ity and solidity, and to place them on the borders of the 'magic circle' of Shakspeare.
The confidence and buoyancy of youth are visible in their productions. They had not tasted of adversity, like Jonson or Massinger; and they had not the profoundly meditative spirit of their great master, cognizant of all human feelings and sympathies; life was to them a scene of enjoyment and pleasure, and the exercise of their genius a source of refined delight and ambition. They were gentlemen who wrote for the stage as gentlemen have rarely done before or since.
Ptolemy, king of Egypt, having secured the head of Pompey, comes with bis friends Achoreus and Photinus to present it to Cæsar, as a means of gaining his favour. To them enter Cæsar, Antony, Dolabella, and Sceva.
PHOTINUS. Do not shun me, Cæsar.
From kingly Ptolemy I bring this present,
The crown and sweat of thy Pharsalian labour,
The goal and mark of high ambitious honour.
Before, thy victory had no name, Cæsar;
Thy travel, and thy loss of blood, no recompense;
Thou dream'dst of being worthy, and of war,
And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers:
Here they take life; here they inherit honour,
Grow fixed, and shoot up everlasting triumphs.
Take it, and look upon thy humble servant,
With noble eyes look on the princely Ptolemy,
That offers with this head, most mighty Cæsar,
What thou wouldst once have given for't-all Egypt.
ACHOREUS. Nor do not question it, most royal conqueror,
Nor disesteem the benefit that meets thee,
Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer:
Yet, let me tell thee, most inperious Caesar,
Though he opposed no strength of swords to win this,
Nor laboured through no showers of darts and lances,
Yet here he found a fort, that faced him strongly,
An inward war: He was his grandsire's guest,
Friend to his father, and when he was expelled
And beaten from this kingdom by strong hand,
And had none left him to restore his honour,
No hope to find a friend in such a misery,
Then in stept Pompey, took his feeble fortune.
Strengthened and cherished it, and set it right again:
This was a love to Cæsar.
SCEVA. Give me hate, gods!
PHO. This Cæsar may account a little wicked;
But yet remember, if thine own hands, conqueror,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then;
If thine own sword had touched his throat, what that way!
He was thy son-in-law; there to be tainted
Had been inost terrible! Let the worst be rendered,
We have deserved for keeping thy hands innocent.
CESAR. O Sceva, Sceva, see that head! Sce, captains,
The head of godlike Pompey!
SCE. He was basely ruined;
But let the gods be grieved that suffered it,
And be you Cæsar.
CÆSAR. O thou conqueror,
Thou glory of the world once, now the pity;
Thou awe of nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus?
What poor fate followed thee and plucked thee on
To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian?
The life and light of Rome to a blind stranger,
That honourable war ne'er taught a nobleness,
Nor worthy circumstance shewed what a man was?
That never heard thy name sung but in banquets,
And loose lascivious pleasures? to a boy,
That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness,
No study of thy life to know thy goodness?
And leave thy nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Leave him distrusted, that in tears falls with thee,
In soft relenting tears? Hear me, great Pompey;
If thy great spirit can hear, I must task thee !
Thou hast most unnobly robbed me of my victory,
My love and mercy.
ANTONY. Oh, how brave these tears shew!
How excellent is sorrow in an enemy!
DOLABELLA. Glory appears not greater than this goodness. CESAR. Egyptians, dare ye think your highest pyramids, Built to outdure the sun, as you suppose,
Where your unworthy kings lie raked in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? No, brood of Nilus,
Nothing can cover his high fame but heaven;
No pyramids set off his memories,
But the eternal substance of his greatness,
To which I leave him. Take the head away,
And, with the body, give it noble burial:
Your earth shall now be blessed to hold a Roman,
Whose braveries all the world's earth cannot balance.
SCE. [Aside.] If thou be'st thus loving, I shall honour thee:
But great men may dissemble, 'tis held possible,
And be right glad of what they seem to weep for;
There are such kind of philosophers. Now do I wonder
How he would look if Pompey were alive again;
But how he 'd set his face.
CESAR. You look now, king,
And you that have been agents in this glory,
For our especial favour?
PTOLEMY. We desire it.
CESAR. And doubtless you expect rewards?
SCE. Let me give 'em.
I'll give 'em such as Nature never dreamed of;
I'll beat him and his agents in a mortar,
Into one man, and that one man I'll bake then.
CESAR. Peace !-I forgive you all; that's recompense.
You 're young and ignorant; that pleads your pardon;
And fear, it may be, inore than hate, provoked you.
Your ministers, I must think, wanted judgment,
And so they erred: I'm bountiful to think this,
Believe me most bountiful. Be you most thankful;
That bounty share amongst ye. If I knew what
To send you for a present, king of Egypt,
I mean a head of equal reputation,
And that you loved, though 'twere your brightest sister'sBut her you hate--I would not be behind you.
PTOL. Hear me, great Cæsar!
CESAR. I have heard too much;
And study not with smooth shows to invade
My noble mind, as you have done my conquest:
You're poor and open. I must tell you roundly,
That man that could not recompense the benefits,
The great and bounteous services of Pompey,
Can never dote upon the name of Cæsar.
Though I had hated Pompey, and allowed his ruin
I gave you no commission to perform it.
Hasty to please in blood are seldom trusty;
And, but I stand environed with my victories,
My fortune never failing to befriend me,
My noble strengths, and friends about my person,
I durst not try you, nor expect a courtesy,
Above the pious love you shewed to Pompey.
You've found me merciful in arguing with ye;
Swords, hanginen, fires, destructions of all natures
Demolishments of kingdoms, and whole ruins,
Are wont to be my orators. Turn to tears,
You wretched and poor reeds of sunburnt Egypt,
And now you've found the nature of a conqueror,
That you cannot decline, with all your flatteries,
That where the day gives light, will be himself still;
Know how to meet his worth with humane courtesies
Go, and embalm those bones of that great soldier,
Howl round about his pile, fling on your spices,
Make a Sabæan bed, and place this phoenix
Where the hot sun may emulate his virtues,
And draw another Pompey from his ashes
Divinely great, and fix him 'mongst the worthies!
FTOL. We will do all.
CESAR. You 've robbed him of those tears
His kindred and his friends kept sacred for him,
The virgins of their funeral lamentations;
And that kind earth that thought to cover him-
His country's earth--will cry out 'gainst your cruelty,
And weep unto the ocean for revenge,
Till Nilus raise his seven heads and devour ye!
My grief has stopt the rest! When Pompey lived,
He used you nobly; now he 's dead, use him so.
The False One, Act II. sc L
Grief of Aspatia for the Marriage of Amintor and Evadne.
EVADNE, ASPATIA, BULA, and other Ladies.
EVADNE. Would thou couldst instil
ome of thy mirth into Aspatia.
ASPATIA. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek;
It were a fitter hour for me to laugh,
When at the altar the religious priest
Were pacifying the offended powers
With sacrifice, than now. This should have been
My night, and all your hands have been employed
In giving me a spotless offering
To young Amintor's bed, as we are now
For you: pardon, Evadne; would my worth
Were great as yours, or that the king, or he,
Or both thought so! Perhaps he found me worthless;
But till he did so, in these ears of mine-
These credulous ears-he poured the sweetest words
That art or love could frame.
EVAD. Nay, leave this sad talk, madam.
ASP. Would I could, then should I leave the cause.
Lay a garland on my hearse of the dismal yew.
EVAD. That's one of your sad songs, madam.
ASP. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.
EVAD. How is it, madam?
ASPATIA. Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say I died trae.
My love was false, but I was firm,
From my hour of birth:
Upon my buried body, lie
Lightly, gentle earth!
Madam, good-night; may no discontent
Grow twixt your love and you; but if there do,
Inquire of me, and I will guide your mean;
Teach you an artificial way to grieve,
To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord
No worse than I; but if you love so well,
Alas! you may displease him; so did I.
This is the last time you shall look on me:
Ladies, farewell; as soon as I am dead.
Come all, and watch one night about my hearse;
Bring each a mournful story and a tear
To offer at it when I go to earth
With flattering ivy clasp my cofân round,
Write on my brow my fortune, let my bier
Be borne by virgins that shall sing by course
The truth of maids and perjuries of men.
EVAD. Alas! I pity thee.
ASP. Go, and be happy in your lady's love;
May all the wrongs that you have done to me
Be utterly forgotten in my death.
I'll trouble you no more, yet I will take
A parting kiss, and will not be denied.
You'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep
When I am laid in earth, though you yourself
Can know no pity: thus I wind myself
Into this willow garland, and am prouder
That I was once your love-though now refused-
Than to have had another true to me.
Amintor enters. {To Amintor.
The Maid's Tragedy, Act II. se. 1.
Palamon and Arcite, Captives in Greece.
PALAMON. How do you, noble cousin ?
ARCITE. How do you, sir 2
PAL. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery,
And bear the chance of war yet; we are prisoners,
I fear for ever, cousin.
ARC. I believe it,
And to that destiny have patiently
Laid up my hour to come.
PAL. Oh, cousin Arcite,
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses
Like proud seas under us; our good swords now-
Better the red-eyed god of war ne'er wore—
Ravished our sides, like age, must run to rust,
And deck the temples of those gods that hate us;
These hands shall never draw them out like lightning
To blast whole armies more!
Those hopes are prisoners with us; here we are,
And here the graces of our youths mast wither
Like a too timely spring; here age must find us,
And-which is heaviest-Palamon, unmarried;
The sweet embraces of a loving wife
Loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids,
Shall never clasp our necks! no issue know us,
No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see,
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach them
Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say,
Remember what your fathers were, and conquer"
The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments,
And in their sougs 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;
Here 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. "Tis too true, 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-stoeled 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.
Even from the bottom of these miseries,
From all that fortage can inflict upon us,
I see two comforts rising, twe mere blessings,
If the gods please to hold here: a brave patience,
And the enjoying of our griefs together.
Whilst Palamen is with me, let me perisk
If I think this our prison!
Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortumes
Were twined together, 'tis most true, two souls
Put in two noble bodies, ict them suffer
The gall of hazard, so they grow together,
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?
ARC. 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 honou
That liberty and common conversation,
The poison of pure spirits, might-like women--
Weo us to wander from. What worthy blessing
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