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upon the dearth of flesh, at any rate. Hang him, innocent!

Giovanni passes over the Stage.
Ann. But see, Putana, see! what blessed shape
Of some celestial creature now appears !--
What man is he, that with such sad aspect
Walks careless of himself?

Put. Where?
Ann. Look below.
Put. On, 'tis your brother, sweet.
Ann. Ha!
Put. "Tis
Ann. Sure 'tis not he; this is some woeful

thing
Wrapp'd up in grief, some shadow of a man.
Alas! he beats his breast, and wipes his eyes,
Drown'd all in tears : methinks I hear him sigh;
Let's down, Putana, and partake the cause.
I know my brother, in the love he bears me,
Will not deny me partage in his sadness :
My soul is full of heaviness and fear.

[Aside, and exit with Pur.

your brother.

* Innocent.] A natural fool. Thus, in the Two Noble Kinsmen, A. iv. s. 4.

but this very day
I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me
So far from what she was, so childishly,
So sillily, as if she were a fool,
An innocent ; and I was very angry."--Reed.

SCENE III.

A Hall in FLORIO's House.

Gio. Lost! I am lost! my fates have doom'd

my death :
The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope: I see my ruin certain.
What judgment or endeavours could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds,
I thoroughly have examined, but in vain.
O, that it were not in religion sin
To make our love a god, and worship it !
I have even wearied heaven with pray’rs, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even stary'd .
My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practised; but, alas!
I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales,
To fright unsteady youth; I am still the same:
Or I must speak, or burst. 'Tis not, I know,
My lust, but 'tis my fate, that leads me on.
Keep fear and low faint-hearted shame with

slaves !
I'll tell her that I love her, though my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.
Oh me! she comes.

3

3 This is a repetition of the sentiment with which he had taken leave of the Friar-My fate's my god. I would not detain the reader in these scenes, on which Ford has lavished all the charms of bis eloquence ; but it may be cursorily observed, that characters like Giovanni, desperately abandoned to vice, endeavour to cheat

Enter ANNABELLA and PUTANA. Ann. Brother!

Giov. If such a thing
As courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers,
Now double all that virtue in my tongue ! [Aside.

Ann. Why, brother,
Will you not speak to me?
Giov. Yes; how do you,

sister?
Ann. Howe'er I am, methinks you are not well.
Put. Bless us ! why are you so sad, sir?
Giov. Let me entreat you, leave us a while,

Putana.
Sister, I would be private with you.

Ann. Withdraw, Putana. .

Put. I will.-If this were any other company for her, I should think my absence an office of some credit; but I will leave them together.

[Aside, and exit. Giov. Come, sister, lend your hand; let's walk

together; I hope you need not blush to walk with me; Here's none but

you

and I. Ann. How's this?

Giov. I'faith,
I mean no harm.

Ann. Harm?

their conscience, by setting up a deity of their own, and pretending to be swayed by his resistless influence. This is the last stage of human depravation, and, in Scripture language, is called “hardening the heart.”-See Mass, vol. i. p. 217.

Giov. No, good faith.
How is it with thee?
Ann. I trust he be not frantic-

[Aside. I am very well, brother.

Giov. Trust me, but I am sick; I fear so sick, 'Twill cost my life.

Ann. Merey forbid it! 'tis not so, I hope.
Giov. I think you love me, sister.
Ann. Yes, you know I do.
Giov. I know it, indeed-you are very fair.
Ann. Nay, then I see you have a merry sick-

ness.

Giov. That's as it proves. The poets feign, I

read, That Juno for her forehead did exceed All other goddesses; but I durst swear Your forehead exceeds her's, as her's did theirs.

Ann. 'Troth, this is pretty!

Giov. Such a pair of stars
As are thine eyes, would, like Promethean fire,
If gently glanced, give life to senseless stones.

Am. Fie upon you!
Giov. The lily and the rose, most sweetly

strange, Upon your dimple cheeks do strive for change : Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as

those Would make an anchorite lascivious.

Ann. Do you mock me, or flatter me?

Giov. If you would see a beauty more exact Than art can counterfeit, or nature frame,

Look in your glass, and there behold your

own.

Ann. O, you are a trim youth !
Giov. Here!

[Offers his dagger to her. Ann. What to do?

Giov. And here's my breast; strike home!
Rip up my bosom, there thou shalt behold
A heart, in which is writ the truth I speak-
Why stand you ?

Ann. Are you earnest?

Giov. Yes, most earnest. You cannot love?

Ann. Whom?

Giov. Me. My tortured soul
Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.
O, Annabella, I am quite undone !
The love of thee, my sister, and the view
Of thy immortal beauty, have untuned
All harmony both of my rest and life.
Why do you not strike?

Ann. Forbid it, my just fears !
If this be true, 'twere fitter I were dead.

Giov. True! Annabella; 'tis no time to jest.
I have too long suppress'd my hidden flames,
That almost have consum'd.me; I have spent
Many a silent night in sighs and groans;
Ran over all my thoughts, despised my fate;
Reason'd against the reasons of my love,
Done all that smooth-cheek'd virtue could advise,
But found all bootless : ’tis my destiny
That you must either love, or I must die.

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