sir, he shall, 
 I warrant you. — Go call me hither, sirrah, 
 One of my other servants. [^Exit ist Attendant. 
 
 Phil. And besides, 
 The gentleman we lost, signer Francisco, 
 Shall he be render'd too ? 
 
 Enter a Servant, 
 
 Gov. And he, sir, too. — Go, sirrah, bear this ring 
 To Roderigo, my most noble friend, 
 The general of the gallies : Tell him this. 
 
 [Talks apart to his Servant. E.vit Servant. 
 
 Theod. Now we shall have 'em both. 
 
 Phil. Blest be thy thoughts 
 For apprehending this ! blest be thy breath 
 For uttering it ! 
 
 Gov. Come, gentlemen, you shall 
 Enter my roof; and I will send for surgeons, 
 And you shall see your friends here presently. 
 
 Theod. His name was Marc- Antonio. 
 
 Gov. I know it, 
 And have sent word so. 
 
 Phil. Did you not forget 
 Francisco's name ? 
 
 Gov. Nor bis. You are truly welcome ; 
 
394 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 To talk about it more, were but to say 
 
 The same word often over : You are welcome. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Before the House of the Governor. 
 
 Enter Marc- Antonio, carried by two Soldiers ; 
 Leocadia and the Servant following, 
 
 Sej'v. This is the house, sir. 
 
 Ma7T. Enter it, I pray you ; 
 For I am faint, although I think my wound 
 Be nothing. — Soldiers, leave us now ; I thank you. 
 
 1 Sold. Heaven send you health, sir ! 
 Serv. Let me lead you in. 
 
 Marc. My wound's not in my feet ; I shall en- 
 treat 'em, 
 I hope, to bear me so far. [Exit with the Servant. 
 
 2 Sold. How seriously 
 
 These land-men fled, when our general made 
 A shot, as if he had been a warning 
 To call 'em to their hall ! 
 
 1 Sold. I cannot blame 'em : 
 What a man have they now in the town 
 Able to maintain a tumult, or uphold 
 A matter out of square, if need be ? Oh, 
 The quiet hurly-burlies that I have seen 
 In this town, when we have fought four hours to- 
 gether. 
 And not a man amongst us so impertinent 
 Or modest to ask why ! 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. S95 
 
 But now the pillars that bare up this blessed 
 Town in that regular debate, and scrambling, 
 Are dead, the niore's the pity. 
 
 2 Sold. Old Ignatio 
 Lives still. 
 
 1 Sold. Yes, I know him ; he will do 
 Prettily well at a man's liver : But where 
 Is there a man now living in the town 
 That hath a steady hand, and understands 
 Anatomy well ? If it come 
 To a particular matter of the lungs, 
 Or the spleen, why, alas ! Ignatio is to seek. 
 Are there any such men left as I have known, 
 That would say they would hit you in this place ? 
 Is there ever a good artist, 
 Or a member-piercer, or a small-gut-man, 
 Left in the town ? Answer me that. 
 
 2 Sold. 'JNIass, 
 I think there be not. 
 
 1 Sold. No, I warrant thee. 
 Come, come; 'tis time we were at the gallies. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE m. 
 
 A Room in the same House, 
 
 Enter Gox'ernor, Eugenia, Marc-Antonio, Phi- 
 Lippo, Theodosia, Leocadia, and Attendants. 
 
 Gov. Sir, you may know by what I said already 
 You may command my house ; but I must beg 
 Pardon to leave you. If the public business 
 
S96 LOVE'S PILGRBIAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 Forced me not from you, I myself should call it 
 Unmannerly ; but, good sir, do you give it 
 A milder name. It shall not be an hour 
 Ere I return. 
 
 Matx. Sir, I was ne'er so poor 
 In my own thoughts, as that I want a means 
 To requite this with. 
 
 Gov. Sir, within this hour. \Exit. 
 
 Marc. Is this the lady that I quarrell'd for ? 
 
 {Apart, 
 Oh, Lust, if wounds cannot restrain thy power, 
 Let shame ! Nor do I feel my hurt at all. 
 Nor is it aught ; only I was well beaten. 
 If I pursue it, all the civil world, 
 That ever did imagine the content 
 Found in the band of man and wife unbroke. 
 The reverence due to households, or the blemish 
 That may be stuck upon posterity, 
 Will catch me, bind me, burn upon my forehead, 
 " This is the wounded stranger, that, received 
 
 For charity into a house, attempted" 
 
 I will not do it. \Going. 
 
 Eug. Sir, how do you now, 
 That you walk off? 
 
 Marc. Worse, madam, than I was ; 
 But it will over. 
 
 Eug. Sit, and rest a while ! 
 
 Marc. Where are the surgeons ? 
 
 Eug. Sir, it is their manner. 
 When they have seen the wound, especially 
 The patient being of worth, to go consult 
 (Which they are now at in another room) 
 About the dressing. 
 
 Marc. Madam, I do feel 
 Myself not well. 
 
 Theod. Alas! 
 
 Leoc. How do you, sir ? 
 
 Eug. Will you drink waters ? 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 397 
 
 Marc. No, good madam ; 'tis not 
 So violent upon me, nor I think 
 Any thing dangerous : But yet there are 
 Some things that sit so heavy on my conscience, 
 That will perplex my mind, and stop my cure ; 
 So that unless I utter 'em, a scratch, 
 Here on my thumb, will kill me. — Gentlemen, 
 I pray you leave the room, and come not in 
 Yourselves, or any other, till I have 
 Open'd myself to this most-honour'd lady ! 
 
 Phil. We will not. 
 
 Theod. Oh, blessed ! he'll discover now 
 His love to me. 
 
 Leoc. Now he will tell the lady 
 Our contract. 
 
 [Ejveunt all but EuoEyio afid Marc-AntOxNTIo. 
 
 Eug. I do believe he will confess to me 
 The wrong he did a lady in the streets ; 
 But I forgive him. 
 
 Marc. Madam, I perceive 
 Myself grow worse and worse, 
 
 Ei^g. Shall I call back 
 Your friends ? 
 
 Marc. Oh, no ! but, ere I do impart 
 What burthens me so sore, let me entreat you 
 (For there is no trust in these surgeons) 
 To look upon my wound ; it is perhaps 
 Aly last request : But tell me truly too, 
 (That must be in) how far you do imagine 
 It will have power upon me. 
 
 Eug. Sir, I will. 
 
 Marc. For Heaven's sake, softly ! Oh ! I must 
 needs lay 
 My head down easily, whilst you do it. 
 
 Eug. Do, sir. — 
 'Tis but an ordinary blow ; a child 
 Of mine has had a greater, and been well : 
 
 9 
 
S98 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 Are you faint-hearted ? 
 
 Marc. Oh ! 
 
 Eug. Why do you sigh ? 
 There is no danofer in the world in this : 
 
 I wonder it should make a man Sit down.* 
 
 What do you mean r why do you kiss my breasts ? 
 Lift up your head ; your wound may well endure it. 
 
 Marc. Oh, madam, may I not express affection 
 (Dying affection too, I fear) to those 
 That do me favours, such as this of yours ? 
 
 Eug If you mean so, 'tis well : But what's the 
 business 
 Lies on your conscience ? 
 
 Marc. I will tell you, madam. 
 
 Eug. Tell me, and laugh ? 
 
 Marc. But I will tell you true, 
 Though I do laugh : I know as well as you, 
 ^ly wound is nothing ; nor the power of earth 
 Could lay a wound upon me in your presence. 
 That I could feel : But I do laugh to think 
 How covertly, how far beyond the reach 
 Of men, and wise men too, we shall deceive 'em. 
 Whilst they imagine I am talking here 
 With that sliort breath I have, ready to swoon 
 At every full point ; you my ghostly mother 
 To hear my sad confession ; you and I 
 Will on that bed within, prepared for me, 
 Debate the matter privately. 
 
 Eug. Forbear ! 
 Thou wert but now as welcome to this house 
 As certain cures to sick men, and just now 
 This sudden alteration makes thee look 
 Like plagues come to infect it ; if thou knew'st 
 How loathsome thou wilt be, thou wouldst entreat 
 These walls or posts to help thee to a hurt, 
 
 * I xvonder it should make a man sit do'wn.'] Corrected in 1778. 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 399 
 
 Past thy dissimulation. 
 
 Marc. Gentle madam, 
 Call 'em not in ! 
 
 Eug. I will not yet ; this place 
 I know to be within the reach of tongue 
 And ears ; thou canst not force me ; therefore hear 
 
 me 
 What I will tell thee quickly : Thou art born 
 To end some way more disestecm'd than this ; 
 Or, which is worse, to die of this hurt yet. — 
 Come, gentlemen ! 
 
 Efiter Leocadia. 
 
 Marc. Good madam ! 
 
 Eug. Gentlemen ! 
 
 Leoc. Madam, how is't? Is ]\f arc- Antonio well ? 
 Methinks your looks are alter'd, and I see 
 A strange distemper in you. 
 
 Eug. I am wrought 
 By that dissembling man, that fellow, worth 
 Nothing but kicking. 
 
 Enter Philippo and Th-eodosi a. 
 
 Leoc. Gentle madam, speak 
 To me alone ! let not them understand 
 His fault ! he will repent it, I dare swear. 
 
 Eug. I'll tell it you in private. — 
 
 Phil. Marc-Antonio, 
 How do you ? 
 
 Marc. Stand further off, I pray you ; 
 Give me some air. 
 
 Theod. Good brother, will he *scape ? 
 The surgeons say there is no danger. 
 
 Phil 'Scape ? 
 No doubt he will. — 
 
400 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 Leoc. Alas, will he not leave 
 This trying all ? — Madam, I do beseech you 
 Let me but speak to him, you and these by, 
 And I dare almost promise you to make him 
 Shew himself truly sorrowful to you. 
 Eesifles, a story I shall open to you, 
 Not put in so good words, but in itself 
 So full of chance, that you will easily 
 Forgive my tediousness, and be well pleased 
 With that so much afflicts me. 
 
 Eug. Good sir, do. 
 
 Leoc. And I desire no interruption 
 Of speech may trouble me, till I have said 
 "What I will quickly do. 
 
 Iheod. What will she say ? 
 
 Eiig. Come, gentlemen, I pray you lend your earSj 
 And keep your voices. 
 
 Leoc. Signor Marc-Antonio, 
 How do you ? 
 
 Marc. Oh, the surgeons 1 
 
 Leoc. Let me tell you, 
 Who know as well as you, you do dissemble. 
 It is no time to do so ; leave the thoughts 
 Of this vain world, forget your flesh and blood, 
 And make your spirit an untroubled way 
 To pass to what it ought. 
 
 Marc. You are not in earnest ? 
 Why, 1 can walk, sir, and am well. 
 
 Leoc. 'Tis true 
 That you can walk, and do believe you're well : 
 It is the nature, as your surgeons say, 
 Of these wounds, for a man to go, and talk, 
 Nay merrily, till his last hour, his minute : 
 For lieaven sake, sir, sit down again ! 
 
 Alarc. Alas, 
 Where are the surgeons ? 
 
 Leoc. Sir, they will not come ; 
 
 1 
 
I 
 
 Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 401 
 
 If they should dress you, you would die, they say, 
 Ere one told twenty. Trouble not your mind, 
 Keep your head warm, and do not stir your body. 
 And you may live an hour. 
 
 Marc. Oh, Heavens, an hour? 
 Alas, it is too little to remember 
 But half the wrongs that I have done : How short 
 Then for contrition, and how least of all 
 For satisfaction ! 
 
 Leoc. But you desire 
 To satisfy ? 
 
 Marc. Heaven knows, I do ! 
 
 Lcoc. Then know 
 That I am he, or she, or what you will, 
 Most wrong'd by you, your Leocadia, 
 (I know you must remember me) 
 
 Marc. Oh, Heaven ! 
 
 Ltoc, That lost her friends, that lost her father's 
 house, 
 That lost her fame in losing of her sex. 
 With these strange garments : There is no excuse 
 To hinder me ;'^ it is within your power 
 To give me satisfaction ; you have time 
 Left in this little piece of life to do it : 
 Therefore I charge you for your conscience' sake. 
 And for our fame, which I would fain have live 
 When both of us are dead, to celebrate 
 That contract, which you have both seal'd and 
 
 sworn. 
 Yet ere you die ; which must be hastily. 
 Heaven knows. 
 
 Marc. Alas, the sting of conscience 
 To death-ward for our faults ! Draw nearer all, 
 
 ' Thtre is no excuse 
 
 To hinder me.} That is, that can be an hindraiice to me. 
 Mason. 
 
 VOL. XIII. 2 c 
 
404 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act IV. 
 
 And hear what I, unhappy man, shall say. — 
 
 First, madam, I desire your pardon ; next, 
 
 (I feel my spirits fail me!) gentlemen, 
 
 Let me shake hands with you, and let's be friends ; 
 
 For I have done wrong upon wrong so thick, 
 
 I know not where, that every man methinks 
 
 Should be mine enemy ; forgive me both ! 
 
 Lastly, 'tis true (oh, I do feel the power 
 
 Of death seize on me !) that I was contracted 
 
 By seal and oath to Leocadia ; 
 
 (I must speak fast, because I fear my life 
 
 Will else be shorter than my speech would be) 
 
 But 'tis impossible to satisfy 
 
 You, Leocadia, but by repentance, 
 
 Though I can dyingly and boldly say 
 
 I know not your dishonour; yet that was 
 
 Your virtue, and not mine, you know it well : 
 
 But herein lies the impossibility ; 
 
 (Oh ! Theodosia, Theodosia !) 
 
 I was betroth'd to Theodosia, 
 
 Before I ever saw thee ; Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 She is my wife this half-hour whilst I live. 
 
 Theod. That's I, that's I ! I'm Theodosia. 
 Hear me a little now, who have not sufFer'd 
 Disgrace at all methinks, since you confess 
 What I so long have sought for. Here is with me 
 Philippo too, my brother. 
 
 Marc. I am glad ; 
 All happiness to him ! Come, let me kiss thee, 
 Beg pardon of that maid for my offence ; 
 And let me further, with a dying breath, 
 Tell in thine ear the rest of my desires. 
 
 [Whispers Theodosia. 
 
 Eiig. I am afraid they will all four turn women, 
 If we hold longer talk. 
 
 Leoc. Alas, there is 
 No hope for me j that's Theodosia, 
 
 4 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 403 
 
 And that her brother. I am only sorry 
 
 I was beholding to 'em ; I will search 
 
 Over the world, as careless of my fortunes 
 
 As they of me, till I can meet a curse 
 
 Tomake these almost-killingsorrows worse! [ExU, 
 
 Theod. Sir, as I live, she lied, only to draw 
 A just confession from you, which she hath; 
 A happy one for me ! Ask of this lady, 
 Ask of my brother. 
 
 Eng. Sir, she did dissemble ; 
 Your wound is nothing. 
 
 Phil. Leocadia's gone ! [ZJ.nV. 
 
 Theod. Rise up, and stir yourself; 'tis but amaze- 
 ment 
 And your imagination that afflicts you ; 
 Look you, sir, now ! [He rises. 
 
 Marc. I think 'tis so, indeed. 
 
 Theod. The surgeons do not come, because they 
 swear 
 It needs no dressing. 
 
 Eug. You shall talk with 'em 
 Within, for your own fancy. 
 
 Marc. Where's your brother, 
 And Leocadia? 
 
 Eiig. Within, belike. 
 
 Marc. I feel myself, methinks, as well as ever, 
 
 Eug. Keep then your mind so too ; I do forgive 
 The fault you did to me ; but here is one 
 Must not be wrong'd hereafter. 
 
 Marc. Neither shall she : 
 When I make jests of oaths again, or make 
 My lust play with religion ; when I leave 
 To keep true joys for her, and yet within 
 Myself true sorrow for my passed deeds ; 
 May I want grace when I would fain repent, 
 And find a great and sudden punishment ! 
 
 \Exeunt, 
 
404 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [ActV. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE L 
 
 A Street. 
 
 Enter Philippo, Diego, ayid Incubo. 
 
 Phil. Where is mine host ? did not he see him 
 neither ? 
 
 Diego. Not I, i'faith, sir. 
 
 PhiL Nor the muleteer ? 
 
 Inc. Nay, he's past seeing, unless it be in's sleep, 
 By this time ; all his visions were the pots, 
 Three hours since, sir. 
 
 Phil. Which way should she take ? J 
 
 Nay, look you now ! do you all stand still ? Good ■ 
 
 Heaven ! 
 You might have lighted on him . Now, this instant ! 
 For love's sake, seek him out ! Whoever finds him, j 
 I will reward his fortune as his diligence. \ 
 
 Get all the town to help, that will be hired ; 
 Their pains I'll turn to an annual holiday. 
 If it shall chance but one bring word of her : 
 Pray you, about it ! 
 
 Inc. Her, sir ? who do you mean ? 
 
 Phil. I had forgot myself; the page, I meant. 
 That came along with us. 
 
 Diego. He you gave the clothes to ? 
 
 Phil. I gave the clothes to, rascal ? 
 
 Diego. Nay, good sir ! 
 
 PhiL Why dost thou mention or upbraid my 
 courtesies, 
 Slave ? 
 
Scene!.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 405 
 
 Diego. For your honour, sir, 
 
 Phil. Wretch ! I was honour'd, 
 That she should wear 'em (he, I would say) 'sdeath ! 
 Go, get and find him out, or never see me. — 
 I shall betray my love, ere I possess it. 
 Some star direct me, or ill planet strike me ! [^Eiit. 
 
 Inc. Best to divide. 
 
 Diego. I'll this way. 
 
 Inc. And I this. 
 
 Diego. I, as you, find him for a ryal ! 
 
 Inc. 'Tis done.* 
 
 Diego. My course is now directly to some pie- 
 house ; 
 I know the pages' compass. 
 
 Inc. I think rather 
 The smock side o* th' town, the surer harbour 
 At his years to put in. 
 
 Diego. If I do find 
 The hungry haunt, I take him by the teeth now. 
 
 Inc. I by the tail ; yet I as you ! 
 
 Diego. No more. [Exeunt. 
 
 • J, as you, Jind him for a ryal ! 
 
 Inc. 'TV's done.'\ This appears to have been the language of the 
 time in laying a wager. So Incubo afterward says, 
 
 I by the tail ; yet I as you. 
 
 In Troilus and Cressida, Pandarus says, 
 
 " The falcon as the tiercel, for all the ducks in the river ;" 
 
 meaning, that he would bet on the side of the falcon against the 
 tiercel. — Mason. 
 
 It has been before observed, that wagers were as fashionable, and 
 perhaps still more extravagant in our authors' days, than in our 
 own. See vol. XI. p. 359. 
 
406 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGK [Act V. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Ayiether Street, 
 
 Enter Philippo. 
 
 Phil. Dear Leocadia, where canst thou be fled 
 Thus, Uke a spirit, hence? and in a moment? 
 What cloud can hide thee from my following search, 
 If yet thou art a body ? Sure she hath not 
 Ta'en any house : She did too late leave one 
 Where all humanity of a place received her, 
 And would, if she had stay'd, have help'd to right 
 The wrong her fortune did her. Yet she must 
 Be enter'd somewhere, or be found ; no street. 
 Lane, passage, corner, turn, hath 'scaped enquiry. 
 If her despair had ravish'd her to air, 
 She could not yet be rarified so, 
 But some of us should meet her : Though their eyes 
 Perhaps be leaden, and might turn, mine would 
 Strike out a lightning for her, and divide 
 A mist as thick as ever darkness was, 
 Nay, see her through a quarry ; They do lie, 
 Lie grossly, that say Love is blind ; by him. 
 And Heaven, they lie! he has a sight can pierce 
 Through ivory, as clear as it were horn, 
 And reach his object. 
 
 Enter Incubo. 
 
 Inc. Sir, he's found, he's found! 
 
 Phil. Ha ? where ? But reach that happy note 
 
Scene III.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 407 
 
 And let it relish truth, thou art an angel. 
 
 Inc. He's here; fast by, sir; calling for a boat 
 To go aboard the gal lies. 
 
 Phil. Where, where ? Hold thee ! 
 
 [Gives money, and ejcif. 
 
 Inc. He might ha' kept this now, I had nought 
 to shew for't. 
 If he had had the wit to have gone from's word : 
 These direct men, they are no men of fashion ; 
 Talk what you will, this is a very smelt. [E.vit, 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 A Room in the House of the Surgeon. 
 
 Enter Leonardo, with the Surgeon, 
 
 Leo. Upon your art, sir, and your faith to assist it, 
 Shall I believe yon then his wound's not mortal? 
 
 Surg. Sir, 'tis not worth your question, less your 
 fear. 
 
 Leo. You do restore me, sir; I pray you accept 
 This small remembrance of a father's thanks. 
 For so assured a benefit. 
 
 Surg. Excuse me ! 
 
 Leo. Sir, I can spare it, and must not believe 
 But that your fortune may receive't ; except 
 You'd ha' me think you live not by your practice. 
 
 Surg. I crave your pardon, sir ; you teach me 
 manners. 
 
408 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 Leo. I crave your love and friendship j and re- 
 quire, 
 As I have made now both myself and business 
 A portion of your care, you will but bring me, 
 Under the person of a call'd assistant, 
 To his next opening ; where I may but see him, 
 And utter a few words to him in private, 
 And you will merit me : For I am loth, 
 Since here I have not to appear myself, 
 Or to be known unto the Governor, 
 Or make a tumult of my purpose. 
 
 Surg. Neither 
 I hope will be your need, sir : I shall bring you 
 Both there, and off again, without the hazard. 
 
 \Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 J 
 
 The Harbour. 
 
 Enter Philippo and Leocadia. 
 
 Phil. Will you not hear me ? 
 
 Leoc. I have heard so much 
 Will keep me deaf for ever ! No, Marc-Antonio, 
 After thy sentence, I may hear no more ; 
 Thou hast pronounced me dead! 
 
 Phil. Appeal to Reason : 
 She will reprieve you from the power of grief, 
 Which rules but in her absence : Hear me say 
 A sovereign message from her, which in duty, 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 409 
 
 And love to your own safety, you ought hear. 
 Why do you strive so? whither would you fly? 
 You cannot wrest yourself away from care, 
 You may from counsel ; you may shift your place. 
 But not your person ; and another clime 
 Makes you no other. 
 
 Leoc. Oh! 
 
 Phil. For passion's sake, 
 (Which I do serve, honour, and love in you) 
 If you will sigh, sigh here; if you would vary 
 A sigh to tears, or outcry, do it here ! 
 No shade, no desart, darkness, nor the grave, 
 Shall be more equal to your thoughts than I. 
 Only but hear me speak ! 
 
 Leoc. What would you say ? 
 
 PhiL That which shall raise your heart, or pull 
 down mine, 
 Quiet your passion, or provoke mine own ; 
 We must have both one balsam, or one wound. 
 For know, loved fair, since the first providence 
 Made me your rescue, I have read you through, 
 And with a wond'ring pity looked on you ; 
 I have observed the method of your blood. 
 And waited on it even with sympathy 
 Of a like red and paleness in mine own ; 
 I knew which blush was Anger's, which was Love's, 
 W^hich was the eye of Sorrow, which of Truth ; 
 And could distinguish honour from disdain 
 In every change ; and you are worth my study, 
 I saw your voluntary misery 
 Sustain'd in travel : A disguised maid. 
 Wearied with seeking, and with finding lost ; 
 Neglected, where you hoped most, or put by; 
 I saw it, and have laid it to my heart: 
 And though it were my sister which was righted, 
 Yet being by your wrong, I put off nature, 
 Could not be glad, where I was bound to triumph, 
 
410 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 My care for you so drown'd respect of her ; 
 Nor did I only apprehend your bonds, 
 But studied your release ; and for that day 
 Have I made up a ransom, brought you health, 
 Preservative 'gainst chance, or injury, 
 Please you apply it to the grief; myself. 
 
 Ltoc. Humh ! 
 
 Fhil. Nay, do not think me less than such a cure. 
 Antonio was not ; and, 'tis possible, 
 Philippo may succeed : My blood and house 
 Are as deep-rooted, and as fairly spread, 
 As Marc- Antonio's ; and in that all seek. 
 Fortune hath given him no precedency : 
 As for our thanks to Nature, I may burn 
 Incense as much as he ; I ever durst 
 Walk with Antonio by the self-same light 
 At any feast, or triumph, and ne'er cared 
 Which side my lady or her woman took 
 In their survey ; I durst have told my tale too, 
 Though his discourse new ended. 
 
 Leoc, My repulse 
 
 Fhil. Let not that torture you, which makes me 
 l^appy; 
 Nor think that conscience, fair, which is no shame ! 
 'Twas no repulse ; it was your dowry rather:' 
 For then methought a thousand graces met 
 To make you lovely, and ten thousand stories 
 Of constant virtue, which you then out-reach'd, 
 In one example did proclaim you rich : 
 Nor do 1 think you wretched, or disgraced, 
 After this suffering, and do therefore take 
 Advantage of your need ; but rather know 
 You are the charge and business of those powers, 
 Who, like best tutors, do inflict hard tasks 
 Upon great natures, and of noblest hopes. 
 
 ' Twas no repulse, I was your dowry rather.} Corrected in 1778» 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 411 
 
 Read trivial lessons, and half lines to slugs; 
 They that live long, and never feel mischance, 
 Spend more than half their age in ignorance. 
 
 Leoc. 'Tis Avell you think so. 
 
 Phil. You shall think so too ; 
 You shall, sweet Leocadia, and do so. 
 
 Leoc. Good sir, no more ! you have too fair a 
 shape 
 To play so foul a part in as the tempter : 
 Say that I could make peace with Fortune, who. 
 Who should absolve me of my vow yet ? ha ? 
 My contract made } 
 
 Phil. Your contract ? 
 
 Leoc. Yes, my contract : 
 Am I not his ? his wife ? 
 
 Phil. Sweet, nothing less. 
 
 Leoc. I have no name then ? 
 
 Phil. Truly then, you have not : 
 How can you be his wife, who was before 
 Another's husband ? 
 
 Leoc. Oh, though he dispense 
 With his faith given, I cannot with mine. 
 
 Phil. You do mistake, clear soul ; his pre-contract 
 Doth annul yours, and you have given no faith 
 That ties you in religion, or humanity ; 
 You rather sin against that greater precept, 
 To covet what's another's ; sweet, you do : 
 Believe me, who dare not urge dishonest things ! 
 Remove that scruple therefore, and but take 
 Your dangers now into your judgment's scale. 
 And weigh them with your safeties : Think but 
 
 whither 
 Now you can go ; what you can do to live; 
 How near you ha' barred all ports to your own 
 
 succour, 
 Except this one that I here open, love. 
 Should you be left alone, you were a prey 
 
412 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 To the wild lust of any, who would look 
 
 Upon this shape like a temptation, 
 
 And think you want the man you personate ; 
 
 Would not regard this shift, which love put on 
 
 As virtue forc'd, but covet it like vice ; 
 
 So should you live the slander of each sex. 
 
 And be the child of error and of shame ; 
 
 And, which is worse, even Marc-Antony 
 
 Would be call'd just, to turn a wanderer off. 
 
 And fame report you worthy his contempt; 
 
 Where, if you make new choice, and settle here. 
 
 There is no further tumult in this flood, 
 
 Each current keeps his course, and all suspicions 
 
 Shall return honours. Came you forth a maid ? 
 
 Go home a wife : Alone ? and in disguise ? 
 
 Go home a waited Leocadia : 
 
 Go home, and, by the virtue of that charm. 
 
 Transform all mischiefs, as you are transform'd ; 
 
 Turn your offended father's wrath to wonder, 
 
 And all his loud grief to a silent welcome ; 
 
 Unfold the riddles you have made. What say you ? 
 
 Now is the time ; delay is but despair ; 
 
 If you be chang'd, let a kiss tell me so ! 
 
 [Kisses her. 
 Leoc. I am ; but how, I rather feel than know. 
 
 Enter Sanchio carried, Alphonso and Servants. 
 
 Sane. Come, sir ; you are welcome now to Bar- 
 celona. 
 Take off my hood. 
 
 Phil. Who be these ? Stay, let's view 'em ! 
 
 Alph. 'Twas a long journey j are you not weary, 
 sir ? 
 
 Sane, Weary ? I could have rid it in mine ar- 
 mour. 
 
 Leoc. Alas ! 
 
 i 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 413 
 
 Phil. What ail you, dear? 
 
 Leoc. It is my father. 
 
 Phil. Your father ? which ? 
 
 Leoc. He that is carried : Oh, 
 Let us make hence ! 
 
 Phil. For love's sake, good my heart ! 
 
 Leoc. Into some house, before he see me. 
 
 Phil. Dear, 
 Be not thus frighted. 
 
 Leoc. Oh, his wrath is tempest. 
 
 Phil. Sweet, take your spirit to you, and stay. 
 Be't he, 
 He cannot know you in this habit ; and me 
 I'm sure he less knows, for he never saw me. 
 
 Alph. Ha! who is that? my sonPhilippo? 
 
 Phil. Sir! 
 
 Alph. Why, what make you here ? Is this Sa- 
 lamanca ? 
 And that your study ? ha? — Nay, stay him too ; 
 We'll see him, by his leave. [They hold them% 
 
 Se7'v. You must not strive, sir. 
 
 Alph. No, no ; come near. 
 
 Sane. My daughter ? Leocadia ? 
 
 Alph. How, sir ! your daughter ? 
 
 Sane. Yes, sir ; and as sure 
 As that's your son. — Come hither ! What now ? run 
 Out o' your sex ? breech'd ? Was it not enough 
 At once to leave thy father, and thine honour. 
 Unless thou had'st quit thyself too? 
 
 Phil. Sir, what fault 
 She can be urged of,' I must take on me 
 
 ■ She can be urged of.] Sympson thinks that we ought to read 
 —urged with. The editors [of 1778] support the present reading by 
 remarking, that in the old authors, of is often used in the sense of 
 tcit/i. The assertion is true, but not applicable to the present pas- 
 sage ; for the expresson here used — 
 
 The faults she can be urged of, 
 is a Latinism, a translation of urgctur criminum. — Mason* 
 
414 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 The guilt ai)d punishment. 
 
 Sane. You must, sir? How 
 If you shall not, though you must? I deal not 
 With boys, sir, I : You have a father here 
 Shall do me right. 
 
 Alph. Thou art not mad, Philippo? 
 Art thou Marc- Antony, son to Leonardo ? 
 Our business is to them. [Leocadia slips out. 
 
 Sane. Noj no, no, no ! 
 I'll ha' the business now, with you, none else. 
 Pray you let's speak in private. — Carry me to 
 
 him. — 
 Your son's the ravisher, sir ; and here I find him. 
 I hope you'll give me cause to think you noble, 
 And do me right, with your sword, sir, as becomes 
 One gentleman of honour to another : 
 All this is fair, sir ; here's the sea fast by ; 
 Upon the sands we will determine. 
 'Tis that I call you to ; let's make no days on't ; 
 I'll lead your way. — To the sea-sidc, rascals ! 
 
 Phil. Sir, 
 I would beseech your stay ; he may not follow 
 you. 
 
 Sane. No? — Turn. — I'll kill him here then. — 
 Slaves, rogues, blocks. 
 Why do you not bear me to him ? Ha' you been 
 Acquainted with my motions, logs, so long, 
 And yet not know to time 'em ? 
 
 Phil. Were you, sir, 
 Not impotent 
 
 Alph. Hold you your peace, boy I 
 
 Sane, Impotent? 
 'Death, I'll cut his throat first, and then his fa- 
 ther's. 
 
 Alph, You must provide you then a sharper 
 razor 
 Than is your tongue j for I not fear your sword. 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 415 
 
 Sane. 'Heart, bear me to either of 'em ! 
 Phil. Pray, sir, your patience. 
 
 Enter Governor and Attendants, 
 
 Alph. My curse light on thee, if thou stay him ! 
 
 Phil. Hold ! 
 
 Gov. Why, what's the matter, gentlemen ? what 
 tumult 
 Is this you raise i* th' street ? before my door ? 
 Know you what 'tis to draw a weapon here ? 
 
 Sane. Yes, and to use it. — Bear me up to him^ 
 rogues. 
 Thus, at a traitor's heart ! 
 
 Alph. Truer than thine. 
 
 Gov. Strike, sti ike; some of the people disarm 
 'em ; 
 Kill 'em if they resist. 
 
 Phil. Nay, generous sir, 
 Let not your courtesy turn fury now. 
 
 Gov. Lay hold upon *em ; take away their wea- 
 pons ! 
 I will be worth an answer, ere we part. 
 
 Phil. It is the Governor, sir. 
 
 Alph. I yield myself. [Gives up his sword. 
 
 Sane. My sword ? What think'st thou of me ? 
 pray thee, tell me. 
 
 1 Attend, As of a gentleman. 
 
 Sa?ic, No more ? 
 
 1 Attend, Of worth, 
 And quality. 
 
 Sane. An I should quit my sword, 
 There were small worth or quality in that, friend ; 
 Pray thee learn thou more worth and quality, 
 Than to demand it. 
 
 Gov, Force it, I say ! 
 
 1 Attend. The Governor, 
 
416 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 You hear, commands. 
 
 Sane. The Governor shall pardon me. 
 
 Phil. How ! Leocadia gone again ? 
 
 [Exit Philippo. 
 
 Sane. He shall, friend, 
 r th' point of honour, by his leave ; so tell him : 
 His person and authority I acknowledge. 
 And do submit me to it ; but my sword, 
 He shall excuse me, were he fifteen governors ; 
 That and I dwell together, and must yet, 
 Till my hands part, assure him. 
 
 Gov. I say, force it. 
 
 [His ^ivord is taken from him. 
 
 Sane. Stay, hear me ! Hast thou ever read Ca- 
 
 * Caranza.] This celebrated man, who was the oracle of duel- 
 lists in the days of our authors, and who became of course a ready 
 source of ridicule to the dramatists at a time when punctilios of 
 honour were carried to the most absurd height, was a Spaniard. 
 His name was Geronimo Caranza, and he entitled bis work La 
 Verdadera Destreza de las Armas. Together with Pacheco de 
 Narvaez, and some others, he was held in the highest esteem in 
 his own country, and conceived himself one of the greatest of 
 mortals. When he and his comrades became the subject of ri- 
 dicule, and fell under the lash of such men as Quevedo and Bar- 
 tolomeo Leonardo de Argensola, they not unfrequently retorted 
 by burlesquing their compositions, some of them possessing the 
 talent of rhyming in conjunction with fencing. An admirable tra- 
 vestie of an ode of Luis de Leon's, by Caranza, has been printed 
 from a manuscript in the Parnaso Espannol, (vol. IX. p. I89.) 
 Cervantes celebrates his skill both in his own profession and in 
 poetry in his Canto de Caliope ; and Lope de Vega thus eulogizes 
 his talents in his comedy Los Locos de Valencia^'-' 
 
 El gran Carranza, 
 A quien las armas en Espanna deben 
 Quanta mayor destreza el arte alcanza. 
 
 ♦In England Caranza's pupils were treated with the same severity by 
 poets, though it does not appear they were able to retaliate upon 
 these satirists with their own weapons. Beaumont and Fletcher 
 
Scene IV.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 417 
 
 Understandest thou honour, noble Governor? 
 
 Gov. For that we'll have more fit dispute. 
 
 Sane. Your name, sir? 
 
 Gov. You shall know that too, but on colder 
 terms; 
 Your blood and brain are now too hot to take it. 
 
 Sane. Force my sword from me ? This is an af- 
 front. 
 
 Gov. Bring 'em away ! 
 
 Sane, You'll do me reparation ? \^Ea:eunt* 
 
 Enta^ Phi LI PPG. 
 
 Phil. I have for ever lost her, and am lost. 
 And worthily ; my tameness hath undone me! 
 She is gone hence, ashamed of me ; yet i seek her: 
 Will she be ever found to me again. 
 Whom she saw stand so poorly, and dare nothing 
 In her defence here, when I should have drawn 
 This sword out, like a meteor, and have shot it 
 In both our parents' eyes, and left 'em blind 
 
 were peculiarly ardent in this warfare, and Mfere ably seconded by 
 Ben Jonson, Massinger, and oilier dramatists of the time, whose 
 efforts did more than all the pious invectives and religious exhor- 
 tations of the puritans, unwillingly their coadjutors in this cause. 
 Mr Gifford observe-, that Caranza's reputation had probably de- 
 clined at the time when Jonson's New Inn was written. The Host, 
 in that comedy, observes — 
 
 " They had their times, and we can say, they were : 
 So had Caranza his." 
 
 After the Spanish system fell into decline, duelling was almost 
 banished by the sectarian republicans. But with the restoration 
 of Charles II., the practice revived, and the less ridiculously punc- 
 tilious, but more savage and bloody French system gained the as- 
 cendancy. Fortunately, by the introduction of the pistol instead 
 of the sword, duelling has become less frequent, and, by equalizing, 
 in some measure at least, the chance, we have fewer professed ruf- 
 £ans and duellists. 
 
 VOL. XIII. 2 D 
 
418 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 Unto their impotent angers ? Oh, I am worthy, 
 On whom this loss and scorn should light to death; 
 Without the pity that should wish me better. 
 Either alive, or in my epitaph. [^E.rit. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A Room in the Governor's House, 
 
 Enter Leonardo and Marc-Antonio. 
 
 Leo. Well, son, your father is too near himself, 
 And hath too much of nature, to put off 
 Any affection that belongs to you : 
 I could have only wish'd you had acquainted 
 Her father, whom it equally concerns, 
 Though you'd presumed on me ; it might have 
 
 open'd 
 An easier gate and path to both our joys : 
 For though I am none of those flinty fathers. 
 That, when their children do but natural things. 
 Turn rock and offence straight, yet, Marc- Antonio, 
 All are not of my quarry. 
 
 Marc. 'Tis my fear, sir ; 
 And if hereafter I should e'er abuse 
 So great a piety, it were my malice. 
 
 Enter Attendants. 
 
 Attend. We must entreat you gentlemen, to take 
 Another room ; the Governor is coming 
 Here, on some business. 
 
Scene v.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 419 
 
 Enter Governor ^ Sanchio carried, Alphonso, and 
 Jlttejidants. 
 
 Marc. We will give him way. 
 
 Sane. I will have right, sir, on you (that believe,) 
 If there be any marshal's court in Spain. 
 
 Gov. For that, sir, we shall talk. 
 
 Sane, ox ! do not slight me. 
 Though I am without a sword. 
 
 Gov. Keep to your chair, sir. 
 
 Sane. Pox ! let me fall, and hurl my chair, slaves, 
 at him ! 
 
 Gov. You are the more temper'd man, sir; let 
 me entreat 
 Of you, the manner how this brawl fell out. 
 
 Alph. Fell out ? I know not how, nor do I care 
 much ; 
 But here we came, sir, to this town together, 
 Both in one business, and one wrong, engaged. 
 
 To seek one Leonardo, an old Genoese 
 
 I ha' said enough ; there ! would you more ? — False 
 
 father 
 Of a false son, calTd Marc- Antonio, 
 Who had stole both our daughters ; and which 
 
 father. 
 Conspiring with his son in treachery, 
 It seem'd, to fly our satisfaction. 
 Was, as we heard, come private to this town. 
 Here to take ship for Italy. 
 
 Leo. Yqu heard [Comes forward. 
 
 More than was true then, by the fear, orfalsehood : 
 And though I thought not to reveal myself 
 (Pardon my manners in't) to you, for some 
 Important reasons ; yet, being thus character'd 
 And challenged, know I dare appear, and do, 
 To w ho dares threaten. 
 
420 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 Marc. I say he is not worthy 
 The name of man, or any honest preface, 
 Tliat dares report or credit such a slander. 
 Do you, sir, say it? 
 
 jilph. Sir, I do say it. 
 
 Gov. Hold!— 
 Is this your father, signor Marc-Antonio? 
 You have ill requited me, thus to conceal him 
 From him would honour him, and do him service. 
 
 Leo. 'Twas not his fault, sir. 
 
 Enter Eugenia. 
 
 Eitg. Where's my lord? 
 Gov. Sweetheart ! 
 
 Eug. Know you these gentlemen ? they are all 
 the fathers 
 Unto our friends. 
 
 Gov. So it appears, my dove. 
 Sane. Sir, I say nothing : I do want a sword ; 
 And till I have a sword 1 will say nothing. 
 
 Eug. Good sir, command these gentlemen their 
 arms ; 
 Entreat 'em as your friends, not as your prisoners. 
 Where be their swords ? 
 
 Gov. Restore each man his weapon. 
 Sane. It seems thou hast not read Caranza, fel- 
 low : 
 I must have reparation of honour, 
 As well as this ; I find that wounded. 
 
 Gov. Sir, 
 I did not know your quality ; if I had, 
 *Tis like 1 should have done you more respects. 
 Sane, It is sufficient, by Caranza's rule. 
 Eug, 1 know it is, sir. 
 Sane. Have you read Caranza, lady? 
 Eug. If you mean him that writ upon the duel, 
 1 
 
Scene v.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 421 
 
 He was my kinsman. 
 
 Sane. Lady, then you know, 
 By the right noble writings of your kinsman, 
 My honour is as dear to mc as the king's. 
 
 Eug. 'Tis very true, sir. 
 
 Saiic. Therefore 1 must crave 
 Leave to go on now with my first dependance.' 
 
 Eug. What! ha' you more? 
 
 Gov. None liere, good signor: 
 
 Sane. I will refer me to Caranza still. 
 
 Eug. Nay, love, I pr ythee let me manage this! — 
 With whom is't, sir ? 
 
 Sane. With that false man Alphonso. 
 
 Eug. Why, he has the advantage, sir, in legs. 
 
 Sa)ie. But I 
 In truth, and hand, and heart, and a good sword. 
 
 Eui!;. But how if he will not stand vou, sir ? 
 
 Alph. For that. 
 Make it no question, lady ; I will stick 
 !My feet in earth down by him, where he dare. 
 
 Sane. Oh, 'would thou wouldst ! 
 
 Alph. I'll do it ! 
 
 Sane. Let me kiss him. 
 I fear thou wilt not yet. 
 
 Eug. Why, gentlemen. 
 If youll proceed according to Caranza, 
 
 5 My first dependance.] Dcpendance is here used technically, in 
 the language of the duello. — Ed. 177S. 
 
 The ridiculous dependances of Fletcher's contemporaries, found- 
 ed on the precepts of Caranza, are constantly the butt of dramatic 
 satire. In Massinger's Guardian for instance — 
 
 " I have read Caranza, and find not in his grammar 
 
 Of quarrels, that the injured man is bound 
 
 To beck for reparation at an hour; 
 
 But may, and without loss, till he hath settled 
 
 More serious occasions that import him, 
 
 For a day or two defer it." 
 
 See also vol. XII. p. 484. 
 
422 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [ActV. 
 
 Mcthinks an easier way were two c^ood cliairs ; 
 So you would be content, sir, to be bound, 
 'Cause he is lame : I'll lit you with like weapons, 
 Pistols and poniards, and even end it, if 
 The difference between you be so mortal 
 It cannot be ta'en up. * 
 
 Sane. Ta'en up ? take off 
 This head first ! 
 
 Alph. Come, bind me in a chair. 
 
 [//e is boimd down, 
 
 Eug. Yes, do. 
 
 Gov. What mean you, dove ? 
 
 Eug. Let me alone ; — 
 And set 'em at their distance : When you have 
 
 done, 
 Lend me two poniards ; I'll have pistols ready 
 Quickly. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Philippo. 
 
 Phil. She is not here. — Marc-Antonio, 
 Saw you not Leocadia ? 
 
 Marc. Not 1, brother. 
 
 Phil. Brother, let's speak with you. You were 
 false unto her. 
 
 Marc. I was, but have ask'd pardon : Why do 
 you urge it? 
 
 Phil. You were not worthy of her ! 
 
 Marc. May be I was not; 
 But 'tis not well, you tell me so, 
 
 Phil, My sister 
 Is not so fair 
 
 Marc. It skills not. 
 
 Phil. Nor so virtuous. 
 
 * Taen vp.'] Another technical term, meaning, that the quarrel 
 can be reconciled on terms of honour. 
 
Scene V.] LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 423 
 
 Marc. Yes, she must be as virtuous. 
 
 Phil. I would fain • 
 
 Marc. What, brother ? 
 
 Phil. Strike you. 
 
 Marc. I shall not bear strokes, 
 Though I do these strange words. 
 
 Phil. Will you not kill me ? 
 
 Marc. For what, good brother r 
 
 Phil. Why, for speaking well 
 Of Leocadia. 
 
 Marc. No, indeed. 
 
 Phil. Nor ill 
 Of Theodosia ? 
 
 Marc. Neither. 
 
 Phil. Fare you well, tlien 1 
 
 Enter Eugenia, Leocadia, Theodosia, and 
 Servant zvilh tuo Pistols. 
 
 Eug. Nay, you shall have as noble seconds too 
 As ever duellists had. Give 'em their weapons: 
 Now, Saint lago ! 
 
 Sane. Are they charged? 
 
 Eug. Charged, sir ? 
 I warrant you. 
 
 Alph. 'Would they were well discharged ! 
 
 Sajic. I like a sword much better, I confess. 
 
 Eug. Nay, wherefore stay you ? Shall I mend 
 your mark? 
 Strike one another thorough these? 
 
 Phil. My love ! 
 
 Alph. My Theodosia ! 
 
 Sane. 1 ha' not the heart. 
 
 Alph. Nor I. 
 
 Eug. W by, here is a dependance ended. 
 Unbind that gentleman. — Come, take here to you 
 Your sons and daughters, and befriends ! A feast 
 
424 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. [Act V. 
 
 Waits you within, is better than your fray. — 
 Lovers, take you your own ; and all forbear, 
 Under my roof, either to blush or fear! — 
 My love, what say you ? could Caranza himself 
 Carr}' a business better?' 
 
 Gov. It is well. 
 All are content, I hope ; and we well eased, 
 If they, for whom we have done all this, be pleased. 
 
 [Ej^eunt. 
 
 could Caranza himself 
 
 Carry a business better ?] See above, p, -tlG. 
 
THE LOVERS' PROGRESS. 
 
1 
 
THE 
 
 LOVERS' PROGRESS 
 
 From the prologue and epilogue, it appears that this tragedy, 
 which was first piibli-ihed in tlie iblio of 1647, "as left unfinished 
 at the death of Tietcher, and that some C()ntem|)orary poet com- 
 pleted it ; and whoever undertook the task deserves great credit 
 for the execution, having very successful iy imitated Fletcher's 
 style. If there is any variation perceptible, it is in the two last acts. 
 The editors of 177S remark, " as Shirley is said to have sometimes 
 assisted our authors, possibly his unfinished pieces fell into that 
 writer's hands, and therefore we may impute the alterations to 
 him." As that poet undoubtedly had a hand in The Night- Walker, 
 he certainly seems to have a claim in the present instance also. It 
 may, however, be observed, that the versification is far more musical 
 than the rh) thm in Shirley's dramas generally is, and that it bears a 
 much closer resemblance to that of iNIassinger, particularly in the 
 frequent resolution of words into their component syllables, which 
 his late editor has remarked as being peculiarly prevalent in his 
 compositions. Add to this, that we may discover in the prologue 
 and epilogue the very striking modesty of that amiable poet ; and 
 it will not bo deemed a rash conjecture, that he completed the 
 unfinished work of his friend, with whom he is known, from the 
 unquestionable authorities of INIr Henslowe's papers, and Sir Aston 
 Cockayne, to have been concerned in the dramatic partnerships so 
 usual at the time. 
 
 'I he Lovers' Progress, which has been entirely laid aside for a 
 long period, is founded, as Langbaine informs us, on a French ro- 
 mance, entitled, Lysander and Calista, written by M. Daudiguier. 
 
 The play may be designated by the epithet romantic. The story 
 vas well selected, abounding throughout with interesting situa- 
 
( 428 ) 
 
 tions. Heroic honour, love, and friendship, are the most cha- 
 racteristic peculiarities of the actors ; and tbe greatest defect of 
 the play, tlie introduction of tbe ghost forewarning Oleander of 
 kis death, finds the best apology in the general chivalrous cast of 
 the plot. The language and versification are very beautiful through- 
 out, and some of the scones exquisitely imagined and finished. 
 That where Lisander and Calista are placed in a situation the most 
 dangerous to their virtue, is managed with equal truth and chaste- 
 ness of colouring. It is very similar to some parts of Ford's tra- 
 gedy, entitled, Love's Sacrifice; perhaps inferior in tragical effect 
 and deep pathos, but in other respects infinitely more natural and 
 delicate. From the general romantic nature cf the tragedy, it will 
 natuially be supposed that we must not search for great diversity or 
 distinct colouring among the characters. They either partake of the 
 honourable sentiments and devotional love of the times of chivalry, 
 •rare slight sketches of humour or of depravity. 
 
 \ 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 A 9T0RY, and a known one, long since writ, 
 
 (Truth must take place) and by an able wit ! 
 
 (Foul-mouth'd detraction daring not deny 
 
 To give so much to Fletcher's memory ;) 
 
 If so, some may object, why then do you 
 
 Present an old piece to us for a new ? 
 
 Or wherefore will your profcst writer be 
 
 (Not taxed of theft before) a plagiary ? 
 
 To this he answers in his just defence, 
 
 And to maintain to all our innocence, 
 
 Thus much ; though he hath travel I'd the same way, 
 
 Demanding, and receiving too the pay 
 
 For a new poem, you may find it due, 
 
 He having neither cheated us, nor you : 
 
 He vows, and deeply, that he did not spare 
 
 The utmost of his strengths, and his best care 
 
 In the reviving it ; and though his powers 
 
 Could not, as he desired, in three short hours 
 
 Contract the subject, and much less express 
 
 The changes, and the various passages 
 
 That will be look'd for, you may hear this day 
 
 Some scenes that will confirm it is a play. 
 
 He being ambitious that it should be known, 
 
 What's good was Fletcher's, and what ill his own. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 King of France. 
 
 Cleander, husband to Calista. 
 
 Lidian, brother to Calista, in love with Olinda. 
 
 Clarang^, rival to Lidian. 
 
 Dorilaus, father to Lidian and Calista, a merry old 
 
 man. 
 Lisander, /r/e7Z6? to Cleander, andloxier to Calista. 
 Alcidon, /r/V/^^ to Lidian. 
 Beronte. brother to Cleander, 
 Leniure, a noble courtier. 
 Leon, a villain, lover of Clarinda. 
 Malfort, a foolish steward of Cleander, 
 Lancelot, servant to Lisander. 
 Friar. 
 
 Host's Ghost. 
 Chamberlain. 
 
 Jasper, servant to Dorilaus. 
 Servants. 
 
 Calista, a virtuous lady, wife to Cleander, 
 
 Olinda, a noble maid, and rich heir, mistress to Lidian 
 
 arid Clarange. 
 
 Clarinda, a lustful wench, Calista! s xvaiting-woman, 
 
 SCENE — Paris, and the neighbouring Country. 
 
 The principal Actors were, 
 
 Joseph Taylor, 
 Robert Benfield, 
 Thomas Polard, 
 George Birch, 
 
 John Lowin, 
 John Lender wood, 
 Richard Sharpe, 
 John Thomson. 
 
THE 
 
 LOVERS' PROGRESS. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Paris, A Room in the House of Cleander. 
 
 Enter Leon and Malfort. 
 
 Malf. And, as I told you, sir 
 
 Leon. I understand you ; 
 Clarinda's still perverse. 
 
 Alalf. She's worse ; obdurate, 
 Flinty, relentless ; my love-passions jeered at, 
 My presents scorn'd ! 
 
 Leon. 'Tis strange, a waiting- woman, 
 In her condition,* apt to yield, should liold out, 
 
 • The Lovers' Progress.] Progress j in this title, signifies Pilgrim' 
 age.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 * Tn her condition.] Condition means here station of life. — > 
 Mason. 
 
524 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 A man of your place, reverend beard and shape, 
 Besieo^ing her. 
 
 Half. You might add too, my wealth, 
 Which she contemns ; five hundred crowns ^a";* an* 
 
 7mm 
 (For which I have ventured hard, my conscience 
 
 knows it) 
 Not thought upon, though offer'd for a jointure ; 
 This chain, ^ which my lord's peasants worship, 
 
 flouted ; 
 My solemn hum's and ha's, the servants quake at, 
 Ko rhetoric with her ; every hour she hangs out 
 Some new flag of defiance to torment me : 
 Last Lent my lady call'd me her Poor-John,* 
 But now 1 am grown a walking skeleton; 
 You may see through and through me. 
 
 Leoji. Indeed you are 
 Much fall'n away. 
 
 Malf. I am a kind of nothing, 
 As she hath made me : Love's a terrible glister, 
 And if some cordial of her favours help not. 
 
 5 Thu chain.] Mr Steevens observes, that stewards anciently 
 wore a chain, as a mark of superiority over other servants ; in 
 proof of which he cites the following authorities: — " Dost thou 
 think I shall become the steivaid's chair ? Will not these slender 
 haunches shew well in a chain ?" — Martial Maid. 
 
 " Pio. Is your chain right ? 
 
 Bob. It is both right and just, sir ; 
 
 For though 1 am a steward, I did get it 
 
 With fio man's wrong." — Ibid. 
 
 Nash, in his piece entitled. Have wiih You to Saffron Walden, 
 1539, taxes Gabriel Harvey with having stolen a nobletnan's sieW' 
 ard's chain, at his lord's installing at Windsor. 
 
 So in Middleton's Mad VVorlo, my Masters, l608. — " Gag that 
 gaping rascal, though he be my grandsire's chief gentleman in thft 
 ihain of gold." See Notes on Twelfth Night. — Heed. 
 
 * Poor-John.] That is, dried and salted hake. 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 433 
 
 I shall, like an Italian, die backward, 
 And breathe my last the wrong way. 
 
 Leon. As I live, 
 You have my pity ; but this is cold comfort, 
 And, in a friend, lip-physic ; and, now I think on't, 
 I should do more, and will, so you deny not 
 Yourself the means of comfort. 
 
 Malf. I'll be hang'd first : 
 One dram oft, I beseech you ! 
 
 Leon. You're not jealous 
 Of any man's access to her ? 
 
 Malf. I would not 
 Receive the dor: ' but as a bosom friend 
 You shall direct me ; still provided, that 
 I understand who is the man, and what 
 His purpose that pleads for me. 
 
 Leon. By all means. 
 First, for the undertaker, I am he : 
 The means that I will practise, thus 
 
 J\Jalf. Pray you forward 1 
 
 Leon. You know your lady, chaste Calista, loves 
 her. 
 
 Malf. Too well ; that makes her proud. 
 
 Leon. Nay, give me leave. 
 This beauteous lady (I may style her so, 
 Being the paragon of France for feature) 
 Is not alone contented in herself 
 To seem and be good, but desires to make 
 All such as have dependence on her like her: 
 For this, Clarinda's liberty's restrain'd, 
 
 5 / liiould not 
 
 Receive the dor.] This word occurs in Love's Pilgrimage, and 
 A Wile tor a Month, and in both these plays means balk, disap- 
 pointment. In the text it may be used with the same meanmg 
 nearly ; Malfort intending to say — he did not wish to be iorestal- 
 led in the enjoyment of Ciarinda. 
 VOL. XIII. 2 E 
 
434 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 And though her kinsman, the gate's shut against 
 
 me : 
 Now if you please to make yourself the door 
 For my conveyance to her, though you run 
 The hazard of a check for't, 'tis no matter. 
 
 Malf. It being for mine own ends ? 
 
 Lton. I'll give it o'er, 
 If that you make the least doubt otherwise. 
 Studying upon't? good morrow ! 
 
 Malf. Pray you stay, sir ! 
 You are my friend ; yet, as the proverb says, 
 *' When love puts in. friendship is gone :" Suppose 
 You should yourself aifect her? 
 
 Leon. Do you think 
 I'll commit incest ! for it is no less, 
 She being my cousin-german. Fare you well, sir. 
 
 Malf. I had forgot that ; for this once, forgive 
 me. 
 Only, to ease the throbbing of my heart, 
 (For I do feel strange pangs) instruct me what 
 You will say for me. 
 
 Leon. First, I'll tell her that 
 She hath so far besotted you, that you have 
 Almost forgot to cast account. 
 
 Mai). IMere truth, sir. 
 
 Leon. That of a wise and provident steward, you 
 Are turn'd stark ass. 
 
 MalJ. Urge that point home ; I am so. 
 
 Leon. That you adore the ground she treads upon, 
 And kiss her footsteps. 
 
 Malf. As I do when I find 
 Their print i' th' snow. 
 
 Leon. A loving fool ; I know it. 
 By your bloodless frosty lips. Then, having re- 
 lated 
 How much you suffer for her, and how well 
 You do deserve it 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 43i 
 
 Malf. How ? to suffer ? 
 Leon. No, sir; 
 To have your love return'd- 
 
 I 
 
 Malf. That's good ; I thank you. 
 
 Lton. I will deliver her an inventory 
 Of your good parts ; as this, your precious nose, 
 Dropping affection ; your high forehead, reaching 
 Almost to the crown of your head ; your slender 
 
 waist, 
 And a back not like a thresher's, but a bending 
 And court-like back, and so forth, for your body. 
 But when I touch your mind, (for that must take 
 
 her. 
 Since your outside promises little) I'll enlarge it. 
 Though ne'er so narrow ; as, your arts to thrive, 
 Your composition with the cook and butler 
 For the coney-skins ?nd chippings s and half a 
 
 share 
 With all the under-oflficers o' th liouse, 
 In strangers' bounties ; that she shall have all^ 
 And you as 'twere her bailiff. 
 
 Malf, As I will be. 
 
 Leon. As you shall, * so I'll promise. — Then your 
 qualities ; 
 As playing on a gittern, or a Jew's trump 
 
 Malf. A little too o' th' viol. 
 
 « Mai. As I will be. 
 Leon. As^oM shall, so I' II promise.'] To restore lost puns has 
 been an office that critics have been laughed at rather than praised 
 for ; but the original, be it bad or good, ought to be restored ; 
 and therefore we should not drop a conundrum here intended. 
 Leon should answer, 
 
 Ass you shallf so I'll promise* 
 
 i. e. 1*11 promise you shall be made an ass of. — Seward. 
 
 Seward's ingenuity in this case was very needless, for there h 
 little probability that any pun was intended ; a kind of wit which 
 P'letcher can seldom be charged with. 
 
436 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 Leon. Fear you nothing. — 
 Then singing her asleep with curious catches 
 Of your own making j for, as I have heard, 
 Yon are poetical. 
 
 Malf. Something given that way : 
 Yet my works seldom thrive ; and the main reason 
 The poets urge for't is, because I am not 
 As poor as they are. 
 
 Leon. Very likely. Fetch her, 
 While I am in the vein. 
 
 Majf. Tis an apt time. 
 My lady being at her prayers. 
 
 Leon. Let her pray on. 
 Nay, go; and if, upon my intercession, 
 She do you not some favour, FU disclaim her, 
 III ruminate on't the while. 
 
 Alalf. A hundred crowns 
 Is your reward. 
 
 Leon. Without 'em. — Nay, no trifling. 
 
 [^Ej;it Malfort. 
 That this dull clod of ignorance should know 
 How to get money, yet want eyes to see 
 How grossly he's abused, and wrought upon ! 
 When he should make his will, the rogue's turn'd 
 
 rampant, 
 As he had renew'd his youth. A handsome wench 
 Love one a spital whore would run away from ? 
 Well, master steward, I will plead for you 
 In such a method, as it shall appear 
 You are fit to be a property. ' 
 
 ' You are Jit to be a property.] That is, a person quite at the 
 disposal of others, to be used at pleasure. So in Julius Caesar, 
 speaking of Lepidus — 
 
 " Do not talii of him 
 
 But as a properti/," 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 437 
 
 Enter Malfort and Clarinda. 
 
 Malf. Yonder he walks, 
 That knows my worth and value, though you scorn 
 it. 
 
 Clari. If my lady know not this 
 
 Malf, I'll answer it. 
 If you were a nun, I hope your cousin-german 
 Might talk with you through a grate*, but you are 
 
 none. 
 And therefore may come closer : Ne'er hang off; 
 As I live you shall bill; you may salute as strangers, 
 Custom allows it. — Now, now, come upon her 
 
 [To Leon. 
 With all your oratory, tickle her to the quick. 
 As a young advocate should, and leave no virtuie 
 Of mine unmention'd. I'll stand centinel ; 
 Nay, keep the door myself. [Exit* 
 
 Clari. How have you work'd 
 This piece of motley * to your ends ? 
 
 Leon. Of that 
 At leisure, mistress. [Kissing^ 
 
 Clari. Lower ; you are too loud ; 
 Though the fool be deaf, some of the house may 
 hear you. 
 
 Leon. Suppose they should, I am a gentleman, 
 And held your kinsman ; under that, I hope, 
 I may be free. 
 
 Clari. I grant it, but with caution ; 
 But be not seen to talk with me familiarly. 
 But at fit distance ; or not seen at all, 
 It were the better : You know my lady's humour; 
 
 ' This piece of motley.] i. e. this fool j alluding to the motley 
 or parti-coloured dress of fools. 
 
438 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 She is all honour, and composed of goodness, 
 As she pretends; and you having no business, 
 How jealous may she grow ! 
 
 Leon. I will be ruled ; 
 But you have promised, and I must enjoy you. 
 
 Clari. We shall find time for that ; you are too 
 hasty : 
 Make yourself fit, and I shall make occasion ; 
 Deliberation makes best in that business. 
 And contents every way. 
 
 Leon, But you must feed 
 This foolish steward with some shadow of 
 A future favour, that we may preserve him 
 To be our instrument. 
 
 Clain. Hang him ! 
 
 Leon. For my sake, sweet ! 
 I undertook to speak for him ; any bauble, 
 Or slight employment in the way of service, 
 Will feed him fat. 
 
 Clari, Leave him to me. 
 
 E7it€r Malfort. 
 
 Malf. She comes ! 
 My lady ! 
 
 Clari. I will satisfy her. 
 
 Malf. How far 
 Have you prevail'd ? 
 
 Leon. Observe. 
 
 Clari. Monsieur Malfort, 
 I must be brief; my cousin hath spoke much 
 In your behalf, and, to give you some proof 
 I entertain you as my servant, you 
 Shall have the grace 
 
 Leon. Upon your knee receive it. 
 
 Clari, And take it as a special favour from me — 
 
 I 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 439 
 
 To tie my shoe* 
 
 Malf. I am o'erjoy'd. 
 
 Leon, Good reason. 
 
 CUiri, You may come higher in time. 
 
 Enter Calista, 
 
 Leon. No more ; the lady I 
 Malf. She frowns. 
 
 Clari. I thank you for this visit, cousin ; 
 But, without leave hereafter from my lady, 
 I dare not change discourse with you. 
 
 Malf. Pray you take 
 Your morning's draught. 
 
 Leon. I thank you : — Happiness 
 Attend your honour! 
 
 [Exeunt Leon and Malfort* 
 
 Cat. Who gave warrant to 
 This private parle ? 
 
 Clari. My innocence ; I hope 
 My conference with a kinsman cannot call 
 Your anger on me. 
 
 Cal. Kinsman? Let me have 
 No more of this, as you desire you may 
 Continue mine ! 
 
 Clari. Why, madam, under pardon, 
 Suppose him otherwise ; yet, coming in 
 A lawful way, it is excusable. 
 
 Cal. How's this ? 
 
 Clari, I grant you are made of pureness, 
 And that your tenderness of honour holds 
 The sovereignty o'er your passions : Yet you have 
 A noble husband, with allow'd embraces 
 To quench lascivious fires, should such flame in 
 
 you, 
 As I must ne'er believe. Were I the wife 
 
440 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 Of one that could but zany brave Cleander,* 
 Even in his least perfections, (excuse 
 My o'er-bold inference) I should desire 
 To meet no other object. 
 
 Cal. You grow saucy ! 
 Do I look further r 
 
 Clari. No, dear madam ; and 
 It is my wonder, or astonishment rather, 
 You could deny the service of Lisandcr ; 
 A man without a rival, one the king 
 And kingdom gazes on with admiration, 
 For all the excellences a mother could 
 Wish in her only son. 
 
 Cal. Did not mine honour 
 And obligation to Oleander, force me 
 To be deaf to his com}3laints ? 
 
 Clari. 'Tis true ; but yet 
 Your rigour to command him from your presence 
 Argued but small compassion ; the groves 
 Witness his grievous sufferings ; your fair name 
 Upon the rind of every gentle poplar, * 
 
 ' ■ ■ but zany brave Cleanderj 
 
 Even in his least -perfections .] i. e. ^Mi faintly imitate his vir- 
 tues. The old zany Avas a mimic or buffoon. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 " Upon the rind of every gentle poplar, 
 And amorous myrtle, {trees to l^enus sacred.)] Our poet has 
 either committed an oversight, in making the poplar av\A the myr- 
 tie both sacred to Venus, or if he had any authority for so doing, 
 I do not know it at present : 'Tis true, as the poplar delights in 
 moisture, and grows upon the banks of rivers, and has leaves with 
 dark and white sides, it may be a pretty symbol of the unlimited 
 command of that powerful goddess, throughout the three allot* 
 ments of Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto. But, notwithstanding this, 
 I am inclined to think, that the reading and pointing was origi- 
 nally thus, 
 
 • of every gentle poplar. 
 
 And amorous myrtle tree, to Venus sacred. 
 By changing the number, and altering the comma, we affix the epi- 
 
Scene L] PROGRESS. 441 
 
 And amorous myrtle, (trees to Venus sacred,) 
 With adoration carved, and kneeld unto. 
 This you, unseen of him, both saw and heard 
 Without compassion ; and what received he 
 For his true sorrows, but the heavy knowledo-e 
 That 'twas your peremptory will and pleasure, 
 Howe'er my lord lived in him, he should quit 
 Your sight and house for ever ? 
 
 Cal. I confess 
 I gave him a strong potion to work 
 Upon liis hot blood, and I hope 'twill cure him : 
 Yet I could wish the cause had concern'd others, 
 I might have met his sorrows with more pity ; 
 At least, have lent some counsel to his miseries. 
 Though now, for honour sake, 1 must forget himj 
 And never know the name more of Lisander ; 
 Yet in my justice I am bound to grant him, 
 Laying his love aside, most truly noble : 
 But mention him no more. This instant hour 
 My brother Lidian, new return'd from travel. 
 And his brave friend Clarang^, long since rivals 
 For fair and rich Olinda, are to hear 
 Her absolute determination, whom 
 She pleases to elect. See all things ready 
 To entertain 'em ; and, on my displeasure, 
 No more words of Lisander ! 
 
 Clari. She endures 
 
 thet " sacred" solely to the myrtle, and take away the confusion, 
 which beJore subsisted, of appropriating two trees to one deity, 
 when in reality the case was very far otherwise, as any one knows 
 who is the least versed in the classics. — Sj/mpson. 
 
 Mason approves of Sampson's reading tree in the singular, but 
 not of connecting it with mi/rtte. He at the same time observes, 
 that the poplar was sacred to Hercules; and if Fletcher, and the 
 othef old dramatists, (with ihe exciption of Ben Jonson,) were 
 not so very frequently erroneous in their classical allusions, his 
 mode of altering the text would certainly have been adopted. 
 
442 THE LOVERS* [Act I. 
 
 To hear him named by no tongue but her own : 
 Howe'er she carries it, I know she loves him. 
 
 [Ejnt. 
 Cal. Hard nature, hard condition of poor wo- 
 men, 
 That, where we are most sued to, we must fly most ! 
 The trees grow up, and mix together freely, 
 The oak not envious of the sailing cedar,* 
 The lusty vine not jealous of the ivy 
 Because she clips the elm ; the flowers shoot up, 
 And wantonly kiss one another hourly, 
 This blossom glorying in the other's beauty. 
 And yet they smell as sweet, and look as lovely : 
 But we are tied to grow alone. Oh, honour. 
 Thou hard law to our lives, chain to our freedom ! 
 He that invented thee had many curses. 
 How is my soul divided ! Oh, Oleander, 
 My best-deserving husband ! Oh, Lisander, 
 The truest lover that e'er sacrificed 
 To Cupid against Hymen ! Oh, mine honour, 
 A tyrant, yet to be obey'd ! and 'tis 
 But justice we should thy strict laws endure, 
 Since our obedience to thee keeps us pure. [Exit, 
 
 3 The oah not envious of the ^Q.x^ngQQ^Sii.'l See vol. IV. p. 413, 
 \]?here the same expression occurs* 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 445 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Another Apartment in the same. 
 
 Enter CtEA^DERy Lidian, and Clarahge. 
 
 Cle, How insupportable the difference 
 Of dear friends is, the sorrow that I feel 
 For my Lisander's absence (one that stamps 
 A reverend print on friendship) does assure me. 
 You are rivals for a lady, a fair lady ; 
 And, in the acquisition of her favours, 
 Hazard the cutting of that gordian knot 
 From your first childhood to this present hour, 
 By all the ties of love and amity fastened. 
 I am blest in a wife (Heaven make me thankful !) 
 Inferior to none, sans pride I speak it ; 
 Yet if I were a freeman, and could purchase 
 At any rate the certainty to enjoy 
 Lisander's conversation while 1 lived, 
 (Forgive me, my Calista, and the sex !) 
 1 never would seek change. 
 
 Lid. My lord and brother, 
 I dare not blame your choice, Lisander's worth 
 Being a mistress to be ever courted ; 
 Nor shall our equal suit to fair Olinda 
 Weaken, but add strength to our true affection, 
 With zeal so long continued. 
 
 Clara. When we know 
 Whom she prefers, as she can chuse but one. 
 By our so-long-tried friendship we have vowed 
 
444 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 The other shall desist. 
 
 Cle. 'Tis yet your purpose ; 
 But how this resolution will hold 
 In him that is refused, is not alone 
 Doubtful, but dangerous. 
 
 Enter Malfort. 
 
 Malf, The rich heir is come, sir. 
 
 Cle. Madam Olinda? 
 
 Malf. Yes, sir ; and makes choice, 
 After some little conference with my lady, 
 Of this room to give answer to her suitors. 
 
 Cle. Already both look pale, between your hopes 
 To win the prize, and your despair to lose 
 What you contend for. 
 
 Lid. No, sir; I am armed. 
 
 Clara. I confident of my interest. 
 
 Cle. I'll believe you 
 When you've endured the test. 
 
 Enter Calista, Olinda, and Clarinda, 
 
 Malf. Is not your garter 
 Untied? You promised that I should grow higher 
 In doing you service. 
 
 Clar'i. Fall off, or you lose me ! \Exit Malfort. 
 
 Cle. Nay, take your place ; no Paris now sits 
 judge 
 On the contending goddesses : You are 
 The deity that must make curst, or happy, 
 One of your languishing servants, 
 
 Olin. I thus look 
 With equal eyes on both ; either deserves 
 A fairer fortune than they can in reason 
 Hope for from me : From Lidian I expect, 
 When I have made him mine, all pleasures that 
 
 9 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 445 
 
 The sweetness of his manners, youth, and virtues, 
 Can give assurance of : But turning this way 
 To brave Clarang^, in his face appears 
 A kind of majesty whicli should command, 
 Not sue for favour. If the fairest lady 
 Of France, set forth with nature's best endow- 
 ments, 
 Nay, should I add a princess of the blood, 
 Did now lay claim to either for a husband. 
 So vehement my affection is to both. 
 My envy at her happiness would kill mc. 
 
 Cle. The strangest love I ever heard ! 
 
 Cal. You can 
 Enjoy but one. 
 
 Clari The more, I say, the merrier. [Aside. 
 
 Olin. Witness these tears I love both, as 1 know 
 You burn with equal flames, and so affect me ; 
 Abundance makes me poor ; such is the hard 
 Condition of my fortune. Be your own judges ; 
 If I should favour both, 'twill taint my honour, 
 And that before my life I must prefer : 
 If one I lean to, the other is disvahied ; 
 You are fiery both, and love will make you warmer. 
 
 Clari. The warmer still the fitter. You're a fool, 
 lady. \_Aside. 
 
 Olin. To what may love, and the devil jealousy, 
 spur you. 
 Is too apparent ; my name's called in question; 
 Your swords fly out, your angers range at large : 
 Then what a murder of my modesty follows ! 
 
 Clari. Take heed of that by any means. — Oh, in- 
 nocent, [Aside. 
 That will deny a blessing when 'tis offer'd ! 
 Would I were, murder'd so, I would thank my 
 modesty. 
 
 Cle. What pause you on ? 
 
 Olin, It is at length resolved. 
 
446 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 Clara. We are on the rack ; uncertain expec- 
 tation 
 The greatest torture ! 
 
 Lid. Command what you please, 
 And you shall see how willingly we will execute. 
 
 Olin. Then hear what, for your satisfaction. 
 And to preserve your friendship, I resolve 
 Against myself; and 'tis not to be alter'd ; 
 You are both brave gentlemen, I'll still profess it, 
 Both noble servants, for whose gentle offers 
 The undeserving and the poor Olinda ' 
 
 Is ever bound ; you love both, fair and virtuously ; 
 'VVould I could be so happy to content both ! 
 Which, since I cannot, take this resolute answer: 
 Go from me both contentedly, and he 
 That last makes his return, and comes to visit, 
 Comes to my bed. You know my will; farewell! 
 My heart's too big to utter more. — Come, friend ! 
 
 Cal. I'll wait on you to your coach. 
 
 [Exeunt Olinda, Calista, fiwfi? Clarinda. 
 
 Cle. You both look blank ; 
 I cannot blame you. 
 
 Lid. We have our dispatches. 
 
 Clara. I'll home. 
 
 Ltd. And I'll abroad again : Farewell ! 
 
 Clara. Farewell to ye ! 
 
 [Exeunt Clarange and Lidian se*oerally, 
 
 Cle. Their blunt departure troubles me; I fear, 
 A sudden and a dangerous division 
 Of their long love will follow. 
 
 Ejiter Calista. 
 
 Have you took 
 Your leave of fair Olinda? 
 Cal. She is gone, sir. 
 
 Clc, Had you brought news Lisandcr were re- 
 turned too, 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 447 
 
 I were most happy. 
 
 CaL Still upon Lisander ? 
 
 Cle. I know he loves me, as he loves his health ; 
 And Heaven knows I love him. 
 
 Cal I find it so ; 
 For me you have forgot, and what I am to you. 
 
 Cle. Oh, think not so. If you had lost a sister 
 You locked all your delights in, it would grieve you ; 
 A little you would wander from the fondness 
 You owed your husband : I have lost a friend, 
 A noble friend ; all that was excellent 
 In man, or mankind, was contain'd within him. 
 That loss, my wife 
 
 Enter Malfort. 
 
 Malf, Madam, your noble father 
 
 A fee for my good news ! 
 
 Cal. Why, what of him, sir? 
 
 Mai. Is lighted at the door, and longs to see you. 
 
 Cal. Attend him hither. 
 
 Cle. Oh, my dear Lisander ! 
 But I'll be merry. Let's meet him, my Calista. 
 
 Cal. I hope Lisander's love will now be buried ; 
 My father will bring joy enough for one month, 
 To put him out of his memory. 
 
 Enter Dorilaus ; his arm in a Scarf, 
 
 Dor. How do you, son ? 
 Bless my fair child ! I am come to visit you. 
 To see what house you keep ; they say you are 
 
 bountiful ; 
 I like the noise well, and I come to try it. 
 Ne'er a great belly yet ? How have you trifled I 
 If I bad done so, son, I should have heard on't 
 On both sides, by saint Dennis ! 
 
448 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 Cle, You are nobly welcome, sir ! 
 We have time enough for that, 
 
 Dur. See how she blushes ; 
 Tisagood sign, you 11 mend your fault. — How dost 
 
 thou, 
 My good Calista ? 
 
 Cal. Well, now I see you, sir ; 
 I hope you bring a fruitfulness along with you. 
 
 Dor. Good luck, I never miss ; I was ever good 
 at it : 
 Your mother groaned for't, wench ; so did some 
 
 other, 
 But I durst never tell. 
 
 Cal. How does your arm, sir r 
 
 Cle. Have you been let blood of late ? 
 
 Dor. Against my will, sir. 
 
 Cal. A fall, dear father ? 
 
 Dor. No, a gun, dear daughter ; 
 Two or three guns ; I have one here in my buttock, 
 'Twould trouble a surgeon's teeth to pull it out. 
 
 Cal. Oh, me ! oh, me ! 
 
 Dor. Nay, if you fall to fainting, 
 'Tis time for me to trudge : Art such a coward. 
 At the mere name of hurt to change thy colour? 
 1 have been shot that men might see clean through 
 
 me, 
 And yet I fainted not. Besides myself. 
 Here are an hospital of hurt men for you. 
 
 Enter Jasper and other Servants^ wounded in se- 
 veral places, 
 
 Cle. What should this wonder be ? 
 Cal. I am amazed at it. 
 
 Dor. What think ye of these? they are every 
 one hurt soundly, 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 449 
 
 Hurt to the proof; they are through and through, 
 
 I assure ye ; 
 And that's good game; they scorn your puling 
 
 scratches. 
 Cal. Who did this, sir ? 
 Dor. Leave crying, and I'll tell you; 
 And get your plaisters, and your warm stupes 
 
 ready :' 
 Have you ne'er a shepherd that can tar us over? 
 'Twill prove a business else, we are so many. 
 Coming to see you, 1 was set upon, 
 I and my men, as we were singing frolicly ; 
 Not dreaming of an ambush of base rogues, 
 Set on i' th' forest, I have forgot the name 
 
 Cle. 'Twixt this and Fontainebleau ? in the wild 
 
 forest? 
 Dor. The same, the same, in that accursed forest, 
 Set on by villains, that make boot* of all men ; 
 The peers of France are pillage there. They shot 
 
 at us. 
 Hurt us, unhorsed us, came to th' sword, there 
 
 plied us, 
 
 5 And your warm stupes r€ady.'\ Stoops, (for so it should be 
 spelt) here signifies liquids to bathe their wounds : A stoop ofwin^ 
 is mentioned by Shakspeare in Othello, and we believe in Twelfth- 
 Night. The like expression occurs in other old authors ; and in 
 this very play, act iii. where Dorilaus says, 
 
 And forty stoops o/wine, drank at thy funeral. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 This is a most gross specimen of the ignorance of the editors in 
 the language even of the present day. A stupe (as they might 
 have found in Johnson's Dictionary) is, " cloth or flax dipped iu 
 warm medicaments, and applied to a hurt or sore." 
 
 * Bout.] i. e. Booty. So in the Phoenix in her Flames, by Sir 
 William Lower, a robber says, " How commendable, therefore, 
 is this course of life, how profitable unto us, as when wealth and 
 rich boot is as it were etery day offered to our possession, nothing 
 is required from us but a little valour to make us masters of infi- 
 nite treasures." 
 
 VOL. XIII. S F 
 
450 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 Oppresseduswith fresh multitucles,fresh shotstill ; 
 Rogues that would hang themselves for a fresh 
 
 doublet, 
 And for a scarlet cassock kill their fathers ! 
 Cle. Lighted you among these? 
 Dor. Among these murderers 
 Our poor bloods were engaged ; yet we struck 
 
 bravely, 
 And more than once or twice we made them shun 
 
 us. 
 And shrink their rugged heads ; but we were hurt 
 all. 
 Cle. How came you off? for I even long to hear 
 
 that. 
 Dor. Afterour prayers made to Heaven to help us, 
 Or to be merciful unto our souls. 
 So near we were — Alas, poor wench, wipe, wipe ! 
 See, Heaven sends remedy. 
 
 Cat. I am glad 'tis come, sir; 
 My heart was even a-bleeding in my body. 
 
 Dor. A curl'd-hair gentleman stepp'd in, a 
 stranger ; 
 As he rode by, belike he heard our bickering, 
 Saw our distresses, drew his sword, and proved 
 He came to execute, and not to argue. 
 Lord, what a light'ning methought flew about him, 
 When he once tossed his blade ! In face Adonis,* 
 
 ' in face Adonis, 
 
 While peace, &c.] These lines, though spoken by a comic 
 personage, are almost worthy to cope with the famous passage in 
 Shakspeare's Henry V., which breathes the very spirit of Tyrtceus : 
 
 " In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man 
 As modest stillness and humility; 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears. 
 Then imitate the action of the tyger ; 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Disguise fair Nature with hard-favour'd rage : 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 451 
 
 While peace inhabited between his eye-brows ; 
 But when his noble anger stiir'd his mettle, 
 And blew his fiery parts into a flame, 
 Like Pallas, when she sits between two armies, 
 Viewins: with horrid brows their sad events, 
 Such then he looked, and as her shield had armed 
 him. 
 
 Cal. This man, sir, were a friend to give an age 
 for. 
 This gentleman I must love naturally ; 
 Nothins: can keep me off. 1 pray you go on, sir. 
 
 Dor, I will, for now you please me. This brave 
 youth, 
 This bud of Mars, (for yet he is no riper) 
 When once he had drawn blood, and fleshed his 
 
 sword, 
 Fitted his manly metal'^ to his spirit, 
 How he bestirred him ! what a lane he made, 
 And through their fiery bullets thrust securely. 
 The hardened villains wond'ring at his confidence ! 
 Lame as I was, I followed, and admired too, 
 And stirred, and laid about me with new spirit; 
 My men too with new hearts thrust into action, 
 And down the rogues went. 
 
 Cle. I am struck with wonder! 
 
 Dor, Remember but the story of strong Hector, 
 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head, 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelra it, 
 As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
 O'er-hang and jutty his confounded base, 
 Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height !"— Ed. 1778. 
 
 <• Mettle.] Mason l\as modernised the spelling, as the word evi" 
 dently alludes to his sword. 
 
452 THE LOVERS' [Act I. 
 
 When like to light'ning he broke througli his van- 
 guard,' 
 How the Greeks frighted ran away by troops, 
 And trod down troops to save their lives ; so this 
 
 man 
 Dispersed these slaves : Had they been more and 
 
 mightier, 
 He had come off the greater and more wonder. 
 Cle. Where is the man, good sir, that we may 
 
 honour him ? 
 Cal. That we may fall in superstition to him. 
 Dor. I know not that} from me he late departed, 
 But not without that pious care to see safe 
 Me, and my weak men lodged, and dressed. I ur- 
 ged him 
 First hither, that I might more freely thank him : 
 He told me he had business, craved my pardon, 
 Business of much import. 
 Cle. Know you his name ? 
 Dor. That he denied me too ; a vow had barred 
 
 him. 
 Cal. In that he was not noble to be nameless. 
 Dor, Daughter, you must remember him when 
 I am dead, 
 And in a noble sort requite his piety ! 
 'Twas his desire to dedicate this service 
 To your fair thoughts. 
 Cal. He knows me then ? 
 Dor. 1 named you, 
 
 ' When like to lightning he broke through his vanguard.'] Mr Se- 
 ward says, " to break Jrom his vanguard is the true image ;" but 
 as yrom would hurt the measure, the corruption, says he, " is pro- 
 bably in the relative hisy which should be the or their, i. e. the 
 Grecian vanguard." We think it means his oxin vanguard, and 
 that THROUGH his vanguard conveys the same image as from it, 
 with more warmth of expression. — Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 453 
 
 And named you mine : I think that's all his know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Cle. No name ? no being ? 
 
 Cal, Now I am mad to know him ! 
 Saving mine honour, any thing I had now, 
 
 But to enjoy his sight, but his bare picture 
 
 Make me his saint ? I must needs honour him. 
 
 Jasp. I know his name. 
 
 Cal, There's thy reward for't ; speak it. 
 
 [Gives a purse, 
 
 Jasp. Hismantoldme; buthedesiredmysilence. 
 
 Cal. Oh, Jasper, speak ! 'tis thy good master's 
 cause too : 
 We all are bound in gratitude to compel thee, 
 
 Jasp. Lisander ? yes, I am sure it was Lisander, 
 
 Cal. Lisander ? 'twas Lisander. 
 
 Cle. 'Tis Lisander. 
 Oh, my base thoughts, my wicked ! to make ques- 
 tion 
 This act could be another man's ! 'tis Lisander. — 
 A handsome-timber'd man? 
 
 Jasp. Yes. 
 
 Cle. My Lisander ! 
 Was this friend's absence to be mourned? 
 
 Cal, I grant it; 
 I'll mourn his going now, and mourn it seriously. 
 When you weep for him, sir, I'll bear you company. 
 That so much honour, so much honesty, 
 Should be in one man, to do things thus bravely ! 
 Make me his saint ? to me give this brave service? 
 What may I do to recompense his goodness? 
 I cannot tell. 
 
 Cle. Come, sir, I know you are sickly; 
 So are your men. 
 
 Dor. I must confess I am weak, 
 And fitter for a bed than long discourses ; 
 
454, 
 
 THE LOVERS' 
 
 [Act II. 
 
 You shall hear to-morrow. — To-morrow Pro^ 
 
 vide surgeons. * 
 
 Cle Lisandcr ! 
 
 CaL What new fire is this ? Lisander! [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Before the House of Clarang^. 
 
 Enter Lisander and Lancelot. 
 
 Lis Pr'ythee, good Lancelot, remember that 
 Thy master's life is in thy trust; and therefore 
 Be very careful. 
 
 Lan. I will lose mine own, 
 Rather than hazard yours. 
 
 Lis. Take what disguise 
 You in your own discretion shall think fittest, 
 To keep yourself unknown. 
 
 ' Clea. You shall hear to-morrow, to-morrow provide surgeons. 
 
 Dor. Lisander ] Sn all former editions ; but we think 
 
 the speakers and the punctuation wrong. The first line, we appre- 
 hend, should come from the old man, Dorilaus ; and the pointing 
 be as we have placed it in the text, which expresses his faintness : 
 He IS procefdiiig to speak, but is forced to desist, and to call for 
 assistance. The exclamation, " Lisander !" should then come from 
 C^eanrfer.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 • 6 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 455 
 
 Lan. I warrant you ; 
 'Tis not the first time I have gone invisible : 
 I am as fine a fairy in a business 
 Concerning night-work 
 
 Lis» Leave your vanities. 
 With this purse (which deHvered, you may spare 
 Your oratory) convey this letter to 
 Caiista's woman. 
 
 Lan. 'Tis a handsome girl ; 
 Mistress Clarinda. 
 
 Lis. I have made her mine. 
 You know your work. 
 
 Lan. And if I sweat not in it, 
 At my return discard me. \E,xit. 
 
 Lis. Oh, Calista ! 
 The fairest, cruellest 
 
 Ellter Cl A RANGE. 
 
 Clara, So early stirring? 
 A good day to you ! 
 
 Lis. I was viewing, sir. 
 The site of your house, and the handsomeness 
 
 about it : 
 Believe me it stands healthfully and sweetly. 
 
 Clara. The house and master of it really 
 Are ever at your service. 
 
 Lis. I return it : 
 Now, if you please, go forward in your story 
 Of your dear friend and mistress. 
 
 Clara. I will tell it, 
 And tell it short, because 'tis breakfast time, 
 And (love's a tedious thing to a quick stomach) 
 You eat not yester-night. 
 
 Lis, I shall endure, sir. 
 
 Clara. Myself and (as I then delivered to you,) 
 A gentleman of noble hope, x)ne Lidian, 
 
456 
 
 THE LOVERS' 
 
 [Act II. 
 
 Both brought up from our infancy together, 
 One company, one friendship,* and one exercise 
 Ever affecting, one bed holding us. 
 One grief and one joy parted still between us, 
 More than companions, twins in all our actions. 
 We grew up till we were men, held one heart still : 
 Time calfd us on to arms, we were one soldier, 
 Alike we sought our dangers and our honours. 
 Gloried alike one in another's nobleness : 
 When arms had made us fit, we were one lover, 
 We loved one woman, loved without division. 
 And wooed a long time with one fair affection ; 
 And she, as it appears, loves us alike too. 
 At length, considering what our love must grow to 
 And covet in the end, this one was parted ; 
 Rivals and honours make men stand at distance. 
 We then wooed with advantage, but were friends 
 
 still, 
 Saluted fairly, kept the peace of love ; 
 We could not both enjoy the lady's favour, 
 Without some scandal to her reputation ; 
 We put it to her choice ; this was her sentence, 
 " To part both from her, and the last returning 
 Should be her lord ;" we obey'd ; and now you 
 
 know it : 
 And, for my part, (so truly I am touch'd with't) 
 I will go far enough, and be the last too, 
 Or ne'er return. 
 
 Lis. A sentence of much cruelty. 
 But mild, compared with what's pronounced on me. 
 
 ' One company, one friendship, &c.] In this description of the 
 friendship of Clarangci and Lidian, our author seems to have in- 
 tended an imitation of the excellent account of female friendship 
 in Shakspeare's Midsummer-Night's Dream ; to which this, how- 
 ever, cannot be entitled to a comparison. A much better, on the 
 same subject, will be seen in The Two Noble Kinsmen, act i. 
 scene v.'— Reed, 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 457 
 
 Our loving youth is born to many miseries. — 
 What is that Lidian, pray you ? 
 
 Clara. Calista's brother, 
 If ever you have heard of that fair lady. 
 
 Lis. I liave seen her, sir. 
 
 Clara. Then you have seen a wonder. 
 
 Lis. I do confess. Of what years is this Lidian? 
 
 Clara. About my years ; there is not much be- 
 tween us. 
 
 Lis. I long to know him. 
 
 Clara. 'Tis a virtuous longing : 
 As many hopes hang on his noble head, 
 As blossoms on a bough in May, and sweet ones, 
 
 Lis. You're a fair story of your friend. 
 
 Clai^a. Of truth, sir. — 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Now, what's the matter? 
 
 Serv. There is a gentleman 
 At door would speak with you on private business. 
 
 Clara. With me ? 
 
 Serv. He says so, and brings haste about him. 
 
 Clara. Wait on him in. [^Exit Servaiit. 
 
 Lis. 1 will retire the while, to the next room. 
 
 [Eait. 
 
 Clara. We shall not long disturb you. 
 
 Enter Alcidon. 
 
 Ale. Save you, sir ! 
 
 Clara. The like to you, fair sir ! Pray you come 
 near. 
 
 Ale. Pray you instruct me, for I know you not: 
 With monsieur Clarang(i I would speak. 
 
 Clara. I am he, sir : / 
 
 You are nobly welcome. I wait your business. 
 
458 THE LOVERS' [Act II. 
 
 Ale. This will inform you. 
 
 [Gives him a letter, which he reads, 
 
 Clara. Will you please to sit down ? 
 He shall command me, sir ; I'll wait upon him 
 Within this hour. 
 
 Ale. You are a nohle gentleman, 
 Will't please you bring a friend? we are two of us. 
 And pity either, sir, should be unfurnished.' 
 
 Clara. I have none now ; and the time's set so 
 short, 
 'Twill not be possible. 
 
 Ale. Do me the honour : 
 I know you are so full of brave acquaintance, 
 And worthy friends, you cannot want a partner ; 
 I would be loth to stand still, sir. Besides, 
 You know the custom and the vantage of it, 
 If you come in alone. 
 
 Clara. And I must meet it. 
 
 Ale. Send ; we'll defer an hour, let us be equal ; 
 Games won and lost on equal terms shew fairest. 
 
 Clara. 'Tis to no purpose to send any whither, 
 Unless men be at home by revelation. 
 So please you breathe a while, when I have done 
 
 with him 
 You may be exercised too ; I'll trouble no man. 
 
 * Unfurnished.'l That is, unfurnished with an antagonist. This 
 passage confirms the justness of my explanation of Bassanio's speech 
 in The Merchant of Venice, where he says — 
 
 " But her eyes ! 
 How could he see to do them ? Having made one, 
 Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, 
 Ancl leave itself unfurnished." 
 
 My opinion is, that in this place unfurnished meant, unfurnished 
 with a fellow, or companion : which, I think, is confirmed by the 
 passage before us.— iV/aso«. 
 
Scene L] PROGRESS. 459 
 
 Enter Lisander. 
 
 Lis. They are very loud. — Now, what's the news? 
 
 Clara. 1 must leave you, 
 Leave you a while ; two hours hence I'll return, 
 friend. 
 
 Lis. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Clara, A little business. 
 
 Lis. An't be but a little, you may take me with 
 you. 
 
 Clara. 'Twill be a trouble to you. 
 
 Lis. No, indeed ; • 
 
 To do you service I account a pleasure. 
 
 Clara. 1 must aloue. 
 
 Lis. Why? 
 
 Clara, 'Tis necessity. 
 Before you pass the walks, and back again, 
 I will be with you. 
 
 Lis. If it be not unmannerly 
 To press you, I would go. 
 
 Clara. Til tell you true, sir ; 
 This gentleman and I, upon appointment, 
 Are going to visit a lady. 
 
 Lis. 1 am no Capuchin ; 
 Why should not 1 go r 
 
 Ale. Take the gentleman ; 
 Come, he may see the gentlewoman too, 
 And be most welcome ; 1 do beseech you take him. 
 
 Lis. By any means ; I love to see a gentlewoman, 
 A pretty wench too. 
 
 Clara. Well, sir, we will meet you, 
 And at the place. My service to the lady. 
 
 Ale. I kiss your hand. [Exit, 
 
 Clara. Pr'ythee read o'er her letter. 
 
 Lis, [Reading.'] " Monsieur, 
 
460 THE LOVERS' [Act II. 
 
 I know you have consider'd* the dark sentence 
 Olindagaveus; and that, however she disguised it, 
 It pointed more at our swords' edges than 
 Our bodies' banishments : The last must enjoy her ! 
 If we retire, our youths are lost in wandering; 
 In emulation we shall gro\^ old men and feeble, 
 (Which is the scorn of love, and rust of honour,) 
 And so return more fit to wed our sepulchres, 
 Than the saint we aim at ; let us therefore make 
 Our journey short and our hearts ready, and, 
 With our swords in our hands, put it to fortune 
 Which shall be worthy to receive that blessing. 
 I'll stay you on the mountain, our old hunting- 
 place. 
 This gentleman alone runs the hazard with me : 
 And so I kiss your hand. 
 
 Your servant, Lidian." 
 Is this your wench? You'll find her a sharp mistress. 
 What have I thrust myself into ? Is this that Lidian 
 You told me of? 
 
 Clara. The same. 
 
 Lis. My lady's brother ! [Aside. 
 
 No cause to heave my sword against but his r 
 To save the father yesterday, and this morning 
 To help to kill the son ? This is most courteous ; 
 The only way to make the daughter dote on me ! 
 
 Clara. Why do you muse ? would you go off? 
 
 Lis. No, no ; 
 I must on now. — This will be kindly taken ; 
 No life to sacrifice, but part of hers? — 
 Do you fight straight ? 
 
 Clara. Yes, presently. 
 
 Lis. To-morrow, then, [Aside. 
 
 * / know you have consider d, &c.] This letter has hitherto been 
 printed as prose ; but we think it was intended for metre, and is 
 as smooth verse as many other passages of o«r authors.— Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 461 
 
 The baleful tidings of this day will break out, 
 And this night's sun will set in blood. I am trou- 
 bled ! 
 If I am kiird, I am happy. 
 Clara. Will you go, fri nd ? 
 Lis. I am ready, sir. — Fortune, thou hast made 
 me monstrous ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Room in Cleander's House. 
 
 Enter Malfout and Clarinda. 
 
 Malf. Your cousin, and my true friend, lusty 
 Leon, 
 Shall know how you use me. 
 
 Clari. Be more temperate, 
 Or I will never use, nor know you more 
 r th' way of a servant : All the house takes notice 
 Of your ridiculous foppery ; I have no sooner 
 Performed my duties in my lady's chamber. 
 And she scarce down the stairs, but you appear 
 Like my evil spirit to me. 
 
 Malf. Can the fish live 
 Out of the water, or the salamander 
 Out of the fire? or I live warm, but in 
 The frying-pan of your favour? 
 
 Clari. Pray you forget 
 Your curious comparisons, borrowed from 
 The pond and kitchen, and remember what 
 
462 THE LOVERS' [Act II. 
 
 My lady's pleasure is for the entertainment 
 Of her noble father. 
 
 Malf. I would learn the art 
 Of tnemory in your table-book.' 
 
 Clari. Very good, sir ! 
 No more but up and rider I apprehend 
 Your meaning ; soft fire makes sweet malt, sir : I'll 
 Answer you in a proverb. 
 
 Malf. But one kiss from 
 Thy honey lip ! 
 
 Clari. You fight too high ; my hand is 
 A fair ascent from my foot. — His slavering kisses 
 Spoil me more gloves — Enough for once ; you'll 
 
 surfeit 
 With too mdich grace. 
 
 Malf. Have you no employment for me r 
 
 Clari. Yes, yes ; go send for Leon, and convey 
 him 
 Into the private arbour ; from his mouth 
 I hear your praises with more faith. 
 
 Malf, I am gone. 
 Yet one thing ere I go ; there's at the door 
 The rarest fortune-teller — he hath told me 
 Thestrangestthings! he knowsyou are my mistress, 
 And under seal delivered how many children 
 I shall beget on you ; pray you give him hearing, 
 He'll make it good to you. 
 
 Clari. A cunning man 
 Of your own making ! howsoe'er, I'll hear him 
 At your entreaty. 
 
 Malf. Now I perceive you love me. 
 At my entreaty ! — Come in, friend : Remember 
 To speak as I directed. 
 
 3 Table-hook.'] The old word for a memorandum-book. See 
 vol. VI. p: 25, X. p. 67. 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 463 
 
 £;z^er Lancelot like a Fortune-teller, with a Purse 
 and two Letters in it. 
 
 He knows his lesson, 
 And the right way to please her : This it is 
 To have a head-piece ! [Eji-it. 
 
 Clari. 'Tis said you can tell 
 Fortunes to come. 
 
 La)i. Yes, mistress, and what's past : 
 Un-glove your hand. By this straight line I see 
 You have lain crooked. 
 
 Clari. How I lain crooked ? 
 
 Lan. Yes ; 
 And in that posture played at the old game, 
 (Nohody hears me, and I'll be no blab) 
 And at it lost your maidenhead. 
 
 Clari. A shrewd fellow ! 
 'Tis truth, but not to be confessed. — In this 
 Your palmestry deceives you. Something else, sir. 
 
 Lan. You're a great woman with your lady, and 
 Acquainted with her counsels. 
 
 Clari. Still more strange ! 
 
 Lan. There is noble knight, Lisander, loves 
 her, 
 Whom she regards not ; and the destinies, 
 With whom I am familiar, have delivered 
 That by your means alone he must enjoy her. 
 Your hand again ! Yes, yes, you have already 
 Promised him your assistance, and, what's more, 
 Tasted his bounty ; for which, from tlie sky 
 There are two hundred crowns dropp'd in a purse ; 
 Look back, you'll find it true. Nay, open it; 
 *Tis good gold, I assure you. 
 
 Clari. How ! two letters ? 
 The first indorsed to me ? this to my lady ? 
 
46* THE LOVERS' [Act II. 
 
 Subscribed Lisander.* 
 
 Lan. Arid the fortune-teller 
 His servant Lancelot. 
 
 Clari How liad I lost my eyes, 
 That I could not know thee ! Not a word o' th' loss 
 Of my virginity ! 
 
 Lan. Nor who I am. 
 
 Clari. ril use all speedy means for your dispatch 
 With a welcome answer; but till you receive it 
 Continue thus disguised. Monsieur Malfort 
 (You know the way to humour him) shall provide 
 A lodging for you, and good entertainment; 
 Nay, since we trade both one way, thou shalt have 
 Some feeling with me : take that. 
 
 Laji. Bountiful wench, 
 Mayst thou ne'er want employment ! 
 
 Claru Nor such pay, boy ! [Ecceunt. 
 
 * Clari. How, two letters ? 
 
 Tkejirst indorsed to me f this to my lady f 
 Subscribed Lisander.] It was the practice of ancient times, be- 
 fore the establishment of posts, for the writer of a letter to set dov/a 
 in the superscription not only his name, but the relation in whick 
 he stood with respect to the person to whom it was addressed.— 
 Mason. 
 
 Sympson, who did not know this, proposes alterations, because 
 Clari nda could not know, according to his opinion, from whom her 
 lady's letter came (though, even without adopting Mason's expla- 
 nation, she might know Lisander's hand, or else find in her own let- 
 ter that the other came from him also,) and the last editors emlea- 
 vour to rectify the text by punctuation. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. A65 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A hilly Country. 
 
 Enter severally y Lidian and Alcidoi^, Lisander, 
 and Clarange. 
 
 Lid. You are welcome. 
 
 Ale. Let us do our office first, 
 And then make choice of a new piece of ground 
 To try our fortunes. 
 
 Lis. All's fair here. 
 
 Ale. And here : 
 Their swords are equal. 
 
 Lis. If there be any odds 
 In mine, we will exchange. 
 
 Ale. We'll talk of that 
 When we are further off. Farewell ! 
 
 Lis. Farewell, friend ! 
 
 [Ej^eu?it Lisander and Alcidon. 
 
 Lid. Come, let us not be idle ! 
 
 Clara. I will find you 
 Employment, fear not. 
 
 Lid You know, sir, the cause 
 That brings us hither. 
 
 Clara. There needs no more discoursing ; 
 No time nor place for repetition now. 
 
 Lid. Let our swords argue ; and I wish, Clarange, 
 The proud Olinda saw us. 
 
 Clara. 'Would she did ! 
 Whatever estimation she holds of me. 
 She should behold me like a man fight for her. 
 
 VOL. xiii. 2 G 
 
46^ THE LOVERS' [Act II. 
 
 Lid. Tis nobly said. Set on. Love and my for- 
 tune. [Thei/^ fight, 
 Clara. The same for me ! Come home, brave 
 Lidian ! 
 'Twas manly thrust : This token to the lady ! 
 
 [JVounds him. 
 You have it, sir; deliver it. Take breath ; 
 I see you bleed apace ; you shall have fair play. 
 
 Enter Lisander. 
 
 Lis. You must lie there a while ; I cannot help 
 
 you.5 
 Lid. Nay, then my fortune's gone; I know I 
 must die : 
 Yet dearly will I sell my love. Come on both, 
 And use your fortunes ; I expect no favour : 
 Weak as I am, my confidence shall meet you ! 
 Clara. Yield up your cause, and live. 
 Lid. What, dost thou hold me 
 A recreant, that prefers life before credit? 
 Though I bleed hard, my honour finds no issue ; 
 That's constant to my heart. 
 Clara. Have at your life then ! 
 Lis. Hold, or I'll turn, and bend my sword 
 against you ; 
 My cause, Clarang^, too. View this brave gentle- 
 man, 
 That yet may live to kill you ; he stands nobly, 
 And has as great a promise of the day 
 
 ' You must lie there, &c.] These words are addressed to Alcidon 
 •without, whom Lisander has overcome. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 It must be recollected, that the seconds as well as the principals 
 in those times fought, and that it was not held derogatory to ho- 
 nour for the second, who had overcome his antagonist, to assist his 
 principal, and thus to turn the odds against the rival. See The 
 Little French Lawyer, vol. V. p. 152, and The Island Princess, 
 Tol. VL p. 225. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 467 
 
 As you can tie unto yourself; he's ready;* 
 His sword as sharp : View him with that remem- 
 brance 
 That you delivered him to me, Clarange, 
 And with those eyes ; that clearness will become 
 
 you: 
 View him, as you reported him ; survey him ; 
 Fix on your friendship, sir. I know you are noble, 
 And step but inward to your old affection, 
 Examine but that soul grew to your bosom, 
 And try then if your sword will bite ; it cannot, 
 The edge will turn again, ashamed and blunted. — 
 Lidian, you are the pattern of fair friendship, 
 Exampled for your love, and imitated ; 
 The temple of true hearts, stored with affections, 
 For sweetness of your spirit made a saint : 
 Can you decline this nobleness to anger ? 
 To mortal anger? 'gainst the man you love most ? 
 Have you the name of virtuous, not the nature ^ 
 
 Lid. I will sit down. 
 
 Clara. And Fll sit by you, Lidian. 
 
 Lis. And I'll go on. Can Heaven be pleased 
 with these things ? 
 To see two hearts that have been twined together, 
 Married in friendship, to the world two wonders,' 
 
 ^ He's readt/.] The editors of 1778 say that we should read — 
 as ready ; but, as the text may be an abbreviation of he as ready, 
 ,it needs no alteration. 
 
 ' -^— — that have been twined together, 
 
 Married in friendship, to the world, to wonder.] The editors 
 of 1750 propose reading, 
 
 that have been twinn'd together. 
 
 Married in friendship, to the -world a ■wonder. 
 
 Have been twined is clearly the trae reading ; the whole, we ap- 
 prehend, should run thus : 
 
 To see two hearts, that have been twined together, 
 
 Married in friendship, to the world two wonders, Sfc. — Ed. 1 778. 
 
468 THE LOVERS' [Act II. 
 
 Of one growth, of one nourishment, one health, 
 Thus mortally divorced for one weak woman? 
 Can Love be pleased ? Love is a gentle spirit ; 
 The wind that blows the April flowers not softer; 
 She's drawn with doves to shew her peacefulness ; 
 Lions and bloody pards are Mars's servants. 
 Would you serve Love ? do it with humbleness, 
 Without a noise, with still prayers, and soft mur- 
 murs ; 
 Upon her altars offer your obedience, 
 And not your brawls ; she's won with tears, not 
 
 terrors : 
 That fire you kindle to her deity, 
 Is only grateful when it's blown with sighs,' 
 Andholy incense flung with white-hand innocence; 
 You wound her now ; you are too superstitious : 
 No sacrifice of blood or death she longs for. 
 Lid. Came he from Heaven ? 
 Clara. He tells us truth, good Lidian. 
 Lis. That part of noble love which is most sweet. 
 And gives eternal being to fair beauty. 
 Honour, ye hack a-pieces with your swords ; 
 And that ye fight to crown ye kill, fair credit ! 
 Clara. Thus we embrace ; no more fight, but all 
 friendship ! 
 And where Love pleases to bestow his benefits, 
 Let us not argue. 
 
 ' Lid. Nay, brave sir, come in too, 
 You may love also, and may hope ; if you do, 
 And not rewarded for't, there is no justice. 
 Farewell, friend ! here let's part upon our pilgrim- 
 age : 
 It must be so, Cupid draws on our sorrows, 
 
 * When it blows icith sighs.'\ This is the reading of the first fo- 
 lio, which Sympson follows. Our lection is from the second folio. 
 —Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene IV.] PROGRESS. 4^9 
 
 And where the lot lights 
 
 Clara. I shall count it happiness. 
 Farewell, dear friend ! 
 
 Lis. First, let's relieve the gentleman 
 That lies hurt in your cause, and bring him off, 
 And take some care for your hurts ; then I'll part 
 
 too, 
 A third unfortunate, and willing wanderer. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV, 
 
 Paris* — A Room in Cleander's House. 
 
 Enter Olinda and Calista. 
 
 Olin, My fears foresaw 'twould come to this. 
 
 Cal. I would 
 Your sentence had been milder. 
 
 Olin, 'Tis past help now. 
 
 Cal. I share in your despair, and yet my hopes 
 Have not quite left me, since all possible means 
 Are practised to prevent the mischief following 
 Their mortal meeting : My lord is coasted one way; 
 My father, though his hurts forbade his travel, 
 Hath took another ; my brother-in-law Beronte, 
 A third ; and every minute we must look for 
 The certain knowledge, which we must endure 
 With that calm patience Heaven shall please to 
 lend us. 
 
47a THE LOVERS' [Act IL 
 
 Efiter DoRiLAUs and Oleander, severally. 
 
 Dor. Dead both ? 
 
 Cle. Such is the rumour, and 'tis general. 
 
 Olin. I hear my passing-bell. 
 
 Cal. I am in a fever. 
 
 Cle. They say, their seconds too; but what they 
 are 
 Is not known yet ; some worthy fellows certain. 
 
 Dor. Where had you knowledge ? 
 
 Cle. Of the country people ; 
 'Tis spoken every where. 
 
 Dor. I heard it so too ; 
 And 'tis so common, I do half believe it. — 
 You have lost a brother, wench ; he loved you well, 
 And might have lived to have done his country 
 
 service ; 
 But he is gone. Thou fell'st untimely, Lidian, 
 But by a valiant hand, that's some small comfort, 
 And took'st him with thee too; thoulov'dst brave 
 
 company. 
 Weeping will do no good : You lost a servant, 
 He might have lived tohave been your master, lady ; 
 But you feared that. 
 
 Olin. Good sir, be tender to me ; 
 The news is bad enough, you need not press it : ' 
 I loved him well, I loved 'em both. 
 
 Dor. It seems so. 
 How many more have you to love so, lady? 
 They were both fools to fight for such a fiddle ! 
 Certain there was a dearth of noble anger, 
 When a slight woman was thought worth a quarrel. 
 
 Olin. Pray you think nobler. 
 
 ' — — you need not press it.] i. e. Make it worse.— ^^OTp«o»» 
 
Scene IV.] PROGRESS. 471 
 
 Dor. I'll tell thee what I thiiik ; the plague, War, 
 famine, 
 Nay, put in dice and drunkenness, (and those 
 You'll grant are pretty helps) kill not so many 
 (I mean so many noble) as your loves do. 
 Rather your lewdness. I crave your mercy, women ! 
 Be not offended, if I anger ye : 
 I am sure ye have touched me deep. I came to be 
 
 merry. 
 And with my children ; but to see one ruin'd 
 By this fell accident 
 
 Enter Beronte and Alcidon; CLARiNDAyb/ZoriJ- 
 
 ing. 
 
 Are they all dead ? 
 If they be, speak. 
 
 Cle. What news ? 
 
 Ber. What dead ? Ye pose me ; 
 I understand you not. 
 
 Cle. My brother Lidian, 
 Clarange, and their seconds. 
 
 Ber. Here is one of 'em ; 
 And sure this gentleman's alive. 
 
 Ale, I hope so ; 
 So is your son, sir ; so is brave Clarang^ : 
 They fought indeed, and they were hurt suffici- 
 ently; 
 We were all hurt ; that bred the general rumour ; 
 But friends again all, and like friends we parted. 
 
 Cle. Heard you of Lisander ? 
 
 Ber. Yes, and miss'd him narrowly ; 
 He was one o' th' combatants, fought with this 
 
 gentleman. 
 Second against your brother; by his wisdom 
 (For certainly good fortune follows him) 
 All was made peace, I'll tell you the rest at dinner, 
 
472 THE LOVERS' [Act II, 
 
 For we are hungry. 
 
 Ale. I, before I eat, 
 IVIust pay a vow I am sworn to. My life, madanj, 
 Was at Lisander's mercy, I live by it ; 
 And, for the noble favour, he desired me 
 To kiss your fair hand for him, offering 
 This second service as a sacrifice 
 At the altar of your virtues. 
 
 Dor. Come, joy on all sides ! 
 Heaven will not suffer honest men to perish. 
 
 Cle. Be proud of such a friend. 
 
 Dor. Forgive me, madam ; 
 It was a grief might have concerned you near too. 
 
 Cle. No work of excellence but still Lisander? 
 Go thy ways, worthy ! 
 
 Olin. We'll be merry too. 
 Were I to speak again, I would be wiser. 
 
 Cal. Too much .of this rare cordial makes me 
 sick ; 
 However, I obey you. 
 
 [Ej:eunt all but Calista and Clarinda. 
 
 Clari. Now or never 
 Is an apt time to move her. — Madam ! 
 
 CaL Who's that? 
 
 Clari. Your servant : I would speak with your 
 ladyship. 
 
 Cal. Why dost thou look about ? 
 
 Clari. I have private business 
 That none must hear but you. Lisander 
 
 CaL Where? 
 
 Claii. Nay, he's not here, but would entreat 
 this favour ; 
 Some of your balsam from your own hand given. 
 For he's much hurt, and that he thinks would cure 
 him. 
 
 Cal. He shall have all, my prayers too. 
 
 Clari. But conceive me, 
 
Scene IV.] PROGRESS. 473 
 
 It must be from yourself immediately : 
 
 Tity so brave a gentleman should perish ! 
 
 He is superstitious, and he holds your hand 
 
 Of infinite power. I would not urge this, madam, 
 
 But only in a man's extremes, to help him. 
 
 Cat. Let him come, 
 Good wench ! 'tis that I wish ; I am happy in't: 
 My husband his true friend, my noble father, 
 The fair Olinda, all desire to see him ; 
 He shall have many hands. 
 
 Clari. That he desires not, 
 Nor eyes, but yours, to look upon his miseries ; 
 For then he thinks 'twould be no perfect cure, 
 
 madam : 
 He would come private. 
 
 Cal. How can that be here ? 
 I shall do wrong unto all those that honour him, 
 Besides my credit. 
 
 C/flW. Dare you not trust a hurt man? 
 Nor strain a courtesy to save a gentleman ? 
 To save his life, that has saved all your family ? 
 A man that comes, like a poor mortified pilgrim, 
 Only to beg a blessing, and depart again ? 
 He would but see you ; that he thinks would cure 
 
 him : 
 But since you find fit reasons to the contrary, 
 And that it cannot stand with your clear honour, 
 (Though you best know how well he has deserved 
 
 of you) 
 I'll send him word back (though I grieve to do it. 
 Grieve at my soul, for certainly 'twill kill him) 
 What your will is. 
 
 Cal. Stay ! I will think upon't. 
 Where is he, wench ? 
 
 Clari. If you desire to see him. 
 Let not that trouble you, he shall be with you, 
 And in that time that no man shall suspect you : 
 
474 THE LOVERS* [Act III. 
 
 Your honour, madam, is in your own free keeping ; 
 Your care in me, in him all honesty ; 
 If you desire him not, let him pass by you, 
 And all this business reckon but a dream ! 
 
 CaU Go in, and counsel me ; I would fain see 
 
 him, 
 And willingly comfort him. 
 
 Clari. 'Tis in your power ; 
 And, if you dare trust me, you shall do it safely. 
 Read that, [Giving a Letter.'] and let that tell you 
 
 how he honours you. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 A Hall in the same House. 
 
 Enter Clarinda and Leon. 
 
 Leon, This happy night [Kisses her, 
 
 Clari. Preserve this eagerness 
 Till we meet nearer ; there is something done 
 Will give us opportunity. 
 
 Leon. Witty girl! the plot? 
 
 Clari, You shall hear that at leisure. 
 The whole house reels with joy at the report 
 Of Lidian's safety, and that joy encreased 
 From their affection to the brave Lisander, 
 In being made the happy instrument to compound 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 475 
 
 The bloody difference, 
 
 Leon. They will hear shortly that 
 Will turn their mirth to mourning : He was then 
 The principal means to save two lives ; but, since, 
 There are two fall'n, and by his single hand, 
 For which his life must answer, if the king. 
 Whose arm is long, can reach him. 
 
 Clari. We have now 
 No spare time to hear stories : Take this key; 
 'Twill make your passage to the banqueting-house 
 In the garden free. * 
 
 Leon. You will not fail to come ? 
 
 Clari. For mine own sake, ne'er doubt it. — Now 
 for Lisander ! [^Exit Leon. 
 
 Enter Dorilaus, Oleander, and Servants with 
 Lights* 
 
 Dor. To bed, to bed ! 'tis very late. 
 
 Cle. To bed all ! 
 I have drank a health too much. 
 
 Dor. You'll sleep the better ; 
 My usual physic that vyay. 
 
 Cle. Where's your mistress ? 
 
 Clari. She is above, but very ill and aguish ; 
 The late fright of her brother has much troubled 
 
 her : 
 She would entreat to lie alone. 
 
 Cle. Her pleasure. 
 
 Dor. Commend my love to her, and my pray'rs 
 for her health : 
 ril see her ere I go. [Exeunt all but Clarinda. 
 
 Clari. All good rest to ye ! — 
 Now to my watch for Lisander .• when he's fur- 
 nish 'd, 
 For mine own friend I Since I stand centinel, 
 
476 THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 I love to laugh in the evenings too ; and may, 
 The privilege of my place will warrant it. [Kvit, 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Beforx the Garden. 
 
 Enter Lisander and Lancelot. 
 
 Lts» You have done well hitherto. Where are 
 
 we now ? 
 Lan. Not far from the house, I hear by th' owls ; 
 there are 
 Many of your Welch falconers about it. 
 Here were a night to chuse to run away with 
 Another man's wife, and do the feat ! 
 
 Lis. Peace, knave ; 
 The house is here before us, and some may hear us. 
 The candles are all out. 
 
 Lan. But one i' th' parlour ; 
 I see it simper hither.' Pray come this way. 
 Lis. Step to the garden-door, and feel an't be 
 
 open. 
 Lan. lam going; luck deliver me from the saw- 
 pits, 
 
 • / see it simper hither.'] We suspect this to be a corruption, 
 and that we should read glimmer. Simper, we apprehend, never 
 occurs in this sense ; and Lancelot, though a servant, is not made 
 a speaker of barbarisms. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 There is no occasion to charge Lancelot with barbarism, though 
 he ludicrously applies the word simper to the flickering light in the 
 parlour. 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 477 
 
 Or I am buried quick ! I hear a dog ; 
 No, 'tis a cricket. Ha ! here's a cuckold buried ; 
 Take heed of his horns, sir. Here's the door; 'tis 
 open. 
 Clari. IJt the DoorJ] Who's there ? 
 Lis. A friend. 
 Ciari. Sir! Lisandcr! 
 Lis. I. 
 Clari. You are welcome ; follow me, and make 
 
 no noise. 
 Lis. Go to your horse, and keep your watch 
 with care, sirrah. 
 And be sure you sleep not. 
 
 [Ed'eimt LisANDER and Clarinda. 
 Lan. Send me out the dairy-maid. 
 To play at trump* with me, and keep me waking. 
 My fellow horse and I now must discourse. 
 Like two learn'd almanack-makers, of the stars. 
 And tell what a plentiful year 'twill prove of 
 
 drunkards. 
 If I bad but a pottle of sack, like a sharp prickle. 
 To knock my nose against when I am nodding, 
 I should sing like a nightingale ; but I must 
 Keep watch without it. I am apt to dance ; 
 Good Fortune, guide me from the fairies' circles ! 
 
 [Ej;it, 
 
 * Trump.] This was an ancient game at cards, which is often 
 alluded to in old plays. 
 
478 THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Bed-Room in the House, 
 
 Enter Clarinda, (with a Taper,) and Lisander. 
 Calista sitting behind a Cwtain. 
 
 Clari. Come near ! I'll leave you now ; draw 
 but that curtain, 
 
 And have your wish. Now, Leon, I am for 
 
 thee : 
 We that are servants must make use of stol'n hours, 
 And be glad of snatch'd occasions. [Exit. 
 
 Lis. She's asleep ; [Draws the Curtain. 
 
 Fierce Love hath closed his lights, (I may look on 
 
 her) 
 Within her eyes he has lock'd the Graces up ; 
 I may behold and live. How sweet she breathes ! 
 The orient morning, breaking out in odours, 
 Is not so full of perfumes as her breath is ; 
 She is the abstract of all excellence, 
 And scorns a parallel. 
 
 Cal. Who's there? 
 
 Lis, Your servant, [Kneels. 
 
 Your most obedient slave, adored lady. 
 That comes but to behold those eyes again. 
 And pay some vows I have to sacred beauty, 
 And so pass by : I am blind as ignorance. 
 And know not where I wander, how I live, 
 Till I receive from their bright influence 
 Light to direct me. For devotion's sake, 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 479 
 
 (You are the saint I tread these holy steps to, 
 And holy saints are all relenting sweetness) 
 Be not enraged, nor be not angry with me ; 
 The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy. 
 And 'tis the crown of Justice, and the glory, 
 Where it may kill with right, to save with pity. 
 
 Cal. Why do you kneel r I know you come to 
 mock me, 
 To upbraid me with the benefits you have given me, 
 Which are too many, and too mighty, sir, 
 For my return ; and I confess 'tis justice, 
 That for my cruelty you should despise me ; 
 And I expect, however you are calm now, 
 (A foil you strive to set your cause upon) 
 It will break out : Calista is unworthy. 
 Coy, proud, disdainful, (I acknowledge all) 
 Colder of comfort than the frozen north is, 
 And more a stranger to Lisander's worth, 
 His youth and faith, than it becomes her grati- 
 tude ; 
 I blush to grant it : Yet take this along, 
 (A sovereign medicine to allay displeasure, 
 May be, an argument to bring me off too) 
 She's married, and she's chaste ; how sweet that 
 
 sounds ! 
 How it perfumes all air 'tis spoken in! 
 Oh, dear Lisander, would you break this union ? 
 
 Lis. No; I adore it: Let me kiss your hand. 
 And seal the fair faith of a gentleman on it! 
 
 Cal. You are truly valiant ; Would it not afflict 
 you 
 To have the horrid name of coward touch you ? 
 Such is the whore to me. 
 
 Lis, I nobly thank you : 
 And may I be the same when I dishonour you. 
 This I may do again. {Kissing her hand. 
 
480 THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 Cal. You may, and worthily ; 
 Such comforts maids may grant with modesty, 
 And neither make her poor, nor wrong her bounty.^ 
 Noble Lisander, how fond now am I of you ! 
 I heard you were hurt. 
 
 Lis. You dare not heal me, lady ? 
 I am hurt here. How sweetly now she blushes ! 
 Excellent objects kill our sight ; she blinds me : 
 The roses in the pride of May shew pale to her. 
 Oh, tyrant Custom, and, oh, coward Honour ! 
 How ye compel me to put on mine own chains ! 
 May I not kiss you now in superstition ? 
 For you appear a thing that I would kneel to : 
 Let me err that way ! [^Kisses her. 
 
 Cal. You shall err for once ; 
 I have a kind of noble pity on you. 
 Among your manly sufferings, make this most, 
 To err no further in desire ; for then, sir, 
 You add unto the gratitudes I owe you ; 
 And after death, your dear friend's soul shall bless 
 you. 
 
 Lis. I am wond'rous honest. 
 
 Cal. I dare try. [Kiss, 
 
 Lis. I have tasted 
 A blessedness too great for dull mortality : 
 Once more, and let me die ! 
 
 Cal. I dare not murder : 
 How will maids curse me, if I kill with kisses, 
 
 3 Make her poor, nor wrong her bounty.] As fier has nothing 
 to refer to but maids in the line above, we must certainly change 
 the number, and write, 
 
 "' ■ make them poor, nor wrong their bounti/.—Sympson' 
 
 The mistake is not likely to have been accidental. Fletcher 
 is often guilty of greater grammatical errors than that in the text, 
 and the change of plural to singular, or vice versa, is very fre- 
 quent in old authors. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 481 
 
 And young men fly the embraces of fair virgins ! 
 Come, pray sit down ; but let's talk temperately. 
 
 Lis. Is my dear friend a-bed? 
 
 Cal. Yes, and asleep, 
 Secure asleep: 'Tis midnight too, Lisander; 
 Speak not so loud. 
 
 Lis. You see I am a statue ; 
 I could not stand else as I had eaten ice, 
 Or took into my blood a drowsy poison, 
 And Nature's noblest, brightest flame burn in me. 
 Midnight? and I stand quietly to behold so? 
 The alarum rung, and I sleep like a coward? 
 I am worn away ; my faith, and dull obedience, 
 Like crutches, carry my decayed body 
 Down to the grave ; I have no youth within me. 
 Yet happily you love too ? 
 
 Cal Love with honour. 
 
 Lis. Honour ? what's that ? 'tis but a specious 
 title 
 We should not prize too high. 
 
 Cal. Dearer than life. 
 
 Lis. The value of it is as time has made it, 
 And time and custom have too far insulted : 
 We are no gods, to be always tied to strictness ; 
 'Tis a presumption to shew too like *em : 
 March but an hour or two under love's ensigns ! 
 We have examples of great memories 
 
 Cal. But foul ones too, that greatness cannot 
 cover ! 
 That wife that by example sins, sins double, 
 And pulls the curtain open to her shame too. 
 Methiuks, to enjoy you thus 
 
 Lis. 'Tis no joy, lady: 
 A longing bride, if she stop here, would cry; 
 The bridegroom too, and with just cause, curse 
 Hymen. 
 
 VOL. xiir. 2 H 
 
482 THE LOVERS' [ActIIL 
 
 But yield a little, be one hour a woman, 
 (I do not speak this to compel you, lady) 
 And give your will but motion, let it stir, 
 But in the taste of that weak fears call evil ; 
 Try it to understand it, (we'll do nothing) 
 You'll never come to know pure good else. 
 
 Cal. Fy, sir ! 
 
 Lis. I have found a way ; let's slip into this 
 error 
 As innocents, that know not what we did ; 
 As we were dreaming both, let us embrace ; 
 The sin is none of ours then, but our fancies' — 
 What have I said ? what blasphemy to honour ? 
 Oh, my base thoughts ! Pray you take this, and 
 
 shoot me. 
 My villain thoughts ! [Offering her a Pistol, 
 
 CaL I weep your miseries, {^Noise within. 
 
 And 'would to Heaven What noise? 
 
 Lis, It comes on louder. 
 Kill me, and save yourself ; save your fair honour, 
 And lay the fault on me ; let my life perish. 
 My base lascivious life I Shoot quickly, lady ! 
 
 Cat, Not for the world. Retire behind the 
 hangings, 
 And there stand close. — My husband ! close, Li- 
 sander ! [//e retires. 
 
 Enter Oleander with a Taper, 
 
 Cle. Dearest, are you well ? 
 
 CaL Oh, my sad heart ! 
 My head, my head ! 
 
 Cle. Alas, poor soul ! what do you 
 Out of your be^? you take cold, my Calista. 
 How do you ? 
 
 Cal. Not so well, sir, to lie by yow : 
 My brother's fright 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 483 
 
 Cle. I had a frightful dream too, 
 A very frightful dream, my best Calista: 
 Methought there came a dragon to your chamber, 
 A furious dragon, wife; I yet shake at it. 
 Are all things well ? 
 
 Lis. [From behind the Hangings.'] Shall I shoot 
 him ? 
 
 Cal. No. All well, sir. 
 
 'Twas but your care of me, your loving care, 
 Which always watches. 
 
 Cle. And methought he came 
 As if he had risen thus out of his den, 
 As I do from these hangings 
 
 Lis. Dead r 
 
 Cal. Hold, good sir I 
 
 Cle. And forced you in his arms thus: 
 
 CaL 'Twas but fancy 
 That troubled you ; here's nothing to disturb me. 
 Good sir, to rest again ; and Tm now drowsy. 
 And will to bed. Make no noise, dear husband, 
 But let me sleep ; before you can call any body 
 I am a- bed. 
 
 Cle. This, and sweet rest dwell with you ! 
 
 [Kisses hei\ and exit, 
 
 CaL Come out again ; and, as you love, Lisan- 
 der. 
 Make haste away ! You see his mind is troubled : 
 Do you know the door you came m at.^ 
 
 Lis. Well, sweet lady. 
 
 Cal. And can you hit it readily? 
 
 Lis. I warrant you. 
 And must I go ? must here end all my happiness, 
 Here in a dream, as if it had no substance ? 
 
 Cal. For this time, friend, or here begin our 
 ruins ; 
 We are both miserable. 
 
 Lis, This is some comfort 
 
484 THE LOVERS' [Act lit. 
 
 In my afflictions, tliey are so full already, 
 They can find no encrease. 
 
 Cal. Dear, speak no more ! 
 
 Lis. You must be silent, then. 
 
 Cal Farewell, Lisander, 
 Thou joy of man, farewell ! 
 
 Lis. Farewell, bright lady. 
 Honour of woman-kind, a heavenly blessing ! 
 
 Cal. Be ever honest ! 
 
 Lis. I will be a dog else ! 
 The virtues of your mind Til make my library, 
 In which I'll study the celestial beauty : 
 Your constancy, my armour that I'll fight in : 
 And on my sword your chastity shall sit, 
 Terror to rebel blood. 
 
 Cal. Once more, farewell ! [Noise within. 
 
 Oh, that my modesty could hold you still, sir ! 
 He comes again. 
 
 Lis. Heaven keep my hand from murder, 
 Murder of him I love ! 
 
 Cal. Away, dear friend, 
 Down to the garden-stairs ; that way, Lisander ! 
 We are betrayed else. 
 
 Lis. Honour guard the innocent ! [Exit, 
 
 Enter Oleander. 
 
 Cle. Still up ! I feared your health. 
 
 Cal. [Aside.\ He has missed him happily. — 
 I am going now ; I have done my meditations, 
 My heart's almost at peace. 
 
 Cle. To my warm bed then ! 
 
 Cat, I will 'i pray you lead. 
 
 [A Pistol shot xvithin. 
 
 Cle. A pistol shot i' th' house ? 
 At these hours? Sure some thief, some murderer ! 
 Rise, ho ! rise all ! I am be tray 'd. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 485 
 
 Cal. Ob, Fortune ! [Aside. 
 
 Oh, giddy thing ! He has met some opposition, 
 And killed ! I am confounded, lost for ever ! 
 
 Enter Dorilaus. 
 
 Dor. Now, what's the matter? 
 
 Cle. Thieves, my noble father. 
 Villains and rogues. 
 
 Dor. Indeed, I heard a pistol : 
 Let's search about. 
 
 E?iter Malfort, Clarinda, and Servants. 
 
 Malf. To bed again ; they are gone, sir, 
 (I will not bid you thank my valour for't) 
 Gone at the garden-door ; there were a dozen. 
 And bravely armed; I saw 'em. 
 
 Clari. I am glad, 
 Glad at the heart. 
 
 Serv. One shot at me, and missed me. 
 
 Malf. No, 'twas at me ; the bullet flew close 
 by me, 
 Close by my ear : Another had a huge sword. 
 Flourished it thus, but at the point I met him ; 
 But the rogue taking me to be your lordship, 
 (As sure your name is terrible, and we 
 Not much unlike i' th' dark) roared out aloud,*' 
 *' It is the kill-cow^ Dorilaus !" and away 
 They ran as they had flown. — Now you must love 
 me, 
 
 3 Kill-cozu.] An allusion to the story of Guy Earl of Warwick. 
 —Ed. 1778. 
 
 Another allusion to this adventure has occurred in Bouduca. 
 See vol. VI. p. 47. 
 
486 THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 Or fear me for my courage, wench. 
 
 [Aside to Clarinda. 
 Clari. Oh, rogue ! 
 Oh, lying rogue ! — Lisander stumbled, madam, 
 At the stairs' head, and in the fall the shot went 
 
 off; 
 'Was gone before they rose. 
 Cal, I thank Heaven for't ! 
 Clari, I was frighted too ; it spoiled my game- 
 with Leon. [2 side. 
 
 Cle. You must sit up ; an they had come to your 
 chamber, 
 What pranks would they have played? — Howcame 
 the door open? 
 Malf. I heard 'em when they forced it; up I rose, 
 Took Durindana* in my hand, and like 
 Orlando issued forth. 
 
 Clari. I know you are valiant. 
 C/e. To bed again, 
 And be you henceforth provident ! At sun-rising 
 We must part for a while. 
 
 Dor. When you're a-bed, 
 Take leave of her; there 'twill be worth the ta- 
 king, 
 Here 'tis but a cold ceremony. Ere long 
 We'll find Lisander, or we have ill fortune. 
 Cle. Lock all the doors fast. 
 Malf. Though they all stood open, 
 My name writ on the door, they dare not enter ! 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 * Durindana.] The name of Orlando's sword. The heroes in the 
 aid romances gave nam^s to their swords.— Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene IV.] PROGRESS. 487 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The Country. Before a Monastery, 
 
 Enter Clarange, Friar zvith a Letter, and a 
 Novice. 
 
 Clara, Turned hermit ? 
 
 Friar. Yes, and a devout one too ; 
 I heard him preach. 
 
 Clara. That lessens my belief; 
 For though I grant my Lidian a scholar, 
 As far as fits a gentleman, he hath studied 
 Humanity, and in that he is a master, 
 Civility of manners, courtship, arms. 
 But never aimed at, as I could perceive, 
 The deep points of divinity. 
 
 Friar. That confirms his 
 Devotion to be real, no way tainted 
 With ostentation or hypocrisy, 
 The cankers of religion ; his sermon 
 So full of gravity, and with such sweetness 
 Delivered, that it drew the admiration' 
 Of all the hearers on him ; his own letters 
 To you, which witness he will leave the world, 
 And these to fair Olinda, his late mistress, 
 In which he hath, with all the moving language 
 That ever expressed rhetoric, solicited 
 The lady to forget him, and make you 
 Blessed in her embraces, may remove 
 All scrupulous doubts. 
 
488 THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 Clara. It strikes a sadness in me ! 
 I know not what to think oft. 
 
 Friar. Ere he entered 
 His sohtary cell, he penned a ditty, 
 His long and last farewell to love and women, 
 So feelingly, that I confess, however 
 It stands not with my order to be taken 
 With such poetical raptures, I was moved, 
 And strangely, with it. 
 
 Clara Have you the copy ? 
 
 Friar. Yes, sir : 
 My Novice too can sing it, if you please 
 To give him hearing. 
 
 Clara. And it will come timely, 
 For I am full of melancholy thoughts. 
 Against which I have heard, with reason, music 
 To be the speediest cure; pray you apply it. 
 
 A SONG, by the Novice, 
 
 Adieu, fond love I farewell, you wanton Powers f 
 
 I am free again ; 
 Thou dull disc an t of blood and idle hours. 
 
 Bewitching pain, 
 Fly to the fools that sigh away their time ! 
 J^jy nobler love, to Heaven climb, 
 
 And there behold beauty still youngs 
 That time can neer corrupt, nor death destroy ; 
 
 Immortal sweetness by J air angels sung, 
 And Iwnour'd by eternity andjcy ! 
 There lives my Love, thither my ticpes aspire ; 
 Fond love declines, this heavenly love grozvs higher. 
 
 Friar. How do you approve it ? 
 Clara. To its due desert; 
 It is a heavenly hymn, no ditty, father ; 
 
^ 
 
 i 
 
 Scene IV.] PROGRESS. 489 
 
 It passes through my ears unto my soul, 
 And works divinely on it. Give me leave 
 A little to consider: — Shall I be 
 Out-done in all things ? nor good of myself, 
 Nor by example ? shall my loose hopes still, 
 The viands of a fond affection, feed me 
 As I were a sensual beast ? spiritual food 
 Refused by my sick palate ? 'tis resolved. — 
 How far off, father, doth this new-made hermit 
 Make his abode? 
 
 Friar. Some two days' journey, son. 
 
 Clara. Having revealed my fair intentions to 
 you, 
 I hope your piety will not deny me 
 Your aids to further 'em. 
 
 Friar. That were against 
 A good man's charity. 
 
 Clara. My first request is. 
 You would some time, for reasons I will shew you, 
 Defer delivery of Lidian's letters 
 To fair Olinda. 
 
 Friar. Well, sir. 
 
 Clara. For what follows, 
 You shall direct me. — Something I will do, 
 A new-born zeal and friendship prompts me to. 
 
 [Exeuiit, 
 
490 THE LOVERS' [Act III, 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 J 
 
 A Country Inn. 
 
 Enter Dorilaus, Cleander, Chamberlain; a 
 Table, Tapers, and Chairs. 
 
 Cle. We have supp'd well, friend : Let our bed* 
 be ready ; 
 We must be stirring early. 
 
 Cham. They are made, sir. 
 
 Dor. I cannot sleep yet. Where's the jovial host 
 You told me of? 'T has been my custom ever 
 To parley with mine host.* 
 
 ' *T has been my custom tver 
 To parley nifh mine host.'] The familiarity of hosts with their 
 guests seeiub to have been greater in the days of Fletcher than we can 
 now-a-days conceive. Of this we have many instances in old plays, 
 and one has been already noticed in The Captain, (vol. IX. p. 214,) 
 where the Host gets drunk with his guests, and speaks to them in 
 language which sounds very strange to our ears. The same may 
 be observed respecting mine Host of the Garter, in The Merrj- Wives 
 of Windsor, and Blague, the merry Host of tlie George at Waltham, 
 in The Merry Devil of Edmunton. Both address knights and coun- 
 try gentlemen in a style ot the utmost familiarity. It seems to 
 have been one of the qualifications expected of an innkeeper at the 
 time, not only to see that his guesls were well accommodated, but 
 to amuse them with tales and jokes, and to address them in a pecu- 
 liar style of humour, intermixed with cant-phrases and terms of 
 endearment not always very delicate. The practice is thus satiri- 
 cally noticed in A Character of England, Lond. l659> purporting 
 (probably falsely) to have been '* presented in a letter to a noble- 
 man in France:" — 
 
Scene v.] PROGRESS. 491 
 
 Cle. He*s a good fellow, 
 And such a one I know you love to laugh with.— 
 Go call your master up. 
 
 Cham He cannot come, sir. 
 
 Dor. Is he a-hed with his wife? 
 
 Cham. No, certainly. 
 
 Dor. Or with some other guests ? 
 
 Cham, Neither, an't like you. 
 
 " How npw it appeared to me to see my confident host set him 
 down cheek by joul by nie, belching and puffing tobacco in my 
 face, you may easily imagine ; till 1 afterwards found it to be the 
 usual style of this country ; and that the gentlemen, who lodjie at 
 their inns, entertain themselves in their company, and are much 
 pleased with their impertinences.'' 
 
 There is a lively description of one of these ancient hosts at 
 Rookland, in Kerape's Nine Days' Wonder, quoted by Warton, 
 (Hist. E. Poetry, IV. G4.)— 
 
 " He was a man not over sparp, 
 In his eyebals dwelt no care : 
 AnoUy anon, and cuming,J'riend, 
 Were the most words he usde to spend : 
 Saue, sometime he would sit and tell, 
 What wonders once in Bullayne fell; 
 Closing each period of his tale 
 With a full cup of nut-browne ale: 
 Turwyn and Turney's siedge were hot. 
 Yet all my boast remembers not: 
 Kets-field and Musseleborough fray 
 AVere battles fought but yesterday. 
 * O 'twas a goodly matter then, 
 i To see your sword and buckler men ! 
 
 They would lay here, and here and there. 
 But I would meet them every v/here. Sec' 
 By this some guest cryes ho, the house ! 
 A fresh friend hath a freih carouse. 
 Still will he drink and still be dry. 
 And quaft'e with euery company. 
 Saint Martin send him merry m^tes 
 To enter at his hostry gates ! 
 For a blither lad than he 
 Cannot an innkeeper be," 
 
492 THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 Cle. Why then he shall come, by your leave, my 
 friend ; 
 I'll fetch him up myself. 
 
 Cham. Indeed you'll fail, sir. 
 Dor. Is he i' th' house ? 
 Cham. No, but he is hard by, sir ; 
 He is fast in's grave; he has been dead these three 
 weeks. 
 Dor. Then o' my conscience he will come but 
 lamely. 
 And discourse worse. 
 
 Cle. Farewell, mine honest host then. 
 Mine honest merry host ! — Will you to bed yet ? 
 Dor, No, not this hour ; I pr'ythee sit and chat 
 
 by me. 
 Cle. Give us a quart of wine then ; we'll be 
 
 merry. 
 Dor, A match, my son. — Pray let your wine be 
 living, 
 Or lay it by your master. 
 
 Cham. It shall be quick, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Dor. Has not mine host a wife ? 
 Cle. A good old woman. 
 
 Dor. Another coffin ! that is not so handsome; 
 Your hostesses in inns should be blithe things, 
 Pretty and young, to draw in passengers ; 
 She'll ne'er fill her beds well, if she be not beau- 
 teous. 
 Cle. And courteous too. 
 Dor. Ay, ay ; and a good fellow, 
 That will mistake sometimes a gentleman 
 For her good man. 
 
 Enter Chamberlain with JVine» 
 
 Well done: Here's to Lisander ! 
 
 Ctc. My iull love meets it. — INlake fire in our 
 lodgings ; 
 
Scene V.] PROGRESS. 493 
 
 Well trouble thee no farther.— [Ej'it Chamberlain. 
 To your son ! 
 
 Do7\ Put in Clarang^ too ; off with't. I thank 
 
 you. 
 
 This wine drinks merrier still. Oh, for mine host 
 
 now ! 
 Were he alive again, and well disposed, 
 I would so claw his pate ! 
 
 Cle. You're a hard drinker. 
 
 Dor. I love to make mine host drunk; he will 
 lie then 
 The rarest, and the roundest, of his friends, 
 His quarrels, and his guests ; and they're the best 
 
 bawds too. 
 Take *em in that tune. 
 
 Cle. You know all. 
 
 Dor. I did, son ; 
 But time and arms have worn me out. 
 
 Cle. 'Tis late, sir ; 
 I hear none stirring. [A lute is struck withinl 
 
 Dor. Hark ! what's that ? a lute ? 
 *Tis at the door, 1 think. 
 
 Cle. The doors are shut fast. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis morning; sure, the fiddlers are got up 
 To fright men's sleeps. Have we ne'er a piss-pot 
 ready ? 
 
 Cle. Now I remember, I've heard mine host 
 that's dead 
 Touch a lute rarely, and as rarely sing too, 
 A brave still mean.*' 
 
 Dor. I would give a brace of French crowns 
 To see him rise and fiddle. 
 
 Cle. Hark; a song ! 
 
 ^ A brave still mean.] The mean is what we now call tenor. 
 
49h THE LOVERS' [Act III. 
 
 A So7ig xvithm. 
 
 'Tis late and cold ; stir up the fire j 
 Sit close, and draw the table Higher; 
 Be merry, and drink zrine that's old, 
 A hearty medicine 'gamst a cold ! 
 Your beds of wanton doimi the best, 
 Where you shall tumble to your rest s 
 1 could zvish you wenches too, 
 But I am dead, and cannot do. 
 Call for the best the house may ring. 
 Sack, white, a?id claret, let them bring. 
 And drink apace, while breath you have ; 
 You II find but cold drink in the grave : 
 Plover, partridge, Jbr your dinner. 
 And a capon fior the sinner, 
 You shall find ready when you re up, 
 And your horse shall have his sup : 
 Welcome, welcome, shall fiy round. 
 And I shall smile, though under ground. 
 
 Cle. Now, as I live, it is his voice ! 
 Dor. He sings well; 
 The devil has a pleasant pipe. 
 Cle. The fellow lied, sure. 
 
 Enter the Host's Ghost. 
 
 He is not dead ; he's here. How pale he looks ! 
 
 Dor. Is this he ? 
 
 Cle. Yes. 
 
 Host. You are welcome, noble gentlemen ! 
 My brave old guest, most welcome ! 
 
 Cle. Lying knaves, 
 To tell us you were dead. Come, sit down by us. 
 
Scene V.] PROGRESS. 495 
 
 We thank you for your song. 
 
 Host. 'Would 't had been better ! 
 
 Dor. Speak, are you dead ? 
 
 Host. Yes, indeed am I, gentlemen ; 
 I have been dead these three weeks. 
 
 Do)\ Then here's to you, 
 To comfort your cold body ! 
 
 Ck. What do you mean ? 
 Stand further off. 
 
 Dor. I will stand nearer to him. 
 Shall he come out on's coffin to bear us company, 
 And we not bid him welcome ? — Come, mine host, 
 Mine honest host, here's to you ! 
 
 Host. Spirits, sir, drink not. 
 
 Cle. Why do you appear ? 
 
 Host. To wait upon ye, gentlemen ; 
 ('T has been my duty living, now my farewell) 
 I fear ye are not used accordingly. 
 
 Dor. I could wish you warmer company, mine 
 host, 
 Howe'er we are used. 
 
 Host. Next, to entreat a courtesy ; 
 And then I go to peace. 
 
 Cle. Is't in our power ? 
 
 Host. Yes, and 'tis this ; to see my body buried 
 In holy ground, for now I lie unhallow'd, 
 By the clerk's fault ; let my new grave be made 
 Amongst good fellows, that have died before me, 
 And merry hosts of my kind. 
 
 Cle. It shall be done. 
 
 Dor. And forty stoops of wine^ drank at thy 
 funeral. 
 
 Cle. Do you know our travel ? 
 
 Host, Yes, to seek your friends, 
 
 ' And forty stoops of wine,'] Part of the note of the last editors, 
 p. 449, comes in here more appositely. 
 
495 THE LOVERS' [Act lit 
 
 That in afflictions wander now. 
 
 Cle. Alas! 
 
 Host. Seek 'em no farther, but be confident 
 Thev shall return in peace. 
 
 Dor. There's comfort yet. 
 
 Cle. Pray you one word more : Is't in your power, 
 mine host, 
 (Answer me softly) some hours before my death, 
 To give me warning? ' 
 
 Host. I cannot tell vou, truly ; 
 But if I can, so much alive I loved you, 
 I will appear again. Adieu! [Exit, 
 
 Dor. Adieu, sir. 
 
 Cle. T am trouble- d : these strange apparitions are 
 For the most part fatal. 
 
 Dor This, if told, will not 
 Find credit The light breaks apace ; let's lie down, 
 And take some little rest, an hour or two, 
 Then do mine Host's desire, and so return* 
 I do believe him. 
 
 Cle. So do I. To rest, sir ! [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 Parist A Room in Oleander's House* 
 
 Enter Calista and Clarinda. 
 
 Cal Clarinda ! 
 Clari. Madam. 
 
 Cal. Is the house well order'd ? 
 1 
 
Scene VI.] PROGRESS. 497 
 
 The doors lock'd to, now in your master's absence? 
 Your care and diligence amongst the servants? 
 
 CUiri. I am stirring, madam. 
 
 Cal. So thou art, Clarinda, 
 More than thou ougiit'st, 1 am sure. Why doat 
 thou blush ? 
 
 Clari. I do not blush. 
 
 Cal. Why dost thou hang thy head, wench ? 
 
 Clari. Madam, you are deceived, I look upright; 
 I understand you not. — She has spied Leon : 
 Shame of his want of caution ! [^Aside. 
 
 Cal. Look on me. 
 What ! blush again ? 
 
 Clari. Tis more than I know, madam ; 
 I have no cause that I find yet. 
 
 Cal. Examine then. 
 
 Clari. Your ladyship is set, I think, to shame me. 
 
 Cal. Do not deserve't. Who lay with you last 
 night .^ 
 What bedfellow had you? none of the maids came 
 near you. 
 
 Clari. Madam, they did. 
 
 Cal. *Twas one in your cousin's clothes then, 
 And wore a sword ; and sure I keep no Amazons. 
 Wench, do not lie ; 'twill but proclaim thee guilty : 
 Lies hide our sins like nets ; like pe-spectives, 
 They draw offences nearer still, and greater. 
 Come, tell the truth. 
 
 Clari. You are the strangest lady 
 To have these doubts of me ! how have I lived, ma- 
 dam. 
 And which of all my careful services 
 Deserves these shames? 
 
 Cal. Leave facing, 'twill not serve you : 
 This impudence becomes thee worse than lying, 
 
 VOL. XII r. Si 
 
498 THE LOVERS' [Act TIL 
 
 I thought you had lived well, and I was proud oft ; 
 But you are pleased to abuse my thoughts. Who 
 
 was't r 
 Honest repentance yet will make the fault less. 
 
 Qari. Do you compel me r do you stand so strict 
 too r [Apart, 
 
 Nay, then have at you. — I shall rub that sore, ma- 
 dam, 
 Since you provoke me, will but vex your ladyship : 
 Let me alone ! 
 
 Cal I will know. 
 
 Clari. For your own peace, 
 The peace of your own conscience, ask no further : 
 Walk in, and let me alone. 
 
 Cal. No; I'll know all. 
 
 Clari. Why, then, I'll tell you : 'Twas a man I 
 lay with, 
 (Never admire ; 'tis easy to be done, madam, 
 And usual too) a proper man 1 lay with, 
 (Why should you vex at that r) young as Lisander, 
 And able too ! I grudge not at your pleasure. 
 Why should you stir at mine ? I steal none from 
 
 Cal. And dost thou glory in this sin.'' 
 
 Clari. I am glad on't ; 
 To glory in't is for a mighty lady, 
 That may command. / 
 
 Cal. Why didst thou name Lisander ? 
 
 Clari. Does it anger you ? does it a little gall 
 you ? 
 I know it does. Why would you urge me, lady.^ 
 Why would you be so curious to compel me? 
 I named Lisander as my precedent, 
 The rule I erred by : You love him, I know it ; 
 I grudged not at it, but am pleased it is so,- 
 And, by my care and diligence, you enjoyed him. 
 
Scene VI.] PROGRESS. 459 
 
 Shall I for keeping: counsel have no comfort? 
 Will you have all yourself- engross a I pleasure? 
 Are you so hard hearted? Why do you blush-now, 
 madam ? 
 
 Cal. My an*j,er blushes, not my shame, base wo- 
 man ! 
 
 Clari, I'll make your shame blush, since you put 
 me to't : 
 Who lav with you t'other night? 
 
 Cal. With me, you monster ! 
 
 Clari. U'hose sweet embraces circled you? not 
 
 your husbands. 
 
 I wonder you dare touch me in this point, madam ? 
 
 Stir her aj^ainst you in whose hand your life lies? 
 
 More than your life, your honour? What smug 
 
 Amazon 
 Was that I brought you ? that maid had ne'er a 
 petticoat. 
 
 Cal. She'll half pursuade me anon I am a beast too ; 
 And I mistrust myself, though I am honest, 
 For giving her the helm. — Thou know'st, Clarinda, 
 Even in thy conscience, I was ever virtuous ; 
 As far from lust in meeting with Lisander, 
 As the pure wind in welcoming the morning ; 
 In all the conversation I had with him, 
 As free, and innocent, as yon fair Heaven. 
 Didst not thou persuade me too? 
 
 Clari. Yes, I had reason for't; 
 And now you are persuaded, I'll make use on't. 
 
 Cal. If I had sinned thus, and my youth en- 
 ticed me, 
 The nobleness and beauty of his person, 
 Beside the mighty benefits I am bound to, 
 Is this sufficient warrant for thy weakness? 
 If I had been a whore, and craved thy counsel 
 In the conveyance of my fault, and faithtulness, 
 
500 THE LOVERS' [Act HI. 
 
 Thy secrecy and truth in hiding of it, 
 
 Is it thy justice to repay me thus ? 
 
 To be the master sinner to compel me. 
 
 And build thy lust's security on mine honour? 
 
 Clari. They that love this sin love their security : 
 Prevention, madam, is the nail I knock'd at, 
 And I have hit it home, and so I'll hold it, 
 And you must pardon me, and be silent too, 
 And suffer what you see, and suffer patiently ; 
 I shall do worse else. 
 
 Cal. Thou canst not touch my credit ; 
 Truth will not suffer me to be abused thus. 
 
 Clari. Do not you stick to Truth, she's seldom 
 heard, madam ; 
 A poor weak tongue she has, and that is hoarse too 
 With pleading at the bars ; none understands her: 
 Or, if you had her, what can she say for you ? 
 Must she not swear he came at midnight to you. 
 The door left open, and your husband cozened 
 "With a feigned sickness ? 
 
 Cat. But, by my soul, I was honest ! 
 Thou know'st I was honest. 
 
 Clari. That's all one what I know ; 
 What T will testify is that shall vex you ! 
 Trust not a guilty rage with likelihoods. 
 And on apparent proof; ^ take heed of that, ma- 
 dam : 
 
 ' Trust not a guilty rage with likelihoods. 
 And on apparent proof.'] This passage is nonsense as it stands. 
 What IS the guilty rage Clarinda advises Calista not to trust ? I 
 have no doubt we should read — 
 
 Trust not a guilty age with likelihoods, &c. 
 
 The sense seems to require this amendment, and what Clarinda 
 says afterwards confirms the justness of it— 
 
Scene VI.] PROGRESS. 501 
 
 If you were innocent, as it may be you are, 
 (I do not know; I leave it to your conscience) 
 It were the weakest and the poorest part of you, 
 Men being so willing to believe the worst, 
 So open-eyed in this age to all infamy, 
 To put your fame in this weak bark to the venture. 
 Cat. What do 1 suffer ! Oh, my precious honour, 
 Into what box of evils have I lock'd thee ! 
 Yet, lather tiian be thus outbraved, and by 
 My drudge, my footstool, one that sued to be so, 
 Perish both life, and honour ! Devil, thus 
 I dare ihy worst, defy thee, spit at thee ! 
 And in my virtuous rage, thus trample on thee ! 
 Awe me, thy mistress, whore, to be thy bawd ? 
 Out of my house ! proclaim all that thou know'st, 
 
 If you were innocent, as it may be you are 
 
 (1 do not know ; I leave it to your conscience) 
 
 It were the weakest, and the poorest part ol you, 
 
 Men being so willing to believe the worst, 
 
 So open-eyi'd in this age to all intainy, 
 
 To put your tame in ihis weak bark to the venture. 
 
 The weak bark is innocence. Those who are guilty themselves 
 are alwa>s the most inclined to think others so, and the most in- 
 credulous of virtue. — Mason. 
 
 This note is a very plausible one ; bur I can by no means con- 
 ceive the text to be nonsense, and the concluding part of the 
 note serves to confirm the propriety of it. Clarinda's whole speech 
 is meant to intimidate her mistress, and to prove, that, vvh»^thcr 
 she be innocent or not, the likelihoods and apparent proofs which 
 she can bring forward, will be sufficient to condemn her. From 
 these premises, which are supported by Calisia's answer, the pro- 
 priety ot the word which Mason would alter becomes apparent. 
 Claruida begins and concludes her speech in the same manner. 
 3he >iays — •' No matter what 1 know ; you shall be vexed or con- 
 demned, not by the truth, but by what construction I shall put 
 upon your conduct. Beware how you trust a guilty rage, (allu- 
 ding to her own irregularities, with which she had been upbraided,) 
 which may retaliate, by insinuating likelihoods on apparent proof 
 against the accuser.'^ 
 
502 THE LOVERS* [Act III. 
 
 Or malice can invent ; fetch jealousy 
 
 From hell, and like a fury breathe it in 
 
 The bosom of my lord ; and to thy utmost 
 
 Blast my fair fame ! vet thou shalt feel, w ith horror 
 
 To thy seared conscience, m.y truth is built 
 
 On such a firm base, that if e'er it can 
 
 Be forced, or undermined by tli\ base scandals, 
 
 Heaven keeps no guard on innocence ! [Exit. 
 
 Clari. I am lost, 
 In n y own hopes forsaken ; and must fall 
 ('ITie greatest torment to a guilty woman) 
 Without revenge. Till T can fashion it, 
 I must submit, at least appear as if 
 I did repent, and would <jffend no farther. 
 Monsieur Berunte, my lord's brother, is 
 Obliged unto me for a piivate favour; 
 Tis he must mediate for mc : But when time 
 And opportunity bids me strike, my wreak* 
 Shall pour itself on her nice chastity 
 Like to a torrent ; deeds, not words, shall speak me ! 
 
 [EoeiL 
 
 • My wreak.] i. e. iieww^e,— Ed. 1778. 
 
Act IV.] PROGRESS. 503 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 A Hall in the same House. 
 
 Enter Alcidon and Beronte, severally. 
 
 Ale You are opportunely met. 
 
 Ber. Your countenance 
 Expresses haste mixed with some fear. 
 
 Ale. You'll share 
 With me in both, as soon as you are made 
 Acquainted with the cause: If you love virtue,' 
 
 In danger not secure 1 have no time 
 
 For circumstance : Instruct me if Lisander 
 Be in your brother's house.' 
 
 Ber. Upon my knowledge 
 
 if you love virtue. 
 
 'J J --. -- — — , 
 In danger not secure] thus all the copies, but whether right 
 or wrong, the readt-r must judge: To me the place appears mani- 
 festly corrupt, and 1 am inclined to think it ought to run so, 
 
 ■ ij y^^i ^"^^ Virtue, 
 
 Indanger auaht to succour it. — Sympson. 
 
 This is plainly a broken sentence, and we think signifies, " if you 
 are a friend to virtue, don't lull yourself into a false idea of its se- 
 curity, when It is in daiiJer." The old reading is lar better than 
 the proposed alteration. — Ed. 1778. 
 
 Mason explains the text more properly — " If you love virtue in 
 such a dangerous situation, that it is not, as it ought to be, its own 
 security." 
 
 * Be in your father's house.] The whole scene proves that we 
 should read, as the editors of 1750 propose, brother's house. — 
 Ed. 1778. 
 
 Sympson properly observes, that Beronte's father never eppears 
 in the play. 
 
504 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 He is not there. 
 
 jilc. I am glad on't. 
 
 Ber. Why, good sir ? 
 Without offence 1 speak it, there's no place 
 In which he is more honoured, or more safe, 
 Than with his friend Cieander. 
 
 j^tc. In your votes* 
 I grant it true ; but, as it now stands with him, 
 I can give reason to make satisfaction 
 For what I speak : You cannot but remember 
 The ancient ditference between Lisander 
 And Cloridon, a man in grace at court. 
 
 Ber. I do ; and the foul plot of Cloridon's kins- 
 men 
 Upon Li Sander's life, for a fall given 
 To Cloridon 'fore the king, as they encounter'd 
 At a solemn tilting. 
 
 Ale. It is now revenged. 
 In brief, a challenge was brought to Lisander 
 By one Chrysanlhes ; and, as tar as valour 
 Would give him leave, declined b\ bold Lisander: 
 But peace refused, and braves on braves heaped 
 
 on him, 
 Alone he met the opposites, ending the quarrel 
 With both their lives. 
 
 Ber. I am truly sorry fort. 
 
 Jlc. The king, incensed for his favourite's death, 
 Hath set a price upon Lisander's head, 
 As a reward to any man that brings it, 
 Aiive or dead : To gain this, every where 
 He is pursued and laid for ; and, the friendship 
 Between him and your noble brother known. 
 His house in reason cannot pass unsearched ; 
 
 •In your votes 
 
 I grant it true.] If this reading be genuine, votes must her^ 
 .signify wishes, or opinions.'^Ed, 1778, 
 
Scene IT.] 
 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 505 
 
 And that's the principal cause that drew me hither, 
 To hasten his remove, if he had chosen 
 This castle for his sanctuary. 
 
 Ber. 'Twas done nobly, 
 And you most welcome. This night pray you take 
 A lodging with us ; and, at my I'li treaty, 
 Conceal this from my brother : He is grown 
 Exceeding sad of late; and the hard fortune 
 Of one he values at so Ingh a rate, 
 Will much encrease his melancholy. 
 
 jilc. I am tutored. 
 Pray you lead the way. 
 
 Ber. To serve you, I will shew it. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Cleander, with a Book, 
 
 Cle. Nothing more certain than to die ; but when 
 Is most uncertain : If so, every hour 
 We should prepare us for the journey, which 
 Is not to be put oif." I must submit 
 To the divine decree, not argue it, 
 And chearfully I welcome it : I have 
 Disposed of my estate, confessed my sins, 
 And have remission from my ghostly father, 
 Being at peace too here. The apparition 
 Proceeded not from fancy ; Dorilaus 
 Saw it, and heard it with me ; it made answer 
 
606 THE LOVERS* [Act IV. 
 
 To our demands, and promised, if twere not 
 Denied to him by Fate, he would forewarn me 
 Of my approaching end. I feel no symptom 
 Of sickness ; yet, I know not how, a dulness 
 Invadeth me all over. — Ha! 
 
 Enter the Spirit of the Host. 
 
 Host. I come, sir, 
 To keep my promise ; and, as far as spirits 
 Are sensible of sorrow for the living, 
 I grieve to be the messenger to tell you, 
 Ere many hours pass, you must resolve 
 To fill a grave. 
 
 Cle. And feast the worms ? 
 
 Host. Even so, sir. 
 
 Cle. 1 hear it like a man. 
 
 Host. It well becomes you; 
 There's no evading it. 
 
 Cle. Can you discover 
 By whose means 1 must die ? 
 
 Host. That is denied me : 
 But my prediction is too sure : Prepare 
 To make your peace with Heaven ; so farewell, sir ! 
 
 [^Exit. 
 
 Cle. I see no enemy near ; and yet I tremble 
 Like a pale coward ! My sad doom pronounced 
 By this aerial voice, as in a glass 
 Shews me my death in its most dreadful shape. 
 "What rampire can my human frailty raise 
 Against the assault of Fate ? I do begin 
 To fear myself; my inward strengths forsake me; 
 I must call out for help. — Within there ! haste, 
 And break in to my rescue ! 
 
\ 
 
 ) 
 
 ScENt II.] PROGRESS. 507 
 
 Enter Dokilaus, Calista, Olinda, Beronte, 
 Alcidon, Servants, and Clarinda, at several 
 doors* 
 
 Dor. Rescue ? where ? 
 Shew me your danger. 
 Cal. I will interpose 
 My loyal breast between you and all hazard. 
 Ber. Your brother's sword secures you. 
 Ale. A true friend 
 Will die in your defence. 
 
 Cle. I thank ye ! 
 To all my thanks ! Encompass'd thus with friends, 
 How can I fear? And yer I do ! I am wounded, 
 Mortally wounded. Nay, it is within; 
 I am hurt in my mind. One word — 
 Dor. A thousand. 
 
 Ck» 1 shall not live to speak so many to you. 
 Dor. Why? what forbids vou ? 
 Clc. But even noa the spirit 
 Of my dead Host appeared, and told me, that 
 This nignt i should be with him. Did you not 
 
 meet it ? 
 It went out at that door. 
 
 Dor. A vain chimera 
 Of your imagination ! Can you think 
 Mine Host would not as well have spoke to me 
 
 now, 
 As he did in the inn ? These waking dreams 
 Not alone trouble you, but strike a strange 
 Distraction in your family. See the tears 
 Of my poor daughter, fair Olinda's sadness, 
 Your brother's and your friend's grief, servants' 
 
 sorrow. 
 Good son, bear up ; you have many years to live 
 
508 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 A comfort to us all. Let*s in to supper. 
 Ghosts never walk till after midnight, if 
 I may believe my grannam. We will wash 
 These thoughts away with wine, 'spite of hob- 
 goblins. 
 
 Cle. You reprehend me justly. — Gentle madam, 
 And all the rest, forgive me ; I'll endeavour 
 To be merry with you. 
 
 Dor. Tiiat's well said. 
 
 Ber. I have 
 Procured your pardon. [7b Clarinda. 
 
 Cat. Once more I receive you 
 Into my service ; but take special care 
 You fall no further. 
 
 Clari. Never, madam. — Sir, [Apart, 
 
 When you shall find fit time to call me to it, 
 I will make good what 1 have said. 
 
 Ber. Till when, 
 Upon your life be silent ! 
 
 Dor. We will have 
 A health unto Lisander. 
 
 Cle. His name, sir. 
 Somewhat revives me ; but his sight would cure 
 
 me. 
 However, let's to supper. 
 
 Olin. 'Would Clarange 
 And Lidian were here too ! as they should be, 
 If wishes could prevail. 
 
 Cat, They are fruitless, madam. [Exeunt. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 5O5 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Garden. Night. 
 
 Enter Leon. 
 
 Leon. If that report speak truth, Clarinda is 
 Discharged her lady's servnce, and what burden 
 I then have drawn upon me is apparent. 
 The crop she reaped from her attendance was 
 Her best revenue, and my principal means 
 Clarinda's bounty, though I laboured hard for't, 
 A younger brother's fortune. Must I now 
 Have sour sauce, after sweetmeats ? and be driven 
 To levy half-a-croWn a week, besides 
 Clouts, sope, and caudles, ^ for my heir apparent, 
 If she prove, as she swears she is, with child ? 
 Such as live this way, find, like me, though wench- 
 ing 
 Hath a fair face, there's a dragon in the tail oft, 
 That stings to th' quick. I must sculk here, until 
 
 5 Clouts, sope, and candles.] In the Chances, (vol. VI, p. 22,) 
 Don John says, 
 
 " But to raise a dairy 
 
 For other men^s adulteries, consume myself in candles, 
 And scow' ring works" 
 
 The editors of 1750 alter candles to caudles; we have rejected 
 their variation, in which we think ourselves justified by what Leon 
 here says, which proves candles right.— Ed. 1778. 
 Sympson's variation is self-evident in both passages. 
 
510 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 I am resolved : How my heart pants, between 
 My hopes and fears ! She's come. — 
 
 Enter Clarinda. 
 
 Are we i' the port ? 
 If not, let's sink together. 
 
 Clari. Things go better 
 Than you deserve ; you carry things so openly, 
 I must bear every way. I am once more 
 In my lady's grace. 
 
 Leon. And I in yours ? 
 
 Clari. It may be ; 
 But I have sworn unto my lady never 
 To sin again. 
 
 Leon. To be surprised. The sin 
 Is in itself excusable ; to be taken 
 Is a crime, as the poet writes. 
 
 Clari. You know my weakness, 
 And that makes you so confident. — You have got 
 A fair sword : Was it not Lisander's r 
 
 LeoiL Yes, wench ; 
 And I grown valiant by the wearing of it: 
 It hath been the death of two. With this Lisander 
 Slew Cloridon and Chrysanthes: 1 took it up, 
 Broken in the handle, but that is reformed ; 
 And now, in my possession, the late master 
 Dares never come to challenge it. This sword, 
 And all the weapons that I have, are ever 
 Devoted to thy service : Shall we bill? 
 I am very gamesome. 
 
 Clari I must first dispose of 
 The fool Malfort; he hath smoked you, and is 
 
 not. 
 But by some new device, to be kept from me ; 
 I have it here shall fit him. You know where 
 You must expect me ; with all possible silence 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 511 
 
 Get thither. 
 
 Leon. Yon will follow ? 
 
 Clan. Will I live? 
 She that is forfeited to lust must die, 
 That huinoiir heiujiJ^ un-fed. Be gone ; here comes 
 My champion, in armour. \_Exit LtON. 
 
 Enter Malfort, in Armour. 
 
 Malf. What adventure 
 I am bound upon I know not, but it is 
 My mistress' pleasure that I should appear thus. 
 I may perhaps be terrible to others, 
 But, as I am, I am sure my shadow frights me : 
 The clashing of my armour, in my ears 
 Sounds like a passing bell ; and my buckler puts 
 
 me 
 In mind of a bier ; this my broad sword, a pick-axe 
 To dig my grave. Oh, love ! abominable love ! 
 What monsters issue from thy dismal den 
 Clarinda's placket, which I must encounter, 
 Or never hope to enter. 
 
 Clari. Here's a knight-errant ! — 
 Monsieur Malfort. 
 
 Malf. Stand, stand, or I'll fall for you. 
 
 Clari. Know you not my voice ? 
 
 Malf. Yes, 'twas at that I trembled. 
 But, were my false friend Leon here 
 
 Clari. 'Tis he. 
 
 Malf. Where ? where ? 
 
 Clari. He is not come yet. 
 
 Malf. 'Tis well for him, 
 I am so full of wrath. 
 
 Clari. Or fear. — This Leon, 
 Howeer my kinsman, hath abused you grossly, 
 And this night vows to take me hence perforce, 
 
512 THE LOVERS^ [Act IV. 
 
 And marry me to another : 'Twas for this, 
 Presuming on your love, I did entreat you 
 To put your armour on, that with more safety 
 You might defend me. 
 
 Malf. And I'll do it bravely. 
 
 Clari. You must stand here to beat him off, and 
 suffer 
 No human thing to pass you, though it appear 
 In my lord's shape or lady's : Be not cozead 
 With a disguise. 
 
 Malf. I have been fool'd already. 
 But now I am wise. 
 
 Clari. You must s\fear not to stir hence. 
 
 Malf. Upon these lips. 
 
 Clari. Nor move until I call you. 
 
 Malf I'll grow here rather. 
 
 Clari. This night's task well ended, 
 I am yours to morrow. Keep sure guard. [Exit. 
 
 Malf Adieu! 
 My honeycomb, how sweet thou art, did not 
 A nest of hornets keep it ! what mi possibilities 
 Love makes me undertake ! i know myself 
 A natural coward, and, should Leon come, 
 Though this were cannon proof, I should deliver 
 The wench before he ask'd her. 1 hear some foot- 
 ing! 
 'Tis he : Where shall I hide myself.^ that is 
 My best defence. 
 
 Enter Cleander, 
 
 Cle, I cannot sleep ; strange visions 
 Make this poor life 1 feared of late to lose, 
 A toy that I grow weary of. 
 
 Malf 'Tis Leon. 
 
 Cle. What's that? 
 
 Malf, If you are come, sir, for Clarinda, 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. SIS 
 
 I am glad I have her for you ; I resign 
 
 My interest: You'll find her in her cliamber; 
 
 I did stay up to tell you so. 
 
 Cle. Clarinda? 
 And Leon ? There is something more in this 
 Than I can stay to ask. [E.vit. 
 
 Malf. What a cold pickle, 
 And that none of the sweetest, do I find 
 My poor self in ! 
 
 Cle. [IVithin.] Yield, villain ! 
 
 Enter Clarinda and Leon running, Cleander 
 Jollowing. 
 
 Clari. 'Tis my lord ! 
 Shift for yourself. 
 
 Leon. His life shall first make answer 
 For this intrusion. [^KiUs Cleander. 
 
 Malf. I am going away ! 
 I am gone already ! [^Falls in a swoon. 
 
 Cle. Heaven take mercy on 
 My soul ! too true presaging Host ! [Dies, 
 
 Clari. He's dead, 
 And this wretch little better. Do you stare 
 Upon your handy-work ? 
 
 LeoTi. I am amazed. 
 
 Clari. Get o'er the garden-wall ; fly for your life, 
 But leave your sword behind ; enquire not why : 
 I'll fashion something out of it, though I perish, 
 Shall make way for revenge. 
 
 Leon. These are the fruits 
 Of lust, Clarinda! ' 
 
 Clari. Hence, repenting milk-sop ! [jB^hVLeon. 
 Now 'tis too late. — Lisander's sword ? Ay, that, 
 
 [Puts the Sword in Malfokt's Hand. 
 That is the base I'll build on. So ; I'll raise 
 
 VOL. XIII. 2 K 
 
51* THE LOVERS' [Act IV, 
 
 The house. — Help ! murder ! a most horrid mur- 
 der ! 
 Monsieur Berontfe ! noble Dorilaus ! 
 All buried in sleep? Ah me! a murder I 
 A most unheard-of murder ! 
 
 Enter Dorilaus, as from bed. 
 
 Do)\ More lights, knaves ! 
 Beront^, Alcidon, more lights I 
 
 Enter Beronte, Alcidon , and Servants with Lights. 
 
 Clarl By this 
 I see too much. 
 
 Dor. M\ son Cleander bathing 
 In his own gore ! The devil to tell truth 
 I' tir shape of an Host ! 
 
 Ber. My brother ? 
 
 Malf. I have been 
 I' th' other world, in hell I think, these devils 
 With fire-brands in their paws sent to torment me 
 (Though I ne'er did the deed) for my lewd pur- 
 pose 
 To be a whoremaster. 
 
 Dor. Who's that ? 
 
 Ale. 'Tis one 
 In armour. A bloody sword in's hand. 
 
 Dor. Sans question, 
 The murderer. 
 
 Malf. Who ? I ? you do me wrong : 
 I never had the heart to kill a chicken; 
 Nor do I know this sword. 
 
 Jlc. 1 do, too well. 
 
 Ber. I have seen Lisander wear it. 
 
 Clari. This confirms [To Beronte. 
 
 What yester-night I whisper'd : Let it work ; 
 
\ 
 
 Scene IL] PROGRESS. siS 
 
 The circumstance may make it good. 
 
 Malf. My lord ? 
 And I his murderer ? 
 
 Ber. Drag the villain hence ! 
 The rack shall force a free confession from him. 
 
 Malf. I am struck dumb ; you need not stop 
 my mouth. 
 
 Ber. Away with him ! [Malfort carried off. 
 
 Enter Calista and Olinda. 
 
 Cal. Where is my lord ? 
 
 Dor. All that 
 Remains of him lies there. Look on this object, 
 And then turn marble. 
 
 Cal. I am so already, 
 Made fit to be his monument: But wherefore 
 Do you, that have both life and motion left you, 
 Stand sad spectators of his death, and not 
 Bring forth his murderer ? 
 
 Ber. That lies in you : 
 You must, and shall produce him. 
 
 Dor. She, Beronte ? 
 
 Ber. None else. 
 
 Dor. Thou liest ! I'll prove it on thy head, 
 Or write it on thy heart. [^Draws. 
 
 Ale. Forbear ! there is 
 Too much blood shed already. 
 
 Ber. Let not choler 
 Stifle your judgment! Many an honest father 
 Hath got a wicked daughter. If 1 prove not. 
 With evident proofs, her hand was in the blood 
 Of my dear brother, (too good a husband for her) 
 Give your revenge the reins, and spur it forward. 
 
 Dor. In any circumstance but shew her guilty, 
 ril strike the first stroke at her. 
 
516 THE LOVERS* [Act IV. 
 
 Ber. Let me ask 
 A question calmly : Do you know this sword ? 
 Have you not seen Lisander often wear it. ? 
 
 Dor. The same with which he rescued me. 
 
 Cal I do: 
 What inference from this to make me guilty? 
 
 Ber. Was he not with you in the house to-night ? 
 
 Cal. No, on my soul ! 
 
 Ber. Nor ever heretofore 
 In private with you, when you feigned a sickness. 
 To keep your husband absent ? 
 
 Cal. Never, sir, 
 To a dishonest end. 
 
 Ber. Was not this woman 
 Your instrument ? Her silence does confess it.^ 
 Here lies Cleander dead, and here the sword 
 Of false Lisander, too long covered with 
 A mask of seeming truth. 
 
 Dor. And is this all 
 The proof you can alledge? Lisander guilty, 
 Or my poor daughter an adulteress ? 
 Suppose that she had changed discourse with one 
 To whom she owed much more ? 
 
 Cal. Thou hast thy ends, 
 Wicked Clarinda! [She faints, 
 
 Olin. Help ! the lady sinks ; 
 Malice hath killed her. 
 
 Dor. I would have her live. 
 Since I dare swear she's innocent. 'Tis no time 
 Or place to argue now ; this cause must be 
 Decided by the judge; and, though a father, 
 I will deliver her into the hands 
 Of justice: If she prove true gold when tried. 
 She's mine ; if not, with curses I'll disclaim her. 
 Take up your part of sorrow ; mine shall be 
 Ready to answer with her life the fact 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 517 
 
 That she is charged with. * 
 
 Bcr. Sir, I look upon you 
 As on a fatlier. 
 
 Dor. With the eyes of sorrow, 
 I see you as a brother. ^ Let your witnesses 
 Be ready. 
 
 Ber. Tis my care. 
 
 Ale. I am for Lidian : 
 This accident, no doubt, will draw him from 
 His hermit's life. 
 
 Clari. Things yet go right; persist, sir. 
 [E.veunt with Calista, and Cleandeii's Bodi/. 
 
 * Take up your part of sorrow; mine shall be 
 Ready to answer faith her life the fact 
 
 That she is charged -with ] By Beront^'s part of sorrow, Do- 
 rilaus means the body of Cleander ; by his own, Calista.— Mason, 
 
 * 1 see you as a brother,] i. e. As a partaker in sorrow, if the 
 place is right : Otherwise, to make an antithesis, it ought to be, 
 
 / see you as a son ; 
 
 Berontfe having before led the way by saying, 
 
 / look upon you as a father. — Sympson, 
 
 Admirable explanation !— Mr Sympson must have forgot that 
 Beront^ was the brother of Cleander ; and it is not clear that he 
 remembered Dorilaus was Calista's^aMer.— Ed. 1778. 
 
 The editors justly reprobate Sympson's explanation of this pas- 
 sage, and seem to have understood it themselves, though they have 
 not sufficiently explamed it. Beronte means to say that he con- 
 siders Dorilaus as the father of Calista, bound, as such, to support 
 her innocence : to which Dorilaus replies, that he considers Be- 
 ronte as the brother of Cleander, whose duty it was to revenge 
 his death.— ikfa<07). 
 
518 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Forest. 
 
 Enter Lisander and Lancelot. 
 
 Lis. Are the horses dead ? 
 
 Laji. Out-right. If you ride at this rate, 
 You must resolve to kill your two a day, 
 Aud that's a large proportion. 
 
 Lis. Will you please, 
 At any price, and speedily, to get fresh ones ? 
 You know niv «langer, and the penalty 
 That follows it, should I be apprehended : 
 Your duty in obeying my commands 
 Will in a better language speak your service, 
 Than your unnecessary and untimely care 
 Of my expence. 
 
 Lan. I am gone, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Lis. In this thicket 
 I will expect you. — Here yet I have leisure 
 To call myself unto a strict account 
 For my pai-s'd life, how vainly spent ! I would 
 I iitood no further guilty ! but I have 
 A heavier reckoning to make ! This hand. 
 Of late as white as innocence, and unspotted, 
 Now wears a purple colour, died in gore ; 
 My soul of the same tincture ! Purblind passion. 
 With flattering hopes, would keep me from de- 
 spair, 
 Pleading I was provoked to't ; but my reason, 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 519 
 
 Breaking such thin and weak defences, tells me, 
 I have done a double murder ; and for what? 
 Was it in service of the king? his edicts 
 Command the contrary : Or for my country? 
 Her genius, like a mourning mother, answers, 
 In Cloridon and Chrysanthes she hath lost 
 Two hopeful sons, that might have done their parts 
 To guard her from invasion. For what cause then ? 
 To keep the opinion of my valour upright 
 I' th' popular breath ; a sandy ground to build on ! 
 Bought with the king's displeasure, as the breach 
 Of Heaven's decrees, the loss of my true comforts, 
 In parents, kinsmen, friends; as the fruition 
 Of all that I was born to, and that sits 
 Like to a hill of lead here. In my exile, 
 (Never to be repealed, if I escape so) 
 I have cut off all hopes ever to look on 
 
 Enter Lid i an, like a Hermit. 
 
 Divine Calista, from her sight and converse 
 For ever banished ! 
 
 Lid. I should know this voice. 
 His naming too my sister, whom Lisander 
 Honoured, but in a noble way, assures me 
 That it can be no other : I stand bound 
 To comfort any man I find distressed ; 
 But to aid him that saved my life, religion, 
 And thankfulness, commands ! and it may be 
 High providence for this good end hath brought 
 
 him 
 Into my solitary walk. — Lisander! 
 Noble Lisander ! 
 
 Lis. Whatsoe'er thou art. 
 That honourable attribute thou giv'st me, 
 I can pretend no right to. Come not near me; 
 I am infectious ; the sanctity 
 
520 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 Of thy profession (for thou appear'st 
 
 A reverend hermit) if thou fly not from me, 
 
 As from the plague, or leprosy, cannot keep thee 
 
 From being polluted. 
 
 Lid. With good counsel, sir, 
 And holy prayers to boot, I may cure you, 
 TJiough both ways so infected. You look wildly, 
 (Peace to your conscience !) sir, and stare upon 
 
 me, 
 As if you never saw me : Hath my habit 
 Altered my face so much, that yet you know not 
 Your servant Lidian ? 
 
 Lis. I am amazed ! 
 So young, and so religious? 
 
 Lid. I purpose 
 (Heaven make me thankful for't !) to leave the 
 
 world : 
 I have made some trial of my strengths in this 
 My solitary life ; and yet 1 find not 
 A faintness to go on. 
 
 Lis. Above belief! 
 Do you inhabit here? 
 
 Lid. Mine own free choice, sir: 
 I live here poorly, but contentedly, 
 Because I find enough to feed my fortunes ; 
 Indeed too much : These wild fields are my gar- 
 dens, 
 The crystal rivers they afford their waters, 
 And grudge not their sweet streams to quench af- 
 flictions ; 
 The hollow rocks their beds, which, though they 
 
 are hard, 
 (The emblems of a doting lover's fortune) 
 Yet they are quiet ; and the weary slumbers 
 The eyes catch there, softer than beds of down, 
 
 friend ; 
 The birds my bell to call me to devotions ; 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 521 
 
 My book the story of my wand'rins: life, 
 
 In which I find more hours due to repentance 
 
 Than time liath told me yet. 
 
 Lis. Answer me truly. 
 
 Lid. I will do that without a conjuration. 
 
 Lis. r th' depth of meditation, do you not 
 Sometimes think of Olinda? 
 
 Lid. I endeavour 
 To raze her from my memory, as I wish 
 You would do the whole sex ; for know, Lisander, 
 The greatest curse brave man can labour under, 
 Is the strong witchcraft of a woman's eyes. 
 Where I find men, I preach this doctrine to 'em: 
 As you're a scholar, knowledge make your mistress. 
 The hidden ' beauties of the Heavens your study ; 
 There shall you find fit wonder for your faith. 
 And for your eye inimitable objects ; 
 As you're a profess'd soldier, court your honour ; 
 Thoughshe bestern, she's honest, a brave mistress! 
 The greater danger you oppose to wm her. 
 She shews the sweeter, and rewards the nobler ; 
 Woman's best loves to hers mere shadows be. 
 For after death she weds your memory. 
 These are my contemplations. 
 
 Lis. Heavenly ones ; 
 And in a young man more remarkable. 
 But wherefore do I envy, and not tread in 
 This blessed track? Here's in the heart no false- 
 hood 
 To a vowed friend, no quarrels seconded 
 With challenges, which, answered in defence 
 Of the word reputation, murder follows. 
 A man may here repent his sins, and though 
 
 7 The hidden beauties.] That is, the beauties that are hidden 
 from common observation, and are only discovered by study and 
 contemplation. — Mason. 
 
522 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 His hand, like mine, be stained in blood, it may be 
 "H itli penitence and true contrition washed off; 
 You have proved it, Lidian ? 
 
 Lid. And you'll find it true, 
 If you pers^ver. * 
 
 Lis. Here then ends my flight, 
 And here the fury of the king shall find me 
 Prepared for Heaven, if I am marked to die 
 For that I truly grieve for. 
 
 Enter Friar, and Clarange in a Friar s Habit, 
 
 Friar. Keep yourself 
 Concealed ; I am instructed. 
 
 Clara. How the sight 
 Of my dear friend confirms me ! 
 
 Lis. What are these ? 
 
 Lid. Two reverend friars ; one I know. 
 
 Friar. To you 
 This journey is devoted. 
 
 Lid. Welcome, father ! 
 
 Friar. I know your resolution so well grounded, 
 And your adieu unto the world so constant, 
 That though I am the unwilling messenger 
 Of a strange accident to try your temper, 
 It cannot shake you. You had. once a friend, 
 A noble friend, Clarang^. 
 
 Lid. And have still, 
 I liope, good father. 
 
 Friar. Your false hopes deceive you ; 
 He's dead. 
 
 • Persever.'^ So this word was pronounced at the time. An 
 apposite instance may be- quoted from the Martyred Soldier, by 
 Henry Shirley ; 
 
 " Thy heart's a Christian ; to death persever, 
 And then enjoy the sight of angels ever." 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 523 
 
 Lis. Clarang^ dead ? 
 
 Friar. I buried him. 
 Some said he died of melancholy, some of love, 
 And of that fondness perish'd. 
 
 Lid. Oh, Clarange ! 
 
 Clara. Hast thou so much brave nature, noble 
 Lidian, 
 So tenderly to love thy rival's memory ? 
 The bold Lisander weeps too. [Aside, 
 
 Friar. I expected 
 That you would bear this better. 
 
 Lid, I am a man, sir, 
 And, my great loss weighed duly 
 
 Friar. His last words were. 
 After confession, " Live long, dear Lidian, 
 Possessed of all thy wishes !" And of me 
 He did desire, bathing my hand with tears, 
 That with my best care 1 should seek and Hnd you. 
 And from his dying mouth prevail so with you, 
 That you a while should leave your hermit's strict- 
 ness, 
 And on his monument pay a tear or two, 
 To witness how you loved him. 
 
 Lid. Oh, my heart ! 
 To witness how I loved him ? 'Would he had not 
 Led me unto his grave, but sacriticed 
 His .sorrows upon mine ! He was my friend, 
 My noble friend; I will bewail his ashes. 
 His fortunes and poor mine were born together, 
 And 1 will weep 'em both : 1 will kneel by him, 
 And on his hallowed earth do my last duties. 
 I'll gather all the pride of spring to deck him ; 
 Woodbines shall grow upon his honoured grave, 
 And, as they prosper, clasp to shew our friendship, 
 And, when they wither, I'll die too. 
 
 Clara. Who would not 
 Desire to die, to be bewailed thus nobly ? 
 
524 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 Friar, There is a legacy he hath bequeathed 
 you; 
 But of what value I must not discover, 
 Until those rites and pious ceremonies 
 Are duly tendered. 
 
 lid. I am too full of sorrow 
 To be inquisitive. 
 
 Lis. To think of his, 
 I do forget mine own woes. 
 
 Enter Alcidon. 
 
 Ak. [Entering ] Graze thy fill, now 
 Thou hast done thy business. — Ha ! who have we 
 
 here ? 
 Lisander r Lidian ? and two reverend friars? 
 What a strange scene of sorrow is expressed 
 In different postures, in their looks and station ! 
 A common painter eying these, to help 
 His dull invention, might draw to the life 
 The living sons of Priam, as they stood 
 On the pale walls of Troy, when Hector fell 
 Under Achilles* spear. I come too late ; 
 My horse, though good and strong, moved like a 
 
 tortoise : 
 111 news had wings, and hath got here before me. 
 All Pythagoreans ? not a word?* 
 
 Lid. Oh, Alcidon ! 
 Deep rivers with soft murmurs glide along, 
 The shallow roar. Clarange ! 
 
 * All Pythagoreans ? not a •wor(l?'\ Alluding to the five years' 
 silence enjoined by Pythagoras to his disciples, before they were 
 admiiied to his conversation, or, as some say, even to the sight of 
 him. — Reed. 
 
 The same expression occurs in Ben Jonson's Silent Woman, on 
 the entrance of Truewit to Morose : " Fishes ? Pythagoreans ?" 
 alluding to their muteness and taciturnity. — Ed. 1778. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. .525 
 
 Lis. Cloridon! 
 Chrysanthes ! Spare my grief, and apprehend 
 What I should speak. 
 
 Ale. Their fates I have long since 
 For your sake mourned: Clarange's death (for so 
 Your silence doth confirm) till now I heard not : 
 Are these the bounds that are prescribed unto 
 The swelling seas of sorrow ? 
 
 Lis. The bounds, Alcidonr' 
 Can all the winds of mischief from all quarters, 
 Euphrates, Ganges, Tigris, Volga, Po, 
 Paying at once their tribute to this ocean, 
 Make it swell higher ? I am a murderer. 
 Banished, proscribed : Is there aught else that can 
 Be added to it? 
 
 Lid. I have lost a friend. 
 Prized dearer than my being, and he dead. 
 My miseries * at the height contemn the worst 
 Of Fortune's malice. 
 
 Ale. How our human weakness. 
 Grown desperate from small disasters, makes us 
 Imagine them a period to our sorrows, 
 When the first syllable of greater woes 
 Is not yet written ! 
 
 Lid. How ? 
 
 Lis. Speak it at large : 
 
 ' ■ The bounds, Alcidon * 
 
 Can all the winds of mischief from all quarters, 
 
 Euphrates, Ganges, Tigris, Volga, Pu, 
 
 Paying at once their tribute to this ocean.] Mr Seward wishes 
 to read Jioods for uitids, which INIr Sympson does not agree to, 
 but puts the two last lines in a parenthesis. We thinlc the passage 
 requires no assistance, and that the simple sense is, " neither winds 
 nor waters can add to this sea of calamity.''— Ed. I77S. 
 
 * Ml/ misery's at the height contemn, &C.3 So the first folio. 
 The text is from the second. 
 
5i6 THE LOVERS' [Act IV. 
 
 Since grief must break my heart, I am ambitious 
 It should be exquisite. 
 
 Jlc. It must be told; 
 Yet, ere you hear it, with all care put on 
 The surest nrmour, anvil'd in the shop 
 Of passive Fortitude. The good Oleander, 
 Your friend, is murdered. 
 
 Lis: Tis a terrible pang, 
 And yet it will not do ; I live yet. Act not 
 The torturer's part; if that there be a blow 
 Beyond this, give it, and at once dispatch me. 
 
 Ale. Your sword, died in his heart-blood, was 
 found near him ; 
 Your private conference at midnight urged 
 With fair Calista; which by her, whose pure truth 
 Would never learn to tell a lie, being granted, 
 She by enraged Beronte is accused 
 Of murder and adultery, and you 
 (However I dare swear it false) concluded 
 Her principal agent. 
 
 Lid. Wave upon wave rolls o'er me ! 
 My sister ! my dear sister ! 
 
 Cla?^a. Hold, great heart ! 
 
 Friar. Tear open his doublet. 
 
 Lis, Is this wound too narrow 
 For my life to get out at? Bring me to 
 A cannon loaded, and some pitying friend 
 Give fire unto it, while I nail my breast 
 Unto his thund'ring mouth, that in the instant 
 I may be piece-meal torn, and blown so far 
 As not one joint of my dismembered limbs 
 May ever be, by search of man, found out. 
 Oleander ! Yet why name I him ? However 
 His fall deserved an earthquake, if compared 
 With what true honour in Oalista suffers. 
 Is of no moment. My good angel, keep me 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 527 
 
 From blasphemy, and strike me dumb, before, 
 I' th' agony of my spirit, 1 do accuse 
 The powers above, for tlieir unjust permission 
 Of virtue, innocent virtue, to be branded 
 With the least vicious mark ! 
 
 Clara I never saw 
 A man so far transported. 
 
 Ale. Give it way ; 
 *Tis now no time to stop it. 
 
 Entei^ Lancelot. 
 
 Lan. Sir, I have bought 
 Fresh horses ; and, as you respect your life. 
 Speedily back 'em ; the archers of the king's guard 
 Are every where in quest of you. 
 
 Lis. My life ? [Strikes Lancelot. 
 
 Perish all such with thee that wish it longer ! 
 Let it but clear Calista's innocence, 
 And Nestor's age to mine was youth. I'll fly 
 To meet the rage of my incensed king, 
 And wish his favourite's ghost appeared in flames. 
 To urge him to revenge. Let all the tortures 
 That tyranny e'er found out circle me, 
 Provided justice set Calista free ! {Exit. 
 
 Ale. I'll follow him. 
 
 [Exeunt ArciDON, and Lancelot. 
 
 JLid. I am rooted here. 
 
 Fria7\ Remember 
 Your dear friend's last request, your sister's dan- 
 gers, 
 With the aids that you may lend her. 
 
 Lid. Pray you support me ; 
 My legs deny their office. [Exeunt. 
 
 Clara. I grow still 
 Further engaged unto his matchless virtues ; 
 
.528 THE LOVERS' [Act V. 
 
 And I am dead indeed, until T pay 
 
 The debt I owe him in a noble way. [Eoi-it. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 Paris. An Apartment in Cleander's House. 
 
 Enter Dorilaus and Servant. 
 
 Dor. Thou hast him safe? 
 
 Ser. As fast as locks can make him : 
 He must break through three doors, and cut the 
 
 throats 
 Of ten tall fellows, if that he escape us. 
 Besides, as far as I can apprehend. 
 He hath no such intention, ^ for his looks 
 Are full of penitence. 
 
 Dor. Trust not a knave's looks ; 
 They are like a whore's oaths. How does my poor 
 
 daughter 
 Brook her restraint ? 
 
 Serv. With such a resolution 
 As well becomes your lordship's child. 
 
 [Knock xvitfdn. 
 
 Dor. Who's that ? 
 
 5 No such invention] Mr Seward concurred with me in the 
 present ait&raktion.^-St/mpson, 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. 529 
 
 Enter Lemure. 
 
 Serv. Monsieur Lemure. 
 
 Dor. This is a special favour, 
 And may stand an example in the court 
 For courtesy : It is the client's duty 
 To wait upon his patron ; you prevent me, 
 That am your humble suitor. 
 
 Lem. My near place 
 About the king, though it swell others, cannot 
 Make me forget your vvorth and age, which may 
 Challenge much more respect : And I am sorry 
 That my endeavours for you have not met with 
 The good success I wished ; I moved the king 
 With my best advantage, both of tmie and place, 
 r th' favour of your daughter. 
 
 Dor. How do you find 
 His majesty affected ? 
 
 Lem. Not to be 
 Swayed from the rigour of the law ; yet so far 
 The rarity of the cause hath won upon him, 
 That he resolves to have in his own person 
 The hearing of it; her trial will be noble, 
 And to my utmost strength, where 1 may serve 
 
 her, 
 My aids shall not be wanting. 
 
 Dor. I am your servant. 
 
 Lem. One word more : If you love Lisander's 
 life. 
 Advise him, as he tenders it, to keep 
 Out of the way ; if he be apprehended, 
 This city cannot ransom him. So, good morrow. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Dor. All happiness attend you ! Go thy ways ; 
 Thou hast a clear and noble soul. For thy sake, 
 
 VOL. XIII. 2 L 
 
530 THE LOVERS' [Act V. 
 
 ril hold that man mine enemy, who dares mutter 
 The court is not the sphere where Virtue moves, 
 Humanity and nobleness waiting on her. 
 
 Enter Servant, 
 
 Sere, Two gentlemen (but what they are I know 
 not, 
 Their faces are so muffled) press to see you, 
 And will not be denied. 
 
 Dor. Whate'er they are, 
 I am too old to fear. 
 
 Serv. They need no usher ; 
 They make their own way. 
 
 Enter Lisander and Alcidon. 
 
 Dor, Take you yours. — Lisander ! 
 
 [^Earit Servant. 
 My joy to see you, and my sorrow for 
 The danger you are in, contend so here, 
 (Though different passions, nay, opposed in na- 
 ture) 
 I know not which to entertain. 
 
 Lis. Your hate 
 Should win the victory from both : With justice 
 You may look on me as a homicide, 
 A man whose life is forfeited to the law ; 
 But if, howe'er 1 stand accused, in thought 
 I sinned against Oleander's life, or live 
 Guilty of the dishonour of your daughter. 
 May all the miseries that can fall on man 
 Here, or hereafter, circle me 1 
 
 Dor. To me 
 This protestation's useless ; I embrace you, 
 As the preserver of my life, the man 
 
Scene I.] PROGRESS. $51 
 
 To whom my son owes his ; with life, his honour : 
 And howsoever your affection 
 To my unhappy daughter, though it were 
 (For I have sifted her) in a noble way, 
 Hath printed some taint on her fame, and brought 
 Her life in question ; yet I would not purchase 
 The wish'd recovery of her reputation, 
 With strong assurance of her innocence 
 Before the king her judge, with certain loss 
 Of my Lisander, for whose life,* if found, 
 There's no redemption : My excess of love 
 (Though to enjoy you one short day would lengthen 
 My life a dozen years) boldly commands me, 
 Uj)on my knees, which yet were never bent 
 But to the king and Heaven, to entreat you 
 To fly hence with all possible speed, and leave 
 Calista to her fortune. 
 
 Lis. Ob, blessed saints ! 
 Forsake her in affliction ! Can you 
 Be so unnatural to your own blood, 
 To one so well deserving, as to value 
 My safety before hers r Shall innocence 
 In her be branded, and my guilt escape 
 Unpunished ? Does she suffer so much for me, 
 For me unworthy, and shall I decline 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment, 
 The course of justice, to draw out a life ? 
 A life ? I style it false, a living death, 
 Which, being uncompelled laid down, will clear 
 
 her. 
 And write her name a-new in the fair legend 
 Of the best women. Seek not to dissuade me ! 
 I will not, like a careless poet, spoil 
 
 * For whole life, if found,'] Whose is the right reading, the other 
 ■A manifest error of the press. — Sympson. 
 Both folios read whose! ! ! — Ed, 177 6- 
 
532 THE LOVERS' [ActV. 
 
 The last act of my play, till now applauded, 
 By giving the world just cause to say I feared 
 Death, more than loss of honour. 
 
 Dor. But suppose 
 Heaven hath designed some other saving means 
 For her deliverance ? 
 
 Lis. Other means ? That is 
 A mischief above all I have groaned under : 
 Shall any other pay my debt, while I 
 Write myself bankrupt ? or Calista owe 
 The least beholdingness for that which she. 
 On all the bonds of gratitude I have seal'd to, 
 May challenge from me to be freely tender'd ? 
 Avert it, mercy ! I'll go to my grave 
 Without the curses of my creditors ; 
 ni vindicate her fair name, and so cancel 
 My obligation to her : To the king. 
 To whom I stand accountable for the loss 
 Of two of his loved subjects' lives, I'll offer 
 Mine own in satisfaction ; to Heaven 
 I'll pay my true repentance ; to the times 
 Present and future, I'll be registered 
 A memorable precedent to admonish 
 Others, however valiant, not to trust 
 To their abilities to dare and do ; 
 And much less for the airy words of honour, 
 And false-stamp'd reputation, to shake off 
 The chains of their religion and allegiance, 
 The principal means appointed to prefer 
 Societies and kingdoms.* [E.vif. 
 
 Dor. Let's not leave him ; 
 His mind's much troubled. 
 
 * ' appointed to prefer 
 
 Societies, &c.] The editors of 1750 think it probable we 
 should read preserve instead of prefer. We do not conceive any 
 variation necessary, /?re/er meaning promote the interest and wel- 
 fare of societies and kingdoms, — Ed. J 778. 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 533 
 
 Ale. Were your daughter free, 
 (Since from her dangers his distraction rises) 
 His cause is not so desperate for the slaughter 
 Of Cloridon and Chrysanthes, but it may 
 Fmd passage to the mercy of the king, 
 The motives urged in his defence, that forced him 
 To act that bloody scene. 
 
 Dor. Heaven can send aids, 
 When they are least expected. Let us walk ; 
 The hour of trial draws near. 
 
 Ale. May it end well ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Olinda and Lidian. 
 
 Olin. That for my love you should turn hermit, 
 Lidian, 
 As much amazes me as your report 
 Clarange's dead. 
 
 Lid He is so, and all comforts 
 My youth can hope for, madam, with him buried; 
 Nor had I ever left my cell, but that 
 He did enjoin me at his death to shed 
 Some tears of friendship on his monument; 
 And, those last rites performed, he did bequeath 
 
 you, 
 As the best legacy a friend could give, 
 Or I indeed could wish, to my embraces. 
 
S34i THE LOVERS* [Act V. 
 
 Oltn. Tis still more strange; is there no foul 
 play in it? 
 I must confess I am not sorry, sir, 
 For your fair fortune; yet 'tis fit I grieve 
 The most untimely death of such a gentleman ; 
 He was my worthy servant. 
 
 Lid. And for this 
 Acknowledgment, if I could prize you at 
 A higher rate, I should ; he was my friend, 
 My dearest friend. 
 
 Olin. But how should I be assured, sir, 
 (For slow belief is the best friend of truth) 
 Of this gentleman's death ? If I should credit it, 
 And afterward it fall out contrary, 
 How am I shamed ! how is your virtue tainted ! 
 
 Lid. There is a friar that came along with me, 
 His business, to deliver you a letter 
 From dead Clarange : You shall hear his testimony. 
 
 Enter Clarange, as a Friar, with another Friar. 
 
 Father ! my reverend father! — Look upon him ; 
 Such holy men are authors of no fables. 
 
 Olin. They should not be ; their lives and their 
 opinions, 
 Like brightest purest flames, should still burn up- 
 wards. — 
 To me, sir ? [Clarange delivers a letter. 
 
 Clara. If you are the fair Olinda. 
 Friar. I do not like these cross points. 
 Clara. Give me leave ; 
 I am nearest to myself: What I have plotted 
 Shall be pursued ; you must not over-rule me. 
 Olin. Do you put the first hand to your own 
 undoing ? 
 Play to betray your game ? Mark but this letter ! 
 
 6 
 
Scene II.] PROGRESS. 555 
 
 *' Lady, I am come to claim your noble promise : 
 
 [Reads, 
 If you be mistress of your word, you are mine; 
 I am last returned. Your riddle is dissolved, 
 And I attend your faith. Your humble servant, 
 
 Clarang^." 
 Is this the friar that saw him dead ? 
 
 Lid. 'Tis he ; 
 Clarang^, on my life ! I am defeated ! 
 Such reverend habits juggle ? my true sorrow 
 For a false friend, not worth a tear, derided ? 
 
 Friar, You have abused my trust, 
 
 Olin It is not well, 
 Nor like a gentleman. 
 
 Clara. All stratagems 
 In love, and that the sharpest war, are lawful. 
 By your example, 1 did change my habit, 
 Caught you in your own toil, and triumph in it ; 
 And what by policy's got, I will maintain 
 Witli valour ! No Lisander shall come in 
 Again to fetch you off. 
 
 Lid. His honoured name, 
 Pronounced by such a treacherous tongue, is 
 
 tainted. 
 Maintain thy treason with thy sword? With what 
 Contempt I hear it ! in a wilderness 
 1 durst encounter it, and would, but that 
 In my retired hours, (not counterfeited 
 As thy religious shape was) I have learn'd. 
 When justice may determine, such a cause, 
 And of such weight, as this fair lady is. 
 Must not be put to Fortune. I appeal 
 Unto the king; and he, whose wisdom knows 
 To do his subjects right in their estates. 
 As graciously with judgment will determine 
 In points of honour. 
 
 Olin. I'll steer the same course with you. . 
 
636 THE LOVERS' [Act V. 
 
 Clara. IMl stand the trial. 
 Friar. What have you done ? or what 
 Intend you ? 
 
 Clara. Ask not ; I'll come off with honour. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter Beronte, Clarinda, Malfort, guarded^ 
 and Officers. 
 
 Ber. Be constant in your proofs : Should you 
 shrink back now, 
 Your life must answer it ; nor am I safe, 
 IVlv honour being engaged to make that good 
 Which you affirm. 
 
 Clori. I am confident, so dearly 
 I honoured my dead lord, that no respect, 
 Or of my lady's bounties, (which were great ones, 
 I must confess) nor of her former lite, 
 (For while that she was chaste, indeed I loved her) 
 Shall hinder me from lending my assistance 
 Unto your just revenge — mine own I mean. 
 If Leon keep far off enough, all's secure : [Aside. 
 Lisander dares not come in ; modest blushes 
 Parted with me long since, and impudence, 
 Armed with my hate unto her innocence, shall be 
 The weapon I will fight with now. 
 
 Ber, The i-ack 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 537 
 
 Beinsr presented to you, you'll roar out 
 What you conceal yet. 
 
 Malf. Conceal ? I know nothing 
 But that I shall be hanged, and that I look for : 
 It is my destiny ; I ever had 
 A hanging look ; and a wise woman told me, 
 Though I had not the heart to do a deed 
 Worthy the halter, in my youtli or age, 
 I should take a turn with a wry mouth ; and now 
 'Tis come about. I have penn'd mine own ballad 
 Before my condemnation, in fear 
 Some rhymer should prevent me. 
 
 Enter Dorilaus, Calista, and Olinda. 
 
 Here's my lady : 
 'Would I were in Heaven, or a thousand miles hence, 
 That 1 might not blush to look on her ! 
 
 Dor. You 
 Behold this preparation, and the enemies 
 Who are to fight against your life; yet if 
 You bring no witness here, that may convince you 
 Of breach of faith to your lord's bed, and hold up 
 Unspotted hands before the king, this trial 
 Y'ou are to undergo will but refine, 
 And not consume, your honour. 
 
 Cal. How confirmed 
 I am here, whatsoever fate falls on me, 
 You shall have ample testimony. Till the death 
 Of my dear lord, (to whose sad memory 
 I pay a mourning widow's tears) I lived 
 Too happy in my holiday trim of glory, 
 And courted with felicity, ^ that drew on me, 
 
 3 Courted \s\i\i felicity,'] Sympson would read, " Sported with 
 felicity ;" but the editors [of 1778] properly observe, that the text 
 
538 THE LOVERS' [Act V. 
 
 With other helps of nature, as of fortune, 
 The envy, not the love, of most that knew me ; 
 This made me to presume too much, perhaps 
 Too proud ; but I am humbled : And if now 
 I do make it apparent, I can bear 
 Adversity with such a constant patience 
 As will set off my innocence, 1 hope, sir, 
 In your declining age, when I should live 
 A comfort to you, you shall have no cause, 
 Howe'er I stand accused, to hold your honour 
 Shipwrecked in such a daughter. 
 
 Olin, Oh, best friend ! 
 My honour's at the stake too ; for 
 
 Dor. Be silent : 
 The king ! 
 
 Entei' Kihg, Lemure, and Attendants. 
 
 Leriu Sir, if you please to look upon 
 The prisoner, and the many services 
 Her father hatli done for you 
 
 King. We must look on 
 The cause, and not the persons. Yet beholding, 
 W^ith an impartial eye, the excelling beauties 
 Of this fair lady, (which we did believe 
 Upon report, but till now never saw 'em) 
 It moves a strange kind of compassion in me. 
 Let us survey you nearer ! She's a book 
 
 " means courted by felicity," and Mason says justly, that "wzV/nn 
 this sense frequently occurs both in these plays and those of Sbak- 
 speare. So in the last act of Antony and Cleopatra, she says to 
 Augustus, 
 
 " And say. 
 
 Some nobler token I have kept apart 
 For Livia and Octavia, to induce 
 Their mediation ? Must I be unfolded 
 With one that I have bred ?" 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 539 
 
 To be with care perused ; and 'tis my wonder, 
 If such mishapen guests as Lust and Murder, 
 At any price, should ever find a lodging 
 In such a beauteous inn ! Mistake us not; 
 Though we admire the outward structure, if 
 The rooms be foul within, expect no favour. 
 I were no man, if I could look on beauty 
 Distressed, without some pity ; but no king, 
 If any superficial gloss of feature 
 Could work me to decline the course of justice. 
 But to the cause, Oleander's death! what proofs 
 Can you produce against her ? 
 
 Ber. Royal sir. 
 Touching that point, my brother's death, we build 
 
 On suppositions 
 
 King. Suppositions? how? 
 Is such a lady, sir, to be condemned 
 On suppositions ? 
 
 Ber. They are well-grounded, sir ; 
 And if we make it evident she is guilty 
 Of the first crime we charge her with. Adultery, 
 That being the parent, it may find belief 
 That murder was the issue. 
 
 King. We allow 
 It may be so ; but that it may be, must not 
 Infer a necessary consequence 
 
 To cast away a lady's life. What witnesses 
 
 To make this good ? 
 
 Ber. The principal, this woman, 
 
 For many years her servant ; she hath taken 
 
 Her oath in court. — Come forward ! 
 Ki?7g. By my crown, 
 
 A lying face ! 
 
 Clari. I swore, sir, for the king; 
 
 And if you are the party, as I do 
 
 Believe you are, (for y ou have a good face. 
 
 However mine appears) swearing for you, sir, 
 
 y 
 
5W THE LOVERS' [Act V. 
 
 I ought to have my oath pass. 
 
 Ki}jg. Impudent too? 
 Well, what have you sworn ? 
 
 CVfl'W. That this lady was 
 A goodly tempting lady, as she is : 
 How thinks your majesty? And I her servant, 
 Her officer, as one would say, and trusted 
 With her closest chamher-service ; that Lisander 
 Was a fine-timbered gentleman, and active; 
 That he could do fine gambols 
 To make a lady merry ; that this pair, 
 A very loving couple, mutually 
 Affected one another : So much for them, sir ! 
 That I, a simple waiting-woman, having taken 
 My bodily oath, the first night of admittance 
 Into her ladyship's service, on her slippers, 
 (That was the book) to serve her will in all things, 
 x\nd to know no religion but her pleasure, 
 ('Tis not yet out of fashion with some ladies) 
 That I, as the premises shew, being commanded 
 To do my function, in conveyance of 
 Lisander to her chamber, (my lord absent, 
 On a pretended sickness) did the feat» 
 (It cannot be denied) and at dead midnight 
 Left 'em together : What they did, some here 
 Can easily imagine. I have said, sir. 
 
 Dor. The devil's oratrix! 
 
 King. Then you confess 
 You were her bawd ? 
 
 Claii. That's coarse ; her agent, sir. 
 
 Ki?ig. So, goody Agent ! And you think there is 
 No punishment due for your agentship ? 
 
 Clari. Let her suffer first. 
 Being my better, for adultery. 
 And I'll endure the mulct imposed on bawds, 
 Call it by the worst name. 
 
 Cal, Live I to hear this ? 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 541 
 
 King. Take her aside. — Your answer to this, 
 lady. 
 
 Cal. Heaven grant me patience ! To be thus con- 
 fronted 
 (Oh, pardon, royal sir, a woman's passion !) 
 By one (and this the worst of my misfortunes) 
 That was my slave, but never to such ends, sir, 
 Would give a statue motion into fury. 
 Let my past life, my actions, nay intentions, 
 Be by my grand accuser justly censured, 
 (For her I scorn to answer) and if they 
 Yield any probability of truth 
 In that she urges, then I will confess 
 A guilty cause. The people's voice, which is 
 The voice of truth, my husband's tenderness 
 In his affection to me, (that, no dotage. 
 But a reward of humbleness) the friendship 
 Echoed through France between him and Lisander 
 All make against her. For him, in his absence, 
 (Whatever imputation it draw on me) 
 I must take leave to speak : 'Tis true, he loved me, 
 But not in such a wanton way ; his reason 
 Mastered his passions ; I grant I had 
 At midnight conference with him ; but if he 
 Ever received a farther favour from me 
 Than what a sister might give to a brother. 
 May I sink quick ! And thus much, (did he know 
 The shame 1 suffer for him, with the loss 
 Of his life for appearing) on my soul, 
 He would maintain. 
 
 Enter Lisander and Alcidon. 
 
 Lis. And will, thou clear example 
 Of women's pureness ! 
 
 King. Though we hold her such, 
 
542 THE LOVERS* [Act V. 
 
 Thou hast expressed thyself a desperate fool^ 
 To thrust thy head into the lion's jaws^ 
 The justice of thy king. 
 
 Lis. I came prepared for't, 
 And offer up a guilty life to clear 
 Hev innocence : The oath she took, I swear to; 
 And for Oleander's death, to purge myself 
 From any colour malice can paint on me, 
 Or that she had a hand in't, I can prove 
 That fatal night when he in his own house fell, 
 And many days before, I was distant from it 
 A long day's journey. 
 
 Clari. I am caught. [Aside, 
 
 Bar. If so. 
 How came your sword into this steward's hands? — 
 Stand forth. 
 
 Malf. I have heard nothing that you spake : 
 I know I must die; -and what kind of death 
 Pray you resolve me ; I shall go away else 
 In a qualm ; I am very faint. 
 
 King- Carry him off j 
 His fear will kill him. [Malfort is carried off. 
 
 Dor. Sir, 'twas my ambition, 
 My daughter's reputation being wounded 
 r th' general opinion, to have it 
 Cured by a public trial ; 1 had else 
 Forborne your majesty's trouble. 
 
 Enter Leon, Servants, and Guard, 
 
 I'll bring forth 
 Cieander's murderer; in a wood I heard him, 
 As 1 rode sadly by, unto himself, 
 With some compunction, though this devil had 
 
 none, 
 Lament what he had done, cursing her lust 
 That drew him to that bloody fact. 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 543 
 
 Leon. To lessen 
 Tl»e foulness of it, (for which I know justly 
 I am to suffer) and with my last breath 
 To free these innocents, I do confess all, 
 This wicked woman only guilty with me. 
 
 Clari. Is't come to this? Thou puling rogue! 
 die thou 
 With prayers in thy mouth ; Til curse the laws 
 By which 1 suffer ! All I grieve for is, 
 That I die unrevenged. 
 
 Leon. But one word more, sir, 
 And I have done : I was by accident where 
 Lisander met with Cloridon and Chrysanthes, 
 Was an ear-witness when he sought for peace, 
 Nay, begged it upon colder terms than can 
 Almost find credit, his past deeds considered ; 
 But they, deaf to his reasons, severally 
 Assaulted him ; but such was his good fortune, 
 That both fell under it. Upon my death 
 I take it uncompelled, that they were guilty 
 Of their own violent ends ; and he, against 
 His will, the instrument. 
 
 Ale. This I will swear too; 
 For I was not far off. 
 
 Dor. They have alledged 
 As much to wake your sleeping mercy, sir, 
 As all the advocates of France can plead 
 In his defence. 
 
 King, The criminal judge shall sentence 
 These to their merits. 
 
 [Leon and Clakinda taken aivay guarded. 
 With mine own hand, lady, 
 I take you from the bar, and do myself 
 Pronounce you innocent. 
 
 AIL Long live the King ! 
 
 King. And, to confirm you stand high in our fa- 
 vour, 
 
544 THE LOVERS' [Act V. 
 
 And as some reconi pence for what you have 
 With too much rigour in your trial sufFer'd, 
 Ask what you please, becoming me to grant, 
 And be possessed oft. 
 
 Cat Sir, I dare not doubt [Kneels, 
 
 Your royal promise; in a king it is 
 A strong assurance ; that emboldens me 
 Upon my humble knees to make my boon 
 Lisander's pardon ! 
 
 Dor, My good genius 
 Did prompt her to it. 
 
 Ltm. At your feet thus prostrate, 
 I second her petition. 
 
 Ale. Never king 
 Poured forth his mercy on a worthier subject. 
 
 Ber. To witness my repentance, for the wrong- 
 In my unjust suspicion I did both, 
 I join in the same suit. 
 
 Lis. The life you give, 
 Still ready to lay down for your service, 
 Shall be against your enemies employed. 
 Not hazarded in brawls. 
 
 JlL Mercy, dread sir ! 
 
 King. So many pressing me, and with such rea- 
 sons 
 Moving compassion, I hope it will not 
 Be censured levity in me, though I borrow 
 In this from justice, to relieve my mercy : 
 I grant his pardon at your intercession. 
 But still on this condition ; you, Lisander, 
 In expiation of your guilt, shall build 
 A monument for my Cloridon and Chrysanthes ; 
 And never henceforth draw a sword, but when 
 By us you are commanded, in defence of 
 The Flower-de-Luce ; and, after one year's sorrow 
 For your dear friend Oleander's wretched fate, 
 
Scene III.] PROGRESS. 6i5 
 
 Marry Calista, 
 
 Lis. On your sacred hand, 
 I vow to do it seriously. 
 
 Enter Lidian. 
 
 Lid, Great sir, stay ! 
 Leave not your seat of justice, till you have 
 Given sentence in a cause as much important 
 As this you have determined. 
 
 King. Lidian ? 
 
 Lid, He, sir, 
 Your humblest subject. I accuse Clarangtj 
 Of falsehood in tru^ friendship at the height ; 
 We both were suitors to this lady, both 
 Enjoined one penance 
 
 Enter Clara nge and Friar, 
 
 Clara. Trouble not the King 
 With an unnecessary repetition, 
 Of what the court's familiar with already. 
 
 King. Clarang^ ? 
 
 Dor, With a shaven crown? 
 
 Olin. Most strange ! 
 
 Clara. Look on thy rival — your late servant, 
 madam, 
 But now devoted to a better mistress, • 
 The Church, whose orders I have took upon me : 
 I here deliver up my interest to her,* 
 And what was got with cunning (as you thought) 
 I simply thus surrender. Heretofore, 
 You did outstrip me in the race of friendship ; 
 
 * Litcrest to fier.] That is, I deliver up all interest I have in her, 
 to herself. The last editors needlessly read — ^Interest in her. 
 VOL. XIII, 2 M 
 
545 THE LOVERS' PROGRESS. [Act V. 
 
 I am your equal now. 
 
 Dor. A suit soon ended ! 
 
 Clara. And joining thus your hands, (I know 
 both willing) 
 I may do in the church my friar's office 
 In marrying you. 
 
 Lid. The victory is yours, sir. 
 
 King. It is a glorious one, and well sets off 
 Our scene of mercy. To the dead we tender 
 Our sorrow ; to the living, ample wishes 
 Of future happiness. 'Tis a King's duty 
 To prove himself a father to his subjects; 
 And 1 shall hold it, if this well succeed, 
 A meritorious and praise-worthy deed. \Exeunt, 
 
 4t 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 Still doubtful, and perplex'd too, whether he 
 Hath done Fletcher right in this history, 
 The poet sits within ; since he mu'>t know it, 
 He, with respect, desires that you would shew it 
 By some accustomed sign ; if from our action, 
 Or his endeavours, you meet satisfaction. 
 With ours he hath his ends ; we hope the best, 
 To make that certainty in you doth rest. 
 
 END OF THE THIRTEENTH VOLUME. 
 
 Edinbuugii : 
 Printed by James Ballantyne and Co. 
 
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