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LINGUA; A COMEDY. BY ANTHONY BREWER.
Languages. The ancient Hebrew, clad with mysteries ; The learned Greek, rich in fit epithets, Blest in the lovely marriage of pure words; The Chaldee wise, the Arabian physical, The Roman eloquent, and Tuscan grave, The braving Spanish, and the smooth-tongued French
Tragedy and Comedy. -fellows both, both twins, but so unlike As birth to death, wedding to funeral : For this that rears himself in buskins quaint, Is pleasant at the first, proud in the midst, Stately in all, and bitter death at end. That in the pumps doth frown at first acquaintance, Trouble the midst, but in the end concludes Closing up all with a sweet catastrophe. This grave and sad, distained with brinish tears : That light and quick, with wrinkled laughter painted : This deals with nobles, kings, and emperors, Full of great fears, great hopes, great enterprizes ; This other trades with men of mean condition, His projects small, small hopes, and dangers little : This gorgeous, broider'd with rich sentences : That fair, and purfled round with merriments. Both vice detect, and virtue beautify, By being death's mirror, and life's looking-glass.
THE HISTORY OF ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. THE FIRST
PART. BY JOHN MARSTON.
Andrugio, Duke of Genoa, banished his country, with the loss of a son,
supposed drowned, is cast upon the territory of his mortal enemy the Duke of Venice with no attendants but Lucio, an old nobleman, and a Page.
Andr. Is not yon gleam the shudd’ring Morn that flakes With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?
Luc. I think it is, so please your Excellence.
Andr. Away, I have no Excellence to please.
for till thou cramm’st their mouths
A wretch but lean relief on earth can find.
Luc. Sweet Lord, abandon passion; and disarm.
the Venice marsh, Let’s clip all fortune, lest more low’ring fate
Andr. More low’ring fate! O Lucio, choke that breath. Now I defy chance. Fortune's brow hath frown'd, Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend : Her venom's spit. Alas! what country rests, What son, what comfort, that she can deprive ? Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow? Gapes not my native country for my blood ? Lies not my son tomb’d in the swelling main ? And in more low'ring fate? There's nothing left Unto Andrugio but Andrugio : And that Nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take: Fortune my fortunes not my mind shall shake.
Luc. Speak like yourself: but give me leave, my Lord, To wish you safety. If you are but seen, Your arms display you; therefore put them off, And take
Andr. Would'st have me go unarm’d among my foes ? Being besieg’d by Passion, entering lists To combat with Despair and mighty Grief: My soul beleaguer'd with the crushing strength Of sharp Impatience. Ha, Lucio; go unarm'd ? Come, soul, resume the valor of thy birth; Myself myself will dare all opposites: I'll muster forces, an unvanquish'd power : Cornets of horse shall press th' ungrateful earth : Thi ollow-wombed mass shall inly groan And murmur to sustain the weight of arms : Ghastly Amazement, with upstarted hair, Shall hurry on before, and usher us, Whilst trumpets clamor with a sound of death.
Luc. Peace, good my lord, your speech is all too light. Alas, survey your fortunes, look what's left
your poor self.
Of all your forces and your utmost hopes ;
[The situation of Andrugio and Lucio resembles that of Lear and Kent, in that King's distresses. Andrugio, like Lear, manifests a kind of royal impatience, a turbulent greatness, an affected resignation. The Enemies which he enters lists to combat, “ Despair and mighty Grief, and sharp Impatience,” and the Forces (“ Cornets of Horse,” &c.) which he brings to vanquish them, are in the boldest style of Allegory. They are such a
race of mourners " the infection of sorrows loud” in the intellect might beget on “some pregnant cloud” in the imagination.]
ANTONIO'S REVENGE. THE SECOND PART OF THE HISTORY
OF ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. BY JOHN MARSTON.
* This prologue for its passionate earnestness, and for the tragic note of preparation which it sounds, might have preceded one of those old tales of Thebes, or Pelops' line, which Milton has so highly commended, as free from the common error of the poets in his days, “ of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity, brought in without discretion corruptly to gratify the people.” It is as solemn a preparative as the “ warning voice which he who saw th’ Apocalypse, heard cry."
Would suit the time with pleasing congruence.
O that our power
Prince and father-in-law to Antonio has cruelly murdered, kills Piero's little son, Julio, as a sacrifice to the ghost of Andrugio.— The scene, a church-yard : the time, midnight.
* “ Sleek favorites of Fortune.” Preface to Poems by S. T. Coleridge.