ANG. Proud am I that my lady's modest eye
So likes so poor a servant.

DOR I have offered

Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents.
I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some,
To dwell with thy, good father; for, the son
Bewitching me so deeply with his presence,
He that begot him inust do 't ten times more.
I pray thee, my sweet boy, shew me thy parents!
Be not ashamed.

ANG. I am not; I did never

Know who my mother was: but, by yon palace,

Filled with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare assure you,
And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand,

My father is in heaven and, pretty mistress,
If your illustrious hour-glass spend his saud

No worse, than yet it doth, upon my life,

You and I both shall meet my father there,
And he shall bid you welcome.

DOR. A blessed day!

Pride of Sir Giles Overreach in his Daughter--From the New Way

to Pay Old Debts.'

LOVEL.-OVERREACH.

OVERREACH. To my wish: we are private.

I come not to make offer with my daughter

A certain portion that were poor and trivial:
In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,

In lands or leases, ready coin or goods,

With her, my lord, comes to you: nor shall you have
One motive to induce you to believe

I live too long, since every year I'll add

Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.
LOVEL. You are a right kind father.

OVER. You shall have reason

To think me such. How do you like this seat?
It is well wooded and well watered, the acres
Fertile and rich; would it not serve for change,
To entertain your friends in a summer's progress?
What thinks my noble lord?

Lov. 'Tis a wholesome air,

And well built pile; and she that's mistress of it,
Worthy the large revenue.

OVER She the mistress!

It may be so for a time; but let my lord

Say only that he but like it, and would have it;

I say, ere long 'tis his.

Lov. Impossible.

OVER. You do conclude too fast; not knowing me,
Nor the engines that I work by. "Tis not alone

The Lady Allworth's lands, for those once Wellborn's

(As by her dotage on him I know they will be)
Shall soon be mine; but point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient
And useful for your lordship, and once more,
I say aloud, they are yours.

Lov. I dare not own

What 's by unjust and cruel means extorted:
My fame and credit are more dear to me
Than so to expose 'em to be censured by

The public voice.

OVER. You run, my lord, no hazard:
Your reputation shall stand as fair

In all good men's opinions es now:

Nor can my actions, though condemned for ill,
Cast any foul aspersion upon yours.

For though I do contemu report myself

As a mere sound, I still will be so tender

Of what concerns you in all points of honour,
That the immaculate whiteness of your fame,
Nor your unquestioned integrity,

Shall e'er be sullied with one taint or spot
That may take from your innocence and candour.
All my ambition is to have my daughter

Right honourable; which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee

A young Lord Lovel, born by her unto you,
I write nil ultra to my proudest hopes.
As for possessions and annual rents,
Equivalent to maintain you in the port
Your noble birth and present state require,
I do remove that burden from your shoulders,
And take it on mine own; for though I ruin
The country to supply your riotous waste,

The scourge of prod gals (want) shall never find you.
Lov. Are you not frighted with the imprecations

And curses of whole familics, made wretched

By your sinister practices?

OVER. Yes, as rocks are

When foamy billows split themselves against

Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is moved

When wolves, with hunger pined, howl at her brightness.

I am of a solid temper, and, like there,

Steer on a constant course: with mine own sword,

If called into the field, I can make that right

Which fearful enemies murmured at as wrong.
Now, for those other piddling complaints,
Breathed out in bitterness; as, when they call me
Extortioner, tyrant, cormorant, or intruder
On my poor neighbour's right, or grand incloser
Of what was common to my private use;

Nay, when my ears are pierced with widows' cries.
And undone orphans wash with tears my threshold,

I only think what 'tis to have my daughter

Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm,

Makes me insensible of remorse or pity,

Or the least sting of conscience.

Lov. I admire

The toughness of your nature.

OVER. "Tis for you,

My lord, and for my daughter, I am marble.

Compassion for Misfortune-From the City Madam.'

SIR JOHN FRUGAL.-LUKE FRUGAL.-LORD LACY.

Pulled down upon you; but in this, dear sir,

You have many equals: such a man's possessions
Extend as far as yours; a second hath

His bags as full; a third in credit flies

As high in the popular voice; but the distinction
And noble difference by which you are
Divided from them, is, that you are styled
Gentle in your abundance, good in plenty;
And that you feel compassion in your bowels

Of other's miseries-I have found it, sir;

Heaven keep me thankful for 't !-while they are cursed
As rigid and inexorable.

SIR JOHN. I delight not

To hear this spoke to my face.

LUKE. That shall not grieve you.

Your affability and mildness, clothed

In the garments of your thankful debtors' breath,
Shall everywhere, though you strive to conceal it,
Be seen and wondered at, and in the act
With a prodigal hand rewarded. Whereas, such
As are born only for themselves, and live so,
Though prosperous in worldly understandings,
Are but like beasts of rapine, that, by odds
Of strength, usurp and tyrannise o'er others
Brought under their subjection.

Can you think, sir,

In your unquestioned wisdom, I beseech you,
The goods of this poor man sold at an outcry,
His wife turned out of doors, his children forced
To beg their bread; this gentleman's estate
By wrong extorted, can advantage you?
Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant,
For such he was esteemed, though now decayed,
Will raise your reputation with good men?

But you may urge-pray you, pardon me, my zeal
Makes me thus bold and vehement-in this

You satisfy your anger and revenge

For being defeated. Suppose this, it will not
Repair your loss, and there was never yet
But shame and scandal in a victory,

When the rebels unto reason, passions, fought it.
Then for revenge, by great souls it was ever
Contemned, though offered; entertained by none
But cowards, base and abject spirits, strangers
To moral honesty, and never yet
Acquainted with religion.

LORD LACY. Our divines

Cannot speak more effectually.
SIR JOHN. Shall I be

Talked out of my money?

LUKE. No, sir, but entreated

To do yourself a benefit, and preserve
What you possess entire.

SIR JOHN. How, my good brother?

LUKE. By making these your beadsmen. When they eat,

Their thanks, next heaven, will be paid to your mercy;

When your ships are at sea, their prayers will swell

The sails with prosperous winds, and guard them from
Tempests and pirates; keep your warehouses
From fire, or quench them with their tears.
SIR JOHN. No more.

LUKE. Write you a good man in the people's hearts,

Follow you everywhere.

SIR JOHN. If this could be

LUKE. It must, or our devotions are but words.

I see a gentle promise in your eye,

Make it a blessed act, and poor me rich

In being the instrument,

SIR JOHN. You shall prevail;

Give them longer day: but, do you hear? no talk of 't.
Should this arrive at twelve on the Exchange,

I shall be laughed at for my foolish pity,

Which money-men hate deadly.

Unequal Love.-From the Great Duke of Florence.'

GIOVANNI, nephew to the Grand-duke, taking leave of LIDIA, daughter of his Tutor. LIDIA. Must you go, then,

So suddenly?

GIOVANNI. There's no evasion, Lidia,

To gain the least delay, though I would buy it

At any rate.

Greatness, with private men

Esteemed a blessing, is to me a curse;

And we, whom, for our high births, they conclude
The only freemen, are the only slaves:
Happy the golden mean! Had I been born
In a poor sordid cottage, not nursed up
With expectation to command a court,

I might, like such of your condition, sweetest,
Have ta'en a safe and middle course, and not,
As I am now, against my choice, compelled
Or to lie grovelling on the earth, or raised
So high upon the pinnacles of state,

That I must either keep my height with danger,
Or fall with certain ruin.

LIDIA. Your own goodness

Will be your faithful guard.

Grov. O Lidia! For had I been your equal,
I might have seen and liked with mine own eyes,
And not, as now, with others. I might still,
And without observation or envy,

As I have done, continued my delights
With you, that are alone, in my esteem,
The abstract of society: we might walk
In solitary groves, or in choice gardens;
From the variety of curious flowers
Contemplate nature's workmanship and wonders:
And then, for change, near to the murmur of
Some bubbling fountain, I might hear you sing,
And, from the well-tuned accents of your tongue,
In my imagination conceive

With what melodious harmony a choir

Of angels sing above their Maker's praises.

And then, with chaste discourse, as we returned,
Imp feathers to the broken wings of Time:
And all this I must part from.

CONTARINI. You forget

The haste imposed upon us.

GIOV. One word more,

And then I come. And after this, when, with
Continued innocence of love and service,

I had grown ripe for hymeneal joys,

Embracing you, but with a lawful flame,
I might have been your husband.
LIDIA. Sir, I was,

And ever am, your servant; but it was,

And 'tis far from me in a thought to cherish,
Such saucy hopes. If I had been the heir

Of all the globes and sceptres mankind bows to,
At my best you had deserved me; as I am,
Howe'er unworthy, in my virgin zeal,

I wish you, as a partner of your bed,
A princess equal to you; such a one

That may make it the study of her life,

With all the obedience of a wife, to please you;
May you have happy issue, and I live

To be their humblest handmaid!

GIOV. I am dumb, and can make no reply;
This kiss, bathed in tears,

May learn you what I should say.

JOHN FORD.

He

Contemporary with Massinger, and possessing kindred tastes and powers, was JOHN FORD (1586-1639). This author wisely trusted to a regular profession, not to dramatic literature, for his support. was of a good Devonshire family, and bred to the law. His first efforts as a writer for the stage were made in unison with Webster and Dekker. He also joined with the latter, and with Rowley, in composing the Witch of Edmonton,' already mentioned, the last act of which seems to be Ford's. In 1628 appeared the 'Lover's Melancholy,' dedicated to his friends of the Society of Gray's Inn. In 1633 were printed his three tragedies, the 'Brother and Sister,' the 'Broken Heart,' and 'Love's Sacrifice.' He next wrote 'Perkin Warbeck,' a correct and spirited historical drama. Two other pieces, Fancies Chaste and Noble, and the Lady's Trial,' produced in 1638 and 1639, complete the list of Ford's works. He is supposed to have died shortly after the production of his last play.

·

A tone of pensive tenderness and pathos, with a peculiarly soft and musical style of blank verse, characterise this poet. The choice of his subjects was unhappy, for he has devoted to incestuous passion the noblest offerings of his muse. The scenes in his Brother and Sister,' descriptive of the criminal loves of Annabella and Giovanni, are painfully interesting and harrowing to the feelings, but contain his finest poetry and expression. The old dramatist loved to sport and dally with such forbidden themes, which tempted the imagination, and awoke those slumbering fires of pride, passion, and wickedness that lurk in the recesses of the human heart. They lived in an age of excitement-the newly awakened intellect warring with the senses the baser parts of humanity with its noblest qualities. In this struggle the dramatic poets were plunged, and they depicted forcibly what they saw and felt. Much as they wrote, their time was not spent in shady retirement; they flung themselves into the full tide of the passions, sounded its depths, wrestled with its difficulties and defile

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