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Loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids, SONG
Shall never clasp our necks! no issue know us, Asp. Lay a garland on my hearse
No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see, of the dismal yew :
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach them
Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say,
"Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!'
The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments, Upon my buried body, lie
And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, Lightly, gentle earth!
Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done Madam, good-night ; may no discontent
To youth and nature. This is all our world : Grow 'twixt your love and you ; but if there do,
We shall know nothing here but one another ; Inquire of me, and I will guide your moan;
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes. Teach you an artificial way to grieve,
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it : To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord
Summer shall come, and with her all delights, No worse than I ; but if you love so well,
But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still. Alas ! you may displease him ; so did I.
Pal. 'Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds, This is the last time you shall look on me :
That shook the aged forest with their echoes, Ladies, farewell ; as soon as I am dead,
No more now must we halloo; no more shake Come all, and watch one night about my hearse ;
Our pointed javelins, whilst the angry swine Bring each a mournful story and a tear
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, To offer at it when I go to earth :
Struck with our well-steeled darts! All valiant uses
The food and nourishment of noble minds-
In us two here shall perish : we shall die
Which is the curse of honour-lastly,
Children of grief and ignorance.
Arc. Yet, cousin,
Even from the bottom of these miseries, Asp. Go, and be happy in your lady's love ;
[To Amintor. From all that fortune can inflict upon us, May all the wrongs that you have done to me
I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings, Be utterly forgotten in my death.
If the gods please to hold here: a brave patience, I'll trouble you no more, yet I will take
And the enjoying of our griefs together. A parting kiss, and will not be denied.
Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish You 'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep
If I think this our prison ! When I am laid in earth, though you yourself
Pal. Certainly Can know no pity : thus I wind myself
'Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes Into this willow garland, and am prouder
Were twined together ; 'tis most true, two souls That I was once your love—though now refused —
Put in two noble bodies, let them suffer
The gall of hazard, so they grow together,
Will never sink ; they must not ; say they could,
Arc. Shall we make worthy uses of this place
That all men hate so much?
Pal. How, gentle cousin ? Palamon. How do you, noble cousin ?
Arc. Let's think this prison a holy sanctuary, Arcite. How do you, sir?
To keep us from corruption of worse men ! Pal. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery,
We are young, and yet desire the ways of honour, And bear the chance of war yet; we are prisoners, That liberty and common conversation, I fear for ever, cousin.
The poison of pure spirits, might—like womenArc. I believe it,
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing And to that destiny have patiently
Can be, but our imaginations Laid up my hour to come.
May make it ours ? °And here being thus together, Pal. Oh, cousin Arcite,
We are an endless mine to one another ;
We are, in one another, families;
Is our inheritance ; no hard oppressor
We shall live long, and loving ; no surfeits seek us ; Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite,
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas Even in the wagging of a wanton leg,
Swallow their youth. Were we at liberty, Outstript the people's praises, won the garlands A wife might part us lawfully, or business ; Ere they have time to wish them ours. Oh, never Quarrels consume us ; envy of ill men Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour,
Crave our acquaintance ; I might sicken, cousin, Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses
Where you should never know it, and so perish Like proud seas under us; our good swords now- Without your noble hand to close mine eyes, Better the red-eyed god of war ne'er wore
Or prayers to the gods : a thousand chances, Ravished our sides, like age, must run to rust,
Were we from hence, would sever us.
Pal. You have made me-
With my captivity: what a misery
It is to live abroad, and everywhere ! Those hopes are prisoners with us; here we are, 'Tis like a beast, methinks ! I find the court here, And here the graces of our youths must wither
I'm sure, a more content ; and all those pleasures, Like a too timely spring; here age must find us, That woo the wills of men to vanity, And—which is heaviest–Palamon, unmarried ;
I see through now; and am sufficient The sweet embraces of a loving wife
To tell the world, 'Tis but a gaudy shadow, 164
That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him.
I must go, I must run, What had we been, old in the court of Creon,
Swifter than the fiery sun.
[Exit. Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance
Clorin. And all my fears go with thee. The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite,
What greatness, or what private hidden power, Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
Is there in me to draw submission We had died, as they do, ill old men, unwept,
From this rude man and beast?--sure I am mortal; And had their epitaphs, the people's curses.
The daughter of a shepherd; he was mortal, Shall I say more?
And she that bore me mortal ; prick my hand Arc. I would hear you still.
And it will bleed; a fever shakes me, and Pol. You shall.
The self-same wind that makes the young lambs shrink, Is there record of any two that loved
Makes me a-cold: my fear says I am mortal: Better than we do, Arcite ?
Yet I have heard--my mother told it meAro. Sure there cannot.
And now I do believe it, if I keep Pal. I do not think it possible our friendship
My virgin flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair, Should ever leave us.
No goblin, wood-god, fairy, elf, or fiend, Art. Till our deaths it cannot ;
Satyr, or other power that haunts the groves, And after death our spirits shall be led
Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires,
To make me follow, and so tole me on
Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruin. Pastoral Love. From the ' Faithful Shepherdess.' Else why should this rough thing, who never knew CLORIN and a SATYR with basket of fruit.
Manners nor smooth humanity, whose heats
Are rougher than himself, and more misshapen, Satyr. Through yon same bending plain
Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there's a power That Alings his arms down to the main,
In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast And through these thick woods, have I run,
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites Whose bottom never kissed the sun,
That break their confines. Then, strong Chastity, Since the lusty spring began.
Be thou my strongest guard; for here I'll dwell All to please my master Pan,
In opposition against late and hell!
Perigor and AMORET appoint to meet at the Virtuous Well.
Perigot. Stay, gentle Amoret, thou fair-browed maid. But behold a fairer sight!
(Seeing CLORIN. Thy shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear, By that heavenly form of thine,
Equal with his soul's good. Brightest fair, thou art divine,
Amoret. Speak, I give Sprung from great immortal race
Thee freedom, shepherd, and thy tongue be still Of the gods; for in thy face
The same it ever was, as free from ill Shines more awful majesty
As he whose conversation never knew Than dull weak mortality
The court or city : be thou ever true. Dare with misty eyes behold,
Peri. When I fall off from my affection, And live : therefore, on this mould
Or mingle my clean thoughts with ill desires, Lowly do I bend my knee,
First let our great God cease to keep my flocks, In worship of thy deity.
That being left alone without a guard, Deign it, goddess, from my hand
The wolf, or winter's rage, summer's great heat, To receive whate'er this land
And want of water, rots, or what to us From her fertile womb doth send
Of ill is yet unknown, fall speedily, Of her choice fruits; and but lend
And in their general ruin let me go. Belief to that the Satyr tells,
Amo. I pray thee, gentle shepherd, wish not so : Fairer by the famous wells,
I do believe thee, 'tis as hard for me To this present day ne'er grew,
To think thee false, and harder than for thee Never better, nor more true.
To hold me foul. Here be grapes whose lusty blood
Peri. Oh, you are fairer far Is the learned poets' good,
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star Sweeter yet did never crown
That guides the wandering seamen through the deep, The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown
Straighter than straightest pine upon the steep Than the squirrel whose teeth crack them;
Head of an aged mountain, and more white Deign, O fairest fair, to take them :
Than the new milk we strip before daylight For these, black-eyed Driope
From the full-freighted bags of our fair flocks. Hath oftentimes commanded me
Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks With my clasped knee to climb:
Of young Apollo. See how well the lusty time
Amo. Shepherd, be not lost, Hath decked their rising cheeks in red,
Y' are sailed too far already from the coast Such as on your lips is spread.
Of our discourse. Here be berries for a queen,
Peri. Did you not tell me once Some be red, some be green;
I should not love alone, I should not lose These are of that luscious meat
Those many passions, vows, and holy oaths, The great god Pan himself doth eat :
I've sent to heaven? Did you not give your hand, All these, and what the woods can yield,
Even that fair hand, in hostage? Do not then The hanging mountain or the field,
Give back again those sweets to other men I freely offer, and ere long
You yourself vowed were mine. Will bring you more, more sweet and strong;
Amo. Shepherd, so far as maiden's modesty Till when, humbly leave I take,
May give assurance, I am once more thine. Lest the great Pan do awake,
Once more I give my hand; be ever free That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
From that great foe to faith, foul jealousy. Under a broad beech's shade.
Peri. I take it as my best good; and desire,
For stronger confirmation of our love,
Fear examples, and be wise : To meet this happy night in that fair grove,
Fair Calisto was a nun: Where all true shepherds have rewarded been
Leda, sailing on the stream,
To deceive the hopes of man,
Doted on a silver swan;
Danae in a brazen tower,
Where no love was, loved a shower.
Hear ye, ladies that are coy,
What the mighty Love can do ; To draw you thither was to plight our troths,
Fear the fierceness of the boy ; With interchange of mutual chaste embraces,
The chaste moon he makes to woo; And ceremonious tying of ourselves.
Vesta, kindling holy fires, For to that holy wood is consecrate
Circled round about with spies, A Virtuous Well, about whose flowery banks
Never dreaming loose desires, The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds
Doting at the altar dies; By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes
Ilion, in a short hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire.
To Sleep.- From the same.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, In hope of coming happiness : by this
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose Fresh fountain many a blushing maid
On this afflicted prince : fall like a cloud Hath crowned the head of her long-loved shepherd
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud With gaudy flowers, whilst he happy sung
Or painful to his slumbers ; easy, sweet (light?), Lays of his love and dear captivity.
And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Act I. sc. 3.
Pass by his troubled senses, sing his pain
Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain. The lyrical pieces scattered throughout Beau
Into this prince, gently, oh, gently slide, mont and Fletcher's plays are generally in the And kiss him into slumbers like a bride! same graceful and fanciful style as the poetry of the Faithful Shepherdess. Some are here subjoined:
Song to Pan, at the Conclusion of the Faithful
All ye woods, and trees, and bowers,
All ye virtues and ye powers
That inhabit in the lakes,
In the pleasant springs or brakes,
Move your feet
To our sound,
Whilst we greet
All this ground,
With his honour and his name
That defends our flocks from blame.
He is great, and he is just,
He is ever good, and must
Thus be honoured. Daffodilies,
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies,
Let us fling,
Whilst we sing,
Ever honoured, ever young!
Thus great Pan is ever sung.
Take, O take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, though sealed in vain.
Hide, O hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are yet of those that April wears ;
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
He knocked his chin against his darkened breast, GEORGE CHAPMAN.
And struck a churlish silence through his powers.
Terror of darkness! O thou king of flames ! GEORGE CHAPMAN, the translator of Homer, That with thy music-footed horse dost strike wrote early and copiously for the stage. His first The clear light out of crystal on dark earth;
And hurl'st instinctive fire about the world : play, the Blind Beggar of Alexandria, was printed in 1598, the same year that witnessed Ben Jonson's
Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted night first and masterly dramatic effort. Previous to
That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy riddle.
Or thou, great prince of shades, where never sun this, Chapman had translated part of the Iliad;
Sticks his far-darted beams; whose eyes are made and his lofty fourteen-syllable rhyme, with such
To see in darkness, and see ever best lines as the following, would seem to have Where sense is blindest : open now the heart promised a great tragic poet :
Of thy abashed oracle, that, for fear
Of some ill it includes, would fain lie hid : From his bright helm and shield did burn a most And rise thou with it in thy greater light.
unwearied fire, Like rich Autumnus' golden lamp, whose brightness In the same play are the following lines :
men admire, Past all the other host of stars, when with his cheerful
False Greatness. face, Fresh washed in lofty ocean waves, he doth the sky
As cedars beaten with continual storms, enchase.
So great men flourish; and do imitate
Unskilful statuaries, who suppose, The beauty of Chapman's compound Homeric In forming a Colossus, if they make him epithets, as far-shooting Phæbus, the ever-living
Straddle enough, strut, and look big, and gape,
Their work is goodly: so men merely great, gods, the many-headed hill, silver-footed Thetis,
In their affected gravity of voice, the triple-feathered helm, the fair-haired boy,
Sourness of countenance, manners' cruelty, high-walled Thebes, the strong-winged lance,
Authority, wealth, and all the spawn of fortune, &c. bear the impress of a poetical imagination, Think they bear all the kingdom's worth before them; chaste yet luxuriant. But however spirited and Yet differ not from those colossic statues, lofty as a translator, Chapman proved but a heavy Which, with heroic forms without o'erspread, and cumbrous dramatic writer. He continued to Within are nought but mortar, flint, and lead. supply the theatre with tragedies and comedies up to 1620, or later; yet of the sixteen that have The life of Chapman was a scene of content descended to us, not one possesses the creative and prosperity. He was born at Hitching Hill, and vivifying power of dramatic genius. In didac- in Hertfordshire, in 1557 ; was educated both at tic observation and description he is sometimes Oxford and Cambridge ; enjoyed the royal patronhappy, and hence he has been praised for possess- age of King James and Prince Henry, and the ing more thinking' than most of his contem- friendship of Spenser, Jonson, and Shakspeare. poraries of the buskined muse. His judgment, He was temperate and pious, and, according to however, vanished in action, for his plots are Oldys, “preserved in his conduct the true dignity unnatural, and his style was too hard and artificial of poetry, which he compared to the flower of the to admit' of any nice delineation of character. sun, that disdains to open its leaves to the eye His extravagances are also as bad as those of of a smoking taper.' The life of this venerable Marlowe, and are seldom relieved by poetic scholar and poet closed in 1634, at the ripe age thoughts or fancy. The best known plays of of seventy-seven. Chapman are Eastward Hoe-written in con- Chapman's Homer is a wonderful work, conjunction with Jonson and Marston-Bussy d'Am- sidering the time when it was produced, and the bois, Byron's Conspiracy, All Fools, and the continued spirit which is kept up. Chapman had Gentleman Usher. 'In a sonnet prefixed to All a vast field to traverse, and though he trod it hurFools, addressed to Sir T. Walsingham, Chapman riedly and negligently, he preserved the fire and states that he was ‘marked by age for aims of freedom of his great original. Pope and Waller greater weight.' This play was printed in 1605. both praised his translation, and perhaps it is It contains the following fanciful lines :
now more frequently in the hands of scholars
and poetical students than the more polished and I tell thee love is Nature's second sun,
musical version of Pope. Chapman's translaCausing a spring of virtues where he shines : And as without the sun, the world's great eye,
tions consist of the Iliad (which he dedicated to All colours, beauties both of art and nature,
Prince Henry), the Odyssey (dedicated to the Are given in vain to men ; so, without love,
royal favourite, Carr, Earl of Somerset), and the All beauties bred in women are in vain,
Georgics of Hesiod, which he inscribed to Lord All virtues bred in men lie buried;
Bacon. A version of Hero and Leander, left unFor love informs them as the sun doth colours.
finished by Marlowe, was completed by Chapman,
and published in 1606. In Bussy d'Ambois is the following invocation to a Spirit of Intelligence, which has been highly lauded by Charles Lamb:
THOMAS DEKKER appears to have been an I long to know How my dear mistress fares, and be informed
industrious author, and Collier gives the names What hand she now holds on the troubled blood
of above twenty plays which he produced, either Of her incensed lord. Methought the spirit,
wholly or in part. He was connected with Jonson When he had uttered his perplexed presage,
in writing for the Lord Admiral's theatre, conThrew his changed countnance headlong into clouds: ducted by Henslowe; but Ben and he became His forehead bent, as he would hide his face : bitter enemies; and the former, in his Poetaster,
performed in 1601, has satirised Dekker under She, crowned with reverend praises, passed by them; the character of Crispinus, representing himself I, though with face masked, could not 'scape the hem; as Horace! Jonson's charges against his adver
For, as if heaven had set strange marks on such, sary are ‘his arrogancy and impudence in com
Because they should be pointing-stocks to man, mending his own things, and for his translating.'
Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan, The origin of the quarrel does not appear, but in
Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown,
Yet she's betrayed by some trick of her own. an apologetic dialogue added to the Poetaster, Jonson says:
The picture of a lady seen by her lover : Whether of malice, or of ignorance,
My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, Or itch to have me their adversary, I know not, The dimple on her cheek : and such sweet skill Or all these mixed; but sure I am, three years Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown, They did provoke me with their petulant styles These lips look fresh and lively as her own; On every stage.
Seeming to move and speak. Alas! now I see
The reason why fond women love to buy Dekker replied by another drama, Satiromastix,
Adulterate complexion : here 'tis read; or the Untrussing the Humorous Poet, in which False colours last after the true be dead. Jonson appears as Horace junior. There is more Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, raillery and abuse in Dekker's answer than wit Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, or poetry, but it was well received by the play- Of all the music set upon her tongue, going public. Jonson had complained that his Of all that was past woman's excellence, lines were often maliciously misconstrued and In her white bosom ; look, a painted board misapplied, complacently remarking:
Circumscribes all! Earth can no bliss afford;
Nothing of her but this! This cannot speak;
It has no lap for me to rest upon;
No lip worth tasting. Here the worms will feed, Dekker replies happily to this querulous display
As in her coffin. Hence, then, idle art, of egotism:
True love's best pictured in a true love's heart.
Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead, Horace! to stand within the shot of galling tongues
So that thou livest twice, twice art buried.
Thou figure of my friend, lie there !
Picture of Court-life.- From Old Fortunalus.' That some would shake the head, though saints should sing:
For still in all the regions I have seen, Some snakes must hiss, because they 're born with I scorned to crowd among the muddy throng stings.
Of the rank multitude, whose thickened breath Be not you grieved
Like to condensed fogs-do choke that beauty, If that which you mould fair, upright, and smooth,
Which else would dwell in every kingdom's cheek. Be screwed awry, made crooked, lame, and vile, No; I still boldly stept into their courts : By racking comments.
For there to live 'tis rare, O 'tis divine ! So to be bit it rankles not, for Innocence
There shall you see faces angelical ; May with a feather brush off the foul wrong.
There shall you see troops of chaste goddesses, But when your dastard wit will strike at men
Whose starlike eyes have power--might they still In corners, and in riddles fold the vices
shineOf your best friends, you must not take to heart To make night day, and day more crystalline. If they take off all gilding from their pills,
Near these you shall behold great heroes, And only offer you the bitter core.
White-headed councillors, and jovial spirits,
Standing like fiery cherubim to guard Dekker's Fortunatus, or the Wishing-cap, and The monarch, who in godlike glory sits the Honest Whore, are his best. The latter was In midst of these, as if this deity a great favourite with Hazlitt, who says it unites
Had with a look created a new world, 'the simplicity of prose with the graces of poetry.”
The standers-by being the fair workmanship: The poetic diction of Dekker is choice and elegant, And. Oh, how my soul is rapt to a third'heaven! but he often wanders into absurdity. Passages
I'll travel sure, and live with none but kings. like the following would do honour to any drama
Amp. But tell me, father, have you in all courts tist. Of Patience :
Beheld such glory, so majestical,
In all perfection, no way blemished ? Patience ! why, 'tis the soul of peace :
Fort. In some courts shall you see Ambition Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven :
Sit, piecing Dædalus's old waxen wings; It makes men look like gods. The best of men
But being clapt on, and they about to fly, That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer,
Even when their hopes are busied in the clouds, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
They melt against the sun of Majesty, The first true gentleman that ever breathed.
And down they tumble to destruction.
By travel, boys, I have seen all these things. The contrast between female honour and shame : Fantastic Compliment stalks up and down,
Trickt in outlandish feathers; all his words, Nothing did make me, when I loved them best,
His looks, his oaths, are all ridiculous,
All apish, childish, and Italianate.
Dekker is supposed to have died about the year And I to all a raven : every eye.
1641. His life seems to have been spent in irreguThat followed her, went with a bashful glance : At me each bold and jeering countenance
larity and poverty. According to Oldys, he was Darted forth scorn: to her, as if she had been
three years in the King's Bench prison.' In one Some tower unvanquished, would they all vail :
of his own beautiful lines, he says: 'Gainst me swoln Rumour hoisted every sail ;
We ne'er are angels till our passions die.