We are, in one another, families;

I am your heir, and you are mine.
Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor

This place

Dare take this from us; here with a little patience
We shall live long, and loving; no surfeits seek us;
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty,
A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men

Crave our acquaintance; I might sicken, cousin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods: a thousand chances,
Were we from hence, would sever us.

Pal. You have made me

(I thank you, Cousin Arcite) almost wanton With my captivity: what a misery

It is to live abroad, and everywhere!

"Tis like a beast methinks! I find the court here, I'm sure a more content; and all those pleasures, That woo the wills of men to vanity,

I see through now; and am sufficient

To tell the world, 'tis but a gaudy shadow,

That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.
What, had we been old in the Court of Creon,
Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance
The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite,
Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
We had died, as they do, ill old men, unwept,
And had their epitaphs, the people's curses.

[This scene bears indubitable marks of Fletcher: the two which precede it give strong countenance to the tradition that Shakspeare had a hand in this play. The same judgment may be formed of the death of Arcite, and some other passages, not here given. They have a luxuriance in them which strongly resembles Shakspeare's manner in those parts of his plays where, the progress of the interest being subordinate, the poet was at leisure for description. I might fetch instances from Troilus and Timon. That Fletcher should have copied Shakspeare's manner through so many entire scenes (which is the theory of Mr. Steevens) is not very probable,

that he could have done it with such facility is to me not certain. His ideas move slow; his versification, though sweet, is tedious, it stops every moment; he lays line upon line, making up one after the other, adding image to image so deliberately that we see where they join: Shakspeare ingles everything, he runs line into line, embarrasses sentences and metaphots: before one idea has burst its shell, another is hatched and clamorous for disclosure. If Fletcher wrote some scenes in imitation, why did he stop? or shall we say that Shakspeare wrote the other scenes in imitation of Fletcher? that he gave Shakspeare a curb and a bridle, and that Shakspeare gave him a pair of spurs: as Blackmore and Lucan are brought in exchanging gifts in the Battle of the Books?]

THE CITY MADAM: A COMEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER.

Luke, from a state of indigence and dependence, is suddenly raised into immense affluence by a deed of gift of the estates of his brother, Sir John Frugal, a merchant, retired from the world. He enters, from taking a survey of his new riches.

Luke. 'Twas no fantastic object but a truth,
A real truth, no dream. I did not slumber;
And could wake ever with a brooding eye
To gaze upon 't! it did endure the touch,
I saw, and felt it. Yet what I beheld.
And handled oft, did so transcend belief
(My wonder and astonishment pass'd o'er)
I faintly could give credit to my senses.
Thou dumb magician,

That without a charm

[To the Key,

Hermes' Moly;

Didst make my entrance easy to possess

What wise men wish and toil for.

Sybilla's golden bough; the great elixir

Imagin'd only by the alchymist;

Compar'd with thee, are shadows, thou the substance

And guardian of felicity. No marvel,

My brother made thy place of rest his bosom,
Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistress
To be hugg'd ever. In by-corners of
This sacred room, silver, in bags heap'd up

Like billets saw'd and ready for the fire,
Unworthy to hold fellowship with bright gold,
That flow'd about the room, conceal'd itself.
There needs no artificial light, the splendor
Makes a perpetual day there, night and darkness
By that still-burning lamp for ever banish'd.
But when, guided by that, my eyes had made
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd,
Each sparkling diamond from itself shot forth
A pyramid of flames, and in the roof

Fix'd it a glorious star, and made the place
Heaven's abstract, or epitome; Rubies, sapphires,
And robes of orient pearl, these seen, I could not
But look on gold with contempt. And yet I found,
What weak credulity could have no faith in,
A treasure far exceeding these.
Here lay
A manor bound fast in a skin of parchment ;
The wax continuing hard, the acres melting.
Here a sure deed of gift for a market town,

If not redeem'd this day; which is not in

The unthrift's power. There being scarce one shire

In Wales or England, where my monies are not

Lent out at usury, the certain hook

To draw in more.

The extravagance of the City Madams aping court fashions repre

hended.

Luke, having come into the possession of his brother Sir John Frugal': estates. Lady, wife to Sir John Frugal, and two daughters, in homely attire.

Luke, Save you, sister;

I now dare style you so. You were before

Too glorious to be look'd on: now you appear

Like a city matron, and my pretty nieces

Such things

As they were born and bred there. Why should you ape

The fashions of court ladies, whose high titles

And pedigrees of long descent give warrant

For their superfluous bravery? 'twas monstrous..

Till now you ne'er look'd lovely.

Lady. Is this spoken

In scorn?

Luke. Fie, no; with judgment, I make good My promise, and now show you like yourselves, In your own natural shapes.

Lady. We acknowledge

We have deserv'd ill from you,* yet despair not,
Though we 're at your disposure, you'll maintain us
Like your brother's wife and daughters.

Luke. 'Tis my purpose.

Lady. And not make us ridiculous.

Luke. Admir'd rather

As fair examples for our proud city dames
And their proud brood to imitate. Hear
Gently, and in gentle phrase I'll reprehend
Your late disguis'd deformity.

Your father was

An honest country farmer, Goodman Humble,

By his neighbors ne'er call'd master. Did your pride
Descend from him? but let that pass. Your fortune,
Or rather your husband's industry, advanc'd you
To the rank of merchant's wife. He made a knight,
And your sweet mistress-ship ladyfy'd, you wore
Satin on solemn days, a chain of gold,

A velvet hood, rich borders, and sometimes

A dainty miniver cap, a silver pin

Headed with a pearl worth three-pence; and thus far
You were privileg'd, and no man envied it :

It being for the city's honor that

There should be distinction between

The wife of a patrician and a plebeian.

But when the height

And dignity of London's blessings grew

* In his dependent state they had treated him very cruelly. They are now dependent on him

Contemptible, and the name lady mayoress
Became a by-word, and you scorn'd the means
By which you were rais'd (my brother's fond indulgence
Giving the reins to 't) and no object pleas'd you
But the glitt'ring pomp and bravery of the court ;
What a strange, nay monstrous metamorphosis follow'd!
No English workmen then could please your fancy;
The French and Tuscan dress, your whole discourse;
This bawd to prodigality entertain❜d,

To buz into your ears, what shape this countess
Appear'd in, the last mask; and how it drew
The young lord's eyes upon her: and this usher
Succeeded in the eldest 'prentice's place,

To walk before you. Then, as I said

(The reverend hood cast off), your borrow'd hair,
Powder'd and curl'd, was by your dresser's art
Form'd like a coronet, hang'd with diamonds,
And the richest orient pearl: your carkanets,
That did adorn your neck, of equal value;
Your Hungerland bands, and Spanish Quellio ruffs :
Great lords and ladies feasted, to survey
Embroider'd petticoats; and sickness feign'd,
That your nightrails of forty pounds a-piece
Might be seen with envy of the visitants:
Rich pantables in ostentation shown,

And roses worth a family. You were serv'd
In plate;

Stirr'd not a foot without a coach; and going

To church, not for devotion, but to show

Your pomp, you were tickled when the beggars cried
Heaven save your honor. This idolatry
Paid to a painted room. And, when you lay
In childbed, at the christening of this minx,

I well remember it, as you had been

An absolute princess (since they have no more)
Three several chambers hung: the first with arras,
And that for waiters; the second, crimson satin,
For the meaner sort of guests; the third of scarlet