The joy and peace of those souls where he goes. Forgive them too that wrought my overthrow : “Let my grave never minister offences. "For since my father coveteth my death, Rosten describes to Achmat the popular Fury which followed upon the Execution of Mustapha. Ros. When Mustapha was by the eunuchs strangled, Forthwith his camp grew doubtful of his absence : The guard of Solyman himself did murmur : As while her forces nourished confusion, Confusion seem'd with discipline delighted. Towards Solyman they run and as the waters, That meet with banks of snow, makes snow grow water: Give easy passage, and pass on amongst them. They held that bade me go. Humility was guilty ; Fury made haste; haste multiplied their fury; Made them that sought my life, give life unto me. [These two Tragedies of Lord Brooke might with more propriety have been termed political treatises, than plays. Their author has strangely contrived to make passion, character and interest, of the highest order subservient to the expression of state dogmas and mysteries. He is nine parts Machiavel and Tacitus, for one part Sophocles or Seneca. In this writer's estimate of the faculties of his own mind, the understanding must have held a most tyrannical pre-eminence. Whether we look into his plays, or his most passionate love-poems, we shall find all frozen and made rigid with intellect. The finest movements of the human heart, the utmost grandeur of which the soul is capable, are essentially comprised in the actions and speeches of Cælica and Camena. Shakspeare, who seems to have had a peculiar delight in contemplating womanly perfection, whom for his many sweet images of female excellence all women are in an especial manner bound to love, has not raised the ideal of the female character higher than Lord Brooke in these two women has done. But it requires a study equivalent to the learning of a new language to understand their meaning when they speak. It is indeed hard to hit: Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day Or seven though one should musing sit. It is as if a being of pure intellect should take upon him to express the emotions of our sensitive natures. There would be all knowledge, but sympathetic expression would be wanting.] THE CASE IS ALTERED. A COMEDY. BY BEN. JONSON The present Humor to be followed. AURELIA, PHOENIXELLA, Sister: their Mother being lately dead Aur. Room for a case of matrons, color'd black : OI could make a wench so virtuous, She should say grace to every bit of meat, And she should make French court'sies so most low Aur. Sister, i' faith you take too much tobacco, Give it the reins, and spare not; as I do It is Precisianism to alter that, With austere judgment, that is giv'n by nature. For then I found it easier to do so, And fitter with my mode, than not to weep: But now 'tis otherwise. Another time Perhaps I shall have such deep thoughts of her, That I shall weep afresh some twelvemonth hence; And I will weep, if I be so disposed ; Presentiment of Treachery, vanishing at the sight of the person suspected Lord PAULO FARNEZE. (Speaking to himself of ANGELO.) My thoughts cannot propose a reason Why I should fear or faint thus in my hopes Of one so much endeared to my love: Some spark it is, kindled within the soul, Whose light yet breaks not to the outward sense, His actions never carried any force Of change, or weakness; then I injure him, O here he comes. [While he speaks ANGELO enters. Angelo. How now, sweet Lord, what 's the matter? Paul. Good faith, his presence makes me half ashamed Of my stray'd thoughts. Jaques (a Miser) worships his Gold. Jac. Tis not to be told What servile villainies men will do for gold. more a work Here I'll hide and cover it with this horse-dung. Except mine own. Rot all hands that come near thee, Except mine own. All thoughts of thee be poison In going from thee, but go backward out, With my face toward thee, with humble courtesies. [The passion for wealth has worn out much of its grossness by tract of time. Our ancestors certainly conceived of money as able to confer a distinct gratification in itself, not alone considered simply as a symbol of wealth. The oldest poets, when they introduce a miser, constantly make him address his gold as his mistress; as something to be seen, felt, and hugged as capable of satisfying two of the senses at least. The substitution of a thin unsatisfying medium for the good old tangible gold, has made avarice quite a Platonic affection in comparison with the seeing, touching, and handling pleasures of the old Chrysophilites. A bank note can no more satisfy the touch of a true sensualist in this passion, than Creusa could return her husband's embrace in the shades.-See the Cave of Mammon, in Spenser; Barabas's contemplation of his wealth, in the Jew of Malta; Luke's raptures, in the City Madam, &c. Above all, hear Guzman, in that excellent old Spanish Novel, The Rogue, expatiate on the "ruddy cheeks of your golden Ruddocks, your Spanish Pistolets, your plump and full-faced Portuguese, and your clear-skinn'd pieces of eight of Castile," which he and his fellows the beggars kept secret to themselves, and did "privately enjoy in a plentiful manner." For to have them, for to pay them away, is not to enjoy them; to enjoy them, is to have them lying by us, having no other need of them than to use them for the clearing of the eye-sight, and the comforting of our senses. These we did carry about with us, sewing them in some patches of our doublets near unto the heart, and as close to the skin as we could handsomely quilt them in, holding them to be restorative."] POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT. A COMICAL SATYR. BY BEN JONSON. Ovid bewails his hard condition in being banished from Court and the Society of the Princess Julia. OVID. Banish'd the court? let me be banish'd life, Since the chief end of life is there concluded. |