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Q. Isabel. And yet that soul, which bears itself so high,

If fame be true, admits a sovereignty.

This queen,

in her fair eyes, such fetters brings, As chain that heart, which scorns the power of kings.

Almah. Little of charm in these sad eyes appears; If they had any, now 'tis lost in tears.

A crown, and husband, ravished in one day!—
Excuse a grief, I cannot choose but pay.

Q. Isabel. Have courage, madam; heaven has joys

in store,

To recompence those losses you deplore.

Almah. I know your God can all my woes redress ;

To him I made my vows in my distress: And, what a misbeliever vowed this day, Though not a queen, a Christian yet shall pay. Q. Isabel. (Embracing her.) That christian name you shall receive from me,

And Isabella of Granada be.

Benz. This blessed change we all with joy receive;

And beg to learn that faith which you believe. Q. Isabel. With reverence for those holy rites prepare;

And all commit your fortunes to my care.

If

K. Ferd. to Almah. You, madam, by that crown you lose, may gain,

you accept, a coronet of Spain,

Of which Almanzor's father stands possest.

Q. Isabel. to Almah. May you in him, and he in you, be blest!

Almah. I owe my life and honour to his sword; But owe my love to my departed lord.

Almanz. Thus, when I have no living force to

dread,

Fate finds me enemies amongst the dead.

I'm now to conquer ghosts, and to destroy
The strong impressions of a bridal joy.

Almah. You've yet a greater foe than these can be,

Virtue opposes you, and modesty.

Almanz. From a false fear that modesty does grow,

And thinks true love, because 'tis fierce, its foe.
"Tis but the wax whose seals on virgins stay:
Let it approach love's fire, 'twill melt away:-
But I have lived too long; I never knew,
When fate was conquered, I must combat you.
I thought to climb the steep ascent of love;
But did not think to find a foe above.
'Tis time to die, when you my bar must be,
Whose aid alone could give me victory;
Without,

I'll pull up all the sluices of the flood,

And love, within, shall boil out all my blood.
Q. Isabel. Fear not your love should find so sad

success,

While I have power to be your patroness.
I am her parent now, and may command
So much of duty as to give her hand.

[Gives him ALMAHIDE's hand. Almah. Madam, I never can dispute your power, Or as a parent, or a conqueror;

But, when my year of widowhood expires,
Shall yield to your command, and his desires.

Almanz. Move swiftly, sun, and fly a lover's

pace;

Leave weeks and months behind thee in thy race!

K. Ferd. Mean time, you shall my victories pur

sue,

The Moors in woods and mountains to subdue. Almanz. The toils of war shall help to wear each day,

And dreams of love shall drive my nights away.-
Our banners to the Alhambra's turrets bear;
Then, wave our conquering crosses in the air,
And cry, with shouts of triumph,-Live and reign,
Great Ferdinand and Isabel of Spain!

[Exeunt.

VOL. IV.

THEY, who have best succeeded on the stage,
Have still conformed their genius to their age.
Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show,
When men were dull, and conversation low.
Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse:
Cobb's tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse *.
And, as their comedy, their love was mean;
Except, by chance, in some one laboured scene,
Which must atone for an ill-written play.
They rose, but at their height could seldom stay,
Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped;
And they have kept it since, by being dead.
But, were they now to write, when critics weigh
Each line, and every word, throughout a play,
None of them, no not Jonson in his height,
Could pass, without allowing grains for weight.
Think it not envy, that these truths are told;
Our poet's not malicious, though he's bold.
'Tis not to brand them, that their faults are shown
But, by their errors, to excuse his own.
If love and honour now are higher raised,
"Tis not the poet, but the age is praised.
Wit's now arrived to a more high degree;
Our native language more refined and free.
Our ladies and our men now speak more wit
In conversation, than those poets writ.
Then, one of these is, consequently, true;
That what this poet writes comes short of you,
And imitates you ill (which most he fears),
Or else his writing is not worse than theirs.
Yet, though you judge (as sure the critics will),
That some before him writ with greater skill,
In this one praise he has their fame surpast,
To please an age more gallant than the last.

*The characters alluded to are Cobb, the water bearer, in "Every Man in his Humour;" and Captain Otter, in " Epicæne, or the Silent Woman," whose humour it was to christen his drinking cups by the names of Horse, Bull, and Bear.

DEFENCE

OF

THE EPILOGUE;

OR,

AN ESSAY ON THE DRAMATIC POETRY
OF THE LAST AGE.

THE promises of authors, that they will write

again, are, in effect, a threatening of their readers with some new impertinence; and they, who perform not what they promise, will have their pardon on easy terms. It is from this consideration, that I could be glad to spare you the trouble, which I am now giving you, of a postscript, if I were not obliged, by many reasons, to write somewhat concerning our present plays, and those of our predecessors on the English stage. The truth is, I have so far engaged myself in a bold epilogue to this play, wherein I have somewhat taxed the former writing, that it was necessary for me either not to print it, or to show that I could defend it. Yet I would so maintain my opinion of the present age, as not to be wanting in my veneration for the past:

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