Moth. Strike not me cold.

Cast. How often have you charg'd me on your blessing To be a cursed woman? When you knew

Your blessing had no force to make me lewd,
You laid your curse upon me; that did more,
The mother's curse is heavy; where that fights,
Sons set in storm, and daughters lose their lights.
Moth. Good child, dear maid, if there be any spark
Of heavenly intellectual fire within thee, oh let my breath
Revive it to a flame!

Put not all out, with woman's wilful follies.

I am recover'd of that foul disease

That haunts too many mothers; kind, forgive me,
Make me not sick in health!-if then

My words prevail'd when they were wickedness,
How much more now when they are just and good?
Cast. I wonder what you mean! are not you she,
For whose infect persuasions I could scarce
Kneel out my prayers, and had much ado

In three hours' reading, to untwist so much

Of the black serpent, as you wound about me?

Moth. 'Tis unfruitful, held tedious to repeat what's past; I'm now your present mother.

Cast. Pish, now 'tis too late.

Moth. Bethink again, thou know'st not what thou say'st. Cast. No deny advancement! treasure! the duke's son! Moth. O see, I spoke those words, and now they poisonme! What will the deed do then?

Advancement, true; as high as shame can pitch!

For treasure; who e'er knew a harlot rich?

Or could build by the purchase of her sin,

An hospital to keep her bastards in? The duke's son; Oh! when women are young courtiers, they are sure to be old beggars;

To know the miseries most harlots taste,

Thoud'st wish thyself unborn, when thou'rt unchaste.

Cast. O mother, let me twine about your neck,

And kiss you till my soul melt on your lips;

I did but this to try you.

Moth. O speak truth!

Cast. Indeed I did not; for no tongue has force to alter

me from honest.

If maidens would, men's words could have no power;
A virgin's honour is a crystal tower,

Which, being weak, is guarded with good spirits;
Until she basely yields, no ill inherits."

This is Vindici's address to the skull of Gloriana.

"Thou sallow picture of my poison'd love,
My study's ornament, thou shell of death,
Once the bright face of my betrothed lady,
When life and beauty naturally fill'd out
These ragged imperfections;

When two heaven-pointed diamonds were set
In those unsightly rings,-then 'twas a face
So far beyond the artificial shine

Of any woman's bought complexion,
That the uprightest man, (if such there be,
That sin but seven times a day) broke custom,
And made up eight with looking after her.
Oh, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son
Melt all his patrimony in a kiss;

And what his father fifty years had told,

To have consum'd, and yet his suit been cold."

The revenge which slowly but effectually falls on the head of the Duke, is of the most elaborate and refined kind.-Whilst Vindici is attending upon Lussurioso in disguise, he is employed by the Duke to introduce him to a lady. Vindici promises, and appoints the place of meeting, where he is prepared with the skull of the poisoned Gloriana, dressed in seeming like a woman. The Duke, with court gallantry, salutes her, and recoils with horror, but not before he had imbibed the poison which Vindici had spread around its bony mouth. There is another adjunct to the death-scene of this hoary sinner, which it is not necessary to mention. Vindici reads a fine lecture on mortality, on this "dome of thought, the palace of the soul." "Here's an eye,

Able to tempt a great man- -to serve God:

A pretty hanging lip, that has forgot now to dissemble.
Methinks this mouth should make a swearer tremble;

A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em
To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em.
Here's a cheek keeps her colour let the wind go
Spout rain, we fear thee not: be hot or cold,
All's one with us; and is not he absurd,
Whose fortunes are upon their faces set,
That fear no other God but wind and wet?

whistle :

Hip. Brother, you've spoke that right:
Is this the form that living shone so bright?
Vind. The very same.

And now methinks I cou'd e'en chide myself,
For doating on her beauty, tho' her death
Shall be reveng'd after no common action.
Does the silk-worm expend her yellow labours
For thee? For thee does she undo herself?
Are lordships sold to maintain ladyships,
For the poor benefit of a bewitching minute?
Why does yon' fellow falsify highways,
And put his life between the judge's lips,
To refine such a thing"? keeps horse and men
To beat their valours for her?

Surely we're all mad people, and they

Whom we think are, are not: we mistake those;
'Tis we are mad in sense, they but in clothes.
Does every proud and self-affecting dame
Camphire her face for this? and grieve her maker
In sinful baths of milk, when many an infant starves,
For her superfluous out-side, all for this?

Who now bids twenty pound a night? prepares
Music, perfumes, and sweet meats? All are hush'd,
Thou may'st lie chaste now! it were fine, methinks,
To have thee seen at revels, forgetful feasts,

And unclean brothels: sure 'twould fright the sinner,
And make him a good coward: put a reveller

Out of his antic amble,

And cloy an epicure with empty dishes.

Here might a scornful and ambitious woman
Look through and through herself."

The Atheist's Tragedy possesses no scene of equal interest with those we have before quoted, nor indeed any scene of impassioned interest,-its value is in its insulated beauties, and they are not very thickly sown. Although the date of its being printed is posterior to the Revenger's Tragedy, it was probably his earliest effort.-The style is more measured and stately, and less natural than that of the latter.

We shall proceed to narrate the incidents in the Atheist's Tragedy, interspersing them with such extracts as are worth transplanting. D'Amville, (the atheist) in order to further his design of obtaining possession of his brother Montferrers' estate, for which he has an unhallowed affection, persuades his nephew Charlemont to go to the wars, and furnishes

him with a thousand crowns for his equipment. Charlemont's resolution goes sadly against the heart of his poor old father.

"Mont. I prithee let this current of my tears
Divert thy inclination from the war,
For of my children thou art only left,

To promise a succession to my house.

And all the honour thou canst get by arms,
Will give but vain addition to thy name;
Since from thy ancestors thou dost derive
A dignity sufficient; and as great

As thou hast substance to maintain and bear.
I prithee stay at home.

Charl. My noble father,

The weakest sigh you breathe, had power to turn
My strongest purpose; and your softest tear,
To melt my resolution to as soft

Obedience; but my affection to the war
Is as hereditary as my blood

To every life of all my ancestry.

Your predecessors were your precedents;
And you are my example. Shall I serve
For nothing but a vain parenthesis,
I th' honour'd story of my family?

Or hang but like an empty scutcheon

Between the trophies of my predecessors,

And the rich arms of my posterity:

There's not a Frenchman of good blood and youth,

But, either out of spirit or example,

Is turn'd soldier. Only Charlemont

Must be reputed that same heartless thing,

That cowards will be bold to play upon."

This resolution being immoveable however, he first takes of his friends and then of his mistress.

"Charl. My noble mistress, this accomplement

Is like an elegant and moving speech,

Composed of many sweet persuasive points,
Which second one another, with a fluent
Increase, and confirmation of their force,
Reserving still the best until the last,
To crown a strong impulsion on the rest,
With a full conquest of the hearer's sense:
Because th' impression of the last we speak
Doth always longest and most constantly
Possess the entertainment of remembrance;

So all that now salute my taking leave,
Have added numerously to the love
Wherewith I did receive their courtesy ;

But you, dear mistress, being the last and best
That speaks my farewell; like th' imperious close
Of a sweet oration, wholly have

Possessed my liking, and shall ever live
Within the soul of my true memory.

So, mistress, with this kiss I take my leave.
Casta. My worthy servant, you mistake th' intent
Of kissing. 'Twas not meant to separate

A pair of lovers, but to be the scale

Of love, importing by the joining of
Our mutual and incorporated breaths,
That we should breath but one contracted life;
Or stay at home, or let me go with you.

Charl. My Castabella, for myself to stay,
Or you to go, would either tax my youth
With a dishonourable weakness, or
Your loving purpose with immodesty.

Castu. O the sad trouble of my fearful soul!
My faithful servant, did you never hear
That when a certain great man went to th' war,
The lovely face of heav'n was mask'd with sorrow,
The sighing winds did move the breast of earth,
The heavy clouds hung down their mourning heads,
And wept sad showers the day that he went hence;
As if that day presag'd some ill success,

That fatally should kill his happiness;

And so it came to pass. Methinks my eyes

(Sweet heav'n forbid !) are like those weeping clouds,

And as their showers presag'd, so do my tears,

Some sad event will follow my sad fears."

The avarice of the Atheist is not satisfied, and, as Castabella is the heiress to a large estate, he proposes a marriage, between her and his son Rousard, to Belforest her father, who describes beautifully the effect of the proposal on his daughter.

"Bel. I entertain the offer of this match,
With purpose to confirm it presently.
I have already mov'd it to my daughter;
Her soft excuses savour'd at the first
(Methought) but of a modest innocence