I leave the government of my family, And our poor fortunes, and from these command To th' utmost of what's mine, live plentifully: Soph. Since you are not To be diverted, sir, from what you purpose, All arguments to stay you here are useless. Go when you please, sir. Eyes, I charge you, waste not ; you Till in my widow'd bed I call upon you: Shall go along with you; and when you are I will do in your absence, would show poorly; [The good sense, rational fondness, and chastised feeling, of this dialogue, make it more valuable than many of those scenes in which this writer has attempted a deeper passion and more tragical interest. Massinger had not the higher requisites of his art in anything like the degree in which they were possessed by Ford, Webster, Tourneur, Heywood, and others. He never shakes or disturbs the mind with grief. He is read with composure and placid delight. He wrote with that equability of all the passions, which made his English style the purest and most free from violent metaphors and harsh constructions, of any of the dramatists who were his contemporaries.] THE PARLIAMENT OF LOVE: A COMEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER. Cleremond takes an oath to perform his mistress Leonora's pleasure. She enjoins him to kill his best friend. He invites Montrose to the field, under pretence of wanting him for a second: then shows, that he must fight with him. Cler. This is the place. Mont. An even piece of ground, Without advantage; but be jocund, friend: The honor to have enter'd first the field, Cler. I need not, So well I am acquainted with your valor, To dare, in a good cause, as much as man, Your power to do, which Fortune, howe'er blind, But victory still sits upon your sword, Mont. You shall see me Come boldly up; nor will I shame your cause, Cler. 'Tis not to be question'd: That which I would entreat (and pray you grant it), Mont. When we encounter A noble foe, we cannot be too noble. Cler. That I confess; but he that's now to oppose you, All feeling of humanity, one that hates A most ungrateful wretch (the name 's too gentle, Mont. You describe A monster to me. Cler. True, Montrose, he is so. Africk, though fertile of strange prodigies, So sold to hell and mischief, that a traitor To his most lawful prince, a church-robber, A parricide, who, when his garners are Cramm'd with the purest grain, suffers his parents, Mont. I ne'er heard Of such a cursed nature; if long-lived, He would infect mankind: rest you assured, He finds from me small courtesy. Cler. And expect As little from him; blood is that he thirsts for, Not honorable wounds. Mont. I would I had him Within my sword's length! Cler. Have thy wish: Thou hast! [Cleremond draws his sword. Nay draw thy sword and suddenly; I am Would with more horror strike the pale-cheek'd stars, To bloody Leonora. Mont. To my knowledge I never wrong'd her. Cler. Yes, in being a friend To me, she hated my best friend, her malice -Tis in vain to mourn now, When there's no help! and therefore, good Montrose, Rouse thy most manly parts, and think thou stand'st now, [They fight, Cleremond falls. Mont. See, how weak An ill cause is! you are already fallen: Cler. Fool, use thy fortune: And so he counsels thee, that, if we had Changed places, instantly would have cut thy throat, Mont. In requital of That savage purpose, I must pity you: Witness these tears, not tears of joy for conquest; But of true sorrow for your misery. Live, O live, Cleremond, and, like a man, Make use of reason, as an exorcist To cast this devil out, that does abuse you; A VERY WOMAN; OR, THE PRINCE OF TARENT: A TRAGICOMEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER. Don John Antonio, Prince of Tarent, in the disguise of a slave, recounts to the Lady Almira, she not knowing him in that disguise, the story of his own passion for her, and of the unworthy treatment which he found from her. John. Not far from where my father lives, a lady, A neighbor by, blest with as great a beauty And bless'd the house a thousand times she dwelt in. In the best language my true tongue could tell me, |