Luc. O was it you? come then. O stay awhile. I know not where I am, nor what I am; Nor you, nor these I know, nor any thing. THE GENTLEMAN OF VENICE: A TRAGI-COMEDY. BY JAMES SHIRLEY, 1665. GIOVANNI, of noble extraction, but brought up a Gardener, and ignorant of any greater birth, loves BELLAURA, a Princess; and is beloved again. BELLAURA. GIOVANNI. Bell. How now, Giovanni; What, with a sword! You were not used to appear Thus arm'd. Your weapon is a spade, I take it. Gio. It did become my late profession, Madam; But I am changed Bell. Not to a soldier? Gio. It is a title, Madam, will much grace me; Bell. You have? Gio. O 'tis a brave profession and rewards A name within their registry, that bring The wealth, the harvest, home of well-bought honour. Bell. Yet I can see Through all this revolution, Giovanni, "Tis something else has wrought this violent change. Gio. You may be angry, Madam, and chide it as a saucy pride Bell. I may therefore justly suspect there is Which I dare not in my obedience Obscure, since you will call it forth; and yet Bell. It would ill Become my breeding, Giovanni- Know, Madam, I am in love. Bell. In love with whom? Gio. With one I dare not name, she is so much Above my birth and fortunes. Bell. I commend Your flight. But does she know it? Gio. I durst never Appear with so much boldness to discover My heart's so great ambition; it is here still A strange and busy guest. Bell. And you think absence May cure this wound Gio. Or death Bell. I may presume You think she 's fair Gio. I dare as soon question your beauty, Madam, The only ornament and star of Venice, Pardon the bold comparison; yet there is Something in you, resembles my great Mistress. She blushes-(aside). Such very beams disperseth her bright eye, But when she frowns, and changes from her sweet THE DEVIL'S LAW CASE: A TRAGI-COMEDY. BY JOHN WEBSTER, 1623. Clergy-comfort. I must talk to you, like a Divine, of patience.- Of their own slightest injuries, but stark mad Sepulture. Two Bellmen, a Capuchin; ROMELIO, and others. Cap. For pity's sake, you that have tears to shed, Sigh a soft requiem, and let fall a bead, For two unfortunate Nobles*, whose sad fate *Slain in a duel. [that? Shall ever grow upon it: what do these Rom. Very well then I have a certain meditation, (If I can think of,) somewhat to this purpose ;— I'll say it to you, while my mother there Numbers her beads. "You that dwell near these graves and vaults, Note what a small room does suffice To remove you to a place more airy, Of sacrilege have turn'd graves to viler uses. Here rest these bones to the Last Day; When Time, swift both of foot and feather, May bear them the Sexton knows not whither ?- * Webster was parish clerk at St. Andrew's, Holborn. The Immature Death. Contarino's dead. O that he should die so soon! Why, I pray, tell me : Is not the shortest fever best? and are not Guilty Preferment. I have a plot, shall breed, Out of the death of these two noblemen; O take heed! A grave is a rotten foundation. Mischiefs are like the visits of Franciscan friars, They never come to prey upon us single. Last Love strongest. as we love our youngest children best, Since 'tis indeed our latest harvest home, Mother's Anger. Leonora. Ha, my Son! I'll be a fury to him; like an Amazon lady, Distraction from Guilt. Leonora (sola). Ha, ha! What say you? anxious recurrence to church matters; sacrilege; tomb-stones; with the frequent introduction of dirges; in this, and his other tragedies, may be traced to his professional sympathies. |