To part with these sweet hopes? Ordel. With all but heaven, And yet die full of children; he that reads me And those chaste dames that keep my memory, Singing my yearly requiems, are my daughters. Thier. Then there is nothing wanting but my knowledge, And what I must do, lady. Ordel. You are the king, sir, And what you do I'll suffer, and that blessing That you desire, the gods shower on the kingdom. Thier. Thus much before I strike then, for I must kill you, The gods have will'd it so, they've made the blessing Must make France young again, and me a man. Keep up your strength still nobly. Ordel. Fear me not. Thier. And meet death like a measure. Ordel. I am stedfast. Thier. Thou shalt be sainted, woman, and thy tomb Cut out in crystal pure and good as thou art; And on it shall be graven every age Succeeding peers of France that rise by thy fall, Ordel. I dare, sir. Thier. Ha! [Pulls off her veil; he lets fall his sword. Mar. O, sir, you must not do it. Thier. No, I dare not. There is an angel keeps that paradise, A fiery angel friend: O virtue, virtue, Ever and endless virtue. Ordel. Strike, sir, strike. And if in my poor death fair France may merit, A thousand days. Thier. First let the earth be barren, And man no more remember'd. Rise, Ordella, The nearest to thy Maker, and the purest That ever dull flesh show'd us,-Oh my heart-strings.* Martel relates to Thierry the manner of Ordella's death. Would break forth, in despite of the much sorrow * I have always considered this to be the finest scene in Fletcher, and Ordella the most perfect idea of the female heroic character, next to Calantha in the Broken Heart of Ford, that has been embodied in fiction. She is a piece of sainted nature. Yet noble as the whole scene is, it must be confessed that the manner of it, compared with Shakspeare's finest scenes, is slow and languid. Its motion is circular, not progressive. Each line revolves on itself in a sort of separate orbit. They do not join into one another like a running hand. Every step that we go we are stopped to admire some single object, like walking in beautiful scenery with a guide. This slowness I shall elsewhere have occasion to remark as characteristic of Fletcher. Another striking difference perceivable between Fletcher and Shakspeare, is the fondness of the former for unnatural and violent situations, like that in the scene before us. He seems to have thought that nothing great could be produced in an ordinary way. The chief incidents in the Wife for a Month, in Cupid's Revenge, in the Double Marriage, and in many more of his Tragedies, show this. Shakspeare had nothing of this contortion in his mind, none of that craving after romantic incidents, and flights of strained and improbable virtue, which I think always betrays an imperfect moral sensibility. She show'd she had to leave you; and then taking "That is appointed to them; her quick end "Should make way for her :" which no sooner spoke, But in a moment this too ready engine Made such a battery in the choicest castle That ever Nature made to defend life, That straight it shook and sunk. WIT WITHOUT MONEY: A COMEDY. BY JOHN FLETCHER. The humor of a Gallant who will not be persuaded to keep his Lands, but chooses to live by his Wits rather. VALENTINE'S Uncle. MERCHANT, who has his Mortgage. Mer. When saw you Valentine? Unc. Not since the horse race. He's taken up with those that woo the widow. Mer. How can he live by snatches from such people? He bore a worthy mind. Unc. Alas, he's sunk, His means are gone, he wants; and, which is worse, Mer. That's strange. Unc. Runs lunatic if you but talk of states; But all a common riches; all men bound Mer. This is something dangerous. Unc. No gentleman, that has estate, to use it Grounding their fat faiths upon old country proverbs, "God bless the founders:" these he would have ventur'd Into more manly uses, wit and carriage ; And never thinks of state or means, the ground-works : Holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies, And starve their understandings. VALENTINE joins them. Val. Now to your business, uncle. Unc. To your state then. Val. 'Tis gone, and I am glad on 't, name 't no more, 'Tis that I pray against, and heaven has heard me; I tell you, sir, I am more fearful of it (I mean, of thinking of more lands or livings), Unc. This is madness, To be a wilful beggar. Val. I am mad then, And so I mean to be; will that content you ? How near the first inheritance! without fears' How free from title troubles! Unc. And from means too! Val. Means Why, all good men's my means; my wit's my plough; That wit and pleasure opens, are my tenants; Every man's clothes fit me; the next fair lodging Is but my next remove; and when I please A piece is levied, and a coach prepar'd, And I go I care not whither; what need state here? Unc. But say these means were honest, will they last, sir? Val. Far longer than your jerkin, and wear fairer. Your mind's enclos'd, nothing lies open nobly; Your very thoughts are hinds, that work on nothing Val. What's my knowledge, uncle ? Is 't not worth money? what's my understanding? How much or what's done for them; it is wicked. |