State-factors are the worst, and yet least to them- This woman-to be short

EDITION.

Andromana; or, The Merchant's Wife. The Scene Iberia. By J. S. London: Printed for John Bellinger; and are to be sold at his shop, in Clifford's Inn Lane, in Fleet-street. 1660. 4to.

THE

MAYOR OF QUINBOROUGH.

BY

THOMAS MIDDLETON.

This play, although it was not published sooner than the year 1660, is supposed to be one of the earliest productions of the author, Thomas Middleton. Mr Malone imagines it to have been written about the same time that Pericles and Robert of Huntingdon appeared, each of these plays having a chorus in the same manner as Raynulph in the present performance. The regulation of the metre seems to have been intirely neglected; some liberties have therefore been necessarily taken to restore the play nearer to the state in which it is presumed the author left it.

GENTLEMEN,

You have the first flight of him, I assure you. This Mayor of Quinborough, whom you have all heard of, and some of you beheld upon the stage, now begins to walk abroad in print; he has been known sufficiently by the reputation of his wit, which is enough, by the way, to distinguish him from ordinary Mayors; but wit, you know, has skulk'd in corners for many years past, and he was thought to have most of it that could best hide himself. Now whether this magistrate fear'd the decimating times, or kept up the state of other Mayors, that are bound not to go out of their liberties during the time of their mayoralty, I know not; 'tis enough for me to put him into your hands, under the title of an honest man, which will appear plainly to you, because you shall find him all along to have a great pique to the rebel Oliver. I am told his drollery yields to none the English drama did ever produce; and though I would not put his modesty to the blush, by speaking too much in his commendation, yet I know you will argee with me, upon your better acquaintance with him, that there is some difference in point of wit, betwixt the Mayor of Quinborough and the Mayor of Huntingdon.

Attempt to ascertain the order of Shakspeare's Plays, p. 283.

Huntingdon, the place where Oliver Cromwell was born and resided many years of his life. Some allusion here seems to be lost.

ACT I.

Raynulph.-Raynulph Higden was the compiler of the Polychronicon, as far as the year 1357, thirty-first of Edward III. It was translated into English by Trevisa, and compleated and printed by Caxton in folio, 1482.

Well, though I rise not king, I'll seek the means
To grow as near to one as policy can,
And choak their expectations.-Now, good
lords,

Enter DEVONSHIRE and STAFFORD.

In whose kind loves and wishes I am built
As high as human dignity can aspire,
Are vet those trunks, that have no other souls
But noise and ignorance, something more quiet?
Devon Nor are they like to be, for aught we
gather,

Their wills are up still; nothing can appease
them,

Good speeches are but cast away upon them.
Vor. Then, since necessity and fate with-
stand me,

I'll strive to enter at a straighter passage;
Your sudden aid and counsels, good my lords.
Staf. They are ours no longer than they do

you service.

I know you cannot lodge so many virtues,
But patience must be one. As low as earth
We beg the freeness of your own consent,
Which else must be constrain'd; and time it were
Either agreed or forc'd. Speak, good my lord,
For you bind up more sins in this delay
Than thousand prayers can absolve again.
Con. Were't but my death,

You should not kneel so long for't.

Vor. 'Twill be the death of millions if you rise not,

Enter CONSTANTIUS (as a Monk, attended by For fear all come too late. other Monks), VORTIGER stays him.

And that betimes too-Lend your help, my lords,

Vor. Vessels of sanctity, be pleas'd a while
To give attention to the general peace,
Wherein Heav'n is serv'd too, though not so
purely.

Constantius, eldest son of Constantine,
We here seize on thee for the general good,
And in thy right of birth.

Con. On me! for what, lords?
Vor. The kingdom's government.
Con. Oh Powers of blessedness,

Keep me from growing downwards into earth
again:

I hope I am farther on my way than so; set forwards.

Con. This is a cruelty

That peaceful man did never suffer yet.
To make me die again, that once was dead,
And begin all that ended long before.
Hold, Lupus and Germanus, you are lights
Of holiness and religion; can you offer
The thing that is not lawful? Stand not I
Clear from all temporal charge by my profession?

Ger. Not when a time so violent calls upon

you.

Who is born a prince, is born a general peace,
Not his own only; Heaven will look for him
In others actions, and will require him there,
What is in you religious, must be shown
In saving many more souls than your own.
Con. Did not great Constantine, our noble
father,

4

Deem me unfit for government and rule,
And therefore prais'd me into this profession?
Which I have held strict, and love it above glory.
Nor is there want of me, yourselves can witness,
Heaven hath provided largely for your peace,
And bless'd you with the lives of my two brothers;
Fix your obedience there, leave me a servant.
All. Long live Constantius, son of Constantine,
King of Great Britain!

Con. I do feel a want
And extream poverty of joy within;
The peace I had is parted 'mongst rude men:
To keep them quiet I have lost it all.
What can the kingdom gain by my undoing?
That riches is not best, though it be mighty,
That's purchas'd by the ruin of another;
Nor can the peace, so filch'd, ever thrive with
them :

4 Prais'd me.-Probably we should read pray'd me; that is, desired me to go into this profession, or pressed me. S. P.