For wealth of Indies: be my loved boy,

Come in with me; thus I'll begin to do
Some recompence for dead Antonio.

Berinthia kills her brother Sebastiano sleeping.

Cast. Sir, if the opportunity I use

To comfort you be held a fault, and that
I need not distance of a servant, lay it
Upon my love; indeed, if it be an error,
It springs out of my duty.

Seb. Prithee, boy, be patient.

The more I strive to throw off the remembrance
Of dead Antonio, love still rubs the wounds
To make them bleed afresh.

Cast. Alas, they are past;

Bind up your own for honor's sake, and show
Love to yourself; pray do not lose your reason.
To make your grief so fruitless. I have procur'd
Some music, sir, to quiet those sad thoughts
That make such war within you.

Seb. Alas, good boy, it will but add more weight
Of dullness on me! I am stung with worse
Than the tarantula, to be cured with music ;
It has th' exactest unity, but it cannot
Accord my thoughts.

Cast. Sir, this your couch

Seems to invite some small repose:

Oh, I beseech you taste it. I will beg
A little leave to sing.

BERINTHIA enters softly.

Cast. Sweet sleep charm his sad senses :
And gentle thoughts let fall

Your flowing numbers here; and round about
Hover celestial angels with your wings
That none offend his quiet. Sleep begins
To cast his nets o'er me too; I'll obey,

[She sings.

And dream on him that dreams not what I am.

[She lies down by him.

Ber. Nature doth wrestle with me, but revenge

Doth arm my love against it; justice is

Above all tie of blood. Sebastiano,

Thou art the first shall tell Antonio's ghost,

How much I lov'd him.

[She stabs him upon his couch.

Seb. (waking.) Oh, stay thy hand, Berinthia! no:

Thou 'st done 't. I wish thee heaven's forgiveness. I cannot Tarry to hear thy reasons; at many doors

My life runs out, and yet Berinthia

Doth in her name give me more wounds than these.
Antonio, Oh, Antonio: we shall now
Be friends again.

[Dies.

THE POLITICIAN: A TRAGEDY. BY JAMES SHIRLEY.

Marpisa widow of Count Altomarus is advanced to be Queen to the King of Norway, by the practices of her paramour Gotharus. She has by her first husband a young son Haraldus; to secure whose succession to the crown by the aid of Gotharus (in prejudice of the king's son, the lawful heir) she tells Gotharus that the child is his. He believes her, and tells Haraldus; who taking to heart his mother's dishonor, and his own stain of bastardy, falls into a mortal sickness.

Queen. How is it with my child ?

Har. I know you love me:

Yet I must tell you truth, I cannot live.

And let this comfort you, death will not come
Unwelcome to your son. I do not die

Against my will; and having my desires,
You have less cause to mourn.

Queen. What is 't hath made

The thought of life unpleasant? which does court
Thy dwelling here, with all delights that nature

And art can study for thee, rich in all things
Thy wish can be ambitious of, yet all

These treasures nothing to thy mother's love,
Which to enjoy thee would defer a while
Her thought of going to heaven.

Har. O take heed, mother.

Heaven has a specious ear, and power to punish
Your too much love with my eternal absence.
I beg your prayers and blessing.

Queen. Thou art dejected.

Have but a will, and live.

Har. 'Tis in vain, mother.

Queen. Sink with a fever into earth!

Look up, thou shalt not die.

Har. I have a wound within,

You do not see, more killing than all fevers.

Queen. A wound? where? who has murther'd thee?

Har. Gotharus

Queen. Ha! furies persecute him.

Har. O pray for him:

It is my duty, though he gave me death.

He is my father.

Queen. How, thy father?

Har. He told me so, and with that breath destroy'd me.

I felt it strike upon my spirits, mother;

Would I had ne'er been born!

Queen. Believe him not.

Har. Oh do not add another sin to what

Is done already; death is charitable,

To quit me from the scorn of all the world.

Queen. By all my hopes, Gotharus has abused thee.

Thou art the lawful burthen of my womb;

Thy father Altomarus.

Har. Ha!

Queen. Before whose spirit (long since taken up To meet with saints and troops angelical)

I dare again repeat, thou art his son.

Har. Ten thousand blessings now reward my mother!

Speak it again, and I may live: a stream
Of pious joy runs through me; to my soul
You've struck a harmony, next that in heaven.
Can you without a blush call me your child,
And son of Altomarus? all that's holy
Dwell in your blood for ever: speak it once,
But once again.

Queen. Were it my latest breath;

Thou'rt his and mine.

Har. Enough, my tears do flow

To give you thanks for 't; I would you could resolve me But one truth more: why did my lord Gotharus

Call me the issue of his blood?

Queen. Alas,

He thinks thou art.

Har. What are those words? I am

Undone again.

Queen. Ha!

Har. 'Tis too late

To call 'em back. He thinks I am his son.

Queen. I have confess'd too much, and tremble with

The imagination. Forgive me, child,

And heaven, if there be mercy to a crime

So black, as I must now, to quit thy fears,

Say I've been guilty of: we have been sinful,
And I was not unwilling to oblige

His active brain for thy advancement, by

Abusing his belief thou wert his own.

But thou hast no such stain; thy birth is innocent,

Or may I perish ever: 'tis a strange
Confession to a child, but it may drop

A balsam to thy wound. Live, my Haraldus,
If not, for this, to see my penitence,

And with what tears I'll wash away my sin.

Har. I am no bastard then

Queen. Thou art not.

Har. But

I am not found, while you are lost. No time

Can restore you. My spirits faint

Queen. Will nothing comfort thee?

Har. Give me your blessing; and, within my heart,
I'll pray you may have many. My soul flies
'Bove this vain world: good mother, close mine eyes.
Queen. Never died so much sweetness in his years.*

THE BROTHERS: A COMEDY. BY JAMES SHIRLEY.

Don Ramires leaves his son Fernando with a heavy curse, and a threat of disinheriting, if he do not renounce Felisarda, the poor niece of Don Carlos, whom he courts, when by his father's command he should address Jacinta, the daughter and rich heiress of Carlos, his younger brother Francisco's Mistress.

Fer. Why does not all the stock of thunder fall? Or the fierce winds, from their close caves let loose, Now shake me into atoms?

Fran. Fie, noble brother, what can so deject

Your masculine thoughts? is this done like Fernando,
Whose resolute soul so late was arm'd to fight
With all the miseries of man, and triumph

With patience of a martyr? I observed
My father late come from you.

Fer. Yes, Francisco :

He hath left his curse upon me.

Fran. How?

Fer. His curse: dost comprehend what that word carries,

Shot from a father's angry breath? unless

I tear poor Felisarda from my heart,

He hath pronounc'd me heir to all his curses.

Does this fright thee, Francisco? Thou hast cause

To dance in soul for this: 'tis only I

Must lose, and mourn; thou shalt have all; I am

* Mamillus in the Winter's Tale in this manner droops and dies from a conceit of his mother's dishonor.