Coarse

Comus or the Arcadia, to have been put into the hands of boys and virgins, to have made matter for young dreams, like the loves of Hermia and Lysander. But a spot is on the face of this moon.-Nothing short of infatuation could have driven Fletcher upon mixing up with this blessedness such an ugly deformity as Cloe, the wanton shepherdess. words do but wound the ears; but a character of lewdness affronts the mind. Female lewdness at once shocks nature and morality. If Cloe was meant to set off Clorin by contrast, Fletcher should have known that such weeds by juxtaposition do not set off, but kill sweet flowers.]

THE FALSE ONE: A TRAGEDY, BY JOHN FLETCHER. PTOLEMY, King of Egypt, presents to CESAR the head of POMPEY. CESAR rebukes the Egyptians for their treachery and ingratitude. CESAR, ANTONY, DOLABELLA, SCEVA, Romans; PTOLEMY, PHOTINUS, ACHILLAS, Egyptians. Pho. Hail, conqueror and head of all the world, Now this head 's off.

Cæs. Ha!

Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar.

From kingly Ptolemy I bring this present, The crown and sweat of thy Pharsalian labour; The goal and mark of high ambitious honour. Before, thy victory had no name, Cæsar; Thy travail and thy loss of blood no recompence; Thou dream'dst of being worthy and of war; And all thy furious conflicts were but slumbers; Here they take life, here they inherit honour, Grow fix'd and shoot up everlasting triumphs. Take it and look upon thy humble servant, With noble eyes look on the princely Ptolemy, That offers with this head, most mighty Cæsar, What thou wouldst once have given for 't, all Egypt. Ach. Nor do not question it, most royal conqueror, Nor disesteem the benefit that meets thee, Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer. Yet let me tell thee, most imperious Cæsar, Though he opposed no strength of swords to win this, Nor labour'd through no showers of darts and lances, Yet here he found a fort that faced him strongly, An inward war: he was his grandsire's guest, Friend to his father, and when he was expell'd And beaten from this kingdom by strong hand, And had none left him to restore his honour,

No hope to find a friend in such a misery;
Then in stepp'd Pompey, took his feeble fortune,
Strengthen'd and cherish'd it, and set it right again.
This was a love to Cæsar!

Sce. Give me hate, gods.

Pho. This Cæsar may account a little wicked;

But yet remember, if thine own hands, conqueror,
Had fallen upon him, what it had been then;

If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that
He was thy son-in-law; there to be tainted
Had been most terrible: let the worst be render'd,
We have deserved for keeping thy hands innocent.
Ces. O Sceva, Sceva, see that head; see, captains,
The head of godlike Pompey.

Sce. He was basely ruin'd,

But let the gods be grieved that suffer'd it,
And be
you Cæsar.

Cas. O thou conqueror,

Thou glory of the world once, now the pity,

way;

Thou awe of nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus ?
What poor fate follow'd thee and pluck'd thee on
To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian!
The life and light of Rome to a blind stranger,
That honourable war ne'er taught a nobleness,
Nor worthy circumstance show'd what a man was;
That never heard thy name sung but in banquets
And loose lascivious pleasures; to a boy,
That had no faith to comprehend thy greatness,
No study of thy life to know thy goodness:
And leave thy nation, nay, thy noble friend,
Leave him distrusted, that in tears falls with thee,
In soft relenting tears? Hear me, great Pompey,
If thy great spirit can hear, I must task thee:
Thou hast most unnobly robb'd me of my victory,
My love and mercy.

Ant. O, how brave these tears show!

How excellent is sorrow in an enemy!

Dol. Glory appears not greater than this goodness.
Ces. Egyptians, dare you think your high pyramids,
Built to out-dure the sun as you suppose,

Where your unworthy kings lie raked in ashes,
Are monuments fit for him? No, brood of Nilus,

Nothing can cover his high fame but heaven,
No pyramids set off his memories

But the eternal substance of his greatness;
To which I leave him. Take the head away,
And with the body give it noble burial.

Your earth shall now be bless'd to hold a Roman,

Whose braveries all the world's earth cannot balance-
You look now, king,

And you that have been agents in this glory,

For our especial favour?

Ptol. We desire it.

Cas. And doubtless you expect rewards ?—

I forgive you all: that's recompence.

You are young and ignorant; that pleads your pardon;
And fear, it may be, more than hate provoked ye.
Your ministers I must think wanted judgment,
And so they err'd; I am bountiful to think this,
Believe me, most bountiful; be you most thankful;
That bounty share amongst you: if I knew
What to send you for a present, king of Egypt,
I mean, a head of equal reputation,

[sister's', And that you loved, though it were your brightest (But her you hate) I would not be behind you.

Ptol. Hear me, great Cæsar.

Cas. I have heard too much:

And study not with smooth shows to invade
My noble mind as you have done my conquest.
Ye are poor and open: I must tell you roundly,
That man that could not recompense the benefits,
The great and bounteous services of Pompey,
Can never dote upon the name of Cæsar.
Though I

Had hated Pompey, and allow'd his ruin,
Hasty to please in blood are seldom trusty:
And but I stand environ'd with my victories,
My fortune never failing to befriend me,
My noble strengths and friends about my person,
I durst not try you, nor expect a courtesy
Above the pious love you show'd to Pompey.
You have found me merciful in arguing with you;
Swords, hangmen, fires, destruction of all natures,

1 Cleopatra.

Demolishments of kingdoms, and whole ruins, Are wont to be my orators. Turn to tears, You wretched and poor seeds of sun-burnt Egypt: And now you have found the nature of a conqueror, That you cannot decline with all your flatteries, That where the day gives light will be himself still, Know how to meet his worth with human courtesies. Go, and embalm the bones of that great soldier; Howl round about his pile, fling on your spices, Make a Sabæan bed, and place this phoenix Where the hot sun may emulate his virtues, And draw another Pompey from his ashes Divinely great, and fix him 'mongst the worthies. Ptol. We will do all.

Cas. You have robb'd him of those tears

His kindred and his friends kept sacred for him,
The virgins of their funeral lamentations;
And that kind earth that thought to cover him,
His country's earth, will cry out 'gainst your cruelty,
And weep unto the ocean for revenge,

Till Nilus raise his seven heads and devour you.
My grief has stopp'd the rest: when Pompey lived,
He used you nobly; now he is dead, use him so.

LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE: A COMEDY, BY JOHN FLETCHER. LEOCADIA leaves her father's house, disguised in man's apparel, to travel in search of MARK ANTONIO, to whom she is contracted, but has been deserted by him. When at length she meets with him, she finds, that by a precontract he is the husband of THEODOSIA. In this extremity, PHILIPPO, brother to THEODOSIA, offers LEOCADIA marriage.

PHILIPPO. LEOCADIA.

Phi. Will you not hear me?

Leo. I have heard so much,

Will keep me deaf for ever. No, Mark Antonio,
After thy sentence I may hear no more;
Thou hast pronounced me dead.

Phi. Appeal to reason;

She will reprieve you from the power of grief,
Which rules but in her absence; hear me say
A sovereign message from her, which in duty,
And love to your own safety, you ought hear.

Why do

you strive so ? whither would you fly ?
You cannot wrest yourself away from care,

You may from counsel; you may shift your place,
But not your person; and another clime
Makes you no other.

Leo. O!

Phi. For passion's sake,

(Which I do serve, honour, and love in you)
If you will sigh, sigh here; if you would vary
A sigh to tears, or out-cry, do it here.

No shade, no desert, darkness, nor the grave,
Shall be more equal to your thoughts than I.
Only but hear me speak.

Leo. What would you say

?

Phi. That which shall raise your heart, or pull down mine,
Quiet your passion, or provoke mine own:

We must have both one balsam, or one wound.
For know, loved fair,

I have read you through,

And with a wondering pity look'd on you.
I have observed the method of your blood,
And waited on it ev'n with sympathy

Of a like red and paleness in mine own.

I knew which blush was anger's, which was love's,
Which was the eye of sorrow, which of truth,
And could distinguish honour from disdain
In every change: and you are worth my study.
I saw your voluntary misery

Sustain❜d in travel; a disguised maid,
Wearied with seeking, and with finding lost,
Neglected where you hoped most, or put by;
I saw it, and have laid it to my heart,

And though it were my sister which was righted,
Yet being by your wrong, I put off nature,

Could not be glad, where I most bound to triumph:
My care for you so drown'd respect of her.
Nor did I only apprehend your bonds,

But studied your release: and for that day
Have I made up a ransom, brought you a health,
Preservative 'gainst chance or injury,
Please you apply it to the grief; myself.
Leo. Ah!