Quicken my powers, harden'd and dull to good, Which, yet unmov'd, hear tell of brother's blood. Achm. While these six eunuchs to this charge appointed.

;

Whose hearts had never used their hands to pity,
Whose hands, now only trembled to do murder,
With reverence and fear stood still amazed
Loath to cut off such worth, afraid to save it;
Mustapha, with thoughts resolved and united,
Bids them fulfil their charge, and look no further.
Their hearts afraid to let their hands be doing,
The cord, that hateful instrument of murder,
They lifting up let fall, and falling lift it:
Each sought to help, and helping hinder'd other;
Till Mustapha, in haste to be an angel,

With heavenly smiles, and quiet words, foreshows
The joy and peace of those souls where he goes.
His last words were: "O father, now forgive me ;
Forgive them too that wrought my overthrow:
Let my grave never minister offences.

For, since my father coveteth my death,
Behold, with joy, I offer him my breath."
The eunuchs roar: Solyman his rage is glutted:
His thoughts divine of vengeance for this murder:
Rumour flies up and down: the people murmur :
Sorrow gives laws, before men know the truth;
Fear prophesieth aloud, and threatens ruth.

ROSTEN describes to ACHMAT the popular fury which followed upon the execution of MUSTAPHA.

ROSTEN. ACHMAT.

Ros. When Mustapha was by the eunuchs strangled,
Forthwith his camp grew doubtful of his absence:
The guard of Solyman himself did murmur :
People began to search their prince's counsels :
Fury gave laws: the laws of duty vanish'd:
Kind fear of him they lov'd, self-fear had banish'd.

The headlong spirits were the heads that guided :
He that most disobeyed, was most obeyed :
Fury so suddenly became united,

As while her forces nourished confusion,
Confusion seem'd with discipline delighted.
Towards Solyman they run and as the waters,
That meet with banks of snow, makes snow grow

water,

So, even those guards, that stood to interrupt them,
Give easy passage, and pass on amongst them.
Solyman, who saw this storm of mischief coming,
Thinks absence his best argument unto them :
Retires himself, and sends me to demand,
What they demanded, or what meant their coming?
I speak they cried for Mustapha and Achmat.
Some bid away, some kill, some save, some hearken.
Those that cried, save, were those that sought to
kill me ;

Who cried, hark, were those that first brake silence :
They held that bade me go. Humility was guilty;
Words were reproach; silence in me was scornful;
They answer'd ere they ask'd; assur'd and doubted.
I fled; their fury followed to destroy me;

Fury made haste; haste multiplied their fury; Each would do all ; none would give place to other; The hindmost strake; and while the foremost lifted Their arms to strike, each weapon hinder'd other : Their running let their strokes, strokes let their running.

Desire, mortal enemy to desire,

Made them that sought my life, give life unto me.

[These two tragedies of Lord Brooke might with more propriety have been termed political treatises than plays. Their author has strangely contrived to make passion, character and interest, of the highest order subservient to the expression of state dogmas and mysteries. He is nine parts Machiavel and Tacitus, for one part Sophocles or Seneca. In this writer's estimate of the faculties of his own mind, the understanding must

have held a most tyrannical pre-eminence. Whether we look into his plays, or his most passionate love-poems, we shall find all frozen and made rigid with intellect. The finest movements of the human heart, the utmost grandeur of which the soul is capable, are essentially comprised in the actions and speeches of Calica and Camena. Shakspeare, who seems to have had a peculiar delight in contemplating womanly perfection, whom for his many sweet images of female excellence all women are in an especial manner bound to love, has not raised the ideal of the female character higher than Lord Brooke in these two women has done. But it requires a study equivalent to the learning of a new language to understand their meaning when they speak. It is indeed hard to hit :

Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day

Or seven though one should musing sit.

It is as if a being of pure intellect should take upon him to express the emotions of our sensitive natures. There would be all knowledge, but sympathetic expression would be wanting.]

SAPHO AND PHAO, A COMEDY:
BY JOHN LYLY, M.A., 1584.

PHAO, a poor ferryman, praises his condition; he ferries over VENUS, who inflames SAPHO and him with a mutual passion.

Phao. Thou art a ferryman, Phao, yet, a freeman; possessing for riches content, and for honours quiet. Thy thoughts are no higher than thy fortunes, nor thy desires greater than thy calling. Who climbeth, standeth on grass, and falleth on thorn. Thy heart's thirst is satisfied with thy hand's thrift, and thy gentle labours in the day, turn to sweet slumbers in the night. As much doth it delight thee to rule thine oar in a calm stream, as it doth Sapho to sway the sceptre in her brave court. Envy never casteth her eye low, ambition pointeth always upward, and revenge barketh only at stars. Thou farest delicately, if thou have a fare to buy anything. Thine

angle is ready, when thy oar is idle; and as sweet is the fish which thou gettest in the river, as the fowl which others buy in the market. Thou needest not fear poison in thy glass, nor treason in thy guard. The wind is thy greatest enemy, whose might is withstood with policy. O sweet life, seldom found under a golden covert, often under a thatched cottage. But here cometh one, I will withdraw myself aside, it may be a passenger.

VENUS, PHAO; she as a mortal.

Ven. Pretty youth, do you keep the ferry that bendeth to Syracusa ?

Phao. The ferry, fair lady, that bendeth to Syracusa. Ven. I fear, if the water should begin to swell, thou wilt want cunning to guide.

Phao. These waters are commonly as the passengers be; and therefore carrying one so fair in show, there is no cause to fear a rough sea.

Ven. To pass the time in thy boat, canst thou devise any pastime ?

Phao. If the wind be with me, I can angle, or tell tales; if against me, it will be pleasure for you to see me take pains.

Ven. I like not fishing; yet was I born of the sea. Phao. But he may bless fishing, that caught such an

one in the sea.

Ven. It was not with an angle, my boy, but with a net. Phao. So was it said, that Vulcan caught Mars with Venus.

Ven. Didst thou hear so? it was some tale.

Phao. Yea, madam, and that in the boat I did mean to make my tale.

Ven. It is not for a ferryman to talk of the gods' loves; but to tell how thy father could dig, and thy mother spin. But come, let us away.

Phao. I am ready to wait.

SAPHO, sleepless for love of PHAO, who loves her as much, consults with him about some medicinal herb; she, a great Lady; he, the poor Ferryman, but now promoted to be her Gardener.

Sapho. What herbs have you brought, Phao?

Phao. Such as will make you sleep, madam, though they cannot make me slumber.

Sapho. Why, how can you cure me, when you cannot remedy yourself?

Phao. Yes, madam, the causes are contrary: for it is only a dryness in your brains, that keepeth you from rest. But

Sapho. But what?

Phao. Nothing,-but mine is not so.

Sapho. Nay, then I despair of help, if our disease be not all one.

Phao. I would our diseases were all one!

Sapho. It goes hard with the patient, when the physician is desperate.

Phao. Yet Medea made the ever-waking dragon to snort, when she poor soul could not wink

Sapho. Medea was in love, and nothing could cause her rest but Jason.

Phao. Indeed I know no herb to make lovers sleep, but heart's ease; which because it groweth so high, I cannot reach for

Sapho. For whom?

Phao. For such as love.

Sapho. It stoopeth very low, and I can never stoop to it, that

Phao. That what?

Sapho. That I may gather it: but why do you sigh so, Phao ?

Phao. It is mine use, madam.

Sapho. It will do you harm, and me too; for I never hear one sigh, but I must sigh also.

Phao. It were best then that your ladyship give me leave to be gone; for I can but sigh.