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

p.i ]


Brief Description

of the

Ancient & Modern Manuscripts

Preserved in the

Public Library, Plymouth:

To which are added,

Some Fragments of Early Literature

Hitherto Unpublished.

Edited by

James Orchard Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A.,
Hon M.R.I.A., Hon. M.R.S.L., &c.

(by C. and J. Adlard) for Private Circulation only.

(image of title page i)

p.iii ]

This Volume

is inscribed to

Thomas Joseph Pettigrew, Esq., F. R. S.,

Vice-President of the British Archaeological Association, &c.,

In Remembrance


Many considerate kindnesses.

p.v ]

Design over heading of Contents, original published size 10.6cm wide x 0.9cm high

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   Love's Victorie, an unpublished Drama of the Seventeenth Century—Extracts from .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

p.vi ]

Design, original published size 3.7cm wide x 1.5cm high

p.1 ]

graphic design across top of page, original published size 11.2cm wide x 1.1cm high

A Catalogue


Manuscripts on Vellum and Paper.

Decorated rule, original published size 3.7cm wide x 0.3cm high

     A folio volume, in the original oak binding, closely written in double columns, about the year 1460, containing
     (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.

     A collection of copies of ancient documents connected with the early history of France, commencing with the year 1313. 2 vols. Fol.

p.2 /

     Breviarium fratrum minorum secundum consuetudinem Romanæ Curiæ. Fol. A fine manuscript on vellum of the fourteenth century, written by an Italian scribe ; neatly rubricated, the chant noted.

     A thin folio volume, temp. Elizabeth, containing the following articles :

     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.
     2. Mr. Edmond Anderson's Letter to Sr Francis Bacon.
     3. A Letter of Advise to the Earle of Essex to take uppon him the care of the Irish busines when Mr. Secretary Cecill was in France.
     4. Another Letter of Advise to my Lo : of Essex, uppon the first treaty with Tyrone, 1598.
     5. Another Letter of Advise to my Lo : of Essex, imediately before his going into Ireland.
     6. A Letter to Mr. Secretarie Cecill, after defeating the Spanish forces in Ireland.
     7. Considerations touching the Queenes service in Ireland.

     Histoire de la Pairie de France, par M. Lelaboureur. Fol.

p.3 /

     Sciendum de la Chancellerie :  Privileges des Secretaires du Roy; Stile de la Chancellarie observé sous M. le Chancellier Sequier. A thick folio volume, written about the year 1650.

     A folio manuscript, on vellum, of the fifteenth century, closely written in double columns. Incipit summa de Penitentia a magistro Raumundo conposita.

     An original book of accounts, commencing in the year 1559. Fol.

     Benedicti de Spinoza Ethica de Deo, ejusque confutatio, opus P. Joannis Baptistæ Faure, Soc. Jesu, ex codice autographo, qui extat Romæ in bibliotheca Francisci Antonii Zachariæ, 1784. 4to.

     Theatre Belgique, ou descriptions historiques, chronologiques, et geographiques, des sept Provinces Unies, trad. de l'Italien de Gregorio Leti, 1690. 2 vols. 4to.

     Passio Domini nostri Jhesu secundum Johannem. A MS. on paper, written about the year 1450. In the original binding. 12 mo.

     Pauli Epistolæ Omnes. 4to. A MS. of the Epistles of St. Paul, written about the year 1400.

p.4 /

     An advertisement touching an Holy Warre, by Fr. L. Verulam, Viscount St. Albans, and of a digest to be made of the Laws of England. 4to. Circa 1640.

     A Vocabulary in Latin and German. A MS. written about the year 1480, in double columns. Fol.

     A Hebrew Grammar, in the neat autograph of Bishop Prideaux. 12 mo.
     This little volume was in Rodd's collection, and marked by him 1 11s. 6d.

     Jacobi Bonfadii liber de conjuratione Joannis Aloysii Flisci contra Rempub. Genuensem. 12mo. Circa 1550. (Bonfadio died
A.D. 1560.)

     Grammaticæ Constructionis Compendium, ex Prisciano et Donato, MS. of the 15th century, in a semi-gothic character, by an Italian scribe. 4to.

     Chronica del Henrique IV, por Henriquez de Castillo su Capellan. Fol.

     A collection of papers and copies of documents connected with the English Navy, 1705. Fol.

p.5 /

     Compendium Sacræ Theologiæ, anno 1468, die quarto Februariæ script. A MS. on vellum and paper, closely written, in the original binding. 4to.

     Opusculum de Feudis. 4to. A MS. from the collection of the late Earl of Guildford.

     Commentarius in Pindari Pythicas, evidently the work of a profound scholar of the early part of the 17th century, 4to.

     Epitaphium Clementis VII.—Carmen de Bibulis 1535, &c. 4to.

     Confirmatio Privilegiorum Fratrum Ordinis Angustinarum, a Petro de Vicentia, 1487. 4to. MS. on vellum, in a beautiful hand.

     Abrahamus Abenazra super Genesim et Exodum, Latine per Methrydatem. Gaonis commentum super ultimam prophetiam Danielis. Fol. MS. of the 16th century.

     Incipit Cordiale de quatuor novissimis, Exempla, &c. MS. of the 15th century. 4to.

     Miscellanea Ascetica, consisting of several treatises in p.6 / Latin and Italian, written in various hands at the commencement of the 18th century. Fol.

     Tractatus de Privilegiis Nominationum Academiæ Lovaniensis, authore Guilielmo Van de Velde. 4to.

     Relazione alla Santità di Nostro Signore su lo Stabilimento del nuovo Reclusorio in Montecchio. Fol.

     Harmony of the New Testament, a MS. of the time of Charles I. Fol.

     Del Governo Civile di Roma, opera del Signor Abbate Gio. Vincenzo Gravina, an exact copy of Gravina's original MS., preserved in the Frangipani Library, 1760. 4to.

     Contrat de mariage de Charles I et Madame Henriette Marie, MS. of the time. Fol.

     Bergomensis Gasperini, Oratoris optimi, Orthographia, &c. A MS. written about the year 1473. 4to.

     A curious miscellaneous MS. of the 15th century, containing Exempla, Latin stories, Postilla Magistri Nicholai de Lyra, &c. 4to.

p.7 /

     Joannis Schefferi Argentoratensis Graphice, hoc est, de arte Pictoria liber singularis. 4to. MS. of the 17th century.

     Indulgentia della Portiuncula. 4to. A MS. of the 16th century bound in vellum.

     A MS. of the 15th century, entitled, in a rubric, Epistola pa uperis [lit.] mundo renunciantis adversus detractores Deo odibiles, nec zelum Dei nec scienciam habentes. 4to. At p. 13 is Liber sancti Cypriani de duodecim abusivis hujus seculi.

     Redargutiones contra impugnantem Montem Pietatis ; Fratris Stephani super hoc re Dissertatio ; Fratris Philippi de Rotingo de eodem, a curious miscellany of the 15th century. 4to.

     Durandi Reportata super prima parte Thomæ de Aquino. 4to. MS. written in the year 1486.

     In laudem Vecturiæ domus Patavii, 1475, a neat MS. of the time. 4to.

     A Defence of the Jurisdiction of the Earl Marshal's Court in the vacancy of a Constable, and of his disowning prohibi- p.8 / tions sent thither from other Courts, by way of letter to the Hon. Sir John Somers, knight, Attorney General to his Majesty, from Robert Plot, L.L.D. 4to.

     Aretini de Bello Italico adversus Gothos, lib. IV—Joviani Pontani Umbri libellus Amorum, titulo Parthenopeus, of the XVth century. 4to.
*** The verses by Pontanus ' ad Fauniam,' in this manuscript of his Parthenopeus, contain ten lines which do not appear in the printed edition, commencing " Felices Sanctæque hominum præcordia mentis," &c. Bound in the same volume is a printed tract, " Matthæi Colatii cognomento Siculus Neocastri Calabri Disputatio in Quintilianum, sine ullâ notâ," of which Panzer quotes a copy from the Pinelli Cat., vol. iii, No. 5806. The collation in A. B., eight leaves each, and E. ten leaves. The tract is of excessively rare occurrence.

     A collection of papers of the Wyndham family, of the 18th century, chiefly consisting of papers relating to the English Navy.

     The History of the Life and Death of the Renowned General, the illustrious George, Duke of Albemarle. By Thomas Skinner. The original MS. Fol.

     The Character of a Trimmer, written in the year 1684, by the Hon. Sir W. Coventry. 8vo. Said to be the original MS.

p.9 /

     Spirituall Manifestations of H. Wharton, commencing at Birmingham, April the 4th, 1729. 4to. A thick volume, closely written.

     Collections relating to Dr. Simon Forman, the celebrated astrologer, principally obtained from MSS. in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. Fol.

     Registrum Cartarum Ecclesiæ Christi Cantuariensis. Fol. A modern transcript, the original MS. being preserved in the archives of the Dean and Chapter of Canterbury.

     Historial account of the Thompson family of Dorsetshire ; account of the taking of a French privateer by William and Thomas Thompson, 1695 ; memoranda of the Thompson family from the year 1452 ; curious anecdotes ; an interesting Life of Thomas Thompson, 1560, and his adventures in France and America, the latter in Boston and Virginia ; Pedigree of the family, &c. An interesting volume, compiled chiefly from family records and traditions. Fol.

     A small folio MS., temp. Elizabeth, containing the following articles :
     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.
p.10 /
     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.

     Diary and memoranda books of Dr. John King, of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and Rector of Chelsea, and of Pertenhall, Bedfordshire, 1690—1731, 25 vols., 12mo. The following account is taken from Mr. Thorpe's catalogue :

*** The above volumes are interleaved almanacks, containing the writer's expenses and receipts for twenty-five years during the above period. They contain his tours and every other particular, forming a most interesting diary; his purchases of books, &c. ; his various rentals, receipts for tithes, &c., with terriers of his lands ; in 1692 is a memorandum of his journey to Basingstoke, Salisbury, Dorset, Bridport, Exeter, Plymouth, Okehampton, Torrington, Truro, and various other places, with the most minute charges attending the same ; also memoranda of the days he hunted at Kimbolton, &c.; this year there is an account of the rents, tithes, &c. 1698 contains, amongst other things, a notice of Lady Northcliff. Diary of his journey into Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire, Somerset, Devonshire, Cornwall, Shropshire, p.11 / Wales, Dorsetshire, Wilts, Hampshire. An account of Mrs. Littleton's legacy to the poor of various parishes ; expenses for his degree at Cambridge, with the various items, amounting to 107 6s. 10d. 1700 contains another journey into various counties, with notice of Drs. Langford, Atterbury (afterwards Bishop), and other divines, who preached for him during his absence ; also a notice of the death and burial of Margaret, Countess of Nottingham. 1701 contains a notice of a fee received on the death of the Duke of Ormond's daughter ; also for the marriage and burial of various persons, &c. At the end is an account of the method of admitting the members into the Independent church at Bedford, &c. 1702 contains an account of his journey to Windsor with Dr. Atterbury, and his journey from thence to Truro in Cornwall, to the visitation, and return to Chelsea, also his journey with his brothers Aris and Durham into Worcestershire, Gloucestershire, Bedford, &c., with the terrier of his lands in Wickey, with valuation of the various livings in all the counties at this period, and a Latin poem on Exeter, by himself. 1704 contains also his receipts from his estates ; fees from the parish of Chelsea ; notices of burials, births, marriages, &c.; account of his cousin Masters' estates near Shrewsbury, for whom he was trustee ; a list of the persons who subscribed various sums at Astrop for the minister, and other interesting particulars. 1705 contains his journey with Mr. Banton to the county election at Bedford, thence to Leicestershire and p.12 / Yorkshire, visited the Earl of Kingston, at Thoresby, Sir G. Savile's, &c, thence to Nottinghamshire ; a copy of the prologue spoken at the first opening of the Queen's Theatre in the Haymarket ; two poems, entitled the Northamptonshire health, and answer. 1708 contains his journey with Lord Chesterfield to Burntwood, Bocking, Compton, where the provost of King's fetched him to Cambridge ; notices the company present, and a second journey to Devon on a visit to the Bishop of Exeter ; copy of a letter from T. Ellisone to Daniel Defoe; various riddles, epitaphs, poems, &c., and account of books purchased for the Archbishop of York ; sums received for tithes of various of the nobility who resided in Chelsea, and the notices of persons whom he married, christened, and buried, are very interesting to the Chelsea collector in particular ; among others are noticed the burial of Lady Radnor, Sir William Courtney's son, and many others. Particulars of the almshouses founded at Maidenhead, in Berkshire, by James Smith, in conjunction with the Salters' Hall Company of London, the estates of which are fully set out, and which at this period produced nearly 100 per annum. In 1721 he notices the Bishop of Durham, Dr. Crewe, holding his feast, or jubilee, at Northampton, in July, being the fiftieth year since his consecration as Bishop of Oxford ; the same year is a list of his temporal estate which " God hath blessed me with," &c. ; also notices of the funeral of the Bishop of Winchester, number of miles he had travelled from p.13 / 1708 to 1720, in 53 journeys, amounting to 11,703 miles; account of land taken into Chelsea College and Lord Ranelagh's garden. This journey, throughout, contains many curious historical notices illustrative of various counties; his visits to the Archbishop of York, Bishops of Durham, Exeter, and Chester, Sir Richard Grosvenor, at Eaton, Sir J. Wynne, at Ruabben, T. Powis, ERASMUS DRYDEN, Lord Carteret, Mr. Herbert, Mr. Pigott, and many other persons of distinction, and numerous other matters of interest. These diaries would furnish materials for the periodicals and other publications of the present day, supplying dates and historical notices, &c., of great value.

     Rogerii Bachonis, viri doctissimi, rerumque naturalium ac præcipue reconditarum indagatoris solertissimi, libellus de retardatione accidentium Senectutis. 4to. A beautifully written MS. of the 16th century.
        This work was printed at Oxford in the year 1590, 8vo, pp.134. The present MS. was undoubtedly written long before that work was published.

     Cases in the Court of Exchequer, a closely-written folio volume, temp. James I. As several interesting cases are here recorded, which, it is believed, are not elsewhere to be found, the following table may be found useful :—
Ayrie vers Alcocke      .     .      Page 150
Arden vers Darcey      .     .      Page 303
p.14 /
Boutly vers Leigh      .     .      Page 316
Bromleys Case      .     .      Page 401
Brockenburies Case      .     .      Page 404
Becketts Case de Recusancy            . Page 405
Bout et al.      .     .      Page 424
Becketts Case      .     .      Page 528
Calverts Case      .     .      Page 317
Clarke vers Rutland      .     .      Page 497
Dame Catesbies Case      .     .      Page 172
Dollie vers Jolliffs      .     .      Page 233
Daniell Nortons Case      .     .      Page 330
Dismes      .     .      Page 440
Ewer vers Moyle      .     .      Page 372
Edwards Case      .     .      Page 432
.       .       .      .      .       .           .     .     
Gooches Case      .     .      Page 435
Huddleston and Hill vers Bowes      .     .      Page 76
In attachmt vers Mayor de Lincolne and Steward      .     .      Page 75
Isabell Fortescues Case      .     .      Page 403
p.15 /
Kent vers Kelloway      .     .      Page 313
Levison vers Kirke      .     .      Page 291
Mary Ropps per Guardian vers Babham      .     .      Page 79
Mocion per Walter      .     .      Page 157
Mr Rearis Case      .     .      Page 263
Mocion per Sr John Jackson      .     .      Page 268
Mrs Chamberlaines Case      .     .      Page 519
Mocion, whether the King's Patentee of Piratts goods should pay custome for them or not      .     .      Page 69
Nota per Tanfoild      .     .      Page 267
Not. de deb :      .     .      Page 497
Not. de Feofmt      .     .      Page 533
Rex vers Sr Robt Johnson      .     .      Page 1
Rex vers Page      .     .      Page 86
Rex vers A & B      .     .      Page 95
Rex vers Bates      .     .      Page 101
Rex vers Sr Edwd Dimocke      .     .      Page 142
Rex vers the same      .     .      Page 158
Rex vers Earle Nottingham      .     .      Page 188
Rex vers Fleetwood      .     .      Page 228
Rex vers Wickes      .     .      Page 242
Rex vers A      .     .      Page 261
p.16 /
Rex vers Austin et al.      .     .      Page 264
Robt Winter      .     .      Page 499
S. Kelton vers Dame Alice      .     .      Page 77
Shaftby vers Walter et Bromley      .     .      Page 224
Sr Thomas Overburies Case      .     .      Page 246
Sweete vers Beale      .     .      Page 251
Sr Edward Dimocks Case vers Devant      .     .      Page 269
Sr Michaell Stanhopps Case.      .     .      Page 290
Sawyer vers Croft      .     .      Page 331
Sr Henry Brownes Case      .     .      Page 362
Sr Henry Brownes Case      .     .      Page 384
Smyth and Jemneys Case      .     .      Page 427
Scot et al. vers Helliar      .     .      Page 434
Sr Stephen Leasures Case      .     .      Page 441
Sawyer et East      .     .      Page 477
Trollopps Case      .     .      Page 230
Trus vers Gibson      .     .      Page 399
The Case touching the paying the King's Debts, &c.      .     .      Page 461
Thomas Coventries Argument      .     .      Page 462
Wickham vers Wood      .     .      Page 500
Yorke et Allen vers B      .     .      Page 91
Phillipps vers Evans      .     .      Page 148

p.17 /

     Papers and Correspondence of the Archer Family, of Coopersale, co. Essex, Welford, co. Berks, and Bakewell, co. Derby, commencing in the year 1599, but chiefly belonging to the 18th century. 12 vols. 4to.
        This series of letters reveal many circumstances of old domestic economy, not to be found in published works.

     A volume of original documents relating to Dorsetshire, including a compotus, temp. Hen. VIII, original letters, a Daily Account of Moneys collected in ye Town and County of Poole for warfage and cartage of goods brought in and carry'd out of ye Town, 1733, some very ancient documents relating to Acford Schyllyng, &c. 4to.

     A collection of original documents, on vellum and paper, relating to the county of Bucks. 4to.

     A collection of original documents, chiefly of modern date, but including a few dated 1652, relating to the county of Northumberland. 4to.

     Original documents relating to Gloucestershire, part of a deed temp. Edward III, autograph letters, and various papers. 4to.

p.18 /

     Paraphrastic Imitations of the Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace, by William Popple, written in a beautiful clear hand, apparently the dedication MS. to Frederic, Prince of Wales. It contains the following articles :—

Subtitle: Book 1st.    /
1     25     To the late John Selwyn, Esq.
2     37     To George Augustus Selwyn, Esq.
3     57     To Thomas Bladen, Esq.
4     75     To the Rt Honble the Earl of Chesterfield.
5     99     A Journey thro' York to Edinbro'.
6     123     To His Grace the Duke of Newcastle.
7     143     M— versus K—.
8     149     Imitated.
9     159     Imitated.
10     171     To the Admirers of the late Mr. Pope.

Subtitle: Book 2d.    /
1     191     Dialogue between the Poet and a Friend.
2     205     Inscribed to His Friends.
3     227     Dialogue between Dr. L—n and the Poet.
4     277     Interlocuters.  Poet, Sir Ch. M.
5     289     Interlocuters.  Ulysses, Tiresias.
6     305     To the Right Honble Sir Edward Walpole, Knt, &c.
7     323     A Dialogue between a Man of Fashion and his Valet.
8     345     Interlocuters.  Poet and Mr. Foote.

p.19 /

Subtitle: Book 1st.    /
1     361     To Richard Ince, Esq.
2     377     To Henry Lyddall, Esq.
3     389     To Andrew Stone, Esq.
4     397     To Simon Fanshaw, Esq.
5     401     To Doctor Hay.
6     407     To Robert Nettleton, Esq.
7     419     To the Rt Honble the Earl of Granville.
8     435     To the Rt Honble William Pitt, Esq.
9     439     To His Excellency John Tinker, Esq.
10     441     To William Blair, Esq.
11     449     To Allan Ramsay, Painter.
12     455     To Anthony Wellden, Esq.
13     461     Instructions to Peter B—n (his Secretary).
14     467     To His Steward in the Country.
15     477     To Edward Briliffe, Esq.
16     483     To John Pownall, Esq.
17     497     To the Rt Honble Lord Grantham.
18     511     To the Honble John Fitzwilliam, Esq.
19     531     To Richard Edgecumbe, Esq.
20     539     The Poet to His Book.

Subtitle: Book 2d.    /
1     547     To the King.
2     587     To Thomas Hill, Esq.
3     623     ART OF POETRY. To the Right Honble the Earl of Halifax.
    689     Notes on the Art of Poetry.

     A small collection of original documents, on vellum and paper, relating to Devonshire. 4to.

p.20 /

     A similar collection relating to the county of Somerset, two imperfect early charters, letters, &c. 4to.

     The arms of Sir John Scudamore, of Homlacy, in ye county of Hereford, and various papers relating to the same county. 4to.

     An imitation of Pindar's Second Olympic Ode to Pheron, humbly inscribed to the Hon. Sir John Hobart, Bart. and Knight of the Most Honorable Order of the Bath. 4to.

     Nativitas Friderici Lossii, Dorchestrensis, Angli, nati anno 1641. 12mo.

*** A curious little volume, drawn up by the father of the person whose nativity is here given, with a judgment upon it according to the rules of art. A particular chapter is given for the fortunes of his son, and the accidents that are to happen to him till his 48th year are minutely predicted.

     A Treatise of Assize, in old Norman French, circa temp. Hen. VIII. 4to.

     A collection of Poems, in Dutch, by R. Gordon, written in the year 1666. 4to.

p.21 /

     Love's Victorie, a Play, copied from the original MS. in the possession of Sir E. Dering, Bart. 4to.

     A contemporary MS. copy of Milton's Eikonoklastes, 1649. Neatly written. 4to.

     The forms of Process before the Lords of Session, a neatly-written MS. 4to.

     Ars Logica, by Allen Henman, of Syndall in Lenham, co. Kent, and St. John's College, Cambridge, 1661. 12 mo.

     A Peticion directed by F. Edmonde Campian to the Lorde of the Counsaile, wherin he declareth the intent and cause of his commynge into Englande ; and he also maketh a chalenge against his adversaries. A neatly-written early MS. 4to.
        This volume formerly belonged to the Rev. Dr. Farmer, and has a MS. note in his autograph on the fly-leaf.

     Ultimum Votum charissimæ et honoratissimæ D.S.B., quæ obiit anno 1652 ; the last request of a deare and honorable Saint, commemorated in a Meditacion grounded upon some probable conjectures of her concealed desires and wantes, which, though clearly knowne only by the Eternall Wisdome, yet with much observation to be remembred by all her neare and deare relations. 12mo.

p.22 /

     A collection of Poems, Orations, Private Devotions, &c., by Anthony Moore, of St. John's College, Oxford, 1669. 4to. An Elegie on the Princess Royall of Orange, who deceased on Christmas Eve, 1660, by S. Troughton, of St. John's College in Oxford, &c.

     Original documents, charters, &c., relating to the county of Berks, 3 vols. 4to.

     A collection of original documents, indentures, &c., relating to the county of Kent. 4to.

     A similar volume relating to Surrey. 4to.

     Original documents relating to the county of Wilts, on vellum and paper, some early and curious. 4to.

     A collection of original documents relating to the county of Lincoln, from the time of Edward III. 3 vols. 4to.

     A volume of collections, chiefly of the last century, relating to Oxfordshire. 4to. It includes documents of a much earlier date.

p.23 /

     Original MSS. relating to Feversham, co. Kent, chiefly of the time of Queen Elizabeth,—a very curious and interesting volume to the county historian. 4to.

     Original documents relating to the county of Worcester, from the time of Edward III. 4to.

     A volume lettered, "Original Papers of the Molineux and Lovelace Families." It includes a curious collection of early papers and documents. Fol.

     Notes on Milton, by the Rev. G. S. Luke. 4to.

     A Particular of the several Persons Names, with the annuall Rents they pay to Sir Robert Clayton, Bart., being part of the gross Fee-farme Rent reserved and issuing out of and from the late dissolved Priory of Tandridge, co. Surry [lit.]. Fol.

     A devout, ffrutefull, ande Godly remembraunce of the Passion off oure Savyoure Chryst Jesu, a MS. on vellum. 8vo.

     De Mirabilibus Cœli effectibus, auctore Richardo Eden. 4to. Original MS. of the time of Queen Elizabeth.

p.24 /

     A letter, from Sir Kenelme Digby to my hon. frend Sir Edward Esterling, alias Stradling, abord his shipp, on Spenser's Faerie Queen. Fol.

     Transcripts from old MSS., including a ballad to the tune of the Downright Squyre, ancient English poems, the Lamentation of a Lover, Letters of Henry VIII. from the Ashmolean MSS., Romance of Sir Degaree. 4to.

     Recueil des Extraits, Observations, &c., a closely written volume of the seventeenth century, containing a great deal of curious and valuable matter. 4to.

*** This is a common-place book in French, and appears to have belonged to Jollivet, a French Protestant clergyman, who has transcribed into the volume various letters and papers relating to the persecuted Protestants of France, and some French verses addressed to Charles II. by his illegitimate son the Duke of Richmond, also verses addressed to the Duchess of Portsmouth by the said Duke of Richmond, her son.
       This curious volume was bought by me at Rodd's sale of MSS., at Messrs. Sotheby's, for the sum of 2 4s.

     A small volume of curious original papers relating to Thorington, extracts from registers, &c. 4to.

p.25 /

     A Letter from Sir Francis Bacon to the Lord of Northumberland, after he had bene with the King ; a Letter to Mr. Davies, his Majesties Attourney in Ireland ; and various other documents, MS. temp. Charles I. Fol.

     This MS. was purchased of Mr. Thorpe, and the following description is taken from his catalogue:—

      " 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.
      " *** A very interesting MS., and of great value to the county collector, inasmuch as it is earlier, and differs much from the printed edition.
      "It was formerly in the Library of the Duchy of Cornwall, founded by George IV, when Prince of Wales, in 1783."

     Sir John Newton's Letter-book, being the original copies of the correspondence of Sir John Newton of Barrs Court, co. Gloucester, commencing A.D. 1708. Oblong 12mo.

     A curious old writing-book on vellum, written by Billingsley,
A.D. 1619. Oblong 4to.
        The author of this volume was Martin Billingsley, who published, " Pens Excellencie, or the Secretary's Delight," 4to., Lond. 1618. This work has a portrait of the author by W. Hole.

p.26 /

     A Catt may look at a King, 1652, by Sir A. Welding. Fol. This curious historical MS. is believed to be unpublished.

     A folio volume of collections of the time of Charles I, containing the following articles :—

1.     The begininge of Kingdomes ................ 3
2.     The begininge of Lawes ................ 3
3.     Court, what it signifieth ................ 5
4.     The definicon of Corts ................ 6
5.     Law Corts of 2 sorts in Ansient tymes ................ 7
6.     Sheire Mote, or Sheire Corts ................ 8
7.     Hundred Corts ................ \ 9
8.     Corts Baron, or Hall Corts ................ /
9.     High Corts of Justice before the Conquest for Lawe and Equitie ................ 9
10.     Piepowders and powders of several legal kinds, because it is for Travellers of the Ffaire ................ 11
11.     The division of Law Corts at this daie ................ 12
12.     The Corts of Comon Pleas ................ 19
13.     Marshall of Mare (a horse) and Shall (a governor ), that is, Mr of ye Horse ................ 20
14.     Senishall, of Seni (a house) and Shall (a governor ), for Steward, of Stew (a house) and Ward (a keeper) ................ 21
15.     Admiralty Corts ................ 22
16.     The Cunstables Corts ................ 22

p.27 /
17.     The Chaunsellor, the Chaunsery Courts ................ \
18. The name of Chaunsellor derived ................ 24
19. The greate Seale ................ /
20. The Corte of Starchamber ................ 38
21. The name of Starchamber derived ................ 82
22. The Wardens Corts of the Marshes of Scotland ................ 97
23. The Dutchie Corts of Lancaster ................ 99
24. The Corts of Requests ................ 100
25. The President and Councell of the Mershall of Wales ................ 103
26. The Corts of Wardes and Lyveries ................ \
27. The Corts of Augmentacons ................ 103
28. The Parliamt ................ /
29. Observasions, Politicall and Civill ................ 128
1.   Of the Comon Weal. All Comon Weales be either Monarchies, Aristocracies, or Democracys ................ 128
2.   Of Sovraignities, or the merkes thereof ................ 129
3.   Monarchies of 3 sorts—Signiorile, Royall, Tyranicall ................ 130
1. Of Monarchies Signiorile ... 131
2. Of Monarchies Royall ... 132
3. Of Monarchies Tyranicall ... 134
4.   Of Monarchies and Principallities meerely new................ 135
5.   Of Councell and Councellos ................ 138
6.   Of Councell in Monarchies ................ \ 139
7.   Of Councell in Aristocracies ................ /
8.   Of Councell in Democracies ................ 140
9.   Of Officers and Comisioners ................ 141
10.   Of Magistrates ................ 142
p.28 /
30.     Observacons ordinary, concerninge every State ................ 143
            1.   Matters Autrinsick are 3 ................ 144
                   1.   Touching Adion of Justice ................ \
2.   Touching the Poor ................ 144
3.   Touching Warr ................ /
  2.   Matters Extrinsick are 3 ................
                   1.   How to deale wth Neightbours[lit.] ................
2.   How to beat theire designes ................    
3.   To wynn confidence wth Neighbors ................
             Matters Autrinsick:
                   Touchinge Adion of Justice ................ 144
Touching the Poor ................ \ 145
The means to leave the Poor are 4 ................ /
Touching Warr ................ 146
             Matters Extrinsick:
                   How to deale wth Naighbrs[lit.] ................ 147
How to beat theire designes ................ 148
To wyn confidence wth Neighbors ................ 149
31.     Observacons confirmed by Authorities of Princes and Principallities ................ 150
32.     Of eleccion of Chauncellors ................ 153
33.     Of Ministers ................ 156
34.     Of Governmt ................ 158
35.     Of Authority and Comaundment ................ 159
36.     Of Power and Fforce ................ 161
37.     Of Conspirarcy [lit.] and Treason ................ 162
38.     Of Hate and Contempt ................ 164
39.     Of diffidence and dissimulacon ................ 170
40.     Of Water and Souldiers ................ 172

p.29 /

     Advice to Queen Elizabeth for putting away evil Counsellors, encouraging foreign traffique, putting down the too great number of servants and officers, qualifying of fines and recoveries, &c. 4to. A curious MS., exhibiting much sound sense, greatly in advance of the time.

     A Treatise in Approbation of Purgatory, wherein Northbrookes perfidiowsenes is discovered, and proofe made that St. Augustine & al the rest of the Greeke and Lattyne Fathers beleeved that there was a Purgatory, with many thinges worthy the notinge by the way, besides the orderly answers unto al the Arian or Calvinian objections to the contrary. 4to.
        The Northbrooke here alluded to was author of "A Summe of the Christian Faith," 4to., Lond. 1571.

     A large collection of original documents relating to the county of Norfolk, some early and curious, 3 vols. 4to.

     Historical account of the Thompson family of Dorsetshire ; account of the taking of a French privateer by William and Thomas Thompson, 1695 ; Memoranda of the Thompson family from the year 1452, anecdotes, histories, &c. Fol. In the course of the volume occurs the following ballad :—

p.30 /

The Glory of the West, or the Honour of Dorsetshire.

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.

To the tune of "Ceaser Live Long, or fond by," &c.

Lisenced according to order.


You brave sons of Mars, where ever you be,
That hunt after Glory by land or by Sea,
Despising of danger, and slighting all pain,
Your King and your Country's just cause to maintaine,


Then lend your attention, and news you shall hear,
To the honour of Poole and of brave Dorsetshire.
The Hero we treat of, disprove it who can,
He sails out of Poole, as a mean Fisherman,
Exposed to all dangers, in dry or in wett,
Or boisterous tempests, his living to gett.
Then lend, &c.
p.31 /

It happend one pleasant, bright sun shining day,
He calls his crew, to him one man and a boy,
The weathers inviteing [lit.], lets hasten to Sea,
Who knows but our Voyage successfull may be ?
Then lend, &c.


All hands being on board, they hoisted up sail,
And heaven did send them a prosperous gale ;
Near Purbecks fair Island they soon did arrive,
Where a French Pickaroon came at them full drive.
Then lend, &c.


Fear not, my brave lads, cheare up, hearts of gold,
That we did run from them, shall never be told.
No, no, my brave master, the Mate then replyed,
We will face them, and fight them, or dye by their side.
Then lend, &c.


With that the proud Mounseir down towards us bore,
Haveing five times our number aboard him and more ;
Yet we were resolved to stand the dispute,
And with our small force did him warmly salute.
Then lend, &c.
p.32 /

Morblew, said the Frenchmen ; aboard him lets go,
You   . . . . . .   ,  said Thomson, whether I will or no,
But mount your French courage, as high as you can,
You shall be out done by a true English man.
Then lend, &c.

     A very curious volume of early transcripts, in a hand of the time of Edward I, written upon vellum, size 3½ in. by 2¼ in., containing: 1. Capitula Magnæ Cartæ.  2. Capitula Cartæ de Foresta.  3. Statuta de Marlebergh.  4. Capitula Statut: Westmonast. primi.  5. Statuta Gloucestr. [6 Edw. I.]  6. Statuta Westmonast. secundi [6 Edw. I.]  7. Statuta Wynton. [13 Edw. I.]  8. Statuta de Finibus.  9. Statuta de Conspiratoribus, &c. There are some curious pieces in the volume, apparently worthy the attention of the legal antiquary.

     Remembrances for Order and Decency to be kept in the Upper House of Parliament by the Lords when his Majesty is not there, leaving the solemnity belonging to His Majesty's coming to be Marshalled by those Lords to whom it more properly appertains. 8vo.

p.33 /



       [The following notices of Dr. Forman, extracted from various sources, will illustrate and be illustrated by the volume of Collections, No. 47. See p. 9.]

     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.
     The best account of this pretended philosopher is to be found in the Life of Lilly, a fellow-labourer in the vineyard of knavery, and is as follows:
     " When my mistress died, she had under her arm-hole a small scarlet bag full of many things, one of which was there delivered unto me. There was in this bag several sigils, some of Jupiter in Trine, others of the nature of Venus, some of iron, and one of gold, of pure angel-gold, of the bigness of a thirty-three shilling piece of King James's coin. In the circumference on one side was engraven, Vicit Leo de tribu Judæ Tetragrammaton
+, within the middle there was engraven an holy lamb. In the other circumference there was Amraphel and three + . In the middle, Sanctus Petrus, Alpha and Omega.
     " The occasion of framing this sigil was thus ; her former husband travelling into Sussex, happening to lodge in an inn, and to lie in a chamber thereof; wherein, not many months p.34 / before, a country grazier had lain, and in the night cut his own throat ; after this night's lodging he was perpetually, and for many years, followed by a spirit, which vocally and articulately provoked him to cut his throat ; he used frequently to say, ' I defy thee, I defy thee,' and to spit at the spirit ; this spirit followed him many years, he not making any body acquainted with it ; at last he grew melancholy and discontented, which being carefully observed by his wife, she many times hearing him pronounce, ' I defy thee,' &c., she desired him to acquaint her with the cause of his distemper, which he then did. Away she went to Dr. Simon Forman, who lived then in Lambeth, and acquaints him with it ; who having framed this sigil, and hanged it about his neck, he wearing it continually until he died, was never more molested by the spirit : I sold the sigil for thirty-two shillings, but transcribed the words verbatim as I have related. Sir, you shall now have a story of this Simon Forman, as his widow, whom I well knew, related it unto me. But before I relate his death, I shall acquaint you something of the man, as I have gathered them from some manuscripts of his own writing.
      " He was a chandler's son in the city of Westminster. He travelled into Holland for a month in 1580, purposely to be instructed in astrology, and other more occult sciences ; as also in physic, taking his degree of Doctor beyond seas : being sufficiently furnished and instructed with what he desired, he returned into England towards the latter end of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and flourished until that year of King James, wherein the Countess of Essex, the Earl of Somerset, and Sir Thomas Overbury's matters were ques- p.35 / tioned. He lived in Lambeth with a very good report of the neighbourhood, especially of the poor, unto whom he was charitable. He was a person that in horary questions (especially thefts) was very judicious and fortunate ; so also in sicknesses, which indeed was his master-piece. In resolving questions about marriage he had good success : in other questions very moderate. He was a person of indefatigable pains. I have seen sometimes half one sheet of paper wrote of his judgment upon one question ; in writing whereof he used much tautology, as you may see yourself (most excellent Esquire) if you read a great book of Dr. Flood's, which you have, who had all that book from the manuscripts of Forman; for I have seen the same word for word in an English manuscript formerly belonging to Doctor Willoughby of Gloucestershire. Had Forman lived to have methodized his own papers, I doubt not but he would have advanced the Jatro mathematical part thereof very compleatly; for he was very observant, and kept notes of the success of his judgments, as in many of his figures I have observed. I very well remember to have read in one of his manuscripts, what followeth :
     " 'Being in bed one morning' (says he) 'I was desirous to know whether I should ever be a Lord, Earl, or Knight, &c., whereupon I set a figure ; and thereupon my judgment:' by which he concluded, that within two years time he should be a Lord or great man: 'But,' says he, 'before the two years had expired, the Doctors put me in Newgate, and nothing came.' Not long after, he was desirous to know the same things concerning his honour or greatship. Another figure was set, and that promised him to be a great Lord within one year. But he sets down, that in that year he had no p.36 / preferment at all ; only 'I became acquainted with a merchant's wife, by whom I got well.' There is another figure concerning one Sir — Ayre his going into Turkey, whether it would be a good voyage or not : the Doctor repeats all his astrological reasons, and musters them together, and then gave his judgment it would be a fortunate voyage. But under this figure, he concludes, 'this proved not so, for he was taken prisoner by pirates ere he arrived in Turkey, and lost all.' He set several questions to know if he should attain the philosophers stone, and the figures, according to his straining, did seem to signify as much ; and then he tuggs upon the aspects and configurations, and elected a fit time to begin his operations ; but by and by, in conclusion, he adds, ' so the work went very forward ; but upon the astrological square of astrological symbol 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 astrological h and astrological male symbol. 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.
     "One Coleman, clerk to Sir Thomas Beaumont of Leicestershire, having had some liberal favours both from his Lady and her daughters, bragged of it, &c. The Knight brought him into the Star-chamber, had his servant sentenced to be pilloried, whipped, and afterwards, during life, to be imprisoned. The sentence was executed in London, and was to be in Leicestershire ; two keepers were to convey Coleman from the Fleet to Leicester. My mistress taking consideration of Coleman, and the miseries he was to suffer, went presently to Forman, acquainted him therewith ; who, after consideration, swore Coleman had lain both with mother and daughters ; and besides said, that the old Lady being afflicted with fits of the mother, called him into her chamber to hold down the fits with his hands ; and that he holding his hands about the breast, she cried, ' Lower, lower,' and put his hands below her belly; and then—— He also told my mistress in what posture he lay with the young Ladies, &c., and said, 'they intend in Leicester to whip him to death ; but I assure thee, Margery, he shall never come there ; yet they set forward to-morrow,' says he; and so his two keepers did, Coleman's legs being locked with an iron chain under the horse's belly. In this nature they travelled the first and second day; on the third day the two keepers, seeing their prisoner's civility the two preceding days, did not lock his chain under the horse's belly as formerly, but locked it only to one side. In this posture they rode some miles beyond Northampton, when, on a sudden, one of the keepers had a necessity to untruss, and so the other and Coleman stood p.38 / still ; by and by the other keeper desired Coleman to hold his horse, for he had occasion also : Coleman immediately took one of their swords, and ran through two of the horses, killing them stark dead ; gets upon the other, with one of their swords ; ' Farewell, gentlemen,' quoth he, ' tell my master I have no mind to be whipped in Leicestershire,' and so went his way. The two keepers in all haste went to a gentleman's house near at hand, complaining of their misfortune, and desired of him to pursue their prisoner, which he with much civility granted ; but ere the horses could be got ready, the mistress of the house came down, and enquiring what the matter was, went to the stable, and commanded the horses to be unsaddled, with this sharp speech—' Let the Lady Beaumont and her daughters live honestly; none of my horses shall go forth upon this occasion.'
     " I could relate many such stories of his performances ; as also what he wrote in a book left behind him, viz. ' This I made the devil write with his own hand in Lambeth Fields, 1596, in June or July, as I now remember.' He professed to his wife there would be much trouble about Carr and the Countess of Essex, who frequently resorted unto him, and from whose company he would sometimes lock himself in his study a whole day. Now we come to his death, which happened as follows : the Sunday night before he died, his wife and he being at supper in their garden-house, she being pleasant, told him, that she had been informed he could resolve, whether man or wife should die first ; 'Whether shall I (quoth she) bury you or no ?' 'Oh Trunco,' for so he called her, 'thou wilt bury me, but wilt much repent it.' ' Yea, but how long first ?' ' I shall die,' said he, ' ere p.39 / Thursday night.' Monday came, all was well. Tuesday came, he not sick. Wednesday came, and still he was well ; with which his impertinent wife did much twit him in the teeth. Thursday came, and dinner was ended, he very well : he went down to the water-side, and took a pair of oars to go to some buildings he was in hand with in Puddle-dock. Being in the middle of the Thames, he presently fell down, only saying, ' An impost, an impost,' and so died. A most sad storm of wind immediately following. He died worth one thousand two hundred pounds, and left only one son called Clement. All his rarities, secret manuscripts, of what quality soever, Dr. Napier of Lindford in Buckinghamshire had, who had been a long time his scholar ; and of whom Forman was used to say he would be a dunce : yet, in continuance of time, he proved a singular astrologer and physician. Sir Richard now living, I believe has all those rarities in possession which were Forman's, being kinsman and heir unto Dr. Napier." [His son Thomas Napier, Esq., most generously gave most of these manuscripts to Elias Ashmole, Esq.]


       Forman, a rehersale of his first trouble, and his thankesgyvinge to God for his delyverie, 1576. To the tune of, " Ye children which doe serve the Lorde," &c.
Amidste my joyes I will accord
In harte and minde to praise the Lorde
        For benifites bestowed on me ;
For by his will I was firste borne,
Though in my youth I was forlorne,
        And no man cared then for me.
p.40 /
The Lord of me toke greate regard,
And with his grace did me reward
        For meknes and symplicity.
When I was laid in bed to sleepe,
The Lord of me did then take kepe,
        And in my dreams did showe to me

What should to me in fine enseue.
In visions he did showe moste true
        Of trobles greate that after came.
Which in processe of future tyme
By profe therof I true did find ;
        Wherfore I praise his holy name.
The Lord, when I danger deepe
Lay, and did lament and wepe,
        He did then comforte to me sende.
And when my frindes did jeste and mocke,
And made of me a laughyng stocke,
        Because on Him I did depende ;

When prison longe had kept me thralle,
And I on God did crie and calle,
        Beinge hunger-byt, kepte close from sighte,
Among the ville reputed sorte,
The Lord himselfe was my comforte,
        And did deliver me by his mighte ;
And when to judgmente I was broughte,
What mischeife they againste me wroughte,
        Falls witnes they did then procuer

p.41 /
To bringe me to eternalle shame,
And raisd on me an evill name,
        Because my deth they wold procuer.

And in the heighte of all their spight,
The Lord did gird me then with mighte,
        And vertue put within my tongue ;
And when I lai sick on the ground,
My foes then thoughte me to confound ;
        Amongste the thickeste of the thronge,
My voice I lifted to the Lord
Unto my prayers to accord
        To cease the sicknes then on me,
That I my strength might have again,
And might be freed from my pain,
        When I to judgment cald should be.

And God, that all the wordle bleste,
Graunted to me my requeste,
        And gave me health, which I desired ;
Then when before them I appeard,
They were of me then all aferd,
        According to that I desired ;
And I acquitted without blame,
And all my foes were put to sham,
        According as the Lord had said,
And I again to ward in fine
Retorned was for a longer tyme,
        Yet was I not for this dismaid.

p.42 /
Full threscore wicke ther I abode,
Of fettars and boltes I had my loode,
        Till God did favoure to me give,
And made my kepers to conceyve
Righte well of me, as yt did preve ;
        Because in Him I did belyve,
Then from my fetters was I freed,
And with my kepars well agreed,
        That they did favoure to me showe,
And larger scope I had to walke,
And with my frindes somtymes to talke,
        When they the truth of thinges did knowe.

Att length I was forth calld again
To answere to those wicked traine,
        Whose mouthes wer full of treachery;
And when again I did appeare
Before the judges, without feare,
        As at the firste soe they servd me,
And sent me back to prison stronge,
In which I taryed very longe,
        In wofull pain and miserie ;
And when they could not soe prevaille,
But of their purpose did still faille,
        A newe exployte they wroughte againste me.

And then with wordes of curtasie
Ofte in their kinde they handled me,
        Thinkinge then, as I did gesse,

p.43 /
With promises faire and wordes vain
That I noe longer should remaine
        In prison, yf I wolde confess
Somthinge againste myselfe, wherby
They mighte abridge my liberty,
        And clean depryve me of my life.
But God, the guide of all his owne,
When all theyr trechery was knowen,
        Delivered me from all this strife.

In despight of my mortalle foe,
And evill men a thousand moe,
        When tyme was come that was complete,
Unto the princes did I write,
Desieringe her by my endite
        My cause to heare, and not to let ;
The which was don ymmediatly,
And me again did satisfie
        With lettars for my liberty,
And sente my foe unto the fleete,
For falshod don in felloweshipe
        And for soe moch abusinge me.

Thes letters kepte I tyll the sise :
My libertie to enterprise
        I wold not, till the sise did com,
Leste that I should prevented be
By him which soe had trobled me,
        Who from the fleete was thither come.

p.44 /
The judges calld me forth to showe
The lettars which I had belowe
        Directed from her majestie ;
And when the same they all espied
Againste my foe they all forth cried,
        And set me straighte at lyberty.

Because he was a man of mighte,
They held him not in such dispight,
        But graunted to him his requeste,
That I for all this bound should be
The sises nexte they might me see,
        Soe wold not yet his mallice reste.
Before them stood I a longe howare ;
Noe suerties wold I procuer,
        I knewe non wold be bound for me ;
At length were two men unknowen found
That said for me they wold be bound
        That I next syses ther should be.

At 9 yeares end I was clean rid
Out of this troble and this dred,
        When that myne enimies were al ded,
As I had profisied before ;
For madnes he himselfe foretore,
        For all abrodes his name was spred.
When frindes I wold not with him be,
That he mighte cover his trechory,
        He started himselfe forthwith to death ;

p.45 /
Himselfe, his sonne, and sonn-in-lawe,
Within 3 wickes to death did drawe,
        And yelded up their vitall breth.

For ells they all had hanged bine,
Their treasons all soe plain were seen,
        For which I praise the lyving Lord,
That shamed thus my mortall foe,
And by his mighte delivered me soe,
        And helpe and mercy did aford.
Within my breste my harte doth daunce
His praises greatly to advaunce,
        That me redeamed out of hell ;
My soule, praise thou the Lord for aye,
And let us praise His name alway
        Above the hie heavens that doth dwelle.


Forman:—his repetition of the troble he had with the Doctors of
Phisick in London, and of his delivery in the Plague,

My vowes to God I mean to paie
With dewe deserved praise ;
Therfore my harte and tongue awake,
And honore Him alwais ;
Yea, honor Him that sits above,
Above the cloudie skie,
And singe your praises unto Him,
Above the heavens hie,
p.46 /
Whose glorie, fame, and victorie
Hath oftentymes byne proved,
In savinge me in daungers depe,
Because he hath me loved.
By Doctors ofte I was assailed,
And ofte in prison to,
Not for the wronge I did to them,
But good which I did doe.

Unto the poore of Gods electe,
That trobled were with paine,
I did imploy my selfe and skill
To cuer their grifes again ;
And this contynued many a yere,
As God appointed me,
That when diseasd and sick they were
To cuer their malladie.

[Ab anno 1589]
    ad  annum
And in the tyme of pestilent plague,
When Docters all did flye,
And got them into places far
From out of the Cytty,
The Lord appointed me to stai
To cuer the sicke and sore,
But not the ritch and mighti ons,
But the destressed poore.

[As in anno
  1592, 1593,
  and in anno
And for because I should then knowe
The plague and all his kinds,
He stroke me with the plague and sores
Which trobled moch men's minds.

[In anno 1592.]
p.47 /
The tokens alsoe I had then,
As red as any blod,
As big as pence, and some bigger,
Of humors like to mud.

And when the people gave me of,
And said I moste needs die,
Then with a knife I cut my sores—
O Lord, howe weke was I !
I fainted then, and waxed weke,
My boy he gave me drinke,
A pretiouse water that I had,
And did not one yt thinke.

With that again I did revive,
And came unto my selfe :
Yt was a water of more price
Than all mans wordly wealth,
Whose vertue was from God above
To kill the plague and venome,
And turne the humors in the body
Wherof the plague did com on ;

With which I after, with Gods healpe,
Did cuer many a one
That had the plague as I my selfe,
Makinge them gryvouse mone.
As by my selfe, by them I dealte—
Ofte cutting out their sores,
My water gyving them to drinke,
Which wente throughe all their powers.
[In anno 1592
and 1593.]  
p.48 /
And after purging them each one
Of humors that abound,
And was the cause even of that plague,
As I by arte then found.

Then after tyme this plague was gone,
The Docters came again
To London, whence they fled before,
Again ther to remayne.
They sente for me unto their haulle,
And vexed me full sore,
Because I had, in Gods behaulfe,
Done such good for the poore ;

[Anno 1594.]
And of me ther fain wold they knowe
From whence I had my skille,
And straight by what autorytie
I did to them this ill,
To meddle soe in their precincte
And place of pryviledge :
The skill the which I had, they said,
Was lernd under a hedge.

To this I answered them again,
I lernd yt not of them,
Nor in great scholles, as they had done,
Nor yet among leud men,
Nor of those emprickes which doe write
Their bockes of fained lies,
As Gallin did of pallrie . . . . . ,
And pulss which they dyvise ;
p.49 /
Nor of the sedge nor tokens vain
That appere in the face,
For thes ar toyes to mocke an ape,
And phisicks arte disgrace.

Whenc then, said they, haste thou this skill ?
Above from of the skies ?
Said I, wherin the course of nature
And hidden conninge lyes,
For ther the truth of all is sene
That sicknes causes ar,
And he that knoweth not the cause
Of sicknes doth but mar.

What others make, and wold doe good,
Leud Emprickes all doe spille,
By followinge of leud fansies, such
As want righte phisicks skill ;
For as the blind man hits the marke
By chanch, and not by skille,
Soe doe thes dotinge docters ofte
Cuer one and ten doe kille.

And all the conninge that they have
Is, glister and let blod,
Of what dyzease soe ever they have,
Which doth more harm then good ;
For in dizeases pectoralle
They should noe glisters take,
Nor let blod in a cause of cold,
Leste they the worse him make.
p.50 /
My aunswers pleased not their minds,
For whie, they were all bente
Before I cam I should unto
The prison straight be sent;
And soe I was, wher I abode
Untill the Lord his leysure,
Who wold againe, in spite of them,
Deliver me at His pleasure.

This often tymes they served me
For space of sixten yeares,             [Untill anno 1604.]
With catchpoles, serjeants, and suche knaves,
To kepe me in greate feare ;
Often tymes arrestinge mee with hate,
Amersinge me with fines,
And to the Counter in Woodstreate
They sent me often tymes.

Thinkinge ther to keep me stille,
I should not out again
To scorne and mocke those cam to me,
They set a knavishe traine.
Yet at the length God hard my prayer,
For still in Him I truste,
And set me fre, at larg again,
From leud men and unjuste.

And then they went to lawe ; and leste
I should condem them all,
Protracting out the lyve long space,
They lett the matter falle;
p.51 /
And when they could not soe prevaille,
They rose fals sclanders then
On me, without juste cause, to make
Me be dispised of men.

And seinge that wold not take place,
They soughte to have me slaine
Or poisoned by som stratagem,
And therto ofte did fain,
That certain men should com to me
To rid forth to the sicke,
That by the way I might be kild
By some inventyve tricke.

But God, the keper of the wronged,
That set me so a worke,
Preserved me from all fals knaves
That secretly did lurke,
And me preservd from tyme to tyme
From all their great despighte,
Confounding them in their own skille,
That vexte me dai and nighte.

And in the yeare of syxtie thre
Twise was I like bin kild
By their falls officers and knaves,
That thoughte my blod have spild.
Ofte tymes with them I did dispute ;
They bore awai the shame,
And yet they wold through ignorance
That I should beare the blame.
p.52 /
From Cambridge and from Oxford both
I bid them chuse the beste,
And througheout Europe, to dispute,
To set us all at reste.
Yf he in arte did vanquishe me,
My selfe wold then give place,
And leave their Cytty and pryviledge,
And they should have the grace ;

But yf my selfe did vanquishe him,
Then I to beare the sway,
Them selves to leese their pryviledge,
Or ells do learne my waie
And course of Phisicke that I usd,
And leave their falls practice,
Their . . . . seges and their pullse,
And learne late to be wise.

This did I offer them ofte tymes,
Before the Arch bishope,
And in their Colledge before them,
But none wold take me up.
But this they said, and did confes,
My judgment was moch better
Then theirs, because they had noe arte ;
And soe refusd my proffer.

For I did judge according to
The course of heaven and nature,
And they did judge by the fals pulse
And the deceightfull water.
p.53 /
In thend to cut of all thes brawlles,
To Cambridg oute I wente
To trie my skille, to wyne or leese
Was then my whole entente.

  [At Midsommer
in anno 1603.]
I did prevaille, I thanke still God,
And gracet for Docter was,
To practice in great phisicks arte,
God broughte yt soe to passe,
Through out the wordle I had their sealle
To practice wher I liste.
And backe to Lambeth I retornd,
O then they were . . . . .

Then came the plague in sixtie thre,
Whence all thes Docters fled ;
I staid to save the lyves of many
That otherwise had bin ded ;
My selfe was sicke, my houshold all,
Yet all we scapte save on,
Which had the plague and did escapt,
But died of impostume.

Thus have I bin tossed to and fro,
And ofte have provd my skill,
Whom Docters all could not orthrowe
Nor of me have their will.
My God be thankte and praised alwais
Who doth deserve moch praise ;
And whill I live I will not faille
To worship Him alwaies.
p.54 /
Such praise to Thee I will ascrib
As beste becoms Thy name,
All people that on earth doe dwelle
Still magnifie the same.
And that we may soe doe in deed,
And stille Thee magnifie,
Amen, Amen, all people say,
Even soe, Amen saie I. Amen.


Design, original published size 3.7cm wide x 1.5cm high

p.55 ]

Design over heading, original published size 5.5cm wide x 0.7cm high

title: 'The Generall, original published size 5.9cm wide x 1.2cm high

A Tragi-Comedy.


J A M E S  S H I R L E Y.

Design under heading, original published size 5.4cm wide x 0.7cm high

[This is now attributed to ROGER BOYLE, Earl of Orrery, c.1664.]

p.56 ]

The Actors.

squiggly rule

KING, an Usurper.
LCLIZER, the true King.
LTIMAST, the Usurper's Son.
LORIMAN, the General.
UCIDOR, Altemera's Lover.
EMNON, Altemera's Brother.

GESIPPUS, the Usurper's Confidant.
LAUTUS, friend to Memnon.
LERAND, Captain of the Tower.

ALTEMERA, Memnon's Sister, in love with Lucidor
CANDACE, her Companion,
ONFIDANT to Candace,
} (disguised.)

p.57 ]

Design, original published size 10.6cm wide x 0.9cm high

The Generall:  a Tragi-Comedy.

Decorative rule, original published size 3.7cm wide x 0.3cm high

Actus Primus.

A hot alarm.  Enter hastily, at several doors,  MONASIN,
ILIDEN, and CRATONER, with their swords drawn.

All's lost! The very guards the danger shun
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.

If all be lost, then let us rob the foe
Of the full glory of the overthrow,
By killing of ourselves.

p.58 /

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.


What means this rage that sits on every brow—
And why in such a threat'ning posture now ?

Can Thrasolin ask it, yet know and hear
So many dangers certain are, and near,
That now we do not on our reasons call
Which to avoid, but noblest way to fall ?

'Tis but the sin of fortune if we die ;
But, Thrasolin, 'tis our sin if we fly.

If this the business is, then, on my word,
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.

p.59 /

Who, then, could in our camp such things perform,
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.

Your absence kept till now my plot untold,
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.

p.60 /

After which sin he in a worse did fall,
Forcing away our noble General.

And some do say the tyrant's cause of hate
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.

Who can such needless talk as this endure !
We know our ills, and long to know the cure.

Know, then, that I, believing nothing might
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.

p.61 /

Then all those troubles did this night befall
Is but to bring us back our General ?

I to the party am already got :
The end is noble though the way be not.

Yet 'twas the fittest way which I could choose,
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.

The tyrant this affront will never brook.
But tell us, Thrasolin, how does he look ?

Perplex'd as is the camp, his reason here
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.

p.62 /


But who are those which yonder now appear ?
Soft !—'tis the tyrant, fill'd with rage and fear.

Oh, gentlemen, let it be never known
You spend your time in consultation,
When, such is the insulting soldiers' rage,
'Tis blood, not words, their fury must assuage.

If blood their fatal fury had not fed,
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.

And, sir, they now are ready to pursue
Their mutiny, with your dire murder too.

Which if perform'd, rebellion in short time
Will prove as much your interest as crime.

p.63 /

These gentlemen, to whom you lend your ear,
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.

You cannot, sir, a middle counsel choose :
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.

This counsel which on me you all bestow
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.

This resolution, which so much you prize,
As, sir, it is not low, so 'tis not wise.
p.64 /
Permit me, sir, to say your courage here,
As the case stands, will like despair appear.

Beside, what they for Cloriman pretend
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.

Whene'er you please, sir, doubtless you may do
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 ?

Well, for this time, what you advise I'll do.
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 ?

If nor his King nor country could invite
His conquering sword now to defend their right,
p.65 /
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.

You, then, to whom his heart is so well known,
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.

Permit us, as your guards, to wait on you,
For none can tell what men enrag'd may do.

I, more than they, should then be in the blame—
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.

p.66 /

Well, my good friends, what think you of my lie,
And of my plot, and of my mutiny ?
That all are virtuous I most freely grant—

For nought is virtue which success do want.

Well, 'tis an even lay that most of those
Whom to this mutiny you did'st dispose
Will suffer death, or else some torturing pain,
And you for it will high rewards obtain.

An even lay ! I thought the wager grown—
The wager is at lowest two to one ;
For those two powers who govern all mankind,
Fortune and Justice, both of them are blind.

Our feeling for awhile let's throw away :
This is a time of earnest, not of play.

My grave and prudent looks I'll now command,
For soldiers see better than understand.
I'd rather far, when I the business break,
But wishly look, than only wishly speak.

p.67 /

Enter LUCIDOR and a PAGE.

Go tell Candace that I beg I may
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 bear
Admit 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.


Can you forgive me, Madam, that I thus
Present you sorrows so infectious ?

I can forgive you all things, I declare,
But leaving me, and leaving me for war ;
For which so little argument I find,
My reason makes that sin the more unkind.

p.68 /

You see my griefs such deep impression give,
'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.

'Tis only you have your own troubles wrought,
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.

Ah, Madam, with what face could I possess
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.

p.69 /

This proves the truth of what I said before—
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.

Leave you for glory !  Witness, ye blest Powers !
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.

Yet, when I think how many dangers are
Waiting for forward courages in war,
Sorrow invades me so, I must confess
My reason makes them rather more than less.

He, Madam, that is destined unto you
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.
p.70 /
In your just cause all dangers I despise :
My sword shall be resistless as your eyes.

Since you will hold your resolution,
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.

What is't can bring your Lucidor relief,
When even your kindness, Madam, makes his grief ?


The cause of your dispute you may decline :
'Tis enough he's your foe to make him mine.
But will he sure be here to-morrow night ?

As sure as that next day I'll with him fight.
p.71 /
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—

Hold, Clautus, pray ; for if your quarrel be
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.

How I mistook !  In me some fears it bred,
Since Lucidor your sister is to wed,
You would not but with difficulty be
Engaged to serve as second now to me.

If, my good friend, your quarrel should be found
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.
p.72 /
Come, name the time and place ; I long to try,
By valour's doom, whose colours first shall fly.

The place shall be betwixt the grove and cell
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.

Spoke like one fit to fight with Lucidor ;
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—

That compliment shall make me earlier wake.          [Exeunt.


Move me no more ; I say the world to me
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—

Where melancholy buries you alive :
p.73 /
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.

The victory !  I'll tell thee, Thrasolin,
I'd rather conquest on my passions win
Than from my cell an hour myself dispose
To win a conquest over all my foes.

Alas ! dear General, from whence proceeds
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.

He's an usurper whom for king you own.

I call him king because he fills the throne.

He's an ungrateful man, and you well know
'Tis not his love, but fear, which courts me now.
p.74 /
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——

                   No more : denying you your due,
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.

Thou talk'st as if I govern'd destiny,
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 ?

Grant this, and that our fatal time were come,
Would Cloriman outlive his country's doom ?

Why not ?  Because I cannot still enjoy
That which I love, must I myself destroy ?

p.75 /

Yet, if death Altemeera should destroy,
You would not after long yourself enjoy.

Ha, Altemeera, the sound of that name
Makes burn afresh my high successes' flame—
A flame the which death's coldness cannot reign,
Since it outbraves still her more cold disdain.

Can you reflect on her, and yet not do
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.

I will to Lucidor a rival prove,
Greater in fame than he's to me in love.

—Now it begins to work.—

                                    Then for her sake,
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.

Will you yet take what the King offers you ?
Love makes you speak, but power will make that do.

p.76 /

Then I will make (that I may reach the end)
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.

Your thoughts, alas ! drive you you know not where.

And, which is more by much, I do not care ;
For my ill tale in such a way does strike,
All miseries to me are much alike.

Then think on love and honour, and those may
To the right side balance the doubtful sway,
And with your wreath of laurels, myrtle mix.

Come, friend, walk in ; on something there I'll fix.
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.

p.77 ]

Design, original published size 8.9cm wide x 0.3cm high

Actus Secundus.

Great shouts of joy, often repeated. Enter CLORIMAN,

The soldiers, sir, in this excess of noise,
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.

My joys, like yours, should now have been sublime,
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.

p.78 /

And so he now had been, but he went hence
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.

This makes his absence kindness ; but since we
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 ?

No way at all.  The place they camp upon,
Though 'tis secured by Nature's help alone,
Yet round it daily their new works appear.

Then they, even in their safety, show their fear.

Enter FILIDEN, with a Guard.  LUCIDOR and MEMNON

Ha ! what is this ?  Memnon and Lucidor !
By what strange fortune are they in my power ?

Sir, with a party, I went out to try
If I could take some of the enemy.
p.79 /
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.

If Filiden had not us death denied,
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.

Fortune, not we, should for our loss be blamed,
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.

p.80 /

Brave Filiden ! I'm thine eternally :          [Embraces FILIDEN.
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.

That is the strongest prison I can have.

Yet it the easiest is in my power.
All leave the place but only Lucidor.

Let us three, then, retire into my tent,
And there let's have a little merriment.
                          [Exeunt.    Manent C

Methinks a sadness sits upon your brow,
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.

If any sadness in my face appears,
It is not on my own account, but hers,
That fortune should be tyrannous to him
Whom Altemeera does not disesteem.

p.81 /

Rather let Altemeera see in this
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.

Though you did this and more, yet you'd do less
Than I in prizing of that happiness.
You show the low esteem of it you hold,
By thinking 'tis a blessing can be told.

And yet methinks your present look affords
That which but too much contradicts your words.
But tell me, pray, does Altemeera still
Enjoy the power of conquering whom she will ?

She does ; and her bright eyes still shoot such fire,
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.

p.82 /

Great gods ! why are the stars fix'd in such height
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.

This scratch, which you term wound, you must miscall :
'Tis my great trouble that it is so small.

You to my admiration always are
Speaking the dismal language of despair,
Which Altemeera's power seems to decline—
At least, I should think, were your fate mine.           [Exeunt.


Let us, then, of our mistress discourse.

You could not name a subject pleased me worse.
p.83 /
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.

That which in them, then, as a vice dost grant
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.

                      Marry !  That all wise men say
Is to unfix them the most certain way.
p.84 /
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.

Marry !  That's needless ; for, if love command
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.

And art found out by ugly men or old,
Who, wanting natural charms to take and hold
The young and handsome, by constraint did fail
To find out bands were artificial.

My worthy and good friends, pray spare your pains ;
I loath so perfectly those horrid chains,
That I had rather much you two to see
Thrice married, than that once you should me.

We thank you, sir ; but yet it has been said
You lately were fair Cutane to wed.

p.85 /

Because a man was near being hanged, is 't
To think that therefore he was pleased with it ?
Come, think on Daphnis.

                                   She's a wit—reads books—
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.

Her gold may charm—her eyes will ne'er bewitch.
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.
p.86 /
Think, then, on Cloris, who does loudly own
A maid's chief beauty is discretion.

She vainly hopes her lovers to persuade
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.

Prythee, no further in her praise proceed,
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.

Think'st thou that a Platonic is a fool ?
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
p.87 /
'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.

Love enters at the eye, not at the ear.
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.

Alas ! my friend, I did discover soon
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.

Come, lets be going ; for I shrewdly fear,
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.

p.88 /

Since they will have us tell lies to their face,
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.


Is this a time to spend in merriment,
When thrice the General has for you sent ?
I have at least this hour been round about
The camp, endeavouring to find you out.

You needed not have fetched so long a walk ;
This is our usual place to meet and talk.
But do you know what 'tis we are to do ?

I guess, but know not if my guess be true.
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.

p.89 /

If this be the design, whoever goes
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.

Good man ! he but for one wench fights, but when
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.

Enter CLORIMAN and one of Altemeera's Guards.

What shall be thy reward ?  Why, it shall be
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.

Sir, 'tis my nearest friend ; and we of late
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.

p.90 /

Though every soldier now in Mora were
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 ?


Command out straight three thousand men dare go
Where I, their General, your way will show—
Men who their lives your own will not esteem,
When either fame or I have need of them ;
Let them be all in arms by fall of night :
The glory o' th' attempt shall be my light.

May you not, sir, your enterprise reveal ?

It is not Mora where my fate does dwell.

That place, sir, is impregnable, I hear :

Nothing is so but the bright beauty there.
p.91 /
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.


Oh ! my Candace, I did still esteem
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 !

Your griefs, I grant, are just for Lucidor,
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.

Alas ! Candace, thou in this hast shown
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.
p.92 /
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.

Ah, madam, think not I a stranger am
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.

Your cause I pity ; therefore let me know
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.

Your help, I know, the powerful'st will appear ;
But my case is above all help, I fear.

May I not doubt, since love with so much power
Invades your heart, it burns for Lucidor ?

p.93 /

Were I a man, his fate, I must confess,
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.

This flattering answer you return to me
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 ?

Think not what I as a high truth did tell
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.

p.94 /

'Twere rudeness, then, further to press you now :
But tell me, pray, since to love's power you bow,
Would you your life—to save your lover—give ?

Would I?  More willingly than I would live !

But could aught make you your love's hopes depose ?

A thousand lives I'd love sooner than those ;
And the faint hopes are all I can call mine,
Yet for a world those hopes I'd not decline.

Judge, then, Candace, by what now you say,
If Cloriman with my desire obey.

Ah ! give me leave to say it is a crime
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."

p.95 /

Alas ! Candace, what noise is't I hear,
Which does my trembling heart wound through my ear.

Enter a PAGE hastily.

Fly ! madam, fly ! or else you are undone :
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.

Great gods ! what sins are Lucidor's and mine,
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.                         

Your valour's wages the whole town shall be;
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.
p.96 /
Enter CLORIMAN, with his sword bloody.

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.

You raise me only to a higher state
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.

I have already orders sent to sheath
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.
p.97 /
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 common sufferings there is some relief
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.

Yet, madam, love still takes delight to give
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.—
p.98 /
But I misspend this precious time, I see,
In teaching love to her that taught it me.

From that truth, Cloriman, confess I know
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.

Cruel as fair, my flame thus to deride ;
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.

p.99 /


Gesippus, sir, is come post from the King,
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.

Gesippus come ! and come in such haste, too ;
Pardon me, madam, that I leave you now.

Alas ! your virtue only can control
Those fears : his coming grieves my frighted soul.

Fair Altemeera, quiet all your fear :
'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.

Ah ! sure he knew, though he would not confess,
The true cause of those fears I did express,
Which justly does my griefs the more advance :
His answer was his craft, not ignorance ;
p.100 /
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.

Design of garlanded container, original published size 0.9cm wide x 0.9cm high

p.101 ]

Design, original published size 9.6cm wide x 0.55cm high

Actus Tertius.

Enter THRASOLIN hastily, and meets FILIDEN, MONASIN,
and C

Your soldiers draw under your colours straight,
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.

Brave news !  His death cuts off all hope of peace—

I rather fear 'twill make all difference cease.

If thou think'st so, set him at liberty:
'Tis better he should live than our trade die.

p.102 /

Candace now from Altemeera came,
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.


Great gods ! is sacred love such an offence
That for it you to me such plagues dispense ?
But if my constancy provoke your hate,
I will endure, but not deplore, my fate.


The General does your command obey,
And at the door, to wait on you, does stay.

Admit him, though his sight augment my grief :
If he denies me, death is my relief.
p.103 /

Fortune, brave Cloriman, has now design'd
A noble rise to show your nobler mind ;
For, by your King's insatiate cruelty,
I hear that Lucidor's condemn'd to die :
'Tis in your power his death now to decline,
But if you act it, none can hinder mine :
My life and his are with such strictness bound,
That to end both you need but give one wound.
But, Cloriman, it is a nobler thing
To save your rival than obey the King.
I know your virtue, therefore will not shun
To tell you Lucidor my heart has won ;
So that to him if I could prove untrue,
I thereby should become unworthy you.

Madam, could you no other way have found
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.

Who but by virtue does to love pretend,
Forsakes the way, and yet pursues the end.

p.104 /

And you would have me, by that now you say,
Forsake the end, and yet pursue the way.

He who his mistress's favour cannot get
Ought to be pleased that he does merit it.

To miss the purchase, and yet pay the price,
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.

It were enough—nay, 'twere too much,—I know,
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.

p.105 /

This, madam, which with so much art you word,
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.

If this mean beauty be esteem'd by you,
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.

In rivalship two passions only move :
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.

His death is in your power, but not in mine—
What does incense you to it to decline !
p.106 /
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 ?

Since I must miss that joy for which I sue,
'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.

Your King, through Lucidor, does me assault :
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.

How can I pity such a man's estate,
With whom I willingly would change my fate !
p.107 /
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 ?

Enter PAGE (hastily) and CRATONER.

Madam, my haste has made me out of breath—
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.

Oh ! Cloriman, if this poor life you prize,
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.

Go, stop the execution till I come.              [Exit CRATONER.
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 ;
p.108 /
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.


Death, which mankind in such high awe dost keep,
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.

p.109 /

Enter CANDACE, hastily.

Your commands, madam, have a boundless power ;
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.

This charming news my tears has wip'd away—

Enter PAGE.

Madam, the General at your door does stay,
And to wait on you humbly does desire—

Admit him :—May kind heaven my tongue inspire !
What shall I do for him, oblig'd me so ?

All but what you'll refuse, he'll think too low.
p.110 /

He cannot think that I ungrateful prove,
If I in admiration pay his love.


You have oblig'd me to the last degree ;
More than your sword, your virtues conquer me ;
And in that noble action you have shown,
Your foes you can subdue more ways than one.

Whatever I for Altemeera do
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.

Ah ! noble Cloriman, why have you took
A course which further must your King provoke :
p.111 /
You might with privacy have let them go,
And by your safety rais'd the favour too.

Honour and love my actions still shall guide—
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.

Since you those truths so fully understand,
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.

Justice herself would blush should she receive
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.
p.112 /
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.

Oh, noble virtue ! great enough alone
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.

When I with honour may his title own,
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.

Go, noble Cloriman ! and may you there
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.

p.113 /

You cannot ask more joys for me, you know,
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.


His getting Altemeera in my power
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 ?

I did, sire ; and repeatedly did say
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.

His folly never flew so high before !

He durst not do so much, and do no more :
'Tis plain, since he refuses your command,
He has some greater wickedness in hand ;
p.114 /
And I much doubt those which he has set free
Are with him now join'd in conspiracy.

His crime makes it unfit he keeps his place ;
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.

You must take counsel, sire, immediately,
Else you will feel those mischiefs I foresee.

Enter CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD, hastily.

I wish your greatest haste come not too late.

The General, sire, is 'lighted at the gate.

Who ?  Cloriman ?

Yes, sire.

Sure thou dost dream.
Didst see him ?

p.115 /

Yes ;  and more, I spoke with him.              
He told me he is come from Mora post.

How many come with him ?

But six at most.                          

Keep him in talk till I two minutes win
To order my designs, then bring him in.        [Exit C
—I must get Altemeera in my power.—
Who did he make of Mora Governor ?

'Tis Filiden, if I do not mistake.

Thou must to him all expedition make :
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 G
You sacred powers ! to whom my heart is known,
You know that, chiefly, I usurp the throne,
p.116 /
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.


You have so long in armies had the sway,
That you have quite forgotten to obey.
When Lucidor I had condemn'd to die,
You sav'd his life—then gave him liberty;
And, as if this were not enough for you,
I hear that Memnon has his freedom too.

Sire, I did hope you would not have thought fit
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.

p.117 /

I do not wonder you have disobey'd
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.

'Tis hard that he who did retir'dly dwell,
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.

I see you still are what I knew you first :
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.

What in this act, but love, could be my end,
Which did my rival save—my King offend ?

p.118 /

Enter some of the Guards.

I doubt it will too evidently prove
That is your treachery you call your love.

My treachery !  Durst any but my King
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.

Thou pay'st thyself in often telling it.
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.

Why do the gods give only him the will
To wrong me, whom alone I dare not kill ?
p.119 /
If ever I a treacherous act have done,
'Tis to that treacherous act you owe your crown.

Unsay those saucy words thou hast said,
Or, for thy tongue's offence, I'll take thy head.

Fright women with such menaces ; but I
Will lose my head ere a truth told deny.

You think you're in your mutinous army now ;
But you are in my power, I'll make you know.

I think that none will doubt I might have still
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.

The gods therein show thee thy lost estate :
Those they would ruin they infatuate.

That often is their way to reach their end ;
Therefore take heed you lose not such a friend.

p.120 /

By rendering thus thyself, they rather show
How fit it is I cut off such a foe.

If to give up myself my choice I make,
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 ?

Disarm that traitor, guards, immediately.
[The Guards surprise and disarm him.

Ungrateful Prince ! 'twill be your foes' delight
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.

Rage has transported thee to that degree,
Thou hast forgot my guards have seized on thee.

p.121 /

Did I not more your name than guards esteem,
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.

To the Black Tower let him be forthwith led,
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
[Guards offer to seize CLORIMAN.

I'll strangle any dares lay hands on me ;
I am resolved to go, and I'll go free.               [Exeunt omnes.


Whatever 'tis thou dost advise us to,
We will not only think on it, but do.

p.122 /

Bravely resolv'd !  Then let no time be lost,
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.

If the usurper's rage should rise so high,
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.


I left her, sire, in my apartment now,
And came to know what further I must do.

Though to thy friendship I my crown must own,
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.
p.123 /
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.


Oh, sire, I'm told, since I came to this place,
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.

Fair Altemeera, rise !—this should not be :
'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.

To conquer empires is what force may do ;
But 'tis your virtue must yourself subdue.
p.124 /
If you deny my first and only suit,
My knees shall never rise, but here take root.

I cannot Altemeera's tears withstand :
His life I give, madam, to your command.

'Tis nobler much to spare than to shed blood :            [Rises.
No title sounds so great as that of good.

Since to shun mercy you esteem a fault,
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.

His freedom I will hope for in due time ;
Now to beg more you might esteem a crime.

It were a crime, madam, in me, I know,
To keep you longer from your lodgings now :
I have a high important business there,
Fit only to be whisper'd in your ear.

p.125 ]

Design, original published size 9.05cm wide x 0.4cm high

Actus Quartus.


Oh ! friend, I now feel love's true fires within :
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.

What is become of that vast reason now,
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.

Who'll blame me, if my case be rightly state,
Since love, than titles, bears an elder date !
p.126 /
Love is great Nature's first and noblest law—
At once with force and pleasure it does draw.

This way of reasoning, which you so esteem,
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.

Whatever crimes are acted for a crown,
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.

p.127 /

What you design I doubt is likeliest far
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.

Spoke like a faithful servant.  Come, let's go,
And on this noble change her pleasure know.
I cannot think I shall successless prove,
Presenting her a crown and virtuous love.             [Exeunt.

Enter MONASIN and CRATONER (disguised).

Now we're alone, tell me this charming news
Which will such joy in all our hearts infuse.

Near the Black Tower, as I disguis'd did stand,
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.

p.128 /

That Olerand who did such noble things—
That battle where we lost the best of kings—
Whose valour Cloriman so much did prize,
He gave him one of the old companies ?

The very same.

How durst they trust him there ?

That did to me a miracle appear,—
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.

p.129 /

Blest be thy tongue, which such good news does bring !
We now shall change our tyrant for our King.

Our happy fortune yet shall higher fly !
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.

Since in a tyrant's cause we prosper'd so,
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.

Thither without delay, then, let us post,
That in this great design no time be lost.                [Exeunt.

p.130 /

Enter CANDACE, alone, in a grove.

Dear, silent grove ! to whom I now have shown
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.


Never was yet such an aversion seen ;
To please her hate, she shuns to be a queen !
p.131 /
But since my passion she does thus deride,
Force shall perform what is to love denied.

Gesippus and the King !—then I am made.

Being of her refusal, sire, afraid,
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 like th' advice, and I her faith will prove ;
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.

Enter LUCIDOR, alone.

Fortune in crossing me does take delight ;
We dare be rebels, and yet dare not fight :
p.132 /
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.


Thy counsel, friend, met with the wish'd event :
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.

If you by force pursue what you have said,
You must resolve to take the General's head.
p.133 /
It were unwise, treating her at this rate,
To let him live the wrong to vindicate.

Yes, he shall die ; that promise I let fall
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.


Your coldness did his fury so provoke
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.

Ye gods ! who should protect the innocent,
Why are these plagues to Altemeera sent ?
p.134 /
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 ?

All hopes of flight your vigilance deny.
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.

It ne'er shall be of Altemeera said,
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.

Your honour, then, you give up to his will ?

No, my Candace, I'll preserve it still.
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.

Virtue to save sin's help you will not own ;
Do you, then, think to kill yourself is none ?

p.135 /

When I am forced, of two ills, one to choose,
'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.

Think, madam, on the horrors of the grave.

I'll only think my honour how to save.

I can for you with joy my own life lose,
But, to advance your death, I must refuse.

If saving chastity you do not prize,
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

p.136 /

This is to me than death a greater ill,
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.

May you in life, dear friend, still happy prove,
And as much bless'd as I am curs'd in love.

When you have acted what you have design'd,
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.

That which you now propose I approve most ;
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.

p.137 /

Now my designs, I think, are so well laid,
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 !


                                    Your old disguise put on,
And then to Lucidor you must be gone :
Tell him this night the King is fully bent
To act his hopes by force or by consent.
His courtship hitherto has fruitless been,
Though he has offered her to be his queen ;
Yet she her constancy so much does prize,
That, to preserve it, she does death despise.
Therefore he must, without the least delay,
By art or force take her this night away ;
Else I to him this sad account must yield,
That she is ravish'd or herself has killed.
All that I say, alas, is but too true !                           [Exit.

What you command me I with speed will do.           [Exit.

p.138 /

Enter ALTEMEERA, alone.

Death is a debt which I to nature owe ;
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.

Enter CANDACE, with a phial in her hand.

Madam, I hope in this you'll understand
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.

p.139 /

The nearer I my honour danger see,
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.

Perhaps all are but threatenings which he swore.

What would become of me should they be more ?
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.

Your tears and prayers, who is it can withstand ?            
Thus, madam, I obey your sad command.
[Kneels and gives a glass.

With joy this happy present I receive :
By giving this much more than life you give.
[Offers to drink; CANDACE stops her

p.140 /

Oh ! madam, think what you're about to do !

I have well thought on't, and resolv'd it too.
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.

Oh ! madam, 'tis but just you should consent—
I mourn that loss my prayers could not prevent.

Since you want power your sorrows to reclaim,
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.
p.141 /
Perhaps my dying words may wound his ear :
Who fears not death needs nothing else to fear.

What fatal orders still on me you lay !
But yet what you command I must obey.
[Exeunt at several doors.

Enter KING.

Conscience ! the sin thou fear'st is not so great
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 :
Her fear at length her constancy does bow.
Madam, I hope you come with an intent
To let me see your coldness you'll repent.

p.142 /

No, sire ;  I now am come in hope to win
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.

Of granting such a suit you must despair :
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.

How can that, sire, a virtuous passion be
Which would pervert or punish constancy?
If, sire, to favour mine you think not fit,
You should forbear, at least, to injure it.

Who to a King's just love shows no remorse
At once provokes and justifies his force.

p.143 /

Love from fruition all joys does divorce,
Fruition being made the effect of force.

Make it the effect of inclination, then,
And thereby make me the most blest of men.

Oh ! sire, I can be none but Lucidor's.

I to my ways am fix'd, as you to yours.
There is no means left for your escape :
You must give love or else endure a rape.

I know not one way to inconstancy,
But I know many ways, sire, how to die.

All ways of dying I from you did take.

Look on my face, and then see the mistake :
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,
p.144 /
That remedy your lust did make me choose,
And now the welcome venom does diffuse.       [Goes to her bed.

Forbid it, Heaven ! that beauty so sublime
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 ?

Since life or virtue I was forc'd to lose,
It had been sin to doubt which I should choose.

I know not which is most—my crime or grief.

I'll raise the Court in hope of some relief.                 [Exit.

Oh !  Altemeera, if I could have thought
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.

p.145 /

You may deplore, but not recall my fate :
Your sorrow, though 'twere true, yet comes too late.

Thought it were true !  Am I so black with sin
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 !

ONASIN, and OLERAND at the other (disguised).

The truth of your repentance will appear
If you restore the crown to Melizer :
Your sorrow for your sins none can suspect,
If you your cause decline, and mourn th' effect.

Oh, would to heaven I could your life redeem
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.

My life is past recovery, you see ;
But do as much for justice as for me.
p.146 /
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.

Oh, stay, oh, stay awhile, fair maid, thy flight !
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 takes off his disguise.                   
Who dares so rudely thus my justice stay ?

Thy death's a debt my hand alone must pay !
p.147 /
Had I allow'd what now thou wouldst have done,
Thou hadst usurp'd my vengeance as my crown.

Ha !  Melizer in freedom !—and arm'd, too !
To whom this double favour dost thou owe ?
[Officers discover themselves.

'Tis we this double debt our King have paid ;
The army joins in it.

                                   Then I'm betray'd !
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 !

If a bold death life's crimes could wash off so,
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.

Let us disarm him, sire, before we go.

How dar'st thou entertain a thought so low ?
p.148 /
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.

Retire, I say !—his guilty sword I slight :
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.

What dost thou mean by this ?

                                            I take this way,
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.

I thought thee moulded of such common earth,
That thou hadst nothing royal but thy birth.

Thy actions told me what thy words have said,
Else thou wouldst ne'er have dared my throne to invade—
p.149 /
A throne on which thou such disgrace didst lay,
That 'tis thy blood must wash thy stains away.

This heightened gallantry which thou dost show
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.

It is but justice, then, that thou shouldst die,
To expiate that double injury.
[They fight ;  the Usurper falls.

Oh !  if I had not guilty been to her,
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.

Die !  both forgiven and forgotten too.

Enter Officers with GESIPPUS.

'Twas to your hand this justice, sire, was due.
p.150 /
A true King's virtue did dispense such light,
That 'twas too glittering for a tyrant's sight.

Let that Gesippus to the tower be led :
'Tis to the law I leave his guilty head.

My sins already have pronounced my doom.                [Exeunt.


Great sire !  from Cloriman I hither come :
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.

Brave Olerand !  it is to him and thee
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 ]

Design, original published size 8.65cm wide x 0.6cm high

Actus Quintus.

Enter CONFIDANT and LUCIDOR'S Servant.

Is Lucidor arrived ?

                                   He came even now,
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.

His griefs are just, though they be ne'er so high !
Tell him I'll wait on him immediately.           [Exit S
Page !  who waits there without ?

                                                  None wait but I.

Candace now your truth to her will try !
p.152 /
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 C
[CLORIMAN knocks.

Who knocks there ?  Whosoe'er you are, begone !

'Tis I that knock.

                                 Who are you ?


What would you have, sir ?

                                           I desire to see
Fair Altemeera.  But what's that to thee ?

What is't which in you this desire has bred,
For she has now above two hours been dead ?

p.153 /

I know it ;  yet still the desire I keep—
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 !

My disobedience will your pardon win
When I have told you I must let none in.

Give me admittance, or I'll force my way,
And punish thy unmannerly delay.

I dare not, for my life.

                                           Thy life is more
In danger, if thou open'st not the door.

I must resist no longer !  but be sure
My pardon from Candace you procure :
Till that be done, her face I dare not see.

Open the door,—then leave that care to me.
[PAGE opens the door and goes out;  CLORIMAN goes to
LTEMEERA, gazes awhile, and speaks :      
p.154 /
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.

Enter LUCIDOR (disguised).

What horrors do my faculties invade,
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.

Who's this, which makes this fatal place his choice ?
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.

p.155 /

There, oh, there the bright Altemeera lies,
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.

Enter CANDACE, in men's clothes, and her CONFIDANT
with her.

See !  Lucidor kneels at his mistress's feet :
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.

Act now what thy revenge shall most inspire :
My sword shall second thee to thy desire.
[They shut the chamber door.

p.156 /

Ha !  who are these which come at such an hour,
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.

His death, if acted in this point of time,
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.                        

Hold !  hold !  here's that which will your fury stay !—
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.

That voice is Cloriman's !—'tis doubtless he ;
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 ?

p.157 /

All are thy foes :  but since we are too strong,
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.

What may this mean ?  Where will the wonder end ?
In words he is my foe—in deeds, my friend.

Thy admiration for awhile suppress ;
My foes are friends while they are in distress.

Those who would kill me do not know me, sure,
For death is now no punishment, but cure.

The gods, I find, my ruin have decreed,
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
UCIDOR kills the CONFIDANT.         

Thy treacherous foes, by my assistance slain,
Guard thee !  for thou art now my foe again.
p.158 /
Though Altemeera's dead, those wrongs I'll strive
To right, thou didst me when she was alive.

To use that life against thee 'twere not brave
Which 'twas thy gallantry but now to save.

I saved thee only from their base surprise
To make thee my revenge's sacrifice.

I wonder, Cloriman, how thou canst prove
So high in honour and so low in love.

I do not understand what thou hast spoke,
Therefore with this—that riddle I'll unlock.

Such threat'nings are a kindness, not a fault,
For I fear more thy favour than assault ;
And if on me you more such wrongs obtrude,
My anger will transcend my gratitude.

To urge thee more, if thou such words dost bear—
It does not spring from gratitude, but fear.

p.159 /

Thy help at once injurious was and brave :
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.                         

What noise is this ?  Alas !  cannot I have
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
LORIMAN, and falls down between them.

Welcome, oh, welcome, Death !  thy looks less fright
Than to behold such noble rivals fight.

This must be Altemeera's voice I hear !

'Tis she, or else some angel does appear.

Alas !  it is your fatal quarrels have
Waked me from death and rais'd me from the grave.

p.160 /

Enter PAGE.

What noise is this ?

                                   Fly !  fly for help with speed !
'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.

That fight, in which you both engage, I found,
Does make my heart bleed faster than my wound.
To cure less wounds I solemnly abjure,
Till you, by being friends, my greatest cure.

Our quarrel we hereafter will decide :
Now let us join to stop this precious tide.

Touch me not, Cloriman !  you who design
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.

p.161 /

Such deep respect to your commands I owe,
I'll scarcely think my rival is my foe.

Now your help welcome is, since you declare
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 ?

His wrongs to me did my worst anger move,
Since they aspersed my honour and my love.

Those wrongs thou fanciest I have done thee
Are less than actual wrongs thou didst to me.

Alas !  methinks in such a way you do
Tell old disgusts, they may enkindle now ;
Therefore to this short question I'll resort—
Is what both say by knowledge or report ?

Mine, I confess, is by report ; yet I
Dare say you'll think my author would not lie.

And mine, too, are by information ;
Yet my informer I may build upon.

p.162 /

However, I believe you better may
Credit what you shall to each other say ;
Therefore, upon your honour, tell me now
What wrongs you did to one another do.

Though in his love so well he did succeed,
Yet I ne'er injur'd him by word or deed.

And I by Altemeera's self do swear
Not to wrong him was still my studied care.

I credit both, for I ne'er knew you move
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 ?

In this my deep obedience, too, shall shine :
My author is a woman.

                                           So is mine.

But, I beseech you, think me not to blame
If, though I tell the sex, I hide the name.

p.163 /

Enter PAGE and MELIZER behind the hangings.

There you may see, sire, what you'd not believe ! [To MELIZER.
—The surgeon hastes your danger to relieve.

I thank him,—but he need not make such haste,
For now the danger I most fear'd is past.              [Exit P
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.

I must no more a disobedience show :
Candace is the name you long to know.

And, madam, 'tis the same Candace, too,
Told me those wrongs which I complain'd of now.

Candace !—she to whom I did impart
Without reserve the secrets of my heart—
Is't she, then, who has all these troubles spread ?
Whither, oh, whither is the monster fled ?

p.164 /

CANDACE speaks

Here, madam, here does that Candace lie—
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.

Did you say Altimast, the only son
Of him who lately did usurp the throne ?

Son to that King who but this day was slain ;
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—
p.165 /
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.

In such a desperate case, what could you do ?

'Twas then that Lucidor his friends made strong,
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.

That action shows the tyranny of fate :
Strange love—to cause the worst effects of hate !

You waste your anger, sir, before your time—
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.

p.166 /

Oh, wickedness above the highest curse !

Though this seems bad, yet I have acted worse.
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.

Could you, then, hope, when Lucidor was dead,
And died for me, that ever I would wed ?

I would have told you, when life came again,
Despair, not I, your Lucidor had slain.
But the just gods, I find, had not decreed
My crimes, though crimes of passion, should succeed ;
p.167 /
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.

Oh, fatal death !  but oh, more fatal life !
Yet his confession, sure, will end your strife ?

I will end whatever I had fancied ill ;
But I know, madam, he's my rival still.

And that high title, solemnly I swear,
While that my life doth last, I still will wear.

Enter CHIRURGEON, hastily.

Where does the wounded Altemeera lie ?
I thought my help but crept, though I did fly.

p.168 /

Here, here she lies !  and thy too tedious stay
Has made her life, with her blood, ebb away.

I hope my skill, which yet I will not boast,
May serve me here, where I desire it most.
[Rubs her temples, and she speaks faintly.

By being friends my sorrows now decline,
Or else by death I vow to finish mine.

Is it decreed, then, we must cease our strife,
Or else that you, madam, will end your life ?

It is, brave Cloriman !  And listen now
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.

Oh, Altemeera !  what is it you do ?
At once you promise and you threaten too.
p.169 /
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.

Since 'tis not in my power, as I have shown,
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.

Yet you would have my duty higher fly :
'Tis more to quit a mistress than to die.

While you're contending in this noble strife,
Permit me to preserve her noble life.
[Offers to dress her;  she puts him off.

Hold !—for I'll know, ere you your art apply,
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.

If she refuse my help—such is her state—
Ten minutes hence, I doubt, 'twill come too late.

p.170 /

Your seeming death in me such grief had bred,
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.

Then, with your leave, if not with your command,
I'll give my Lucidor my faith and hand.

Give it him, then ;  and may you never know
Such griefs in all your life as I feel now !

What is, alas !  in these sad words your drift ?
Let not the way of giving spoil the gift.
p.171 /
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.

Why do you treat me at this cruel rate ?
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.

What now I say your wonder will relieve :
Though I'm not yours to keep, I'm yours to give.

[CHIRURGEON dresses her.

To lose you, Altemeera, was a wound
Which did my reason trouble, not confound ;
And now my passion vanishes, I see
Love were not love, unless that it were free.

But one grant more, and all my trouble ends :
'Tis that with Lucidor you'll still be friends.

p.172 /

How can you think I'd act at such a rate
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.

Then do no longer at such distance stand.

To them you give your heart, I'll give my hand.



Wonder not, Altemeera, that you see
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.

p.173 /

Those mercies, sire, confound me, I confess :              [Kneels.
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.

Enter MEMNON, conducted by THRASOLIN, MONASIN,

Your subjects, sire, from whose camp now I came,     [Kneels.
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.

Rise, Memnon, rise !  you that such news have brought
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.

Long live our Melizer, the great and good !
As high in mercy as he is in blood.

p.174 /

Now, Cloriman, I'll speak, for your relief,
That which shall cure or else divert your grief.
Th' Apolian King on Sicily does fall,
And of this war I make you General.

That high command, sire, which to me you give,
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,

I on my knees, begin this war,—you'll try
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.

I freely grant you that for which you pray,
And henceforth take that army into pay.

p.175 /

By this you'll find 'tis the decree of fate,
The soldier's trade should ne'er be out of date.

Pity it should ; for all men wicked are,
And nothing punishes all men but war.

The price, yet, of that cure may be too great.

War begets crimes, as crimes do war beget.

Nothing to soldiers can more wish'd-for come,
Than to have wars abroad and peace at home.

Your march to-morrow, Cloriman, begin.
Now let us lead fair Altemeera in ;—
Then let us all unto the Temple go,
And pay to Heaven that gratitude we owe.

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Heading: An Unpublished Poem, original published size 9.3cm wide x 1.25cm high



From the Original Manuscript.

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p.178 ]

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p.179 ]

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An Unpublished Poem

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Canto the First.

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
        Maye speake of less then of the greatest gref,
Wher every sence, with sorrowes over wrought,
        Lives but in death, dispayring of relef ;—
While thus the harte, with torments torne asunder,
May of the worlde be cal'd the wofull wonder.

p.180 /

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;
        The night raven's songe that sounds of nought but death ;
The cockatrice that kileth with her sight ;
        The poysned ayre that chokes the sweetest breath ;
Thunders and earthquakes, altogether mett,—
These tell a litle how my life is sett.

Where words desolve to sighes, sighes into teares,
        And everye teare to torments of the mynde ;
The mynd's distress into those deadlye feares
        That finde more death than death it self can finde—
Death to that life that, livinge, doth descrye
A litle more yett of my myserye.

Put all the woes of all the worlde together ;
        Sorrow and Death sitt downe in all ther pryde ;
Lett Miserye bringe all her muses hether,
        With all the horrors that the harte maye hyde ;
Then reade the state but of my rufull storye,
And saye my gref hath gotten sorrowe's glorye.

p.181 /

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 !
        Payne hath no nature to descrye my payne ;
But where that payne it self in payne doth passe,
        Thinke on vexation so in every vayne
That hoples, helples, endles payne may tell,
Save hell it self, but myne ther is no hell.

If sicknes be a ground of deadlye grefe,
        Consuminge cares hath caught me by the harte ;
If wante of comforte, hoples of relef,
        Be further woe, so weye my inwarde smarte ;
If frinds' unkindnes, so my gref is grounded ;
If cawsles wronged, so my harte is wounded ;

If love refused, so weed on my ruine ;
        If truth disgrac'd, so my sorrow moved ;
If fayth abused, the ground my torment grew in ;
        If vertue scorned, so my death approved ;
If death delayinge, so my harte perplexed ;
If livinge dyinge, so my spirite vexed.

p.182 /

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 ;
        I morne to finde my youthfull life misled ;
I weepe to feele my further discontent ;
        I dye to trye how love is livinge dead :
I sighe—I morne—I weepe—I livinge dye,
And yett must live to shew more miserye !

The hunted harte sometime doth leave the hound—
        My harte, alas ! is never out of chase ;
The lime-hound's life sometime is yett unbound—
        My bands are hopeless of so high a grace !
Sumer restore what winter doth deprive,
But my harte, wethred, never can revive !

I cannot figure Sorrow in conceite ;
        Sorrow exceed all figures of her sence !
But on my woe even sorrowes all may wayste
        To see a note exceed their excellence.
Let me conclude—to se how I am wounded,
Sorrow herself is in herself confounded.

p.183 /

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 ;
        If lacke of frinds, no fayth on earth remaynes ;
If lacke of health, se how my harte doth bleed !
        If lacke of pleasure, looke upon my paynes !
If lacke of wealth, of frinds, of health, and pleasure,
Saye then my sorrowe must be out of measure.

Measure !—no measure measure can my thought !
        But that one thought—that is beyonde all measure—
Which, knowinge how my sorrowes have been wrought,
        Can bring my harte unto her highest pleasure ;—
Which eyther must my sorrow cutt of quite,
Or never lett me thinke upon delight.

Ther is a lacke that tels me of a life—
        Ther is a losse that tels me of a love :
Betwixt them both, a state of such a strife
        As makes my spirite such a passion prove,
That lacke of t'one, and th'other's losse, alas !
Makes me the wofulest wretche that ever was.

p.184 /

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,
        Which hath his light but from his fayrest love.
O fayrest love ! whose light is never done,
        And fayrest light, doth such a love approve :
But suche love loste and suche a light obscured,
Can ther a greater sorrow be indured ?

He came from highe to live with me belowe—
        He gave me life and shewed me greatest love !
Unworthy I so high a worth to knowe,
        Who left chefe blisse a baser choyse to prove !
I sawe his wonders, yett did not beleve him,
And for his goodnes, with my synnes did greve him.

I sawe him faultles, yett I did offend him ;
        I sawe him wronged, yett did not excuse him ;
I sawe his foes, yett sought not to defend him ;
        I had his blissings, yett I did abuse him.
But was it myne, or my forfathers' deed ?
Whose ere it was, it makes my harte to bleed.

p.185 /

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 ;
        He healed ech payne, yett lived in sore distres ;
Deserved all good, yett driven to great disgrace ;
        Gave all harts joye, himself in heavines ;
Suffered them live by whom himself was slayne :
Lord ! who can live to se such love agayne ?

A virgine's child, by vertue's power conceyved ;
        A harmles man, that lived for all mene's good ;
A faythfull frend, that never fayth deceyved ;
        A heavenly fruite, for hart's especiall food ;
A spirite all, of excellence devine—
Such is the essence of this love of myne :

Whos mansion's heaven, yett laye within a manger ;
        Who gave all foode, yett suckte a virgine's breste ;
Who could have kiled, yett fled a threatned danger ;
        Who sought our quiet by his owne unrest ;
Who died for them that highly did offend him,
And lives for them that cannot comprehend him.

p.186 /

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,
        A heavenlye medicine for the mynd diseased,
A present comforter to that witts amazed,
        A joyefull spirit to the soule diseased :
The bodie, mynd, witt, and spirits' joye,
What is the world without him but annoye ?

He knewe the sicknes that our soule infected,
        And that his bloude must onlye be our cure,
When so our fayth his sacred love affected
        That for our lives he would a death endure ;
He knew his passion, yett his patience bare it—
Oh ! how my soule doth sorrowe to declare it !

He heal'd the sicke—gave sight unto the blinde,
        Speache to the dumbe, and made the lame to goe ;
Unto his love he never was unkinde ;
        He loved his frende and he forgave his foe ;
And last, his death for our love not refused ;—
What soule could live to se such love misused ?

p.187 /

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 ;
        Unwelcome sem'd, that came for all our wealth ;
He came to die, that he might comfort us ;
        We slewe the subjecte of our spirits' health—
The subject !—no, the kinge of all our glorie !
Weepe, harte, to death, to tell this dolfull storye !

A lion wher his force should be effected,
        And yett a lambe in myldnes of his love ;
As true as turtle to his love electted ;
        Sure as Mounte Sion, that can never move :
So mylde a strength and so fast truth to prove,
What soule can live and lacke so sweet a love ?

He preacht, he prayed, he fasted, and he wept,
        The sweet Creator, for hys synfull creature ;
He carefull watches full warelye he kepte,
        That brake the necke even of the fowlest nature ;
And when he did to hapie state restore us,
Shall we not weep to make him then abhore us ?

p.188 /

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 ;
        He gave all right, and yett all wronge receyved ;
The fiende's temptatione stoutley he withstood,
        Yett lett himself by synners be deceyved :
And so at last, when he was woe begone him,
Howe trayter worlde did tiranyze upon hime.

His faultles members nayled to the crosse ;
        His holye head was crowned all with thornes ;
His garments given, by lots, to gayne or losse ;
        His power derided, all with scofes and scornes ;
His bodie wounded, and his spirit vexed :
To thinke on this, what soule is not perplexed !

Pore Peter wept when he his name denyed,
        And Marye Mawdlen wept for her offence ;
His mother wept when she his death espied ;—
        But yett no teares could stand for his defence.
But if thes wept to see his waylefull case,
Why dye not I, to thinke of this disgrace ?

p.189 /

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 !
        To dye with hime—to live to hime for ever !
And from the ayre but of his blissed breath
        To sucke the life whos love might fayle me never—
And drinke of that sweet springe which never wasteth,
And of that life's bread that ever lasteth !

Oh, would my soule wer made a sea of teares !
        Myn eyes might wake, and never more be sleapinge—
My harte might beare the payne all pleasur weares—
        So I might se hime once yett in my weepinge !
When, joyfull voyce ! this songe might never cease—
My Savioure's sight hath sett my soule in peace !

Should I esteme of anye worldlie toye
        That might behould the height of suche a treasure ?
Could I be Judas to my chefest joye,
        To gayne possession of a graceless pleasure ?
No !   Could my soule in comforte once conceyve hime,
I hope his mercye would not lett me leave hime.

p.190 /

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,
        And Jesus from the earth to heaven ascended.
Why shoulde I, then, upon more wishes stande,
        But crye for mercye wher I have offended ?
And saye my soule unworthye is the place
Ever to see my Savioure in the face !

Yett lett me not dispayre of my desire,
        Although even hell do answer my desarte,—
Where humblie hope that pitie doth aspire
        Proves patience the pacifinge parte ;
Wher mercye sweet that sees my soule's behavioure
Maye graunte me grace to se and serve my Savioure.

Whom till I see,—in sorrow, endles anguish,
        All discontent with all that I can see,
Resolv'd in soule in sorrowe's lake to languish,
        Wher no conceit but discontent may be,—
I will sitt downe till after this world's hell :
My Saviour's sight maye only make me welle !

p.191 ]

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Canto the Second.

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 ;
        The Springe is paste, the sweetnes of the yeare ;
The harvest in, wheron my hope did staye,
        And wethering Winter gives her chilling cheare ;
And what such grefe can death or sorrowe give
As se his deth, wherby the soule doth live ?

Methinkes I se—and, seing, sighe to see !—
        How in his pasion patience playes her parte ;
And in his death what life he gives to me,
        In my love's sorrowe, to relive my harte !
But what a care doth this conclusion trie !
The head must of, or els the bodie die.

p.192 /

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,
        Even while the teares are trickling downe his face !
And, for my life, how well his death he brookes,
        While my desarte was cawse of his disgrace !
And lett me wishe, yett while his death I see,
I could have dyed for hime that dyed for me !

Had I but sene him as his servantes did,
        At sea, at land, in citie, and in fielde,
Though in himself he had the glorie hid
        That in his grace the height of glorie helde,—
Then might my sorrowe somwhatt be appeased,
That once my soule had in his sight ben pleased.

But not to se him till I se him die,
        And that my deed was cawser of his death,
How can I cease to weep and howle and crye
        To se the gaspinge of that glorious breath—
That purest love unto the soule approved,
And is the blissinge of the soule beloved !

p.193 /

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,
        To save my life my Saviour so should die,—
His will be done !  Yett lett me weep for woe
        To be the subject of this miserie—
That, though he came to mende that was amise,
He should be so the Saviour of my blisse.

Shall I not wash his bodie with my teares,
        And save the blood that issues from his syde,
That keep my harte from all infernall feares,
        Unto my soule in penitence applied ?
Shall I not strive, with Joseph, for his corse,
And make his tombe in my soule's true remorse ?

Shall I not curse those hatefull, hellish fiends,
        That led the worlde to worke such wickednes ?
And hate all them that have not ben his friends,
        But followed on that work of wretchednes ;
Cut of the head firste hands upon him layde,
And helped to hange the dog that hime betrayed ?

p.194 /

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 !
        Why doe I live that did not dye with the,
When in my harte I do such horror prove
        As lets mye care no thought of comforte see
How my poore soule might once such service doe the,
To give me hope how I might come unto the ?

No !  I have rune the waye of wickednes,
        Forgettinge that my fayth should follow moste:
I did not thinke upon thy holines,
        Nor by my syne what sweetnes I have loste.
Oh, syne so close hath compaste me aboute
That, Lord, I knowe not wher to finde the out !—

If in the heaven, it is too highe a place
        For wicked harte to hope to clime so highe ;
If in the worlde, the earth is all too base
        To entertayne thy glorious majestie ;
If in thy Word, unworthy I to read
So sweet a senc to stande my soule in stead ;

p.195 /

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
        To se how synne hath bar'd me from my blisse !
And that my soule is so in torments torne
        To knowe my love, and com not where he is !
Yett if that ever heaven's hard creature crie,
Lord ! looke a litle on my miserey !

Let mercy plead in true repentaunce' cawse,
        Wher humble prayre may heavenlye pitye move,
That, though my life hath broken sacred lawes,
        My hart's contrition yett may comfort prove—
That, till my soule maye my sweet Savioure see,
Mercey may caste one lovinge looke on me !

And while I sitt with Marye at the grave,
        As full of grefe as ever love maye live,
My wounded harte som sparke of hope may have
        Of such relefe as glorious hand may give,
To make me fele, though syne hath death deserved,
My Saviour's death hath my soule's life preserved !

p.196 /

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 !

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p.197 ]

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Canto the Third.

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,
        And, after death, his ever-life agayne !
He breathed our life, and, giving up his breath,
        Revived our soules that in our synes were slayne :
His life so good, as never death deserved,
And, by his, our ever-lives preserved.

Did he not wash his pore Apostles' feett ?
        Cam he not rydinge on a sillye asse ?
Did he not heale the criples in the streett,
        And feed a world whear litle victaull was ?
Did not his love most true affection trie,
To dye for us, that we maye never dye ?

p.198 /

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 !
        Angles rejoyced at his incarnation !
O powerfull vertue, of all power victoriows,
        In true redemption of his best creation !
O glorious life, that made the divels wonder—
And glorious death, that trade the divels under !

Thus, in his birth, his life, and death, all glorie
        He did receyve, who was himself the same—
The statlye substaunce of that sacred storie
        From whence the ground of highest glorie came—
Whom highest power to highest glorie raysed,
And all the hoste of heaven with glorie praysed.

Was ever such a gratitude approved,—
        Since heaven, and earth for man, and man, was made—
For onlye God, who held him his beloved,
        Till gracles syne did make his glorie fade,
That he whom angles with such reverenc used.
Should be by men refused and abused !

p.199 /

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
        By those that wer in dutie to adore it ?
Or could so great a glorie be abused,
        When angles tremble when they stond before it ?
Oh, man !  woe man !  to wounde thy soule so sore—
To lose thy glorie so for ever more.

Behould the heavens, what sorrowe they did shew,
        And how the earth her doller did descrie !
The sune was darke, and in the earth belowe
        The buried bodies shewed the agonye ;
The Temple rent the heavens, with anger moved
To se the death of the divine beloved !

And yett thou, man, fulle litle didst regarde
        What thou haste done unto thy dearest love !
Thou madest more reckninge of the worlde's rewarde
        Then of the blissinge of thy soule's behove.
But, wretched man ! descend into thy thought,
And with this sorrowe weare thyself to nought !

p.200 /

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—
        Unworthye all to followe suche a friend,
In sweet rememberaunce of whos sweetest name
        The joyes begine that never make an end,—
Lett me butt weep and sorrowe till I see
How mercye's love will cast one looke on me.

And lett me heare but what my Savioure sayth,—
        He once did dye that I might ever live,
And that my soule, by her assured fayth,
        Maye feele the comforte that his grace doth give,—
That, for his love, who sorrowes here so sore
Shall joye in heaven, and never sorrowe more !

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p.201 ]

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Canto the Fourth.

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 guide our feett into the waye of peace—
To heare the virgines playing, ang'lls singinge
        The psamles of glorie that shall never cease—
To heare the sounde of suche a heavenly quere,
Would it not joye the soule to se and heare ?

To se the Saints and Martirs in ther places,
        By highest grace with heavenlye glorye crowned—
To see the kisses and the sweett embraces
        Of blessed soules, by constant fayth renouned—
To se the ground of all this sweett agreinge,
Were not these sights all sweetlie worth the seinge ?

p.202 /

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,
        In majestie moste glorious to behould,
And hould the septer of the worlde alone,
        Hath not his garments of imbroydred goulde,
But he is clothed in truth and righteousness—
The garments of the true fayth and holynes.

Oh, could my soule, out of some angle's winge,
        By humble sute, obtayne one onlye pen
Might wright in honor of my glorious kinge—
        The joye of angles and the life of men—
That all the worlde may fall upon ther faces
To heare the glorie of his heavenlie graces !

But since I see his wonder worth is suche
        As doth exceed all reache of human sence,
And all the earthe unworthie is to touche
        The smaleste title of his excellence,
Lett me refere unto some angle's glorie
The hapie writtinge of this heavenlie storye :

p.203 /

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
        Upon the winges of the celestiall winde ;
Neare whose sweett ayre no blastinge breath abideth,
        Nor stands the tree that he doth fruitles finde—
Doth make all tremble wher his glorye goeth,
Yea, wher his mildnes most his mercye sheweth.

Oh, joyfull fear, on vertue's love all founded !
        O vertue's love, in mercie's glorie graced !
O gratious love, on faythe and mercye grounded !
        O faythfull love, in heavenlye favoure placed !
O setled love, that cannot be removed !
O gratious love, of glorie so beloved !

Wher virgines joye in their virginitie ;
        The vertuus spoues in undefiled bedd ;
The true divines in true divinitie ;
        The gratious members in ther glorious heade ;
The synners joye to 'scape damnation,
And faythfull soules in ther salvation :

p.204 /

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 !

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p.205 ]

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Canto the Fifth.

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
        Should have a wearye thought of doinge well ;
But that the soule maye summon everye parte
        Of every sence wher my thought maye dwell,
That may discharge the dutie of this care,
To pen his prayse that is without compare !

But since no eye can looke on him and live,
        Nor harte can live but lookinge on his love,
Behould the glorye that his grace doth give
        In all his workes,—that dothe suche wonders prove,
That all the world maye finde ther witts too weake
But of the smalest of his prayse to speake !

p.206 /

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,
        The unicorne doth kill the poyson's power,
The roaring bull doth make the woods to ringe,
        The tiger doth the cruell wolfe devoure,
The elephant the weightie burthen beares,
And raveninge woulefes are good yett for ther heares.

To see the grayhound course, the hounde in chase,
        While litle dormouse sleepeth out her time ;
The lambes and rabbots sweetlye rune at base,
        While highest trees the litle squirles clime ;
The cralinge wormes out creepinge in the showers,
And how the snayles do clime the lofty towers :

To see the whale make furrowes in the seas,
        While soddenlye the dolphine strikes him deade,
Which, havinge founde the depth of his disease,
        Upon the shore doth make his dyinge bed :
Wher heavens thus worke for weaker harts' behove,
Doth not this grace a worke of glorie prove ?

p.207 /

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—
        To Sune and Moone and everye stare of light,
To see how each doth in his order sitt,
        Wher everye one doth keep his course aright,—
And all to guide these darkned eyes of ours !
Give these not glorie to the highest powers ?

No !  lett not man shew himself so ungratefull
        Unto his God, that all in love did make him,
By thankles thoughts to make his spirite hatefull
        Unto his kinge, that never will forsake hime ;
But lett his soule to God all glorie give,
In whome doth all love, life, and glorie live.

And lett me—wretch unworthy most of all
        To liste my eyes unto his lovelye seate—
Before the feett but of his mercye falle,
        And of his mercye but the leave entreate
That with his servants I maye sitt and singe
An Alleluiah to my heavenlye kinge !

p.208 ]

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p.209 ]

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Canto the Sixth.

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—
        But wright of grace, and whenc her glorye grew ;
Thinke of the love that to the life is deare,
        And of the life to whome all love is due ;
And then sitt downe in glorie all to singe,
All to the glorye of your glorious kinge !

Firste make your grounde of fayth full holines ;
        Then your devisions of divine desyres ;
Lett all your restes be hopes of happines,
        Which mercye's musicke in the soule requires ;
Lett all your sharpes be feares of faythfull hartes,
And all your flats the death of your desarts,—

p.210 /

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
        That maye revive the dyinge harte of love,
That onlye mercye in the soule hath wrought—
        The happie comforte of the heavens to prove ;
Then lett your sounds unto the heavens assend,
And all the closes all in glorie end !—

Glorie to him that sitteth on the throne,
        With all the hoste of all the heavenes attended,
Who all thinges made, and governes all alone !
        Vanquisht his foes, and all his flocke defended,
And, by his power, his chosen soules preserveth
To singe his prayse that so alle prayse deserveth !

And whiles all soules doe to his glorie singe,
        Lett me, pore wretch ! not holye hould my peace,
Butt let my teares, from mercye's glorye springe,
        Keepe time to that sweett songe maye never cease,
That, while my soule doth thus my God adore,
I maye yett singe Amen, althoughe no more !

Gloria in excelsis Deo !

p.211 ]

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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.

Woodcut of Mother Shipton, printed date 1662, original published size in Halliwell  12.7cm wide x 9.2cm high

p.212 ]

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Love's Victorie.

N place of MS. No. 102 (see p. 21) is inserted a very curious manuscript of Collections of the Seventeenth Century, in thick 12mo., containing early notes on genealogy and family history, antiquarian notes, and various other subjects of a miscellaneous nature. The exchange was made under the impression that the play was worth printing in the Appendix to the present volume, but it was not found to be of sufficient interest for publication, when a minute examination came to be made. The following brief extracts may, however, be worth giving.

Extracts from an unpublished MS. Drama of the Seventeenth
Century,  entitled
' L

Yon pleasant floury meade
        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.
p.213 /
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,
        Walkes, birds, brooke, truly finde
All proue butt as vaine shouers,
        Wish'd wellcome els vnkind,
You once I loued best,
        Butt loue makes mee you leaue ;
        By loue I loue deseaue—
Joys lost for liues' vnrest.

.            .            .            .            .            .

Alas !  what meanes this ?  Surely itt is loue
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.

p.214 /

Faire shining day !  and thou, Apollo bright !
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.
p.215 /
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.

Loue, beeing mist in heauen, att last was found
        Lodg'd in Musella's faire though cruell brest—
Cruell, alas !  yett wheron I must ground
        All hopes of ioye, though tired with vnrest.
p.216 /
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.

.            .            .            .            .            .

They that can nott stedy bee,
To them selues the like must see.
Ficle pœple fitly chuse,
Slightly like, and soe refuse.
This your fortune, who can say
Heerin iustice bears nott sway ?
In troth, Dalina, fortune is prou'd curst
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.

Who choseth next, Lissius ?  Nott I, least such I proue.

Nor I ;  itt is sufficient I could loue.

p.217 /

I'le wish for one, but fortune shall nott try
On mee her tricks, whose fauours are so dry.

Non can wish, if they their wishes loue nott ;
Nor can they loue, if that wishings moue nott.

You faine would soulue this busines, Dalina.  Who would I ?
Nay, my care's past ;  I loue, and his deny.

Loue and Reason, once att warr,
Loue came downe to end the iarr :
Cupid said Loue must haue place—
Reason, that itt was his grace.
Loue then brought itt to this end—
Reason should on Loue attend ;
Loue takes Reason for his guid—
Reason can nott from Loue slide.
This agreed, they pleas'd did part,
Reason ruling Cupid's dart.
Soe as sure Loue can nott miss,
Since that Reason ruler is.

It seemes hee mist beefore hee had this guid.

I'me sure nott mee ;  I nere my hart could hid
p.218 /
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.

Philisses now hath left us ;  lett's goe back,
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.

.            .            .            .            .            .

Silent woods, with desart's shade,
                        Giuing peace,
Wher all pleasures first ar made
                        To increase,
p.219 /
Giue your fauor to my mone
Now my louing-time is gone ;
Chastity my pleasure is ;
                        Folly fled—
From hence now I seeke my blis,
                        Cross loue dead,
In your shadows I repose.
You then, loue, I now haue chose.

Choise ill made were better left,
                        Beeing cross ;
Of such choise to bee bereft
                        Were no loss.
Chastity you thus commend
Doth proceed butt from loue's end ;
And if loue the fountane was
                        Of your fire,
Loue must chastitite surpas
                         In desire.
Loue lost, bred your chastest thought—
Chastity by loue is wrought.

O poore Musella !  now I pitty thee.
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 !
p.220 /
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.

Wrong mee nott, chast Siluesta !   'Tis my greif
That from poore mee hee will nott take reliefe.

What !  will hee lose what hee did most desire ?

Soe is hee led away with iealous fire,
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.

Betray Musella !—sonner will I dy !
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 ;
p.221 /
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.

I know you lou'd him, nor could I the less
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 !

Mine is now past ;  tell mee now what yours is,
And I'l wish butt the meanes to work you blis.

Then know, Siluesta, I Philisses loue ;
        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.
p.222 /
Some times I faine would speake, then straite forbeare,
Knowing itt most vnfitt—thus woe I beare !

Indeed a woman to make loue is ill ;
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.

Siluesta, for this loue I can butt say
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.

I doe beleeue itt ;  for in soe much worth
As liues in you, vertue must needs spring forth.
And for Philisses, I loue him, and will
In chastest seruice hinder still his ill.
p.223 /
Then keepe your time—alas ! lett him nott dy
For whom soe many sufferd misery.

Lett mee noe ioy receaue if I neglect
This kind aduise, or him I soe respect.

Farewell, Musella !—loue and hapy bee.                      [Exit.

And bee thou blest that thus doth comfort mee !         [Exit.

O, wreched man !  and thou, all-conquering loue !
        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.
p.224 /
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.

Now wee're alone, lett euery one confess
        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.

I like this ;  butt will each one truly tell ?

Trust mee, I will ;—who doth nott, doth nott well.

I'le plainly speake ; butt who shalbe the first ?

        I can say least of all, yett I will speake :—
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
p.225 /
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.

I would nott this beeleeue, if other tongue
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 ?

Truly, nott I.   I plainly tell the truth,
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.

I am the next, and haue butt losses wunn ;
Butt yett I constant was, thoug still reiected.
Lou'd, and nott lou'd, I was lik'd and neglected ;
p.226 /
Yett now some hope reuiues, when loue, thought dead,
Cloth'd like the spring young bud when leaues ar fled.

Your hap's the better—would mine were as good !
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.

'Tis well resolu'd ;  but how lik'd she your choyse ?
        Did she or blame or els your mind commend ?

Niether she seem'd to dislike or reioice,
        Nor did commend I did this loue intend,
Butt, smiling, said 'twere best to bee aduised :
Comfort itt were to win, butt death dispisde.

p.227 /

I doe beeleeve her.   But Climena yett
Hath nothing said :  wee must nott her forgett.

Why, you haue said enough for you and mee ;
        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.

Why, what have I to do with whom you loue ?

Beecause 'tis hee who doth your passion moue.

p.228 /

He !  les I fear the wining of his loue,
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.

And when his eyes to loue shall open bee,
I trust he will turne pitty vnto mee,
And lett me haue reward which is my due.

Which is your due !   What pitty's due to you ?
Dreame you of hope ?   O, you to high aspire !
Think you to gaine by kindling an old fire ?

My loue wilbee the surer when I know,
Nott loue alone, butt how loue to bestow.

You make him yett, for all this, butt to bee
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.

This will nott winn him !   You may taulke and hope,
Butt in loue's passages ther is larg scope.

p.229 /

'Tis true ;  and you haue scope to chang and chuse—
To take and dislike—like, and soune refuse.

My loue as firme is to him as is thine.

Yett mine did euer rise—neuer decline.
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.

I loue him most, Simena ;  I loue him best :  can you
Chaleng reward—and can nott say you'r true ?

In this you wrong mee ;  faulce I haue nott binne,
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.

p.230 /

Fy!   what a lyfe is heere about for loue !
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.

Is this your counsell ?   Why, butt now you said
Your folly had your loues and good betraid ;
And that heerafter you would wiser bee
Then to disdaine such as haue left you free.

'Tis true that was the course I ment to take ;
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.—
p.231 /
Heer Lissius comes :  alas, hee is loue-strooke !
Hee's euen now learning loue without the booke.

Loue, pardon mee !   I know I did amiss
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 !

Deere Lissius—my deere Lissius—fly mee nott !
Lett nott both scorne and absence bee my lott.

Pray lett me goe—you know I can nott loue ;
Doe nott thus farr my pasience striue to moue.

Why, cruell Lissius !  wilt thou neuer mend,
Butt still increase thy frounes for my sad end ?

Climeana, 'tis enough that I haue saide ;
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.
p.232 /
Fy!   I doe blush for you !  A woman woo !
The most vnfittest, shamfullst thing to doo.

Vnfitt and shamefull, I,—indeed 'tis true,
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.

Farewell !  you now doe right ; this is the way
        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.

Lissius is taken !   Well said, Cupid !   Now
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.

p.233 /

I'le stay, and aske him who 'tis hee doth loue.

Do nott a pensiue hart to passion moue.

To passion !   Would I could his passion find,
To answere my distress'd and griued mind !

Stay, then, and try him, and your fortune try ;
Itt my bee hee loues you.   Come, lett's goe by.

O, sweet Simena !  looke butt on my paine!
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.

Preserue itt nott for mee ;  I seeke nott now,
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.

p.234 /

Beeleeue butt that, and I shall haue the end
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.

How can I this beeleeue ?   Lissius, my faith shall tell
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.

Then you will promise breake, Simena, nott, if I find
That as your words are, soe you'll make your mind.

Lett mee nor speach nor mind haue, when that I
In this or any els doe faulssefy
My faith and loue to you.  Simena, then, bee att rest,
And of my true affection bee possest.

Soe, deere Simeana, bee of mee and mine.
Now doe my hopes and ioys together shine !

Nor lett the least cloud rise to dim this light,
Which loue makes to apeere with true delight.           [Exit.

.            .            .            .            .            .

p.235 /

Now haue thy torments long enough indur'd,
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.

I meane to saue them, butt some yett must try
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.

Loue !  thy powerfull hand withdraw—
All doe yeeld vnto thy law.
Rebells now thy subiects bee—
Bound they are who late were free ;
Most confess thy power and might,
All harts yeeld vnto thy right.
Thoughts directed ar by thee ;
Souls doe striue thy ioys to see.
p.236 /
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.

Now your part coms to play;
In this you must somthing sway.
Soe you shall, and I, your child,
When you bid, can soone bee milde.

squiggly rulesquiggly rule

        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.

p.237 ]

Design, original published size 11.1cm wide x 1.05cm high

Notes of two Rare Tracts.


Here Robin the Cobler, for his former evils,
Is punish'd bad as Faustus with his devils.

      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 Woodcut from The Witch of the Woodlands, c.17th century?, original published size in Halliwell 6.5cm wide x 5.5cm high 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.

p.238 /

      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.

           UNTIL'D, WITH THE COMICAL HUMOURS OF DON STULTO AND SEIGNOR JINGO, as it is acted in Pinkeman's Booth in May Fair. 8vo. Printed by J. R., near Fleet Street, 1708.

      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 Woodcut illustration for 'The Adventures of the Devil...' (1708), original published size in Halliwell 7.3cm wide x 7.5cm high 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.

Design of lion or sphinx, original published size 1.9cm wide x 0.9cm high.

p.240 ]


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