Though it be never lost; and if our watchfulness That comes to steal our goods, things all without us, The nerves of confidence; he that hides treasure, When 'tis a thing least minded; nay, let him change There will the fear keep still. Yonder's the storehouse Of all my comfort now-and, see, it sends forth HIPPOLITA enters. A dear one to me. Precious chief of women! How does the good old soul? has he fed well? Hip. Beshrew me, sir, he made the heartiest meal to Much good may 't do his health. Cle. A blessing on thee, Both for thy news and wish. Hip. His stomach, sir, Is better'd wond'rously, since his concealment. [day, Cle. Heav'n has a blessed work in 't. Come, we 're safe here. I prithee, call him forth, the air is much wholesomer. Hip. Father. LEONIDES Comes forth. Leon. How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman! It is so seldom heard, that, when it speaks, It ravishes all senses. Lists of honour ! Cle. I hope to see you often, and return And lose not one in thousands, they're dispers'd I find them, as angels are found, by legions. Ha! A Horn is heard. Leon. What was 't disturb'd my joy? Cle. Did you not hear, As afar off? Hip. What, my excellent consort? Cle. Nor you Hip. I heard a Cle. Hark again Leon. Bless my joy, What ails it on a sudden? Cle. Now since- -lately Leon. 'Tis nothing but a symptom of thy care, man. Cle. Alas! you do not hear well. Leon. What was 't, daughter? Hip. I heard a sound, twice. Cle. Hark! louder and nearer. In, for the precious good of virtue, quick, sir. [LEONIDES goes in. Hip. Now let them come, and spare not. ingly. Hip. "Tis he, but what of that? alas ! take heed, sir ; Your care will overthrow us. Cle. Come, it shall not. Let's set a pleasant face upon our fears, Though our hearts shake with horror. Ha! ha! ha! Duke. Hark! Cle. Prithee, proceed; I'm taken with these light things infinitely, Since the old man's decease.-Ha! ha! ha! Duke. Why, how should I believe this? Look, he's merry, As if he had no such charge. One with that care And 'tis the same still; with no difference, Court. Aye, he may laugh, my lord; That shews but how he glories in his cunning; Duke. If a contempt can be so neatly carried, Cleanthes Cle. My lov'd lord Duke. Not mov'd a whit! Constant to lightning still! -'tis strange to meet you Upon a ground so unfrequented, sir: This does not fit your passion; you are for mirth, Cle. But finding it Grow to a noted imperfection in me Duke. It seems then you take pleasure in these walks, sir? Cle. Contemplative content I do, my lord: They bring into my mind oft meditations So sweetly precious, that in the parting I find a shower of grace upon my cheeks, Duke. So, sir Cle. Which is a kind of grave delight, my lord. Duke. And I've small cause, Cleanthes, to afford you The least delight that has a name. Cle. My lord Duke. In your excess of joy you have express'd Your rancour and contempt against my law: Your smiles deserve fining; you have profess'd Which might be death, a little more incensed. But all that's known to be contentful to thee, 1st Court. Now, now, his colour ebbs and flows. 2nd Court. Mark hers too. [now? Hip. Oh! who shall bring food to the poor old man Speak somewhat, good sir, or we are lost for ever. [Apart to CLEANTHES. Cle. Oh! you did wondrous ill to call me again. [Apart to HIPPOLITA. 1st Court. You have struck them dumb, my lord. 2nd Court. Look how guilt looks! Cle. He is safe still, is he not? Hip. Oh! you do ill to doubt it. Cle. Thou art all goodness. } Apart. 2nd Court. Now does your grace believe? Duke. 'Tis too apparent. Search, make a speedy search; for the imposture Cle. Ha! [my lord, 2nd Court. He has the lapwing's cunning, I'm afraid, That cries most when she is farthest from the nest. Cle. Oh! we are betrayed. [There is an exquisiteness of moral sensibility, making one to gush out tears of delight, and a poetical strangeness in all the improbable circumstances of this wild play, which are unlike any thing in the dramas which Massinger wrote alone. The pathos is of a subtler edge. Middleton and Rowley, who assisted in this play, had both of them finer geniuses than their associate.] THE TRAGEDY OF PHILIP CHABOT, BY GEORGE CHAPMAN, AND JAMES SHIRLEY. The ADMIRAL is accused of treason, a criminal process is instituted against him, and his faithful servant ALLEGRE is put on the rack to make him discover: his innocence is at length established by the confession of his enemies; but the disgrace of having been suspected for a traitor by his royal Master, sinks so deep into him, that he falls into a mortal sickness. ADMIRAL. ALLEGRE, supported between two. Adm. Welcome my injured servant: what a misery Have they made on theę! Al. Though some change appear Upon my body, whose severe affliction Hath brought it thus to be sustain'd by others, My heart is still the same in faith to you, Not broken with their rage. Adm. Alas poor man. Were all my joys essential, and so mighty, More grief, than all my imagination Could let before into me. Didst not curse me Al. Good my lord, let not The thought of what I suffer'd dwell upon Your memory; they could not punish more For you and justice: but there's something in VOL. II. F |