My father is in heav'n; and, pretty mistress Dor. A bless'd day ! [This scene has beauties of so very high an order that, with all my respect for Massinger, I do not think he had poetical enthusiasm capable of furnishing them. His associate Decker, who wrote Old Fortunatus, had poetry enough for anything. The very impurities which obtrude themselves among the sweet pieties of this play (like Satan among the Sons of Heaven) and which the brief scope of my plan fortunately enables me to leave out, have a strength of contrast, a raciness, and a glow in them, which are above Massinger. They set off the religion of the rest, somehow as Caliban serves to show Miranda.] THE FATAL DOWRY; A TRAGEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER AND NATHANIEL FIELD. The Marshal of Burgundy dies in prison at Dijon for debts contracted by him for the service of the state in the wars. His dead body is arrested and denied burial by his creditors. His son, young Charalois, gives up himself to prison to redeem his father's body, that it may have honorable burial. He has leave from his prison doors to view the ceremony of the funeral, but to go no further. Enter three gentlemen, PONTALIER, MALOTIN, and BEAUMONT, as spectators of the funeral. Mal. 'Tis strange. Beaum. Methinks so. Pont. In a man but young, Yet old in judgment; theoric and practic Yield his free-living youth a captive, for Mal. Come, 'tis a golden precedent in a son, For since the clock did strike him seventeen old, Pont. Certainly, And from this prison,-'twas the son's request. [CHARALOIS appears at the door of the prison. That his dear father might interment have, See, the young son enter'd a lively grave. The funeral procession enters. Captain and soldiers, mourners. Romont, friend to the deceased. Charalois speaks. Three creditors are among the spectators Char. How like a silent stream shaded with night, And gliding softly with our windy sighs, Of death, thus hollowly break forth!-vouchsafe That makes his life prisoner to bail thy death; Who gladlier puts on this captivity, Than virgins, long in love, their wedding weeds. These only have good memories; for they Remember best, forget not gratitude. I thank you for this last and friendly love, And though this country, like a viperous mother, All means of thee, her son, but last thyself, Thy worth in every honest breast builds one, Char. Peace! O peace! This scene is wholly mineWhat! weep you, soldiers ?-blanch not.—Romont weeps.Ha! let me see! my miracle is eas'd; The jailors and the creditors do weep; E'en they that make us weep, do weep themselves. Be these thy body's balm: these, and thy virtue, Keep thy fame ever odoriferous, Whilst the great, proud, rich, undeserving man Shall quickly both in bone and name consume, : Char. What!-away for shame,-you, profane rogues, Must not be mingled with these holy relics This is a sacrifice-our show'r shall crown His sepulchre with olive, myrrh, and bays, The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory: Your tears would spring but weeds. Rom. Look, look, you slaves! your thankless cruelty, And savage manners of unkind Dijon, Exhaust these floods, and not his father's death. Priest. On. Char. One moment more, But to bestow a few poor legacies, All I have left in my dead father's right, PART II 14 And I have done. Captain, wear thou these spurs, For so it did in him. Ensign, this cuirass, Whereon foes broke their swords, and tir'd themselves: For me, my portion provide in heaven: My root is earth'd, and I, a desolate branch, Jailor. You must no farther. The prison limits you, and the creditors THE OLD LAW: A COMEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER, THOMAS MIDDLETON, AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. The Duke of Epire enacts a law, that all men who have reached the age of fourscore, shall be put to death, as being adjudged useless to the commonwealth. Simonides, the bad, and Cleanthes, the good son, are differently affected by the promulgation of the edict. Sim. Cleanthes, Oh, lad, here's a spring for young plants to flourish ! *His father's sword. The old trees must down, kept the sun from us. Cle. Whither, sir, I pray? To the bleak air of storms, among those trees Sim. Yes, from our growth, Our sap and livelihood, and from our fruit. Cle. Jubilee! no, indeed; 'tis a bad year with me. He is too old, being now expos'd Unto the rigor of a cruel edict ; And yet not old enough by many years, 'Cause I'd not see him go an hour before me. Able to corrupt a thousand by example. To comfort his old limbs in fruitless winter? * Cleanthes, to save his old father, Leonides, from the operation of the law, gives out that he is dead, celebrating a pretended funeral, to make it believed. DUKE. COURTIERS. CLEANTHES, as following his father's body to the grave. Duke. Cleanthes ? Court. "Tis, my lord, and in the place Of a chief mourner too, but strangely habited. |