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We hereby certify that the impression of the following Work, containing an Account of the Manuscripts in the Public Library, Plymouth, &c., has been strictly limited to Eighty Copies.
[Signed in pen:] C. & J. Adlard
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Brief Description
of the
Preserved in the
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Vice-President of the British Archaeological Association, &c.,
of Many considerate kindnesses. |
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| 1. | A Catalogue of Manuscripts presented to the Public Library, Plymouth, by J. O. Halliwell, Esq. . . . . . | 1 |
| 2. | Notices of Dr. S. Forman, with Extracts from his Metrical Autobiography. . . . . | 33 |
| 3. | The Generall, a Tragi-Comedy, attributed to Shirley, now first printed from the original MS. . . . . . | 55 |
| [This is now attributed to Roger Boyle, Earl of Orrery, first performed under this title on 14 September 1664.] | ||
| 4. | A Poem by N. Breton, now first printed from an early MS. . . . . . | 177 |
| [Breton is said to have entitled this 'The Countesse of Penbrook's Passion' c1592-1597] | ||
| 5. | Mother Shipton's Prophecy. . . . . | 211 |
| [Said to be born in Yorkshire in 1488 as Ursula Southheil or Sonthiel, but her identity as an authoress is disputed.] | ||
| 6. | Love's Victorie, an unpublished Drama of the Seventeenth Century—Extracts from . . . . . | 212 |
| [By Lady Mary Wroth, c.1620?] | ||
| 7. | Notes of Two Rare Tracts . . . . . | 237 |
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of
Manuscripts on Vellum and Paper.
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(a) Ægidii Romani Ord. August. Lectura super libros iv. Aristotelis de Physico. (b) Aristotelis libri quatuor de Physico. The first of these works is by no means common in manuscript.
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1. King Henrie 8th's Letter to the Clergie of the province of Yorke, 1533, touching the title of Supremum Caput Ecclesiæ Anglicanæ, in answere to certaine words passed by the clergie of Canterburye, and other things concerning the Kinges Majestie.
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This little volume was in Rodd's collection, and marked by him £1 11s. 6d.
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1. A Letter by way of Petition to King James, from Francis Phillips, for the releasement of Sir Robert Phillips, then prisoner in the Tower, for speeches in Parliament. |
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2. A Letter from the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere to Kinge James. 3. The Catholiques' of England Letter to King James at his first entrance into England for approbation and tolleration of their religion. 4. Queen Anna Bullen's Letter to King Hen. 8, found amongst the Lord Cromwell's paper.
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" Pole (Sir William) Description or Survey of Devonshire, transcribed from the copy taken by John Anstis, Esq., from the original autograph manuscript, very distinctly written, folio, neat, £3 3s.
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Being a true account of one Mr. William Thompson, a fisherman of Poole in Dorsettshire, who, in a small vessell, having but one man and a boy with him, engaged a French Privateer near the Island of Purbeck, fought him severall hours, gave chase to him, took him, and brought men and vessell Prisoners into Poole.
Lisenced according to order.
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Dr Simon Forman was, like the Welch impostor Evans, a pretended astrologer and magician ; and, to the great impeachment of the sagacity of the age wherein he lived, is said to have levied a comfortable subsistence on the folly and superstition of the public.
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Phisick in London, and of his delivery in the Plague, 1592.
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A Tragi-Comedy.
J A M E S S H I R L E Y.
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KING, an Usurper. ALCLIZER, the true King. ALTIMAST, the Usurper's Son. CLORIMAN, the General. LUCIDOR, Altemera's Lover. MEMNON, Altemera's Brother. | |||
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THRASOLIN, FILIDEN, MONASIN, CRATONER, |
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› | Commanders. |
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GESIPPUS, the Usurper's Confidant. CLAUTUS, friend to Memnon. OLERAND, Captain of the Tower. SOLDIERS.. GUARD. PAGE. CHIRURGEON. | |||
| ALTEMERA, Memnon's Sister, in love with Lucidor | ||
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CANDACE, her Companion, CONFIDANT to Candace, |
} | (disguised.) |
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FILIDEN, and CRATONER, with their swords drawn.
As fast as to it honour bids them run : Fear has so blinded them, they do not see Their ruin, or, what 's worse, their infamy.
Of the full glory of the overthrow, By killing of ourselves. |
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They then will say,
Despair, not honour, taught us that bold way.Let 's therefore show that all the rebels' powers, Had they been faced by a few swords like ours, Had found their triumph would so dearly cost, That it had rather caus'd their grief than boast.
And why in such a threat'ning posture now ?
So many dangers certain are, and near, That now we do not on our reasons call Which to avoid, but noblest way to fall ?
But, Thrasolin, 'tis our sin if we fly.
Each of you may with safety sheath his sword ; For you will find, when these disorders end, They came not from a foe, but for a friend. |
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Or rather say, what fury rais'd this storm ?— A storm so black and horrid, I may well Say 'tis not like, but is itself, a hell.
Therefore its rise and progress I'll unfold. It is not, sirs, to any here unknown Melizer should by right possess the Throne ; Nor is 't less true, that man who rules us now Is both a tyrant and usurper too. For when Erander in the fight did fall, This monster was the army's General, And when the royal Melizer he should Have crown'd, as being the first Prince of the Blood, He seiz'd on him, and by his boundless power Made him close prisoner in the fatal tower, Where still our lawful King he has detain'd ; But, finding how men murmur'd that he reign'd, The better to excuse all that was past, Declared his only son, young Altimast, Should marry our fair Princess Rosocleer, Who is to our true King the undoubted heir ; But when the appointed wedding-day drew near, We no more news of Altimast could hear. |
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Forcing away our noble General.
Was on the score of love as much as State ; For though he be in his declining age, Yet Altemera did his heart engage, Whose charming beauty (as 'tis known by all) Has been ador'd long by our General.
We know our ills, and long to know the cure.
To our wrong'd King sooner restore his right Than calling Cloriman, our General, back— 'Twas I this night did this disorder make. I let the soldiers know that he must die Unless they saved him by a mutiny ; Which fiction for a truth among them went. With tears his danger they did first lament ; Then from small numbers grew a mighty crowd— And then from whispering grew to talk aloud— Marching directly to the tyrant's tent, Demanded Cloriman from banishment. |
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Is but to bring us back our General ?
The end is noble though the way be not.
For which success must be my best excuse. Besides, in this great business I was loth That aught but tumult should have given it growth ; All form, all plots I therefore did decline, And made that look like chance which was design.
But tell us, Thrasolin, how does he look ?
Serves not silence, but augments his fear. Sometimes he thinks, the rebels being nigh, That we and they are in confederacy ; Then straight he thinks, from honour or from spite, We scorn ourselves but by ourselves to right. [A great cry within, and "Cloriman for our General !"
often repeated.
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Soft !—'tis the tyrant, fill'd with rage and fear.
You spend your time in consultation, When, such is the insulting soldiers' rage, 'Tis blood, not words, their fury must assuage.
It had been, sir, as soon as kindled, dead ; For each of us has spilt, with his own hand, What well might satisfy for all the land, Though every part of it had been as bad As this tumultuous night the camp has made, Which to your rage has added such a growth, They say that we are judge and party both.
Their mutiny, with your dire murder too.
Will prove as much your interest as crime. |
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Speak the results of reason, not of fear. The fit, in my opinion, is too high Now to prescribe a daring remedy. [The cry continued.
The army now will take, if you refuse ; And if your strength but once they understand, 'Twill teach them, from obeying, to command. In your resolving be not, sir, so slow, For the more forced the action then will show. To yield at last, and yet at first to strive, Show them 'tis they that take, not you that give. You may retire to Leptis, which is nigh, And is a place of strength and loyalty. When you are once out of the soldiers' powers, They must in consequence be soon in yours.
I must confess is wise, but then 'tis low ; And he a crown does not deserve to wear Who, while he has it on, admits of fear.
As, sir, it is not low, so 'tis not wise. |
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Permit me, sir, to say your courage here, As the case stands, will like despair appear.
May be your mask, and, a worse thing, your end. The rebels' forces are a mighty power, And hourly look for their brave Lucidor. Memnor and Clatus, and more men of name, Are now amongst them, waiting but for fame.
What your resentment now would drive you to ; And your retirement may be made appear To spring from your contempt, not from your fear. What greater ill can on your army fall Than to want you to be their General ?
Go, Thrasolin, and let the army know I grant them their request ; for now they shall Possess again their long'd-for General. But stay,—for what if Cloriman should, now That fortune smiles, show her an angry brow ?
His conquering sword now to defend their right, |
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Yet Altemeera's love so fills his breast, 'Twill force him from his solitude and rest, And make him court again the world's applause By acting things transcendent as your cause.
Shall carry to him his commission. Tell him from me, would he cast off his pride, And guide himself as he can armies guide ; Or could he but at length attain to this, To show his passion but his subject is ; There's none who bears a name should have in me So just and high an interest as he. Gesippus ! come, to Leptis we'll retire, There 'wait the effect of granting your desire.
For none can tell what men enrag'd may do.
My guards shall be my courage and my fame ; For if they saw with other guards I went, 'Twould make that look like fear which is contempt. Yet, gentlemen, your care you're in I see, Which ere long I'll not fail to gratify. [Exeunt KING and GESIPPUS.
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And of my plot, and of my mutiny ? That all are virtuous I most freely grant—
Whom to this mutiny you did'st dispose Will suffer death, or else some torturing pain, And you for it will high rewards obtain.
The wager is at lowest two to one ; For those two powers who govern all mankind, Fortune and Justice, both of them are blind.
This is a time of earnest, not of play.
For soldiers see better than understand. I'd rather far, when I the business break, But wishly look, than only wishly speak. |
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My parting sighs to Altemeera pay ; Then let all things be so prepar'd to-night That I may leave the town by dawn of light. [Walks in great distemper. Exit PAGE.
How can that heart which does her image bearAdmit of aught so nigh to sin as fear ! If but the thought of absence be such pain, How can I, then, the enduring it sustain ? Death I have seen a thousand times and more, But never knew what trembling was before ; Which proves my parting is an ill more high Than, ere she lov'd, I thought it was to die.
Enter ALTEMEERA and CANDACE. Can you forgive me, Madam, that I thus Present you sorrows so infectious ?
But leaving me, and leaving me for war ; For which so little argument I find, My reason makes that sin the more unkind. |
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'Tis better under them to die than live ; Else you could never so unkind have been As thus to call my punishment my sin, Nor to those sorrows under which I groan Could you have thought it fit to add your own.
For they, alas ! are not imposed, but sought. If you desire to shun them, what I say Might move you now to cast them all away ? Did you but credit what you still profess, That I alone can make your happiness, You would not your obedience thus decline, But end by paying it your griefs and mine.
The most exalted of all happiness, And not in every way of honour strive To show that I would merit what you give ? But were my laurels as my myrtles are— Had I all glories found in peace or war— All were as short of merit, I would vow, As by your love I am above it now ; Yet I confess I cannot but design To show my failings are Fate's sins, not mine. |
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Though you love me, yet you love glory more. But, Lucidor, yours is not near to me Of so great value as your company ; And sure if mine were but to you as dear, You would not, to court glory, leave me here.
My only glory is, that I am yours ; And from this war I hope but this reward— Against the tyrant's lust to be your guard. You are so good, he ill in such excess, 'Twere sin to doubt my safety or success.
Waiting for forward courages in war, Sorrow invades me so, I must confess My reason makes them rather more than less.
Must needs be destined unto triumph too. The justice of the gods is sure too high Your care to give me and your own deny. I have your love, and in your quarrel fight : That makes it duty, this makes it delight. |
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In your just cause all dangers I despise : My sword shall be resistless as your eyes.
This comfort yet will stay when you are gone ; For by it this great truth will clearer shine— Your want of kindness cannot lessen mine ; Yet how you love my life, let it be shown In being careful to preserve your own. My eyes, I hope, are kinder than my words, For grief to these a passage scarce affords ; And yet I should not mourn my sorrow grows— Words cannot speak so much as silence does.
When even your kindness, Madam, makes his grief ? [Exeunt.
'Tis enough he's your foe to make him mine. But will he sure be here to-morrow night ?
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But I'll relate our quarrel in one word, That you may see 'tis worthy of your sword : After some strife 'twixt Lucidor and I, Whose colours in the field should foremost fly—
Well grounded, you're the less obliged to me ; And if an unjust quarrel you pursue, Then I am much the less obliged to you. The story cannot more my friendship bind, And you, by telling it, may change my mind.
Since Lucidor your sister is to wed, You would not but with difficulty be Engaged to serve as second now to me.
Built, as your fears, on a mistaken ground, Let's mend it by good fighting, which has tied Often ere now success to the wrong side. But if I may be better understood, Know friendship is a greater tie than blood. A sister is a name must not contend With the more high and sacred name of friend : That but to me my mother's word makes known, But I for this need but to take my own. |
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Come, name the time and place ; I long to try, By valour's doom, whose colours first shall fly.
Where the late pious anchorite did dwell ; The time, my Memnon, I desire to be As soon as we can our swords' length but see.
For honour should be won at every hour, And he must sure deserve her favours best Who does solicit them the earliest. Be sure that too much sleep thou dost not take—
Is now what still to wise men it should be ; And to relapses nothing can me win ; I hate it now as virtuous men hate sin. Come to this cell—a noble farewell give—
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Then clothe yourself with armour, and you'll see Your old and great attendant, Victory, Did never yet so much to fortune owe As in this war inconstancy to show.
I'd rather conquest on my passions win Than from my cell an hour myself dispose To win a conquest over all my foes.
This strange aversion to heroic deeds ? Have you for so long time on glory fed, That you on it at length have surfeited ? Or do you think it is its utmost rise Thus to have power all glory to despise ? If none of these, then your assistance bring, And save your sinking country and your king.
'Tis not his love, but fear, which courts me now. |
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When I at Leptis his sunk hopes did raise, And such things did, he vow'd excell'd his praise, And by those actings that peace to him brought, With fame, which else he would with gold have bought, Yet he——
He wrong'd himself more than he injur'd you. But if for him you will not undertake This war, yet do it for your country's sake— Your sinking country, which on you does call, Who we are certain can prevent our fall.
When that does govern monarchies as me. Those storms it sends, but as a fright'ning ill, May be o'ercome by courage and by skill ; But if to act our ruin Fate thinks fit, We then forsake the helm, and must submit. Kingdoms, like private lives, have periods set, And when heaven calls, who dares deny the debt ?
Would Cloriman outlive his country's doom ?
That which I love, must I myself destroy ? |
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You would not after long yourself enjoy.
Makes burn afresh my high successes' flame— A flame the which death's coldness cannot reign, Since it outbraves still her more cold disdain.
What honour and revenge invites you to ? Your rival in this war will grow so great, Her love to him will not be gift, but debt.
Greater in fame than he's to me in love.
Glory my cause in love shall undertake. Who's pleading for me shall be so sublime, It shall say more for me than love for him.
Love makes you speak, but power will make that do. |
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Love, now the tyrant of my peace, my friend : I'll court him so that I'll his favour find, Unless he be much more unjust than blind.
For my ill tale in such a way does strike, All miseries to me are much alike.
To the right side balance the doubtful sway, And with your wreath of laurels, myrtle mix.
Why was not Reason, by decree of heaven, To man, for his internal monarch, given ? Our passions over it the conquest get, And, as they please, they cloud and govern it ; Love, honour, and revenge by turns bear sway, And all command what they should all obey. [Exeunt. |
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THRASOLIN, CRATONER, and MONASIN.
Show your return brings them resembling joys ; They think, sir, since to you their love is great, Nothing but what is such should tell you it.
Had they not brought me to them by a crime ; But since they cannot call back what is done, They must for it make their submission. This they shall do the first of anything, Then I will forthwith send it to the King. He will perceive that, duty being paid, I know by armies how to be obeyed. But where is Filiden ? He used to be The foremost of my friends to visit me. |
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Last night to give you some intelligence, Such as might soon give you—the meanest show You merit the high trust you are in now.
Are now encamped so near the enemy, It were a sin in sloth one hour to lie : Is there no way their courages to try ?
Though 'tis secured by Nature's help alone, Yet round it daily their new works appear.
prisoners.
Ha ! what is this ? Memnon and Lucidor !
If I could take some of the enemy. |
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Near to the camp, where I lay hid last night, These two, by dawn of day, did come to fight, And Clautus ; but when Lucidor did know His mistress's brother was to serve his foe, He vowed he would return, unless that he A common second to them both would be ; Protesting, if to that he'd condescend, He would no longer wait for his own friend, Who, he well knew, would soon be in the field. This high civility had longer held, Had I not, with my party, thought it fit To show myself, which quickly ended it. Clautus the name of quarter slighting still, We thought it rude to save him 'gainst his will. The self-same way these two had also took, Had not their swords, while they were fighting, broke.
And had not fortune, too, joined on his side, We should not now (so justly bonds we hate) Have been the tame beholders of our fate.
Which we'll so bravely bear she'll be ashamed ; And, whilst her unjust frowns we suffer thus, We'll triumph over her, not she on us. |
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Lead Memnon to my tent—he bleeds, I see— And bid my surgeons that care of him show, They'll have of me when I am wounded too. No other prison but your word I crave.
All leave the place but only Lucidor.
And there let's have a little merriment. [Exeunt. Manent CLORIMAN and LUCIDOR.
Which misbecomes one so much lov'd as you. Your Altemeera's love to me would bring relief In all the wounds of fortune and of grief.
It is not on my own account, but hers, That fortune should be tyrannous to him Whom Altemeera does not disesteem. |
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Fortune by much the lesser goddess is. Had fate to place me in thy joy thought fit, I would do nothing else but think on it ; Nay, even I my sleep would not esteem, If I should not reflect on't while I dream.
Than I in prizing of that happiness. You show the low esteem of it you hold, By thinking 'tis a blessing can be told.
That which but too much contradicts your words. But tell me, pray, does Altemeera still Enjoy the power of conquering whom she will ?
All want the power to shun it as desire. Her beauties to behold, and not to love, A wonder great,—as they themselves would prove. In all things else 'tis ignorance alone Hinders our making your description ; But in this case her beauties such are grown, Knowledge is lost in admiration. |
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That we can only see their beauteous light, And Altemeera, with more lustre graced, Within my rival's reach by you is placed ? Why was there so much given to her, and she Permitted, too, to give it all to thee ?— But, Lucidor, you bleed ; had I your wound But sooner seen, you should have sooner found What's dear by nature to her I'd not own, More than what's so by inclination.
'Tis my great trouble that it is so small.
Speaking the dismal language of despair, Which Altemeera's power seems to decline— At least, I should think, were your fate mine. [Exeunt.
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Yes, I must hate 'em, for they have their eyes To move 'em still the handsome men to prize ; They have your ears, too, in their humorous fits, To make 'em love and dote upon your wits ; They have their fancies, too,—I myself know it,— To make 'em love th' inventions of the poet ; Nay, were all these centred in one, they then Have their inconstancy to love all men.
Is what I'd quarrel with them, did they want. Their fickleness I think a virtue rare ; Long none I keep, nor of none long despair. In me a greater trouble it would breed, If they still loved, than if they never did. Their kindness cannot be a joy so high As afterwards is their inconstancy. Such quitting me is what I most esteem ; They do to me what I would do to them. Their change for new amours my way does make : Rids me of her I took—brings her I'd take. But if these truths, which I to thee have said, Do want the power thy reason to persuade, And that you yet will to fix women try,— Which harder is than to fix mercury,— Then marry.
Is to unfix them the most certain way. |
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Experience shows that women are much more Unfixed after their marriage than before. All ties in love, but love that power do want, And even are defective in the grant.
Their hearts to join, they need no nuptial band ; And if love do not, those will hold them ill : They are or needless or weak fetters still— Things which but fright them as want wit to see They are no substance, but a mystery.
Who, wanting natural charms to take and hold The young and handsome, by constraint did fail To find out bands were artificial.
I loath so perfectly those horrid chains, That I had rather much you two to see Thrice married, than that once you should me.
You lately were fair Cutane to wed. |
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To think that therefore he was pleased with it ? Come, think on Daphnis.
And her words are more handsome than her looks. That woman's brought to an unhappy pass, When that her tongue is the best part she has. I think to praise a tavern is as fit For having waters, as a woman's wit. They doubtless should with other charms be graced ; I grant the thing is good, but they're misplaced. Think on Amanta : she is very rich.
Faith, she's not old enough,—for I esteem A woman's middle-age her worst extreme ; In every season else, wish has some scope— In youth there's certainty, in age there's hope. She's old enough ugly to be, I know, And young enough too long to live so, too ; And, to describe her truly, that which frights Is much more visible than what invites. Her wealth I love—her looks that love destroy : The grapes are painted worse than is the boy. |
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Think, then, on Cloris, who does loudly own A maid's chief beauty is discretion.
By her discretion, now her beauties fade. Love ugly women makes discreet, I know, Or rather ugliness does make them so— To ugliness Nature such strength imparts To make it tenable, it needs not . . . . . Think on Callione ; she's wondrous fair, And carries in her face a conquering air.
For on that air she'd have her servants feed. My love with that thin diet she did treat ; And when I begg'd some more substantial meat, The very naming it she scarce endured : So love, like agues, was by starving cured. She's a Platonic, or at least a fool : I praised her body, and she praised her soul.
Know 'tis the subtlest sect in Cupid's school. She who does once resign me up her soul, All fears to miss her body does control ; And by it many a well-meaning maid Has, as I know, her body oft betray'd |
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'Tis but a veil suspicious men to blind : None fear to be a cuckold of the mind. Think, then, on Flora ; she sings sweet and clear.
But I can love none, for the fair are won By too much time,—the rest are gain'd too soon. My stomach's nice, and if too long I'm cross'd In what I'd taste, my appetite is lost. I loath food needs much cooking ; if the meat Were ready when I'd have it, I could eat. Think on Arthyopa, for in her face Sadness has so much empire and such grace, That I could never tell whether her sight Did more forbid my passion, or invite.
She by approaches only could be won ; And you well know what I in love perform Is not by tedious sieges, but by storm. Her coyness made me all her sex abjure : Where kindness is not, reason is, my cure.
If those we talked of our discourse should hear, Reason from them will this belief require— Where there is so much smoke there is some fire. |
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Yet when their backs be turned let truth take place. The common proverb, too, we else should break, By which the losers still have leave to speak.
When thrice the General has for you sent ? I have at least this hour been round about The camp, endeavouring to find you out.
This is our usual place to meet and talk. But do you know what 'tis we are to do ?
Soon after from the General you went, There came one in disguise into the tent, Who to him some intelligence did give From Mora, where his mistress now does live. I saw him very joyful at the news, And after on it he awhile did muse, He with some earnestness commanded me To call all you to him immediately. |
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For hop'd-for honour will have certain blows. Our General will lead on like a sprite, When he does both for love and honour fight.
We take the place, each of us will have ten. When towns are conquer'd by the force of war, Walls first are storm'd, and then the women are. [Exit.
Much more than you thyself could'st hope from me ; But, for thy own, as well as for my sake, Fail not in that you now dost undertake.
Have left unto our charge the postern-gate Next to the camp, where, if you are inclin'd To storm the place, you shall admittance find. But, sir, your party must be very strong ; For all which to our garrison belong Are of the rebels' force the very flower, And chosen out as such by Lucidor. |
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A Lucidor himself, I would not care. I ne'er saw those which my sword did not fright When I for glory or for love did fight ; And in this action I have now in hand Fighting for both, who can my arms withstand ?
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Oh, would to heaven I only were as far Above all fears in love as fears in war ! Success shall now, where I intend to go, A greater blessing than itself bestow. [Exeunt.
That was a vision which thou call'dst a dream ; And nothing made me think the last it was But when I saw him to the scaffold pass, And there undauntedly to lose his head : That fatal blow struck me not also dead !
Since he is now within his rival's power ; But yet this, madam, may his griefs subdue— As he's his foe, so he's your lover too. The name of rival threatens no such ill, But that of lover is above it still.
The boundless power of love thou ne'er hast known. Love is a passion still, and that's the cause 'Twill not be ruled by reason's certain laws. |
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Love is compos'd of riddles and excess : Oft 'twill do more than reason, oftener less. He that will freely die at my command Will in some cases e'en my tears withstand, And firmly thinks he does more love dispense In his denial than obedience : The justice of these things which I approve He measures more by reason than by love.
To love, and only know him but by name. Yes, I have felt his power ; and in such height, All wounds besides compar'd to mine are slight. Never did love till now inflict such woes : I burn, but dare not my fierce flame disclose.
The person's name which has inflam'd you so. Perhaps my help may bring you some relief, And, if not cure, at least may ease your grief.
But my case is above all help, I fear.
Invades your heart, it burns for Lucidor ? |
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I would embrace as the first happiness. For, even as I am, I never knew What joy meant till I gave myself to you ; And were I sure to have a larger part Than Lucidor possesses of your heart, To make that noblest empire so much mine I think I should all other aims decline.
Makes what was but a doubt a certainty. Blush not that I this truth to light have brought : Your love is a misfortune, not a fault. And how can I in you that passion blame, When I, too, burn in that resistless flame ?
Was an imagin'd passion to conceal ; But—all your doubts entirely to remove— I swear that Lucidor I do not love ; And since I would be first in your esteem, He being so, I cannot sure love him. I tell you who 'tis not ; and if I do E'er tell who 'tis, it shall be first to you. If you ask further, I must disobey : Let me in silence mourn my life away. |
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But tell me, pray, since to love's power you bow, Would you your life—to save your lover—give ?
And the faint hopes are all I can call mine, Yet for a world those hopes I'd not decline.
If Cloriman with my desire obey.
To think that any passion equals mine. In such a way love does my breast inspire, Other loves are but warmth, but mine a fire ; But 'tis a fire so pleasing and so high, That, martyr-like, I triumph while I die. [Weeps. A hot alarm; and one cries out within— " Arm! arm! the sally-port is won, And the fierce enemy is in the town." |
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Which does my trembling heart wound through my ear.
The town is now possess'd by Cloriman. In vain your soldiers have his arms withstood. Dead bodies pave the streets, which run with blood ; Hundreds have from his sword received their fates, And he is now entering your palace gates.
Which makes you to us both such fates assign ! But you are just, and therefore I'll not fear You'll lay on us above what we can bear.
[A noise at the door, and CLORIMAN speaking to his Officers.
But here resides she that's ador'd by me. Let no rude feet presume to enter here, And let no dying cries offend her ear. |
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Pardon me, Altemeera, that I dare Before your innocence guilt's livery wear. Since fate did me so long from you divorce, It did provoke me to make use of force. This action you should not condemn, but prize, Since 'tis th' effect of your triumphant eyes.
Thereby your own sin to extenuate. Those gods which we adore have never sent Their punishment upon the innocent ; But those sad cries which in my ears still sound By sympathy much worse than death do wound.
The soldiers' swords, on pain of instant death ; And to acquaint the living that they owe Only to your commands their being so. But, madam, is it just that you should shed Such precious flowers for those that are but dead, And that my case, which does much worse appear, Cannot, to give it ease, obtain one tear ? Those which are kill'd are from all ills releas'd, And from their troubles are redeem'd to rest ; But my deep miseries know no reprieve— A thousand deaths I die, and yet still live. |
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My waking thoughts my pain still fresh does keep, Nor are my dreams less torturing when I sleep,— Joy does your Cloriman so disesteem, He cannot taste it, though but in a dream.
In tears,—the common evidence of grief ; But could you see within my breast, you'd find Your sufferings have the sorrow of my mind ; Which rather should induce you to deplore What I now bear, than load me yet with more. The grossest things our senses entertain— The most refin'd invisible remain.
By public actings proof that it does live. To the best person which your love does sway You would not practise that which now you say. That is weak love, by all 'twill be confess'd, Which can be still confin'd within your breast, And even in surprises is so awed That it does courage want to look abroad. A perfect flame all things does get above ; Reason it rules, or turns it into love : 'Tis absolute whatever it will do, But yet it never can itself subdue.— |
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But I misspend this precious time, I see, In teaching love to her that taught it me.
More of love's power and actings than you do. Were love corporeal, doubtless then the breast Would be too small to lodge so great a guest. Acting is not its natural agree, Oft it is choice, oft 'tis necessity. That friendship I on Cloriman bestow Is as near love as ought, yet is not so ; And that it is not love I had not known— But that my heart I can but give to one.
Could you have found no other way beside To tell me how much you on me bestow, But how much more 'tis you have given my foe. Spite of your scorn, your beauties I'll adore ; 'Tis past my power to love you less or more. But from your vast disdain this good I'll get— Fully to prove my love is vaster yet, I'll court you so that I at length will prove You're mine by right, and only his by love. |
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And does such pressing orders to you bring That with impatience he bid me say— To speak with you he, in the street, does stay.
Pardon me, madam, that I leave you now.
Those fears : his coming grieves my frighted soul.
'Tis I am yours, not you my prisoner ; And where I bear command, you have more power Than were you in the camp of Lucidor. [Exeunt.
The true cause of those fears I did express, Which justly does my griefs the more advance : His answer was his craft, not ignorance ; |
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And nought so soon could bring Gesippus here But to act that which more than death I fear. Use all ways, my Candace, to find out, If that is certainty which yet is doubt. Those plagues which fortune on my friend has thrown Give me not leisure to deplore my own. [Exit. |
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and CRATONER.
And send a hundred more to every gate ; Then let a guard be of a thousand made, Which you three shall command at the parade. Lucidor from the camp is hither led, And by the King's command must lose his head. Gesippus in the garrison has stay'd To see those orders instantly obey'd.
'Tis better he should live than our trade die. |
/ p.102 /
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Who begg'd our General, in her lady's name, That he himself would take the pains to go And speak with her before the fatal blow. This, with a lover's duty, he obey'd ; But all that she can say will not persuade, For ere the General to his mistress went The orders for his death to me he sent. [Exeunt.
That for it you to me such plagues dispense ? But if my constancy provoke your hate, I will endure, but not deplore, my fate.
And at the door, to wait on you, does stay.
If he denies me, death is my relief. |
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Fortune, brave Cloriman, has now design'd
But by my virtue thus my love to wound ? But since to it so cruel now you prove, I renounce virtue—I am all but love ; Or if I any virtue still enjoy, 'Tis not so much as must my love destroy.
Forsakes the way, and yet pursues the end. |
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Forsake the end, and yet pursue the way.
Ought to be pleased that he does merit it.
Makes virtue more unfortunate than vice. Is't not enough my rival must have you, But you will make me help him to you too.
For any but for Cloriman to do, Whose virtue is so eminent and clear That common acts below it would appear. To any other, I'd conceal my fire, Since owning it might hinder my desire ; But while high things I would have you bestow, I scorn to seek 'em in a way that's low. Your granting my request, knowing my flame, Will add the greater lustre to your fame : This way, in which I ask a gift so great, Helps me to pay as well as make the debt. |
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But cuts my hopes off with a glittering sword. You make my virtue great, that it may prove A surer way but to destroy my love. I'll mourn I grant not that which you press : More to obey you were to love you less. Who can see beauties which so brightly shine, And to a rival all his hopes resign ? Conceal your eyes while you such grant pursue : Those plead for me more than your prayers for you. To prove you in the wrong, me in the right, No judge needs more than not to want his sight.
To preserve it you must preserve him too ; For it must still be his, I'll not deny : For him it lives, and with him it must die.
That great one of revenge—that greater, love ; And, madam, if you make me so accurs'd As to deny the last, I'll take the first.
What does incense you to it to decline ! |
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A conquest o'er the first in you to win Is virtue ; o'er the last, in me were sin. But if to my affection you pretend, This is the certain way to miss your end ; By it your rival's hopes will be o'erthrown, But you thereby cannot advance your own : If I his love, while you are just, prefer, Can I do yours, when you're his murderer ?
'Tis some to make my rival miss it too : A double ruin you on me would bring— To lose at once my Altemeera and my King.
Make me his punishment, since I'm his fault. That which his hate to Lucidor does move Is that he stands betwixt him and his love. —Since against honour I'll not act a crime, To be reveng'd on me he'll ruin him.— Act not a sin which needs must let me see Your hate for him transcends your love for me : Suppress your fury, which so high does burn, And let my prayers your hate to pity turn.
With whom I willingly would change my fate ! |
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One hour to have possess'd your love as he Possesses it, I'd die immediately. What greater joy can he beg from above, Than, while he is alive, to have your love ?
I saw even now Lucidor led to death ; And if his pardon be not sent him now, 'Twill come too late to stop the fatal blow.
Then you will show it in preserving his. Look on these tears awhile,—then I'll retire, And leave you to what virtue shall inspire ; But be assur'd of this,—that very breath Which tells me my friend's dead shall act my death. [Exit ALTEMEERA.
What a fierce war is in this narrow room ! Duty to the King's orders makes it fit He die ; my own revenge, too, joins with it— Revenge, which is so pleasing and so sweet, The gods to keep it for themselves think meet ; |
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And, above all revenges, that in love Does the most just and the most pleasing prove. But yet nor duty nor revenge must stand In competition with her least command : She never shall in me have cause to blame But the aspiring of a hopeless flame. I'll save my rival, and make her confess 'Tis I deserve what he does but possess. [Exit.
Can only hold us in eternal sleep ; And if a life, after this life, remains, Sure to our loves belong those happy plains : There in blest fields I'll pass the endless hour, And him I crown with love I'll crown with flower— A crown which more true joy than laurel brings, Or that bright earth which circles heads of kings. Either my fancy does delude my eyes, Or I behold my friend ascend the skies ; His spirit now, from clogs of flesh set free, Invites me to his immortality. Methinks I see him in those shades of rest, And as much monarch there as in my breast,— My tortur'd soul does with impatience stay, And longs to follow where he leads the way. |
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They have preserv'd your much-loved Lucidor. Of his reprieve I did myself despair— The fatal axe was lifted in the air, And ready was to fall, when Cloriman Appear'd and stay'd the execution. Gesippus said he in his crime was lost, And then for Leptis instantly took post ; The General whisper'd Filiden i' th' ear, And is himself, madam, coming here.
And to wait on you humbly does desire—
What shall I do for him, oblig'd me so ?
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If I in admiration pay his love.
You have oblig'd me to the last degree ;
Is in itself reward and duty too. I come more proofs of this to let you see, And not to hear from you my eulogy. I doubt, Gesippus' words will take such place, The King will me immediately disgrace ; Then for my rival's death he'll orders give, So that I shall not save him, but reprieve. His loss, I know, madam, will make you die,— Therefore I have set him at liberty; And fearing what the usurper's rage might do, Have given your brother Memnon freedom too. All that I thought you wish'd, I have made good : One to your love I give—one to your blood.
A course which further must your King provoke : |
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You might with privacy have let them go, And by your safety rais'd the favour too.
What's duty to obey, 'tis sin to hide. I'll make it to the world and you appear, To serve you is my glory, not my fear. I to retirement know the way again, And there I'll wait till Melizer does reign,— Whose virtues are so great, his right so good, He should be King by choice as well as blood.
And that a conquering army you command, Nobly, then, at the head of it appear, To save yourself and restore Melizer. If to perform this duty you think fit, Memnon and Lucidor shall join in it.
A right which treachery does to her give ; And virtuous Melizer would never own From falsehood the possessing of the throne. Disgrace I fear less than to be unjust : 'Tis such to take, and then betray, a trust. Though I my power and Melizer esteem, Yet I love honour more than power or him. |
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Next to your favour, what I covet most Is to restore to him the crown he lost ; But as my case is, all brave men will own 'Tis sin to talk of 't to do 't is none.
The whole world to supply, if it had none. What I propos'd, I cannot but recant ; So to deny is nobler than to grant. Preserve your power, that Melizer you may, In a fit season, serve in honour's way.
It will not need solicitation. But to the King, madam, I now will go, And there strive to prevent my overthrow ; But if I am disgrac'd, you'll then think meet To let me breathe my passions at your feet,— Which is a glory I shall prize above All blessings else, except it be your love.
Meet with success which may remove your fear : May the gods pay you all you do for me, And make your joys vast as your bounties be. |
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Than of yourself you can on me bestow. Permit me, madam, now to lead you in, And then my journey forthwith I'll begin. [Exeunt.
Outweighs not what he did for Lucidor, To take that rebel, and then set him free. Told you him all you had in charge from me ?
He would be ruin'd did he disobey ; But what I press'd, no more returns did find Than had my words been spoken to the wind. If you delay revenging this one hour, You may be King in name, but not in power.
'Tis plain, since he refuses your command, He has some greater wickedness in hand ; |
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And I much doubt those which he has set free Are with him now join'd in conspiracy.
But he'll not act, I'm sure, what's false or base : That pride which made him do what he has done Will make him low and treacherous actions shun.
Else you will feel those mischiefs I foresee.
Sure thou dost dream.
Didst see him ?
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Yes ; and more, I spoke with him.
He told me he is come from Mora post.
But six at most.
To order my designs, then bring him in. [Exit CAPTAIN. —I must get Altemeera in my power.— Who did he make of Mora Governor ?
Tell him, if he his King does love or fear, He must this night bring Altemeera here ; And tell him too, if he does disobey, His General's life shall his refusal pay. In this great trust show that thou art my friend : Bid all my guards immediately attend. [Exit GESIPPUS. You sacred powers ! to whom my heart is known, You know that, chiefly, I usurp the throne, |
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But with more hopes to have success in love : A monarch's power can only get above What Altemeera has so often shown Is Lucidor's by inclination.
Enter CLORIMAN and the CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD.
To reproach me for what love did commit. I never had th' ambition'd means before Since I fair Altemeera did adore, But in tedious sufferings to prove The clearness and the vastness of my love. Twice I a prisoner may make Lucidor, But to deny her once I wanted power ; This time will daily new occasions bring To show how I delight to serve my King ; But if I had denied her first request, I with a second never had been bless'd. |
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One who, you thought, could with such words be paid. No, no ; I know your rival you did spare For fear his death too soon should end the war ; And then the ground of all your pride would cease, Which you more value than your country's peace.
And to obey you only left his cell, Should now have that obedience term'd his pride, Which had been judg'd rebellion if denied. My country's peace I think the highest good, And to restore it have not spar'd that blood Which but too clearly now I see you hate, Else you would not have used me at this rate.
To name your faults is for your blood to thirst. I have small hopes of you when you decline What is as much your interest as mine : You'll save your rival rather than you'll do That which your King strictly commands you to.
Which did my rival save—my King offend ? |
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That is your treachery you call your love.
Such an aspersion on my honour fling ? Though armies to secure him had combin'd, Yet through them all this sword a way should find— This sword which sav'd your life twice in one day, And, when Death seiz'd you, frighten'd him away— This sword, on which success did still attend, And to enthrone you was your powerfull'st friend. Reproach for this is a reward unfit.
Were all those duties thou to me didst pay Put in one scale, this crime would them outweigh. Think not such ruffling words will alter me: I say again it is thy treachery.
To wrong me, whom alone I dare not kill ? |
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If ever I a treacherous act have done, 'Tis to that treacherous act you owe your crown.
Or, for thy tongue's offence, I'll take thy head.
Will lose my head ere a truth told deny.
But you are in my power, I'll make you know.
Been in the camp, if that had been my will. If in your power I am, then learn from thence That I depended on my innocence : The folly had surpass'd the fancied sin, To yield myself up, had I guilty been.
Those they would ruin they infatuate.
Therefore take heed you lose not such a friend. |
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How fit it is I cut off such a foe.
Then 'tis an easy thing my head to take ; But if I am resolv'd my head to keep, Who takes it off must make an army sleep— That army which my absence did so fire, They made you call me back—yourself retire. If they did thus my power but to restore, Think you, to save my life, they'd not do more ? Mora is not less strong than Leptis is: Those who took that can, if they please, take this. Dost thou first injure, and then threaten me ?
[The Guards surprise and disarm him.
That your left hand thus does cut off your right ; In this low act—for them you do much more Than I have done in freeing Lucidor.
Thou hast forgot my guards have seized on thee. |
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I'd make you tremble in the midst of them. Often ere now, without boast I may say, I drove when single more than these away. Numbers make you secure in what you do ; And, if I please, know I have numbers too. Usurpers merit never did regard, But punish worth, which is above reward.
Whence none comes out unless he lose his head ; And, since my favours find such a return, That goodness he abridg'd he now shall mourn. Let him with no man speak, or see the day ; If he escape, thy life shall for it pay. [Exit KING. [Guards offer to seize CLORIMAN.
I am resolved to go, and I'll go free. [Exeunt omnes.
We will not only think on it, but do. |
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But let each of us hasten to his post. You two shall in disguise to Leptis go ; Then let me hourly all that passes know. I fear the General's open nature may, By the King's arts, his innocence betray ; And when he has the power his head to take, He at the sin will not much scruple make.
We have not yet forgot to mutiny ; And, rather than that loss we will endure, For our last ill we'll practise our first cure. [Exeunt.
And came to know what further I must do.
This service yet transcends all thou hast done. Life, empire, and all blessings else, must prove Below the vast importance of my love. Wait on her hither straight, whilst I reflect What raptures love will bring—what griefs neglect. [Exit GESIPPUS.
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This heart—the fear of death could ne'er invade— Now trembles to behold that conquering maid ; But yet 'twere sin that trembling to bemoan, Since my love by it is the clearer shown. Whate'er my passion does discover most, Ought not to make my sorrow, but my boast.
That Cloriman is so in your disgrace, That he is like (such your resentments be) To lose his life for what he did for me. Since 'twas my tears made him his fault commit, I'll strive by them to make you pardon it ; Therefore, upon my knees, I humbly crave That you at least his precious life will save. [Kneels.
'Tis I should kneel to you, not you to me. Could you have found no other way beside But this, my deep obedience to have tried ? Command me to subdue Rome by a war, And I'll do that rather than this by far.
But 'tis your virtue must yourself subdue. |
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If you deny my first and only suit, My knees shall never rise, but here take root.
His life I give, madam, to your command.
No title sounds so great as that of good.
Do not decline that virtue you have taught ; And since I sav'd a rebel at your prayer, Let not your King, adoring you, despair. His person I must for a while confine : 'Tis for my rival's safety, as for mine.
Now to beg more you might esteem a crime.
To keep you longer from your lodgings now : I have a high important business there, Fit only to be whisper'd in your ear. |
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That is turn'd virtue which at first was sin. Such charms in Honour she to me did show, I adore hers more than her beauties now. She that has in her King this great change bred, As a reward deserves to share his bed. Think not th' unequalness shall me dissuade : Custom, not reason, has that distance made. Worse than a subject's case a King's would prove, If he must wed by rules of state, not love.
To which, more than your sword, nations did bow ? Oh ! wrong not thus the glory of your name, Nor to your pleasure sacrifice your fame.
Since love, than titles, bears an elder date ! |
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Love is great Nature's first and noblest law— At once with force and pleasure it does draw.
Is in itself only a waking dream. Pardon me if I say, to keep your throne, You need your neighbour's army and your own : Thousands do now their swords against you draw— And say you sit in it by force, not law ; From all their mouths you nothing else can hear, But that your crimes alone have placed you there.
The gods forgive—when once they put it on. To their high justice 'twere a disrespect To fear what they create they will neglect. Such charms her love will to my arms dispense, No forces can withstand their influence. Each leading rebel who does now contend Is Altemeera's kinsman or her friend ; They fear'd I'd force those joys she did deny, Which only made them to rebellion fly. That beauty for my queen I'll therefore woo,— So end my troubles, and my kingdom's too. All thy dissuasions will but fruitless prove : I sooner will forsake my life than love. |
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To create foreign, than end civil war. But what I said 'twas duty made me say : Now you are fix'd 'tis duty to obey.
And on this noble change her pleasure know. I cannot think I shall successless prove, Presenting her a crown and virtuous love. [Exeunt.
Which will such joy in all our hearts infuse.
The officer who did the guards command Asked me what business 'twas had brought me there : As soon as ever I his voice did hear, I knew him well to be brave Olerand, Who had so long serv'd under my command.
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That battle where we lost the best of kings— Whose valour Cloriman so much did prize, He gave him one of the old companies ?
How durst they trust him there ?
But knowing our General he had lov'd, And still how true to honour he had prov'd, I forthwith did acquaint him who I was. Then he did me a thousand times embrace, And freely afterwards to me confess'd He lately bought that office he possess'd. I told him then, by no man 'twould be thought A crime in him, to sell what he had bought ; To which so many motives he set down, He privately brought me to Cloriman, Where Olerand protested before me He would this night set him at liberty ; The General, too, vow'd he'd no more defer By open force to restore Melizer, Which he no longer could esteem unjust, Th' usurper having freed him of his trust. |
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We now shall change our tyrant for our King.
The General sent both Olerand and me To our true King, to let him understand What for his restoration was in hand,— Whose royal goodness has forgiven us all, And has made Cloriman our General. And, in a word, thus we resolv'd the thing : This very night we should such forces bring, As, when we should him from the prison get, Might to the camp justify his retreat.
In the true King's our swords should wonders do. On the wrong side we know how we can fight ; Let's prove now we can do it on the right. Some joyful news I can return to you ; For Thrasolin writ to me even now, The camp th' usurper's crimes so much resent, That as one man they on revenge are bent.
That in this great design no time be lost. [Exeunt. |
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That flame which its great causer ne'er has known,— To whose great secrecy I now commit That which to tell myself I scarce hold fit,— Between my rivals I such strife have sown, They my revenge must act, or not their own. By such dark arts I now have forc'd their hate, They cannot find out truth till 'tis too late ; And though in that a high sin I commit, I am come here to act a greater yet. Ere Love in me his empire did begin, My spotless soul did tremble at a sin ; But now I can with blacker crimes dispense : Custom in sinning takes away the sense. The fear of endless flames I am above, Or think those flames are less than mine of love. Blind god ! what is it that thou mak'st me do ? Thou that my sins dost cause, forgive them too. [She lies down.
To please her hate, she shuns to be a queen ! |
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But since my passion she does thus deride, Force shall perform what is to love denied.
Whilst you to her your last resolve made known, I won Candace to come here alone, And have, sire, so prepar'd her, that a word Will make her to you her best help afford, Which is so powerful, you in it may find That ease is needful to your troubled mind. If you win her by gifts and promises, She with her lady can do what she please.
I will make use of all may help my love. Lovely Candace, you with me must go, And help at once your King and lady too. [Exeunt.
We dare be rebels, and yet dare not fight : |
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A fitter time our wishes could not grant— The tyrant's camp their General does want, Which has incens'd them, too, to such a height, They rather against him than us would fight. Never such causes yet did armies part— Th' usurper's wants a head, and ours a heart. The tyrant's power and lust so boundless are, He'll act what I till now oppos'd by war. I'll therefore go to Leptis in disguise ; I cannot live, banish'd from her bright eyes. Her guards I will corrupt or else deceive : Nothing to save her unessay'd I'll leave. If he use force, and all my arts should miss, I'll sacrifice my life to cut off his. [Exit.
Candace is become my confidant, And she advises, as my only course, That I will threaten to make use of force. My flame and her disdain such torments prove, That I must lose my life or quench my love. This truth I sent her by Candace now, And as I made, so will I act my vow.
You must resolve to take the General's head. |
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It were unwise, treating her at this rate, To let him live the wrong to vindicate.
Her tears did force, and 'twas conditional. Since she her mercy does to me decline, It is but just I should deny him mine. My guards forthwith about her lodging send ; Take from her all things which her life may end. I know not what despair may make her do : She who does slight a crown may slight life too. [Exeunt.
That he has sworn much more than I have spoke. He will forthwith deflower your chastity : His looks more than his oaths assure it me. Despair and lust are flaming in his eyes— Honour and virtue he does but despise. His guards he sends about your lodgings now. This is your case—resolve what you will do.
Why are these plagues to Altemeera sent ? |
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Men will believe, if this you let him do, My virtue, not my sins, you punish now. —Think you I may not yet disguised fly ?
There's but one way to which you now can trust : When he comes here, burning with rage and lust, By a bold stroke your just revenge begin,— Make him the sacrifice that is the sin.
Virtue to save, she went to sin for aid. What you propose to free me from distress Is by a greater ill to shun the less.
If, while I'm innocent, the gods design To act my ruin, that's their fault, not mine ; And such I always shall to them appear, If I my flame above my life prefer.
Do you, then, think to kill yourself is none ? |
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'Tis virtue then the greatest to refuse. When in this strait I by the gods am placed, I'll rather cease to live than live unchaste : I'll save my honour, though at that dear price. Your help I now desire, not your advice ; For when I had refus'd to be his wife, He forc'd from me all might destroy my life. Some arms or poison now procure for me, To end my days and save my chastity.
But, to advance your death, I must refuse.
Refuse not yet bow'd knees and weeping eyes. [Kneels. By my worst foes I should be better used : I do not use to beg or be refus'd |
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To see my mistress thus to weep and kneel ; I will obey, though with a bleeding heart,— But from you in the grave I will not part.
And as much bless'd as I am curs'd in love.
What business then have I to stay behind ? No, madam, such commands I must decline : You in your ways are fix'd, and I in mine. But, madam, since you are resolv'd to die, And what you'll do must be done speedily,— Since the guards search all who go in and out, Weapons they'll find, and why I bring them out ; Poison I therefore think the fittest thing, Which, unsuspected, I to you may bring.
In doing it let no time be lost ; And while you bring what must my life destroy, I'll fit myself to welcome death with joy. [Exit. |
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That they by fortune cannot be betray'd ; But if to prosper them the gods refuse, Together with my hopes, my life I'll lose. Who waits here ? ho !
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Honour and love call me to pay it now : Those who by virtue all their actions steer, Either of those, before their life, prefer. The shortness of my life I cannot blame ; Death is repair'd by dying with such fame. Yet some a life after this life distrust, And think that death makes us perpetual dust. That should not, were it true, my death retard ; Virtue shines most when 'tis without reward. 'Tis only those who here indulge to sense, To joys of endless life have no pretence : Eternal death, when this life does expire, Is not the wicked's faith, but their desire.
I will obey whatever you command. The guards did search me ere they let me pass, But ne'er suspected what was in this glass ; But, now that I have brought it, I must say, I wish the guards had taken it away ; For still the nearer that you are to die, The more to it is my reluctancy. |
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Death is so much the welcomer to me. If you deny me that which you have brought, Your sin will be worse than the tyrant's thought : He makes me but the fear of ill endure, But it is you deny that ill a cure. Oh ! my Candace, 'twere the highest spite To make me perish in my harbour's sight.
To lose life certainly is much more fit Than hazard chastity by saving it. Show me the truth of what you have profess'd, In not denying me my last request.
Thus, madam, I obey your sad command. [Kneels and gives a glass.
By giving this much more than life you give. [Offers to drink; CANDACE stops her
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Fear, I perceive, in thee is much more high To see my death than 'tis in me to die. My wish'd-for remedy may come too late, If we should spend more time in this debate. I fear not now the tyrant's art or power ! This will ensure my truth to Lucidor. Tell him you did his Altemeera see Undauntedly drink immortality. [Drinks the poison. 'Tis done ; and now the thing is past recall : This poison is become my cordial. Thy killing sorrow, my dear friend, decline : Add not to my own grief the weight of thine.
I mourn that loss my prayers could not prevent.
And to behold them but augments my pain, I will retire into another room ; There tell me when the tyrant here does come : Where I resolve to meet him, and declare How vast my wrongs and his injustice are. |
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Perhaps my dying words may wound his ear : Who fears not death needs nothing else to fear.
But yet what you command I must obey. [Exeunt at several doors.
As are the joys attend the acting it. Those very gods which awe thee so have done That which thy fearfulness would make me shun. Love is by all the gods their god allow'd, For to his power they ev'ry one have bow'd ; And yet their hearts ne'er felt a sacrifice To charms like those in Altemeera's eyes, Nor ever yet so fierce a flame have felt As that which rather triumph'd here than dwelt.
Ha ! Altemeera comes to meet me now : |
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Your soul to see, and then abhor, your sin. That power which by the gods to you is sent Is to protect, not wrong, the innocent. The greater is the place, that you are in— Abusing it, the greater is your sin. You think you wrong but me in what you do ; But who wrongs virtue does wrong heaven too. Therefore, great sire, your fatal sin decline : I ask it more for your own sake than mine.
Your beauty is more powerful than your prayer ; And my neglected flame is press'd too high To be suppress'd with dull morality. My virtuous love to slight is worse in you Than what thereby you now constrain me to.
Which would pervert or punish constancy? If, sire, to favour mine you think not fit, You should forbear, at least, to injure it.
At once provokes and justifies his force. |
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Fruition being made the effect of force.
And thereby make me the most blest of men.
There is no means left for your escape : You must give love or else endure a rape.
But I know many ways, sire, how to die.
See how the colours in my cheek decline, And to Death's paleness does the place resign. Daggers and swords you wrested from my hand ; But having poison left at my command, |
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That remedy your lust did make me choose, And now the welcome venom does diffuse. [Goes to her bed.
Should be destroy'd, and only by my crime. Yet I perceive a paleness in her lips, And her triumphant eyes are in eclipse ; The bright vermilion from her cheeks is fled, And death begins to reign where beauty did. What fury was't could your resentments move In this dire way to disappoint my love ?
It had been sin to doubt which I should choose.
My threat'nings would this dire effect have wrought, Rather than have let out that sinful breath, I would have stopp'd it by my instant death. |
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Your sorrow, though 'twere true, yet comes too late.
That my repentance no belief can win ? Oh ! would to heaven you had but been as slow My crimes to credit once, as sorrow now !
MONASIN, and OLERAND at the other (disguised).
If you restore the crown to Melizer : Your sorrow for your sins none can suspect, If you your cause decline, and mourn th' effect.
By laying at your feet my diadem ! To save you I with joy would make it known, I would my life resign as well as crown.
But do as much for justice as for me. |
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If ever you immortal joys would win, You must repair as well as mourn your sin,— Which that you may I of the gods implore ; Death's hasty summons lets me say no more : Witness, oh, witness, ye all-seeing Powers, That as I lived, so I die Lucidor's ! [Dies.
More of such prayers would once more make me white. But 'twill not be ! for Death, like envious Night, Draws his black curtains o'er those globes of light. Great gods ! already she is turn'd to be As cold herself as still she was to me ; Those cheeks, in which but even now did grow The freshest rose set in the whitest snow, Have nothing left to entertain the sense But the pale emblem of her innocence. I will no more thus trifle out my breath, [Draws his sword. But right her wrongs by acting my own death. Fair, injur'd Spirit ! if thou still dost grace With thy bright lustre this unhallowed place, Behold ! behold, ere my last flight begin, How in my blood I wash away my sin !— [Offers to kill himself, and is stopped by MELIZER,
Who dares so rudely thus my justice stay ?who takes off his disguise.
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Had I allow'd what now thou wouldst have done, Thou hadst usurp'd my vengeance as my crown.
To whom this double favour dost thou owe ? [Officers discover themselves.
The army joins in it.
But though when that bright maid I did destroy I meant my sword against myself employ, Yet now I thus turn it against you all— Though your false army to your help you call ; Yet here I'll stand till you have hew'd me down : My death shall show I merited a crown !
What is it then brave villains would not do ? In the next room retire awhile, for I Must speak with him alone before he die.
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This sword, which once a kingdom did command, Nothing but death can wrest out of my hand. Who by the sword an empire does subdue, Parting with it, must part with his life too.
A tyrant never a true king could fight ; Nor is he fit a kingdom to command Who fears a sword in any single hand. [Exeunt Officers with GESIPPUS.
That what I owe to both to both may pay; For he that once a monarch's crown does wear Should not die by an executioner ; And he who on my throne did dare to stand Ought to receive his death from my own hand.
That thou hadst nothing royal but thy birth.
Else thou wouldst ne'er have dared my throne to invade— |
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A throne on which thou such disgrace didst lay, That 'tis thy blood must wash thy stains away.
Wounds me much deeper than thy sword can do, And make me more to grieve that I withstood Thy virtues' title than thy right of blood.
To expiate that double injury. [They fight ; the Usurper falls.
Thou never couldst have been my conqueror : That sin which against her I did design At once bore up thy hand and weigh'd down mine. Losing my fame, my crown, and Altemeera too, Death is the only blessing I should woo. Oh, treacherous fate ! which makes me, after all My conquests, by a single hand to fall ! [Dies.
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A true King's virtue did dispense such light, That 'twas too glittering for a tyrant's sight.
'Tis to the law I leave his guilty head.
His conduct did the citadel surprise, Help'd by some of the army in disguise. The alarm did draw the tyrant's guards from hence : Against the General they made brave defence ; But his resistless sword did all subdue, And he is now marching to wait on you.
I owe my freedom and my victory. My mind will never be at any ease Till my return has paid your services. Thy death, fair maid ! does wound me past relief : See her interr'd with all the pomp of grief. [Exeunt. |
[ p.151 ]
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And in your chamber longs to speak with you ; For such strange news he in the streets did hear, I left him even sinking under fear.
Tell him I'll wait on him immediately. [Exit SERVANT. Page ! who waits there without ?
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Admit none hither, if your life you prize, Except it be Lucidor in disguise ; And when he comes, let him be forthwith led Where the fair Altemeera now lies dead ; And when you there have brought him, then begone— For true grief will endure no looker-on. [Exit CONFIDANT. [CLORIMAN knocks.
Fair Altemeera. But what's that to thee ?
For she has now above two hours been dead ? |
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I come over her sacred corpse to weep : I tell thee this but to remove thy fears ; I'll only pay a sacrifice of tears !
When I have told you I must let none in.
And punish thy unmannerly delay.
In danger, if thou open'st not the door.
My pardon from Candace you procure : Till that be done, her face I dare not see.
[PAGE opens the door and goes out; CLORIMAN goes to ALTEMEERA, gazes awhile, and speaks : |
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Though she is dead, her beauties still are great ; Thus day awhile does last, though the sun set— Thus roses newly pluck'd awhile do show As fair as when they on the stalks do grow. Like lightning to the world she has been shown ; As conquering where she struck, and as soon gone. Shall all those charms of body and of mind, Which late so bright in Altemeera shined, Like other common things of Nature's birth, Be now reduced perpetually to earth ? Ah, would thy cruel fate I could reclaim By all the tortures of a slighted flame ! Could I by those restore thy life and peace, My torments then would make my happiness.
Entering this place, which is death's blackest shade ! All that is sad and dismal here does dwell, And makes me, though on earth, endure a hell.
My sense mistakes, or 'tis my rival's voice ! I'll hide myself awhile, till he has shown What his design are—then I'll act my own. |
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And an eternal night has closed her eyes. Candace told me all thy noble story, Which has not more of sadness than of glory. Thy love to me so highly thou didst own, Thy life was not so precious, or his throne. That virtue makes thee now a star above, And pattern leaves for chastity and love, Which still shall last when pyramids of pride Are shrunk into such ashes as they hide. Ah, till my sorrows have closed up my eyes, Accept these tears, as my grief's sacrifice. [Kneels.
with her.
Since nor despair nor grief has kill'd him yet, I will myself my obstacle remove, And take revenge—lest I should fail in love.
My sword shall second thee to thy desire. [They shut the chamber door.
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And with that fury threaten Lucidor ? Their odds in number and their strange disguise, With their intent to kill him by surprise, Must for a moment my just hate suspend, For honour now calls me to be his friend.
Will make my happiness transcend my crime. All other ways having successless been, I'll try to alter fortune by this sin. [Runs at LUCIDOR ; CLORIMAN interposes with his sword. To kill him, you through me must make your way. Rise, rival ; rise ! to thy defence make haste, Else of your life this moment is the last. Those then by treachery had shed thy blood, Had I not with my sword that sin withstood.
This yet is done like a brave enemy. But since to fight with me thou here hast chose, Why camest thou not alone ?—or who be those ? |
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That name shall now but to those two belong : 'Twere hard with three to have at once to do, Therefore I thus change it to two and two. [Goes to LUCIDOR'S side.
In words he is my foe—in deeds, my friend.
My foes are friends while they are in distress.
For death is now no punishment, but cure.
That two such rivals are so soon agreed. But I'll so fight that, if I fall, I may By a brave death wash my life's stains away. [Fight : CANDACE falls by CLORIMAN, and LUCIDOR kills the CONFIDANT.
Guard thee ! for thou art now my foe again. |
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Though Altemeera's dead, those wrongs I'll strive To right, thou didst me when she was alive.
Which 'twas thy gallantry but now to save.
To make thee my revenge's sacrifice.
So high in honour and so low in love.
Therefore with this—that riddle I'll unlock.
For I fear more thy favour than assault ; And if on me you more such wrongs obtrude, My anger will transcend my gratitude.
It does not spring from gratitude, but fear. |
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Thou tiedst my hands when thou my life didst save. But this rude language which now falls from thee Cancels all bonds thy sword has laid on me. [They fight and pass ; ALTEMEERA rises in her bed.
Exemption from disturbance in the grave ? My eyes are charm'd by some deluding power, Or those are Cloriman and Lucidor.— 'Tis they !—What madness makes you thus engage ? Quench in my blood the fire of your great rage.
[She rises, runs to part them, she is wounded by CLORIMAN, and falls down between them.
Welcome, oh, welcome, Death ! thy looks less fright
Waked me from death and rais'd me from the grave. |
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'Tis Altemeera, raised from death, does bleed. [Sets ALTEMEERA in a chair ; PAGE runs out.
The loss of blood, I fear, her death will prove :Till art's help comes, accept the help of love.
Does make my heart bleed faster than my wound. To cure less wounds I solemnly abjure, Till you, by being friends, my greatest cure.
Now let us join to stop this precious tide.
To spill my best friend's blood shall not stop mine ; But, for this hurt, you'll make a full amends If, for its sake, you henceforth will be friends. |
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I'll scarcely think my rival is my foe.
That which does make my life worthy my care. But may I not, to fix your friendships, know What caused that quarrel which engaged you so ?
Since they aspersed my honour and my love.
Are less than actual wrongs thou didst to me.
Tell old disgusts, they may enkindle now ; Therefore to this short question I'll resort— Is what both say by knowledge or report ?
Dare say you'll think my author would not lie.
Yet my informer I may build upon. |
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Credit what you shall to each other say ; Therefore, upon your honour, tell me now What wrongs you did to one another do.
Yet I ne'er injur'd him by word or deed.
Not to wrong him was still my studied care.
But in the ways of honour as of love ; Therefore I beg of both I may but know Who 'twas those tales did tell incens'd you so ?
My author is a woman.
If, though I tell the sex, I hide the name. |
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—The surgeon hastes your danger to relieve.
For now the danger I most fear'd is past. [Exit PAGE. But, Cloriman, 'tis a sin to be true To her that's false to honour, him, and you : Therefore, as you are true to love or fame, From me no longer keep this woman's name.
Candace is the name you long to know.
Told me those wrongs which I complain'd of now.
Without reserve the secrets of my heart— Is't she, then, who has all these troubles spread ? Whither, oh, whither is the monster fled ? |
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Asham'd to live, but not afraid to die : My soul, though on her wings, shall stop her flight Till I have done these injur'd rivals right. Know, then, that I, who for Candace pass'd, Am the unhappy, guilty Altimast.
Of him who lately did usurp the throne ?
Who, finding many murmur'd at his reign, Declar'd that I fair Rosacleere should wed, And after him should to his crown succeed. That heart which should have been her sacrifice Was burnt before by Altemeera's eyes ; Therefore, upon my destin'd wedding-day, With this dead Confidant I stole away, And, passing for a woman, I did sue To be admitted to attend on you. And still to please you I was so intent, That I became at last your confidant ; Then, when I saw so great esteem you bore To Cloriman—such love to Lucidor— |
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I sadly found I must at once contend With one as lover and with one as friend. That was not all—my father loved you too.
And, cloaking private hate with public wrong, Took arms, which gain'd so much your father's mind, To give you to the rival he design'd ; Which to prevent, two of your guards I won, Who did betray the town to Cloriman ; For though to see you prisoner were a curse, Yet to behold you Lucidor's was worse.
Strange love—to cause the worst effects of hate !
Love made me yet commit a blacker crime ; For, knowing Cloriman and you did move In strictest rules of honour and of love, I cunningly to each of you still sent The foulest stories malice could invent, In hopes such bold revenge you would design, That, acting yours, I might encompass mine. |
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When, madam, you before my father came, And he without disguise disclosed his flame, I must acknowledge I was so unjust As to provoke the fury of his lust ; So that he vow'd, incens'd by his despair, To act by force what was denied to prayer. Then with feign'd poison I did you beguile, Which seemingly did kill you all the while. But before this I had, by an express, Acquainted Lucidor with your distress ; But I had things so order'd, that his speed Should bring him here only to find you dead ; And then resolv'd, assisted by this friend, By killing him my greatest fear to end.
And died for me, that ever I would wed ?
Despair, not I, your Lucidor had slain. But the just gods, I find, had not decreed My crimes, though crimes of passion, should succeed ; |
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You let this truth from you some pity win— My life had more of love in't than of sin— My life which, since a trouble to your sight, I thus enlarge the passage of his flight. [Tears the wound wider.
He that, to right your wrongs, so just does prove—What would he not have done to win your love ? My death is come in a most happy time, If for my death you'll pardon me my crime ; For the best joy to which I now pretend Is that your hate and I at once may end. [Dies.
Yet his confession, sure, will end your strife ?
But I know, madam, he's my rival still.
While that my life doth last, I still will wear.
I thought my help but crept, though I did fly. |
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Has made her life, with her blood, ebb away.
May serve me here, where I desire it most. [Rubs her temples, and she speaks faintly.
Or else by death I vow to finish mine.
Or else that you, madam, will end your life ?
To what I here irrevocably vow : Though to your rival all my love is bent, Yet to be his I must have your consent ; But yet if I of your consent should miss, I ne'er must be another's, since not his. So that 'tis in your power to make me prove A martyr both to friendship and to love.
At once you promise and you threaten too. |
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You give me power, by what you now express, To ruin all my rival's happiness ; But that great joy must cost a greater crime, For I must ruin you to ruin him.
To make your blessing, I'll decline my own. None to a higher action can pretend Than choose to die rather than wrong a friend.
'Tis more to quit a mistress than to die.
Permit me to preserve her noble life. [Offers to dress her; she puts him off.
Whether 'tis best for me to live or die. In vain you strive that cure now to pursue, Which I must owe to Cloriman, not you.
Ten minutes hence, I doubt, 'twill come too late. |
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I wish you rather Lucidor's than dead. Why should not I, since life again you have, Perform that which will keep you from the grave, And save your life now at as high a rate As I would lately have redeem'd it at ? The tyrant then forced you to that sad fate, What was his sin !—why should I imitate ! A perfect lover should much more endure His mistress's sufferings to prevent than cure. 'Twere sin to think I would not much more give To make you happy than to make you live. Since 'tis decreed, by those eternal powers, You must be either Death's or Lucidor's, Be his then, madam,—for I'll not deny 'Tis fitter that my hopes than you should die.
I'll give my Lucidor my faith and hand.
Such griefs in all your life as I feel now !
Let not the way of giving spoil the gift. |
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Your grant you may—my vow I'll ne'er—repent : I'll have your liking, therefore, a consent ; Or else from death so far I am not yet, But I still know how back again to get.
Your tyranny surpasses that of fate : Fate only made me wretched ; but you show, To please you, I must make myself so too ; Which yet I'll do,—and now to you present At once my liking, madam, and consent. But never fortune did like power assign, For I must give what yet was never mine.
Though I'm not yours to keep, I'm yours to give.
[CHIRURGEON dresses her.
Which did my reason trouble, not confound ; And now my passion vanishes, I see Love were not love, unless that it were free.
'Tis that with Lucidor you'll still be friends. |
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As to give what I love to what I hate ? Only my love to you made me his foe ; Now that must cease, my hate shall do so too.
By—
Your King to this accord will witness be ; And Lucidor, since you to arms did fly But to preserve your mistress's chastity, As soon as art and time your mistress cures, By sacred nuptial rites she shall be yours. To Cloriman's consent you shall have mine, For Altemeera 's of the royal line. |
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The life you give is the least happiness. Your gifts I cannot with more joy receive, Than for your service I my life will give.
FILIDEN, CRATONER, and OLERAND.
Have sent me to acquaint you, in their name, Their joy that in your lawful throne you sit,— To their true Sovereign gladly they submit : Against th' usurper's power they made defence, But they to you are all obedience. You may do with them, sire, what you think meet ; They lay their lives and fortunes at your feet.
Deserve a pardon, sure, for any fault. My mercies still shall be to those more great Which to it trust, and for it do not treat. Past faults I'll never to remembrance bring,— For which the word I give you of your King.
As high in mercy as he is in blood. |
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That which shall cure or else divert your grief. Th' Apolian King on Sicily does fall, And of this war I make you General.
I on my knees submissively receive. [Kneels. Since Altemeera I must court no more, Glory is now the mistress I adore ; For, having courted her, all must confess Any beside to court were to go less. In my first love though I in vain did strive, Yet in the second I'm resolv'd to thrive. This resolution does my fate befit : I'll outbrave fortune while I yield to it. Let all the world against my peace agree, I'll make my happiness depend on me,
Your late forgiven subject's loyalty. [Kneels. You should, great sire, to make our joy complete, Help us to pay, as to contract, our debt.
And henceforth take that army into pay. |
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The soldier's trade should ne'er be out of date.
And nothing punishes all men but war.
Than to have wars abroad and peace at home.
Now let us lead fair Altemeera in ;— Then let us all unto the Temple go, And pay to Heaven that gratitude we owe. |
[ p.176 ]
NICHOLAS BRETON,
BY
[ p.179 ]
An Unpublished Poem
Canto the First.
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WHERE should I finde that melancholy muse That never hard of any thinge but mone, And reade the passiones that her pen doth use When she and sorrow sadlye sitt alone, To tell the world more then the world can tell— What fits, inded, most fitlye figure hell ?
Lett me not thinke once of the smalest thought |
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The dayes, like nights all darkned by distress ; Pleasure become a subject all of payne ; The spirit overprest with heaviness, While helpless horror vexeth every vayne. Death shakes his darte—Grief hath my grave prepared, Yett to more sorrowe is my spirit spared.
The owlie eyes that not endure the light;
Where words desolve to sighes, sighes into teares,
Put all the woes of all the worlde together ; |
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For nature's sicknes sometime maye have ease ; Fortune, though fickle, sometime is a frinde ; The mynde's affliction patience maye appease, And death is cawse that manye torments end ; But ever sicke, crost, grevid, and livinge dyinge, Thinke of the subject in this sorrowe lyinge.
To shew the nature of my payne,—alas !
If sicknes be a ground of deadlye grefe,
If love refused, so weed on my ruine ; |
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My infant's yeares myspente in childish toyes, My riper age in rules of litle reasone, My better yeares in all mistaken joyes, My present time—oh, most unhapie seasone !— In fruitles labours and in ruthles love. Oh, what a horror hath my harte to prove !
I sighe to se my infancie myspent ;
The hunted harte sometime doth leave the hound—
I cannot figure Sorrow in conceite ; |
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But whereof growes the passion of this payne That thus perplexeth every inwarde parte ? Whence is the humore of this hatefull vayne, So dampes the spirite and consumes the harte ? Oh ! lett my soule, with bitter teares, confesse It is the grounde of all unhapines.
If lacke of wealth, I am the note of need ;
Measure !—no measure measure can my thought !
Ther is a lacke that tels me of a life— |
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My dearest love, that dearest bought my love ! My onlye life, by whom I onlye live ! Was ever fayth did suche affection prove, Or ever grace did such a glorie give ? But such a lacke and suche a losse, aye me ! Must neds the sorrowe of all sorrowes be.
My love is fayre, and fayrer then the sune,
He came from highe to live with me belowe—
I sawe him faultles, yett I did offend him ; |
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To se the feett that travayled for our good— To see the hands that brake the livlye bread— To se the head wheron our honor stoode— To se the fruite wheron our spirits feed : Thes feett—hands—bored, and this head all bledinge, Who doth not die with suche a sorrowe readinge ?
He plast all rest, yett had no restinge place ;
A virgine's child, by vertue's power conceyved ;
Whos mansion's heaven, yett laye within a manger ; |
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Who cam no further than his Father sent him, And did fullfill but what He did commande him ; Who prayed for them that proudley did torment him For tellinge truth to what they did demand him ; Who did all good, that humblie did entreat hime, And beare ther blowes that did unkindlie treate hime.
A sweet phisicion for the bodye crazed,
He knewe the sicknes that our soule infected,
He heal'd the sicke—gave sight unto the blinde, |
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To note his words, whatt wisedome they contayne ; To note his wisedom, of all worth the wonder; To note his workes, whatt glorie they do gayne ; To note his worth, world, heaven, and earth came under ; To note the glorie that his Angles give hime— Fye, that the world to suche disgrace should drive hime !
Unsene he came, he might be sene to su ;
A lion wher his force should be effected,
He preacht, he prayed, he fasted, and he wept, |
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To hate a love must argue lothsume nature ; To wronge a frend must prove too foule a deed ; To kill thyself will shew a cursed creature ; To slaye thy soule, no more damnation nede ; To spoile the fruite whereon thy spirit feedeth— Oh, what a hell within the soule it bredeth !
He thought no ill, and onlie did all goode ;
His faultles members nayled to the crosse ;
Pore Peter wept when he his name denyed, |
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Happie was he that suffred deaths so nighe hime, That at his end repentance might behould hime ! Twise hapie life ! that did in love so trie hime, As to his fayth such favour did unfould hime, As, cravinge comforte but in mercie's eyes, That selfe-same daye did live in paradise !
Would I had ben ordaynd to suche a death !
Oh, would my soule wer made a sea of teares !
Should I esteme of anye worldlie toye |
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Blest was the fishe that but the figure swallowed Of my swete Jesus, but in Jonas' name ! More blessed tombe, by that sweet bodie hallowed, From whence the ground of all our glorie came ! Might not my soule be synner, I could wish That I were suche a tombe or such a fishe !
But Jonas left the sea and came to lande,
Yett lett me not dispayre of my desire,
Whom till I see,—in sorrow, endles anguish, |
[ p.191 ]
Canto the Second.
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But shall I so my gryping grief give over, With hope to se the glorie of my sight ? Or can my soule her sacred health recover, While no desarte doth looke upon delighte ? No, no ! My harte is too, too full of grefe For ever thinkinge to receyve relefe.
The sune is downe, the glorie of the daye ;
Methinkes I se—and, seing, sighe to see !— |
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He was my head, my hope, my harte, my health— The speciall jewell of my spirit's joye— The trustie treasure of my highest wealth— The onlye pleasure kept me from annoye ! He was, and is, and ever more shalbe, In life or death, the life of life to me !
And lett me se how sweetlie yett he lookes,
Had I but sene him as his servantes did,
But not to se him till I se him die, |
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Am I not one of that unhapie broode The pellican doth figure in her neste, When I muste live but by his only bloode In whose sweet love my life doth only rest ? Oh, wretched bird !—but I, more wretched creature, To figure such a birde in such a nature !
Did God himself ordayne it should be so,
Shall I not wash his bodie with my teares,
Shall I not curse those hatefull, hellish fiends, |
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Shall I not drive the watchmen from the grave, And watche the risinge of the sune renowned— Or goe myself alsoe into the cave To kisse the bodie wher it lies entombed ?— What shall I doe, or shall I not approve, For my soule's health, that so my soule did love ?
O love—the ground of life ! O livlye love !
No ! I have rune the waye of wickednes,
If in the heaven, it is too highe a place |
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If in my harte, syne sayth thou arte not there ; If in my soule, it is too foule infected ; If in my hope, it is too full of feare, And fearfull love hath never fayth elected. In soule nor bodye—hope nor fear ! Aye me ! Wher should I seeke wher my soule's love may be ?
Alas the daye that ever I was borne
Let mercy plead in true repentaunce' cawse,
And while I sitt with Marye at the grave, |
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With sacred truth untill my soule doth taste,— To slake the sorrowe of this harte of myne, My wearye life in wofull thoughts must waste,— While soule and bodye humblie I resigne Unto thes glorious holye hands of his, Who is the hope of my eternall blisse ! |
[ p.197 ]
Canto the Third.
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Butt can I leave to thinke upon the thinge That I can never put out of my thought ? Or can I cease of his sweet love to singe, Who by his blood his creatures' comfort wrought ? Or can I live to thinke that he should dye, In whom the hope of all my life doth lye ?
No ! lett me thinke upon his life and death,
Did he not wash his pore Apostles' feett ? |
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Was never infant shewed such humblenes ; Was never man did speake as this man did ; Was never lover shewed such faithfulness ; Was never trew man such a torture bid ; Was never state continewed such a storie ; Was never angel worthy such a glorie !
Oh, glorious glorie—in all glorie glorious !
Thus, in his birth, his life, and death, all glorie
Was ever such a gratitude approved,— |
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O livlye image of thy Father's love ! O lovlye image of the Father's life ! O pure conceite, that doth this concord prove— That all agrement breeds no thought of stryfe— But that the Sonne, in state of all the storye, Is found the brightnes of the Father's glorie !
Could ever such a glorie be refused
Behould the heavens, what sorrowe they did shew,
And yett thou, man, fulle litle didst regarde |
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Yett some ther were—to smalle a sume wer they— That joyed to see the sume of all ther joye ; They watched the night and walked in the daye, And wer not choked with the world's anoye, But followed on ther heavenly love alone : Would God in heaven, that I were such a one !
But, aye me ! wretch—all wretched as I am—
And lett me heare but what my Savioure sayth,— |
[ p.201 ]
Canto the Fourth.
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O joye above all joyes that ever were, Coulde I conceyve but half thy excellence, Or howe to hope to have attendaunce there Where thou dost keepe thy royall residence, And on my knees thy holye name adore, Wer my soule well, she should desyre no more !
To se the daye that from on high is springinge—
To se the Saints and Martirs in ther places, |
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The diamounde, rubie, saphire, and such like Of pretious gemmes, that are the worldlinge's joyes, And greatest princes for ther crownes doe seeke,— To heavenlye treasures are but triflinge toyes, Wherwith the holie citie all is paved, And all the walles are round about engraved.
No ! He that sits on the supernall throne,
Oh, could my soule, out of some angle's winge,
But since I see his wonder worth is suche |
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Wher heavenlye love is cawse of holye life, And holie life encreaseth heavenlye love ; Wher peace, establisht without feare of stryfe, Doth prove the blissinge of the soule's behove ; Wher thirst nor hunger, grefe nor sorrowe, dwelleth, But peace in joye and joye in peace excelleth :
Wher this sweett kinge that on the white horse rideth
Oh, joyfull fear, on vertue's love all founded !
Wher virgines joye in their virginitie ; |
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Wher sicke men joye to se ther sweetest health ; The prisoned joye to see ther libertie ; The pore rejoyce to se ther sweetest wealth ; The verteous to adore the Deitye ; And I, unworthye most of all, to see The eye of mercye cast one looke on me ! |
[ p.205 ]
Canto the Fifth.
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But can my harte thus leave her holye love, Or cease to singe of this her highest sweett ? Hath patience no more passiones lefte to prove ? Hath fancye laboured out both hands and feett ? Or hath invention strayned her vayne so sore, That witt or will hath power to write no more ?
No ! heavens forbid that ever faythfull harte
But since no eye can looke on him and live, |
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Behould the earth ! how sweetlie she bringes forth Her trees, her flowers, her hearbes, and every grasse, Of sundrye natures and of greatest worth— And how ech branche doth others' beawtie passe ! Both beast and birds and fisshes, wormes and flies, How ech ther high Creator glorifies !
The lyon's strength doth make him stand as kinge,
To see the grayhound course, the hounde in chase,
To see the whale make furrowes in the seas, |
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But since that all skye, earth, or sea contaynes Was made for man, and man was onlye made For onlye God, who only glorie gaynes,— And that one glorie that can never fade,— Shall man forgett to give all glorie due Unto his God, from whom all glorie grew ?
But lett me come a litle higher yett—
No ! lett not man shew himself so ungratefull
And lett me—wretch unworthy most of all |
[ p.209 ]
Canto the Sixth.
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Come all the worlde, and call your witts together, Borrowe some pens out of the angells' winges, Entreat the heavenes to send ther muses hether To helpe your soules to write of sacred thinges ! Prophane conceits must all be caste awaye— The night is past, and you must take the daye !
Speake not of synne—it hath no partie heare—
Firste make your grounde of fayth full holines ; |
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Yett rise and fall, as hope or feare directs The nature of ech note, in space or line ; And lett your voyces carrye suche effectts As maye approve your passions are divine ; Then lett your consorts all in one agre— To God above all-onlye glorie be !
Then lett your dittie be the dearest thought
Glorie to him that sitteth on the throne,
And whiles all soules doe to his glorie singe, |
Mother Shipton.
| THE following curious woodcut was copied by Llewellynn Jewitt, Esq., F.S.A., from an exceedingly rare edition of the Prophecies of Mother Shipton, printed at London in the year 1662. It relates to her prophecy respecting Cardinal Wolsey :—" Nor were her speeches about the Cardinal less true, for coming to Key-wood, he went to the top of a tower, and asked where York was ? which being shown him, he enquired how far it was thither ? for, quoth he, there were a witch said I should never get there." The Cardinal declared he would burn Shipton as soon as he arrived at York, but it is unnecessary to say the " prophecy" was literally fulfilled. |
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Century, entitled ' LOVE'S VICTORIE.' |
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Which I did once well loue, Your pathes noe more I'le tread, Your pleasures noe more proue, Your beauty more admire, Your coulers more adore, Nor gras with daintiest store Of sweets to breed desire. |
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Walks once soe sought for, now I shunn you for the darcke ; Birds to whose song did bow, My eares your notes nere mark ; Brooke which soe pleasing was Vpon whose banks I lay, And on my pipe did play, Now vnregarded pass.
Meadowes, pathes, grass, flouers, |
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That makes in him this alteration moue : This is the humor makes our sheapheards raue. I'le non of this—I'le sonner seeke my graue ! Loue, by your fauour, I will non of you. I rather you should miss then I should sue ; Yett, Cupid, poore Philisses back restore To his first witts, and I'le affect thee more. [Exit. |
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Which to these pleasant vallys giues thy light, And, with sweet shouers mixt with golden beames, Inrich these meadowes and these gliding streames,— Wherin thou seest thy face like mirrour faire, Dressing in them thy curling, shining haire,— This place with sweetest flouers still doth deck, Whose coulers show theyr pride, free from the check Of fortune's frowne, soe long as Spring doth last, Butt then feele chang, wherof all others tast. As I, for one, who thus my habitts chang, Once sheapherdess, butt now in woods must rang ; And after the chaste godess beare her bowe, Though seruice once to Venus I did owe, Whose seruante then I was, and of her band. But farewell, folly ! I with Dian stand Against loue's changing and blind foulery, To hold with hapy and bless'd chastity ; For loue is idle—hapines ther's none When freedome 's lost and chastity is gone ; And wher on earth most blessednes their is, Loue's fond desires neuer faile to miss ; And this, beeleeue mee, you will truly find. Lett nott repentance, therfor, chang your mind, Butt chang befor your glory wilbee most, When as the waggish boy can least him bost ; For hee doth seeke to kindle flames of fire, Butt neuer thinks to quench a chaste desire. |
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Hee calls his foe—hee hates non more then those Who striues his lawe to shun, and this haue chose. All vertu hates his kingdome's wantones ; His crowne desires his septer idlenes ; His wounds hott fires, his helps like frost ; Glad to hurt, butt neuer heales ; thinks time lost If any gaine theyr long-sought ioye with bliss ; And this the gouernment of folly is. Butt heere, Philisses, comes poore sheapheard lad, With loue's hott fires and his owne made mad. I must away,—my vowe allowes noe sight Of men : yett must I pitty him, poore wight ! Though hee, reiecting mee, this change haue wrought, Hee shalbee noe less worthy in my thought. Yett wish I doe hee were as free as I, Then were hee hapy—now feels misery ; For, thank to heauen and to the gods above ! I have wunn chastity in place of loue. Now loue's as farr from mee as neuer knowne : Then bacely tied, now freely ame mine owne. Slauery and bondage, with mourning care, Was then my liuing sighs, and teares my fare ; Butt, all these gon, now liue I ioyfully, Free and vntouch'd of thought but chastitye. [Exit.
Lodg'd in Musella's faire though cruell brest— Cruell, alas ! yett wheron I must ground All hopes of ioye, though tired with vnrest. |
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O deerest deere ! lett plaints which true felt are Gaine pitty once ; doe nott delight to proue Soe mercyles, still killing with despaire, Nor pleasure take soe much to try my loue ; Yett if your triall will you milder make, Try, butt nott long, least pitty come to late. Butt O ! she can nott, may nott, will nott take Pitty on mee,—she loues and lends mee hate.
To you, without desert. Dalina, this is the wurst That she can doe. 'Tis true, I haue fickle bin, And soe is shee ; 'tis, then, the lesser sin. Lett her proue constant, I will her obserue ; And then, as shee doth mend, I'le good deserue.
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On mee her tricks, whose fauours are so dry.
Nor can they loue, if that wishings moue nott.
Nay, my care's past ; I loue, and his deny.
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Butt hee itt found ; soe, as I well may say, Had hee bin blind, I might haue stolne away; Butt soe hee saw, and rul'd with reason's might, As hee hath kil'd in mee all my delight. Hee wounded mee, alas ! with double harme, And non butt hee can my distress vncharme. Another wound must cure mee, or I dy. But stay,—this is enough ; I hence will fly, And seeke the boy that strooke mee. Fare you well ! Yett make nott still your pleasures proue my hell.
And tend our flocks, who now our care doe lack. Yett would hee had more pleasant parted hence, Or that I could butt iudg the cause from whence Thes passions grow ! itt would giue mee much ease. Since I parseaue my sight doth him displease, I'le seek him yett, and of him truly know What in him hath bred this unusuall woe ; If he deny mee, then I'le sweare hee hates, Or else affects that humour which debates.
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I see thou'rt bound who most haue made vnfree. 'Tis true disdaine of my loue made mee turne, And hapily, I think, butt you to burne In loue's faulce fires yourself. Poor soule, take heed— Bee sure, beefor you too much pine to speede ! |
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You know I loued haue—behold by gaine ! This you dislike I purchas'd with loue's paine ; And true-felt sorrow yett my answer was From (my then deere) Philisses. You must pas Vnlou'd by mee, and for your owne good leaue To vrg that which, most vrg'd, can butt deseaue Your hopes ; for know Musella is my loue. As, then, of duty I should noe more moue, And this his will hee gott, yett nott his minde, For yett itt seemes you are noe less vnkind.
That from poore mee hee will nott take reliefe.
And this, Siluesta, butt to you I speak ; For sonner should my hart with silence break, Then any els should heere mee thus much say Butt you, who I know will nott mee betray.
Noe, I do loue you ; nor will help deny That lies in mee to bring your care to end, Or seruice which to your content may tend ; |
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For when I lou'd Philisses as my lyfe, Parseauing hee lou'd you, I kill'd the strife Which in mee was ; yett doe I wish his good, And for his sake loue you, though I withstood Good fortunes. This chast lyfe well pleaseth mee, And yett ioy most if you tow hapy bee. Few would say this, butt fewer would itt doe ; Butt th' one I lou'd, and loue the other two.
Att time loue you ; soe did hee posses My hart as my thought, all harts sure must yeild To loue him most and best. Who in this field Doth liue, and haue nott had some kind of touch To like him ?—butt O, you and I to much !
And I'l wish butt the meanes to work you blis.
Butt hee, allthough (or that because) hee loues, Doth mee mistrust. Ah ! can such mischief moue As to mistrust her who such passion proues ! Butt soe hee doth, and thinks I haue Lissius made Master of my affections, which hath staid Him euer yett from letting mee itt know By words, allthough hee hids itt nott from show. |
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Some times I faine would speake, then straite forbeare, Knowing itt most vnfitt—thus woe I beare !
Butt heere, and you may all thes sorrowes kill. Hee, poore distressed sheapherd ! eu'ry morne, Befor the sunn to our eyes new is borne, Walks in this place, and heer alone doth cry Against his lyfe and your great cruelty. Now, since you loue soe much, come butt and find Him in thes woes, and show yourself butt kind ; You sonne shall see a hart soe truly wunn, As you would nott itt miss to bee vndunn.
You haue of mee— That peece of hart which is nott giuen away Shalbee your owne ; the rest will you obserue As fauor of tow harts, which tow will serue You euer—soe true and constant loue, Your chastity ittself shall itt aproue.
As liues in you, vertue must needs spring forth. And for Philisses, I loue him, and will In chastest seruice hinder still his ill. |
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Then keepe your time—alas ! lett him nott dy For whom soe many sufferd misery.
This kind aduise, or him I soe respect.
Which showst thy pouer still on haples mee, Yett giue mee leaue in thes sweet shades to moue ; Rest but to show my killing miserie ; And bee once pleas'd to know my wrecched fate, And somthing pitty my ill and my state. Could euer Nature or the heauns e're frame Soe rare a part—so like themselues deuine— And yett that work be blotted with the blame Of cruelty, and dark bee who should shine ; To bee the brightest star of deerest prise, And yett to murder harts which to her cries Cry, and euen at the point of death, for care. Yett have I nothing left mee butt dispaire. Despaire ! O, butt despaire, alas, hath hope ! Noe better portion, nor a greater scope. |
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Well, then, dispaire with my life coupled bee, And for my soddaine end doe soune agree. Ah mee, vnfortunate ! would I could dy Butt soe soune as this company I fly ! [Exit.
Truly to other what our lucks haue bin— How often lik'd and lou'd ; and soe express Our passions past. Shall wee this sport beegin ? Non can accuse vs, non can vs betray, Vnles our selues our owne selues will bewray.
A sheapherd once ther was—and nott the wurst Of these were most esteem'd—whose sleepe did breake With loue, forsouthe, of mee : I found itt, thought I might haue him att leasure, lik'd him nott. Then was ther to our house a farmer brought, Rich and liuely; butt those bought nott his lott |
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For loue. Tow folly youthes att last ther came, Which both mee thought I very well could loue ; When one was absent, t'other had the name ; In my staid hart hee present did most moue. Both att a time in sight, I scarce could say Which of the tow I then would wish away ; Butt they found how to chuse, and as I was Like changing, like vnsertaine, lett me pass.
Should this report, butt think itt had bin wrong ; Butt since you speake this, could nott you agree To chuse some one, butt this vnchosen bee ?
Yett doe confess 'twas folly in my youth, Which now I'le mend ; the next that comes I'le haue ; I will noe more bee foulish, nor delay, Since I do see the lads will labor saue— One answere rids them, I'le noe more say nay ; But if hee say, " Dalina, will you love ?" And " Thank you," I'le say, " if you will proue."— The next go on, and tell what you haue dunn.
Butt yett I constant was, thoug still reiected. Lou'd, and nott lou'd, I was lik'd and neglected ; |
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Yett now some hope reuiues, when loue, thought dead, Cloth'd like the spring young bud when leaues ar fled.
Though I as long as you dispised stood— For I have lou'd, and lou'd butt only one— Yett I disdained could butt receaue that mone Which others doe for thousands,—so vniust Is Loue to those who in him most do trust ! Nor did I euer lett my thoughts bee showne Butt to Musella, who all els hath knowne, Which was—long time I had Philises lou'd, And euer would, though hee did mee dispise ; For then, allthough hee euer cruell prou'd, From him, nott mee, the fault must needs arise ; And if Simena thus, your brother deere, Should bee vnkind, my loue shall still bee cleere.
Did she or blame or els your mind commend ?
Nor did commend I did this loue intend, Butt, smiling, said 'twere best to bee aduised : Comfort itt were to win, butt death dispisde. |
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Hath nothing said : wee must nott her forgett.
Yett, for your sakes I will the order keepe, Who, though I stranger heere by birthe I bee, And in Arcadia euer kept my sheepe, Yett heere itt is my fortune with the rest Of you to like, and, louing, bee oprest ; For since I came I did a louer turne, And turne I did, indeed, when I lou'd heere, Since for another I in loue did burne, To whom I thought I had bin held as deere ; Butt was deseau'd, when I for him had left My friends and country, was of him bereft And all, but that you kindly did imbrace And welcome mee into the hapy place, Wher, for your sakes, I ment to keep some sheep, Nott doubting euer to bee more deseau'd ; Butt now, alas ! I am anew beereau'd Of hart. Now time itt is myself to keepe, And lett flocks goe, vnles Simeana please To giue consent, and soe giue mee some ease.
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Since all my faith could neuer so much moue ; Yett can hee nott soe cruell euer bee, Butt hee may liue my miserie to see.
I trust he will turne pitty vnto mee, And lett me haue reward which is my due.
Dreame you of hope ? O, you to high aspire ! Think you to gaine by kindling an old fire ?
Nott loue alone, butt how loue to bestow.
The second in your loue ; soe was nott hee In mine, butt first and last—of all the chiefe— That can to mee bring sorrow or reliefe.
Butt in loue's passages ther is larg scope. |
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To take and dislike—like, and soune refuse.
Noe other mou'd in mee the flames of loue ; Yett you dare hope as much as I to moue ! Folly, indeed, is prou'd—and only vaine ; And you his seruants feeds with hope of gaine.
Chaleng reward—and can nott say you'r true ?
Butt chang'd on cause, Climena. Well, now, you hope to winn This secound ; yett I, like those, lose noe time. Butt can you thinke that you can this way clime To your desires ? This showes you loue haue tri'd, And that you can both chouse and choise deuide. Butt take your course, and win him if you can,— And I'le proseed in truth, as I began. |
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Neuer could itt in my hart thus much moue. This is the reason men ar growne soe coy, When they parseaue wee make their smiles our ioy. Lett them alone, and they will seeke and sue ; Butt yeeld to them, they will with scorne poursue ; Hold awhile of, they'll kneele, nay, follow you, And vowe and sweare, yett all their othes vntrue ; Lett them once see you coming, then they fly ; Butt strangly looke, and they'll for pitty cry. And let them cry !—ther is noe euill dunn : They gaine butt that which you might els haue wunn.
Your folly had your loues and good betraid ; And that heerafter you would wiser bee Then to disdaine such as haue left you free.
Butt this must you doe your owne ends to make. I haue my fortunes lost—yours doe beginn, And to cross those could bee noe greater sinn. I know the world ; and heare mee, this I aduise— Rather then to soune wunn, bee too presise. Nothing is lost by beeing carefull still, Nor nothing soe soune wun as louer's ill.— |
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Heer Lissius comes : alas, hee is loue-strooke ! Hee's euen now learning loue without the booke.
When I thee scorn'd, or thought thy blame my bliss. I pitty mee—alas, I pitty craue ! Doe nott sett trophies on my luckles graue. Though I, poore slaue and ignorant ! did scorne Thy blesed name, lett nott my hart be torne With thus much torture. O, butt looke on mee ! Take mee, a faithfull seruant, now to thee !
Lett nott both scorne and absence bee my lott.
Doe nott thus farr my pasience striue to moue.
Butt still increase thy frounes for my sad end ?
Bee gon and leaue mee ! Is this for a maide To follow and to haunt mee thus ? You blame Mee for disdaine, butt see nott your owne shame. |
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Fy! I doe blush for you ! A woman woo ! The most vnfittest, shamfullst thing to doo.
Since sute is made to hard, relentles you. Well, I will leaue you and restore the wrong I suffer for my louing you too long ; Noe more shall my words trouble you, nor I E're follow more, if nott to see mee dy. [Exit.
To wine my wish ; for when I all neglect That seek mee, she must needs something respect My loue the more. And what though she should say I once denide her, yett my true-felt paine Must needs from her soft brest some fauor gaine.
You partly haue parform'd your taken vow. Of all our sheapheards, I nere thought that hee Would of thy foulish troupe a follower bee. Butt this itt is a goddess to dispise, And thwart a wayward boy who wants his eyes. Come, lett's nott trouble him : hee is distrest Enough—hee neede nott bee with vs oprest. |
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To answere my distress'd and griued mind !
Itt my bee hee loues you. Come, lett's goe by.
I grieue and curse myself for my disdaine ; Now butt haue pitty—loue doth make me serue ; And for your wrong and you I will reserue My lyfe to pay, your loue butt to deserue, And for your sake I doe my lyfe preserue.
Nor can I creditt this, nor any vow Which you shall make. I was to long dispis'd To bee deseau'd ; noe, I will bee aduis'd By my owne reason : loue shall noe more blind Mee, nor make mee beeleeue more then I find. |
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Of all my paine and wishes. I pretend A vertuous loue ; then grant mee my desire, Who now doe wast in true and faithfull fire.
That in true loue I will all els excell. Butt then, will you loue mee as I doe you ? I promise may, for you can nott bee true.
That as your words are, soe you'll make your mind.
Lett mee nor speach nor mind haue, when that I
Soe, deere Simeana, bee of mee and mine.
Which loue makes to apeere with true delight. [Exit.
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And of thy force they are enough assur'd. O, hold thy hands ! as I pitty now Thos whose great pride did whilum scorne to bow, Thou hast parform'd thy promise, and thy state Now is confest ;— O, slacken, then, thy hate ! They humble doe theyr harts and thoughts to thee : Beehold them, and accept them, and milde bee. Thy conquest is sufficient, saue the spoyles, And them only taken bee in toyles ; Butt sett att liberty againe,—to tell Thy might and clemency, which doth excell.
More paine ere they theyr blessings may come ny; Butt in the end all shall bee well againe, And sweetest is that loue obtain'd with paine.
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Pitty, then, and mercy giue Vnto them wher you doe liue ; They your images doe proue— In them you may see great loue ; They your mirours—you theyr eye, By which they true loue doe spy. Cease awhile theyr cruell smarts, And beehold theyr yeelding harts. Greater glory 'tis to saue When that you a conquest haue, Then with tiranny to press, Which still make the honor les. Gods doe prinses' hands direct— Then to thes haue some respect.
In this you must somthing sway. Soe you shall, and I, your child, When you bid, can soone bee milde.
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| It may be worth while to mention that there was a play by Shirley, now perished, which bore the title of Love's Victory, but the internal evidence would scarcely lead us to believe that this is one of his productions. |
12mo. London, n. d.
A very curious tract, of which there are several editions, differing only in the woodcuts. It commences : " In the weilds of Kent, not far from Romney Marsh, there dwelt an old
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Chap. 1. Robin's place of abode : he is married to a wench ; with his pitiful lamentation. 2. Robin runs away, and the entertainment he found on the road. 3. Robin wakes in the morning, and missed his bed-fellow, who soon returns with some witches : the manner of his punishment, and other particulars. 4. Robin goes to London ; with his bitter lamentation on the road. 5. Robin meets an old blind beggar. 6. Robin lives with a beggar, who dies and leaves him all his money: Robin goes home, and what use he makes of his good fortune. Some of the woodcuts are incongruous with the narrative. At p. 16, is one of a knight and a lady at a well : at p. 18, a cut of two countrymen, the same which was a favorite embellishment in ballads of the seventeenth century: and at p. 21 is a representation of the devil bringing a goblet to a person in bed.
A very rare tract, consisting only of four leaves, the title illustrated by the accompanying woodcut. Don Stulto, escaping from an intrigue, finds himself in the chamber of an astrologer at Madrid. " He saw books and papers in confusion on the table, spheres and compasses on the one side, and viols and quadrants on the other. Presently he heard a / p.239 / deep sigh break out just by him, which a little startled him ; he took it at first for a nocturnal illusion, or imaginary 
phantom, but hearing a second sigh, it made him cry out, ' What devil is it which sighs here?' ' 'Tis I, Seignor Stulto,' answers a voice, ' I have been three years enclos'd in one of these bottles. In this house lives a skilful magician, who, by the power of his art, has kept me so long shut up in this close prison.' " The demon is liberated, and represented as " a very surprizing figure, about two foot and a half high, resting upon two crutches, with goat's legs, a long visage, sharp chin, a yellow and black complexion, a very flat nose, and eyes that seem'd like two lighted coals." Numerous notices of Penkethman, and his " booth," occur in the literature of the period.
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C. AND J. ADLARD, PRINTERS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE. |
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of 
the setting-glass broke, and I lost all my pains.' He sets down five or six such judgments, but still complains all came to nothing, upon the malignant aspects of 
and 
. Although some of his astrological judgments did fail, more particularly those concerning himself, he being no way capable of such preferment as he ambitiously desired ; yet I shall repeat some other of his judgments which did not fail, being performed by conference with spirits. My mistress went once unto him, to know when her husband, then in Cumberland, would return, he having promised to be at home near the time of the question ; after some consideration, he told her to this effect : 'Margery,' for so her name was, 'thy husband will not be at home these eighteen days ; his kindred have vexed him, and he is come away from them in much anger : he is now in Carlisle, and hath but three-pence in his purse.' And when he came home he confessed all to be true, and that / p.37 / upon leaving his kindred he had but three-pence in his purse. I shall relate one story more, and then his death.
merry conceited cobler, commonly called Robin the Devil, who afterwards was called the Witch of the Woodlands." He gets into the power of some witches, who transform him into a fox, a horse, and a swan ; but, in the end, meets with a beggar-man, who leaves him a fortune. The annexed cut of the witches is taken from p. 12.