the apprehensions of him may make the savour I'm afraid, brother, the coat is too short

worse.

for you.

Clin. jun. It will be long enough before you get it. In short, sir, were you a ghost, or brother, or devil, I will go to the jubilee, by Jupiter Ammon.

[Exit. Col. S. Go to the jubilee! go to the bear-garden. The travel of such fools as you doubly injures our country you expose our native follies, which ridicule us among strangers; and return fraught only with their vices, which you vend here for fashionable gallantry: a travelling fool is as dangerous as a home-bred villain. Get you to your native plough and cart, converse with animals like yourselves, sheep and oxen; men are creatures you don't understand.

Sir H. Let them alone, Colonel, their folly will be now diverting. Come, gentlemen, we'll dispute this point some other time.

A Servant enters and whispers Sir Harry Wildair. Madam, shall I beg you to entertain the company in the next room for a moment? (To Lady D.) Lady D. With all my heart. Come, gentlemen. [Exeunt all but Sir H. Sir H. A lady to inquire for me! who can this be?

Enter LADY LUREWELL.

Oh! madam, this favour is beyond my expectation, to come uninvited to dance at my wedding. What d'ye gaze at, madam?

Lady L. A monster.! If thou'rt married, thou'rt the most perjured wretch that e'er avouched deceit. Sir H. Heyday! Why, madam, I'm sure I never swore to marry you: I made, indeed, a slight promise, upon condition of your granting me a small favour, but you would not consent, you know.

Lady L. How he upbraids me with my shame! Can you deny your binding vows when this appears a witness against your falsehood? (Shews a ring.) Methinks, the motto of this sacred pledge should flash confusion in your guilty face. Read, read here the binding words of love and honour; words not unknown to your perfidious tongue, though utter strangers to your treacherous heart. Sir H. What the devil is all this! Madam, I'm not at leisure for raillery; at present, I have weighty affairs upon my hands; the business of pleasure, madam. Any other time-(Going.)

Lady L. Stay, I conjure you; stay.

Sir H. Faith, I can't, my bride expects me.

[Exit. Lady L. Grant me some wild expressions, heavens! or I shall burst. Woman's weakness, man's falsehood, my own shame, and love's disdain, at once swell up my breast. Words, words, or I shall burst. (Going.)

Enter COLONEL STANDARD.

Col. S. Stay, madam! if you are a perfect woman, you have the confidence to outface a crime, and bear the charge of guilt without a blush.

Lady L. The charge of guilt! What? making a fool of you? I've done't, and glory in the act.

Col. S. Your falsehood can't be reached by malice, nor by satire; against mine own eyes, I still maintained your truth. I imagined Wildair's boasting of your favours to be the pure result of his own vanity: at last, he urged your taking presents of him; as a convincing proof of which, you, yesterday, from him, received that ring; which ring, that I might be sure he gave it, I lent it him for that purpose; and desire you now, madam, to restore it to the just owner.

Lady L. The just owner! Answer me did not you receive this ring about twelve years ago?

Col. S. I did.

Lady L. And were not you, about that time, entertained two nights at the house of Sir Oliver Manly, in Oxfordshire?

Col. S. I was, I was! (Runs to her and embraces her.) The blest remembrance fires my soul with transport. I know the rest-you are the charming! she, and I the happy man.

Lady L. How has blind fortune stumbled on the right! But where have you wandered since? 'twas cruel to forsake me.

Col. S. To tell you the particulars of my fortune, are too tedious now; my constant heart has sighed alone for thee; nor fame, nor glory, e'er shall part us more.

Enter SIR HARRY WILDAIR and ANGELICA. Oh! Sir Harry, fortune has acted miracles to-day. The story's strange and tedious; but all amounts to this, that woman's mind is as charming as her person, and I am made a convert, too, to beauty. Sir H. I wanted only this to make my pleasure perfect.

Enter ALDERMAN SMUGGLER.

Ald. S. So, gentlemen and ladies, I'm glad to find you so merry. Is my gracious nephew among ye?

Sir H. Sir, he dares not shew his face among such honourable company; for your gracious nephew is

Ald. S. What, sir? have a care what you say.
Sir H. A villain, sir.

Ald. S. With all my heart; I'll pardon you the beating me for that very word. Oh! Sir Harry, he is as hypocritical—

Lady L. As yourself, Mr. Alderman. How fares my good old nurse, pray sir?

Ald. S. Oh! madam, I shall be even with you before I part with your writings and money, that I have in my hands.

Lady L. A word with you, Mr. Alderman; do you know this pocket-book?

Ald. S. Oh! lord, it contains an account of all my secret practices in trading. (A side.) How cams you by it?

Lady L. Sir Harry here dusted it out of your pocket, at my house yesterday: it contains an ac count of some secret practices in your merchan dizing. First return all my writings, then I shall consider whether I shall have your proceedings laid before the parliament or not, whose justice will never suffer your smuggling to go unpunished. Ald. S. Oh! my poor ship and cargo. Clin. sen. Harkye! master, you had as good come along with me to the jubilee now.

Angel. Come, Mr. Alderman, for once let woman advise: would you be thought an honest man, banish covetousness, that worst goût of age avarice is a poor pilfering quality of the soul, and Would you be thought a reformer of the times, be will as certainly cheat, as a thief would steal.less severe in your censures, less rigid in your precepts, and more strict in your example.

Sir H. Right; virtue flows freer from imitation than compulsion.

In vain are musty morals taught in schools,
By rigid teachers, and as rigid rules;
Where virtue, with a frowning aspect stands,
And frights the pupil from its rough commands.
But woman-

Charming women can true converts make,
We love the precepts for the teacher's sake;
Virtue in them appears so bright, so gay,
We hear with transport, and with pride obey.

[Exeunt.

Act V-Scene 2.

Ring out of tune, as if the streets were burning, And he cry, ""Tis rare music!" bid him sleep; 'Tis a sa sign he has ta'en his liquor and if you meet An officer preaching of sobriety, Unless he read it in Geneva spirit, Lay him by the heels.

Julio. But think you 'tis a fault To be found sober?

Grac. It is capital treason; Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay Forty crowns to the poor; but give a pension To all the magistrates you find singing catches, Or their wives dancing; for the courtiers reeling, And the duke himself, I dare not say distemper'd, But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing, They do the country service.

And so, dear friends, co-partners in my travails, Drink hard; and let the health run through the city,

Until it reel again, and with me cry, "Long live the dutchess!"

Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.

Julio. Here are two lords; what think you? Shall we give the oath to them?

Grac. Fie! no; I know them:

You need not swear them: your lord, by his patent, Stands bound to take his rouse. Long live the dutchess!

[Exeunt Graccho, Julio, and Giovanni. Steph. The cause of this? But yesterday, the

court

Wore the sad livery of distrust and fear;
No smile, not in a buffoon, to be seen,
Or common jester: the great duke himself
Had sorrow in his face; which, waited on
By his mother, sister, and his fairest dutchess,
Dispers'd a silent mourning through all Milan;
As if some great blow had been given the state,
Or were, at least, expected.

Tib. Stephano,

I know, as you are noble, you are honest,
And capable of secrets of more weight
Than now I shall deliver. If that Sforza,
The present duke, (though his whole life hath been
But one continual pilgrimage through dangers,

Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune, guided
By his strong judgment, still hath overcome,)
Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder:
All that his youth hath labour'd for, the harvest
Sown by his industry, ready to be reap'd too,
Being now at stake; and all his hopes confirm'd
Or lost for ever.

Steph. I know no such hazard:

His guards are strong and sure; and, though war rages

In most parts of our western world, there is

No enemy near us.

Tib. Dangers that we see

To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented;
But those strike deadly that come unexpected.
The wars so long continued between

The emperor Charles and Francis, the French king,

Have interested, in either's cause, the most
Of the Italian princes; among which, Sforza,
As one of the greatest power, was sought by both;
But with assurance, having one his friend,
The other liv'd his enemy.

Steph. 'Tis true;

And 'twas a doubtful choice.

Tib. But he, well knowing

And hating, too, it seems, the Spanish pride,
Lent his assistance to the king of France;
Which hath so far incens'd the emperor,
That all his hopes and honours are embark'd
With his great patron's fortune.
Steph. Which stands fair,
For aught I yet can hear.

Tib. But should it change,

The duke's undone. They have drawn to the field
Two royal armies, full of fiery youth,
Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do;
So near intrench'd, that 'tis beyond all hope
Of human counsel they ever can be sever'd,
Until it be determin'd by the sword

Who hath the better cause; for the success
Concludes the victor innocent, and the vanquish'd
Most miserably guilty.

Steph. But why, then,

In such a time, when every knee should bend For the success and safety of his person,

Are these loud triumphs? in my weak opinion, They are unseasonable.

Tib. I judge so, too;

But only in the cause to be excus'd.

It is the dutchess' birth-day, once a-year
Solemniz'd with all pomp and ceremony;
In which the duke is not his own, but her's:
Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature;
For never man so doted.

Steph. She knows it,
And how to prize it.

Tib. She bears herself with such a majesty, That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister, Will brook it well.

Come, let us to the court;

We there shall see all bravery and cost
That art can boast of.

Steph. I'll bear you company.

[Exeunt.

And, as a sister, you may challenge from him
A brother's love and favour: but this granted,
Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects,
And not to question or contend with her
Whom he is pleas'd to honour. Private men
Prefer their wives; and shall he, being a prince,
And blest with one that is the paradise
Of sweetness and of beauty,

Not use her like herself?
Isa. You are ever forward
To sing her praises.

Mari. Others are as fair;
I am sure as noble.

Fran. I detract from none

In giving her what's due. Were she deform'd, Yet, being the dutchess, I stand bound to serve her;

But as she is, to admire her. Never wife
Met with a purer heat her husband's fervour:
A happy pair, one in the other blest!
She confident in herself he's wholly her's,
And cannot seek for change; and he secure
That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt her:
And, therefore, to contest with her, that is
The stronger and the better part of him,
Is more than folly you know him of a nature
Not to be play'd with; and, should you forget
To obey him as your prince, he'll not remember
The duty that he owes you.

Mari. I shall do

What may become the sister of a prince; But will not stoop beneath it.

Fran. Yet, be wise;

Soar not too high, to fall; but stoop, to rise.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A state Room in the same. A magnificent banquet.

Flourish. Enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, FRANCISCO, LUDOVICO SFORZA, MARCELIA, ISABELLA, MARIANA, and Attendants.

Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast; sit here.
(To Marcela

Oh! my soul's comfort,
Let me glory in

My happiness, and mighty kings look pale
With envy, while I triumph in mine own.
Oh! mother, look on her sister, admire her!
For sure this present age yields not a woman
Worthy to be her second.

Fran. Your excellency,

Though I confess you give her but her own,
Forces her modesty to the defence
Of a sweet blush.

Sfor. It need not, my Marcelia;

When most I strive to praise thee, I appear
A poor detractor: for thou art, indeed,
So absolute in body and in mind,

That, but to speak the least part to the height,
Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end
In silent admiration!

Isa. You still court her

As if she were a mistress, not your wife.
Sfor. A mistress, mother! she is more to me,
And every day deserves more to be sued to.
Marc. My worthiest lord!

My pride, my glory, in a word, my all!
Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself
In nothing worthy of the meanest praise
You can bestow, unless it be in this,-
That in my heart I love you; and desire,
When you are sated with all earthly glories,
And age and honours make you fit for heaven,
That one grave may receive us.

Sfor. 'Tis believ'd

Believ'd, my blest one.

Mari. How she winds herself Into his soul!

(Aside.)

Fran. How his hand shakes,

As he receives it!

Mari. This is some allay

To his hot passion.

[Exit.

(Aside.)

(Aside.)

Sfor. Though it bring death, I'll read it. (Reads.) May it please your excellency to understand, that the very hour I wrote this, I heard a bold de-fiance delivered by a herald from the emperor, which was cheerfully received by the king of France. The battles being ready to join, and the van guard committed to my charge, enforces me to end abruptly. Your highness's humble servant, GASPERO.' Ready to join! By this, then, I am nothing, Or my estate secure.

迎

ter

Marc. My lord!

Sfor. To doubt,

Is worse than to have lost; and to despair,

Is but to antedate those miseries

That must fall on us.

The cause consider'd,

(Åside.)

Why should I fear? The French are bold and strong,

Their numbers full, and in their councils wise;
But, then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire,
Hot in his executions, fortunate

In his attempts, married to victory.

Ay, there it is that shakes me.

Marc. Speak to him, Francisco.

Fran. Excellent lady,

One gale of your sweet breath will easily

(Aside.) (Apart.)

Disperse these clouds; and, but yourself, there's

Sfor. Ha! pardon me, Marcelia, I am troubled; And stand uncertain, whether I am master

Of aught that's worth the owning.

Marc. I am your's, sir;

And I have heard you swear, I being safe,

There were no loss could move you. This day, sir,
Is, by your gift, made mine. Can you revoke
A grant made to Marcelia? your Marcelia?
For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir,
All deep designs, and state affairs deferr'd,
Be, as you purpos'd, merry.

Sfor. Out of my sight! (Throws away the letter.) And all thoughts that may strangle mirth, forsake

me.

Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate : Though the foundation of the earth should shrink, The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour, Supported thus, I'll stand upon the ruins,

And seek for new life here. Why are you sad?
Some music there! By heaven, he's not my friend,
That wears one furrow in his face.

Come, make me happy once again. I am rapt-
Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next,
But all my days and years shall be employ'd
To do thee honour.
(A trumpet without.)

Another post! hang him

I will not interrupt my present pleasures,
Although his message should import my head.
Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleas'd
To grant a little intermission to you:

Who knows but he brings news we wish to hear,
To heighten our delights.

Sfor. As wise as fair!

I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow,
In which you must not share.
Marc. And cheerfully

I will sustain my part. Why look you pale?
Where is that wonted constancy and courage,
That dar'd the worst of fortune? where is Sforza,
To whom all dangers that fright common men,
Appear'd but panic terrors? why do you eye me
With such fix'd looks? Love, counsel, duty, ser-
vice,

May flow from me, not danger.
Sfor. Oh! Marcelia,

It is for thee I fear; for thee, thy Sforza
Shakes like a coward: for myself, unmov'd
I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces;
My general slain; and he, on whom my hopes
Of rule, of state, of life, had their dependance,
The king of France, my greatest friend, made pri-

soner

To so proud enemies.

Marc. Then you have just cause To shew you are a man.

Sfor. All this were nothing; Though I add to it, that I am assured, For giving aid to this unfortunate king, The emperor, incens'd, lays his command On his victorious army, flesh'd with spoil, And bold of conquest, to march up against me, And seize on my estates: suppose that done, too, The city ta'en, the kennels running blood, Myself bound fast in chains, to grace their triumph, I would be Sforza still. But when I think That my Marcelia, (to whom all these Are but as atoms to the greatest hill,) Must suffer in my cause, and for me suffer! All earthly torments, nay, even those the damn'd Howl for in hell, are gentle strokes, compar'd To what I feel, Marcelia.

Marc. Good sir, have patience:

I can as well partake your adverse fortune,
As I thus long have had an ample share
In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power
Of fate to alter me; for while I am,
In spite of it, I'm your's.

Sfor. But should that will

To be so-forced, Marcelia; and I live
To see those eyes, I prize above my own,
Dart favours, though compell'd, upon another;

press

Upon your privacies. Your constant friend,
The marquis of Pescara, tir'd with haste,

Hath business that concerns your life and fortunes,
And with speed to impart.

Sfor. Wait on him hither.

[Exit Francisco. And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers Assist my councils.

Marc. To spare imprecations

Against myself, witnout you I am nothing. [Exit. "Sfor. The marquis of Pescara! a great soldier; And though he serv'd upon the adverse party, Ever my constant friend.

Re-enter FRANCISCO, with PESCARA.

Fran. Yonder he walks,

Full of sad thoughts.

(Apart.)

Pes. Blame him not, good Francisco, He hath much cause to grieve; would I might end so,

And not add this to fear!

Sfor. My dear Pescara ;

(Apart.)

A miracle in these times! a friend, and happy, Cleaves to a fallen fortune!

Pes. If it were

As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it,
As 'tis to bear a part of sorrow with you,
You then should have just cause to say, Pescara
Look'd not upon your state, but on your virtues,
When he made suit to be writ in the list

Of those you favour'd. But my haste forbids
All compliment; thus, then, sir, to the purpose:
The cause that, unattended, brought me hither,
Was not to tell you of your loss or danger,
(For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings,
And I presume you've heard it,) but to give you
Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make
Your sad disaster less.

Sfor. You are all goodness;

And I give up myself to be dispos'd of,
As in your wisdom you think fit.

Pes. Thus, then, sir;

To hope you can hold out against the emperor,
Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing; ̧
Therefore, the safest course that you can take,
Is, to give up yourself to his discretion,
Before you be compell'd; for, rest assur'd,
A voluntary yielding may find grace,
And will admit defence, at least, excuse:
But should you linger doubtful, till his powers
Have seiz'd your person and estates perforce,
You must expect extremes.

Sfor. I understand

you;

And I will put your counsel into act,

And speedily. I only will take order

For some domestical affairs, that do

Concern me nearly, and with the next sun

Ride with you in the meantime, my best friend,

:

Pray take your rest.

Pes. Indeed, I have travell'd hard; And will embrace your counsel.

[ACT I.

Sfor. With all care
Attend my noble friend. Stay you, Francisco,
You see how things stand with me.
Fran. To my grief:

And if the loss of my poor life could be
A sacrifice to restore them as they were,
I willingly would lay it down.

Sfor. I think so;

For I have ever found you true and thankful,
Which makes me love the building I have rais'd
In your advancement; and repent no grace
I have conferr'd upon you. And, believe me,
(Though now I should repeat my favours to you,)
The titles I have given you, and the means
Suitable to your honours; that I thought you
Worthy my sister and my family,

And in my dukedom made you next myself:
It is not to upbraid you, but to tell you
I find you are worthy of them, in your love
And service to me.

Fran. Sir, I am your creature;
I gladly will put on.
And any shape that you would have me wear,

Sfor. Thus, then, Francisco :

I now am to deliver to your trust
And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you,
A weighty secret, of so strange a nature,
That you will tremble in the execution,
As much as I am tortur'd to command it:
For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it,
Would strike into a ruffian flesh'd in murders,
Or an obdurate hangman, soft compassion;
And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest,
And from me most deserving, such my state
And strange condition is, that thou alone
Must know the fatal service, and perform it.

Fran. These preparations, sir, to work
stranger,

Or to one unacquainted with your bounties,
Might appear useful; but to me they are
Needless impertinences; for I dare do
Whate'er you dare command.

Sfor. But you must swear it;
And put into the oath all joys or torments
That fright the wicked, or confirm the good;
Not to conceal it only, that is nothing;
But, whensoe'er my will shall speak,
now!"

To fall upon't like thunder.

Fran. Minister

The oath in any way or form you please, I stand resolv'd to take it.

Sfor. Thou must do, then,

"Strike

What no malevolent star will dare to look on,
It is so wicked: for which men will curse thee
For being the instrument; and the blest angels
Forsake me at my need, for being the author:
For 'tis a deed of night, of night, Francisco!
In which the memory of all good actions
We can pretend to, shall be buried quick :
Or, if we be remember'd, it shall be
To fright posterity by our example,
That have outgone all precedents of villains
That were before us; and such as succeed,
Though taught in hell's black school, shall ne'er