"Twould come more calm than an evening's peace,
That brings on rest to labours: Thou art so precious,
I should depart in everlasting envy

Unto the man, that ever should enjoy thee.
O, a new torment strikes his force into me!
When I but think on 't, I am rack'd and torn
(Pity me) in thy virtues."

Duch. "My loved lord,

Let your confirm'd opinion of my life, My love, my faithful love, seal an assurance Of quiet to your spirit, that no forgetfulness Can cast a sleep so deadly on my senses, To draw my affections to a second liking." Lord Card." It has ever been the promise, and the spring Of my great love to thee. For, once to marry Is honourable in woman, and her ignorance Stands for a virtue, coming new and fresh; But second marriage shows desires in flesh; Thence lust, and heat, and common custom grows: But she 's part virgin, who but one man knows. I here expect a work of thy great faith: At my last parting I can crave no more; And with thy vow, I rest myself for ever; My soul and it shall fly to heaven together: Seal to my spirit that quiet satisfaction, And I go hence in peace.' Duch. "Then here I vow, Lord Card. Why, madam Duch. I can go no further.

never

Lord Card. What, have you forgot your vow?

Duch. I have, too certainly.

Lord Card. Your vow? that cannot be; it follows now,

Just where I left.

Duch. My frailty gets before it;

Nothing prevails but ill.

Lord Card. What ail you, madam ?

Duch. Sir, I'm in love.

NO WIT LIKE A WOMAN'S: A COMEDY, BY THOMAS HELP

MIDDLETON.

Virtuous Poverty.

'Life, had he not his answer? what strange impudence

Governs in man, when lust is lord of him!
Thinks he me mad? 'cause I have no moneys on earth,
That I'll go forfeit my estate in heaven,

And live eternal beggar? he shall pardon me:
That's my soul's jointure; I'll starve ere I sell that.
Comfort.

husband,

Wake, wake, and let not patience keep thee poor;
Rouse up thy spirit from this falling slumber:
Make thy distress seem but a weeping dream,
And this the opening morning of thy comforts
Wipe the salt dew from off thy careful eyes,
And drink a draught of gladness next thy heart
To expel the infection of all poisonous sorrows.

Good and Ill Fortune.

O my blessing!
I feel a hand of mercy lift me up

Out of a world of waters, and now sets me
Upon a mountain, where the sun plays most,
To cheer my heart even as it dries my limbs.
What deeps I see beneath me! in whose falls
Many a nimble mortal toils,

And scarce can feed himself: the streams of fortune, 'Gainst which he tugs in vain, still beat him down, And will not suffer him (past hand to mouth)

To lift his arm to his posterities' blessing.

I see a careful sweat run in a ring

About his temples, but all will not do:

For till some happy means relieve his state,
There he must stick and bide the wrath of fate.
Parting in Amity.

Let our parting

Be full as charitable as our meeting was;

That the pale envious world, glad of the food
Of others miseries, civil dissensions,

And nuptial strifes, may not feed fat with ours.
Meeting with a Wife supposed dead.

O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence
Makes the sad night of threescore and ten years
Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood.
I cannot make thy welcome rich enough
With all the wealth of words.

Mother's Forgiveness.

Mother. Why do your words start back ? are they afraid Of her that ever loved them?

Philip. I have a suit to you, madam.

Mother. You have told me that already; pray, what is 't? If 't be so great, my present state refuse it,

I shall be abler, then command and use it.

Whatever 't be, let me have warning to provide for 't. Philip. Provide forgiveness then, for that's the want My conscience feels. O, my wild youth has led me Into unnatural wrongs against your freedom once. I spent the ransom which my father sent,

To set my pleasures free; while you lay captive. Mother. And is this all now?

You use me like a stranger: pray, stand up. Philip. Rather fall flat: I shall deserve yet worse. Mother. Whate'er your faults are, esteem me still a friend; Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon Than when you did the wrong you ask'd it for: And since you have prepared me to forgive you, Pray let me know for what; the first fault 's nothing. Philip. Here comes the wrong then that drives home the rest. I saw a face at Antwerp, that quite drew me From conscience and obedience: in that fray I lost my heart, I must needs lose my way. There went the ransom, to redeem my mind; 'Stead of the money, I brought over her; And to cast mists before my father's eyes, Told him it was my sister (lost so long)

And that yourself was dead.-You see the wrong. Mother. This is but youthful still—

I forgive thee

As freely as thou didst it. For, alas!

This may be call'd good dealing, to some parts
That love and youth plays daily among sons.

THE WITCH: A TRAGI-COMEDY, BY THOMAS MIDDLETON.

HECATE, and the other Witches, at their Charms.

Hec. Titty and Tiffin, Suckin

And Pidgen, Liard, and Robin!

White spirits, black spirits, grey spirits, red spirits,
Devil-toad, devil-ram, devil-cat, and devil-dam,
Why Hoppo and Stadlin, Hellwain and Puckle!
Stad. Here, sweating at the vessel.

Hec. Boil it well.

Hop. It gallops now.

Hec. Are the flames blue enough,

Or shall I use a little seeten1 more?

Stad. The nips of fairies upon maids' white hips
Are not more perfect azure.

Hec. Tend it carefully.

Send Stadlin to me with a brazen dish,
That I may fall to work upon these serpents,
And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour.
Why, when?

Stad. Here's Stadlin and the dish.

Hec. Here take this unbaptized brat:

Boil it well-preserve the fat:

You know 'tis precious to transfer
Our 'nointed flesh into the air,

In moonlight nights, o'er steeple tops,

Mountains, and pine trees, that like pricks, or stops,
Seem to our height: high towers, and roofs of princes,
Like wrinkles in the earth: whole provinces

Appear to our sight then even like

A russet-mole upon some lady's cheek.

When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing,

Dance, kiss, and coll, use everything:

What young man can we wish to pleasure us,
But we enjoy him in an incubus ?

Thou know'st it, Stadlin?

Stad. Usually that's done.

Hec. Away, in.

Go feed the vessel for the second hour.

Stad. Where be the magical herbs?

Hec. They're down his throat2,

His mouth cramm'd full; his ears and nostrils stuft.
I thrust in Eleaselinum, lately

Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot.

You may see that, he looks so black i' th' mouth.
Then Sium, Acharum, Vulgaro too,

1 Seething.

2 The dead child's.

Dentaphillon, the blood of a flitter-mouse,
Solanum somnificum et oleum.

Stad. Then there's all, Hecate.

Hec. Is the heart of wax

Stuck full of magic needles?

Stad. 'Tis done, Hecate.

Hec. And is the farmer's picture, and his wife's,
Laid down to the fire yet?

Stad. They are a-roasting both too.

Hec. Good;

Then their marrows are a-melting subtilly,
And three months' sickness sucks up life in 'em.
They denied me often flour, barm, and milk,
Goose-grease and tar, when I ne'er hurt their churnings,
Their brew-locks nor their batches, nor forespoke
Any of their breedings. Now I'll be meet with 'em.
Seven of their young pigs I have bewitch'd already
Of the last litter, nine ducklings, thirteen goslings, and
a hog

Fell lame last Sunday, after even-song too.
And mark how their sheep prosper; or what soup
Each milch-kine gives to the pail: I'll send these snakes
Shall milk 'em all beforehand: the dew'd-skirted dairy
wenches

Shall stroke dry dugs for this, and go home cursing:
I'll mar their sillabubs, and swarthy feastings
Under cows' bellies, with the parish youths.

SEBASTIAN consults the Witch for a Charm to be revenged on his successful Rival.

Hec. Urchins, elves, hags, satires, pans, fawns, silence.
Kit with the candlestick; tritons, centaurs, dwarfs, imps.
The spoon, the mare, the man i' th' oak, the hellwain, the
fire-drake, the puckle. A. ab hur. hus.

Seb. Heaven knows with what unwillingness and hate
I enter this damn'd place: but such extremes
Of wrongs in love fight 'gainst religion's knowledge,
That were I led by this disease to deaths

As numberless as creatures that must die,
I could not shun the way.-I know what 'tis
To pity mad men now: they're wretched things
That ever were created, if they be

Of woman's making and her faithless vows.