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Is it I loathe ; is that, revenge must suck.
[Dics. Ant. Now barks the wolf against the full-cheekt
[From under the earth a groan.
Look on those lips,
* To lle immortal in the arms of Fire."--Browne's “Religio Medici," of the punishments In hell.
Chaste Modest Speech, stealing from out his breast,
Wherein fools are happy.
MELLIDA, her daughter-in-law. Being laid upon her bed she grasp'd my hand, And kissing it spake thus ;
Thou very poor, Why dost not weep? the jewel of thy brow, 20 The rich adornment that enchas'd thy breast, Is lost; thy son, my love, is lost, is dead. And do I live to say Antonio's dead ? And have I liv'd to see his virtues blurr'd With guiltless blots ? O world, thou art too subtle For honest natures to converse withal : Therefore I'll leave thee : farewell, mart of woe ; I fly to clip my love Antonio. With that, her head sunk down upon her breast; Her cheek chang'd earth, her senses slept in rest : 30 Until my Fool,f that crept unto the bed, Screech'd out so loud that he brought back her soul, Call'd her again, that her bright eyes 'gan ope And stared upon him : he audacious fool Dared kiss her hand, wished her soft rest, lov'd Bride; She fumbled out, thanks, good : and so she died.
* Wise men's. † Antonio, who is thought dead, but still lives in that disguise.
THE MALCONTENT: A TRAGI-COMEDY.
BY THE SAME.
The MALCONTENT describes himself.
Place for a Penitent.
* i.e., without the ceremony of an Usher to give notice of its approach, as is usual in Courts. As fine as Shakspeare: "the bleak air thy boisterous Chamberlain."
THE FAWN: A COMEDY.
BY THE SAME.
In the Preface to this Play, the Poet glances at some of
the Playwrights of his time : with a handsome ac
knowledgment, notwithstanding, of their excellencies. "For my own interest for once let this be printed, that, of men of my own addition, I love most, pity some, hate none : for let me truly say it, I once only loved myself for loving them; and surely I shall ever rest so constant to my first affection, that, let their ungentle combinings, discourteous whispering, never 80 treacherously labour to undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being) love the least of their graces, and only pity the greatest of their vices.
10 Ipse semi-paganus Ad sacra vatum carmen affero nostrum.”
THE WONDER OF WOMEN ; OR, THE
TRAGEDY OF SOPHONISBA.
BY THE SAME.
Description of the Witch ERICTHO. Here in this desert, the great Soul of Charms Dreadful Erictho lives, whose dismal brow Contemns all roofs, or civil coverture, Forsaken graves and tombs (the ghosts forc'd out) She joys to inhabit. A loathsome yellow leanness spreads her face, A heavy hell-like paleness loads her cheeks, Unknown to a clear heaven. But if dark winds Or thick black clouds drive back the blinded stars, When her deep magic makes forc'd heaven quake, 20
And thunder, spite of Jove, Erictho then
Her Cave. -Hard by the reverent ruins Of a once glorious temple, rear’d to Jove, Whose very rubbish (like the pitied fall Of virtue much unfortunate) yet bears A deathless majesty, though now quite razed, Hurl'd down by wrath and lust of impious kings, So that, where holy Flamens wont to sing Sweet hymns to heaven, there the daw, and crow, The ill-voic'd raven, and still-chattering pie, Send out ungrateful sounds and loathsome filth ; Where statues and Jove's acts wero vively * limn'd, Boys with black coals draw the veil'd parts of nature And lecherous actions of imagin'd lust; Where tombs and beauteous urns of well-dead men 30 Stood in assured rest, the shepherd now Unloads his belly, corruption most abhorr'd Mingling itself with their renowned ashes : There once a charnel-house, now a vast cave, Over whose brow a pale and untrod grove Throws out her heavy shade, the mouth thick arms Of darksome yew, sun-proof, for ever choke ; Within, rests barren darkness, fruitless drought Pines in eternal night; the steam of hell Yields not so lazy air : there, that's her Cell. 40