one he is come to fetch him home to supper, and now he may carry him home to his grave. Enter the HosT, OLD FOREST, and SUSAN, his daughter. Host. You must take comfort, Sir. For. Is he dead, is he dead, girl? For. Alas, alas, my boy! I have not the heart To look upon his wide and gaping wounds. Pray tell me, Sir, does this appear to you A stranger to my dead boy? Host. How can it otherwise? For. O me most wretched of all wretched men ! If to a stranger his warm bleeding wounds How will they seem to me that am his father? For. Dost long to have me blind? Then I'll behold them, since I know thy mind. Is this my son that doth so senseless lie, And swims in blood? my soul shall fly with his Being kill'd with grief, we both may have one grave. With age and sorrow. Host. Mr. Forest- What's a clock, For. What says my girl? good morrow. For. Cannot, why? Sus. Do you not see his bloodless colour pale? For. Perhaps he's sickly, that he looks so pale. Sus. Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep, How still he lies? For. Then is he fast asleep. Sus. Do you not see his fatal eye-lid close? For. Oh me! my murder'd son! Y. For. Sister! Enter young MR. FOREST. Sus. O brother, brother! Y. For. Father, how cheer you, Sir? why, you were wont To store for others comfort, that by sorrow Were any ways distress'd. Have you all wasted, And spared none to yourself? 0. For. O Son, Son, Son, See, alas, see where thy brother lies. He dined with me to-day, was merry, merry, Dost thou not weep for him? Y. For. I shall find time; Oh see, When you have took some comfort, I'll begin From mortal breast ran such a precious river. Y. For. Come, father, and dear sister, join with me; [Act i., Sc. 1.1] If I were to be consulted as to a Reprint of our Old English Dramatists, I should advise to begin with the collected Plays of Heywood. He was a fellow Actor, and fellow Dramatist, with Shakspeare. He possessed not the imagination of the latter; but in all those qualities which gained for Shakspeare the attribute of gentle, he was not inferior to him. Generosity, courtesy, temperance in the depths of passion; sweetness, in a word, and gentleness; Christianism; and true hearty Anglicism of feelings, shaping that Christianism; shine throughout his beautiful writings in a manner more conspicuous than in those of Shakspeare, but only more conspicuous, inasmuch as in Heywood these qualities are primary, in the other subordinate to poetry. I love them both equally, but Shakspeare has most of my wonder. Heywood should be known to his countrymen, as he deserves. His plots are almost invariably English. I am sometimes jealous, that Shakspeare laid so few of his scenes at home. I laud Ben Jonson, for that in one instance having framed the first draught of his Every Man in his Humour in Italy, he changed the scene, and Anglicised his characters. The names of them in the First Edition, may not be unamusing. How say you, Reader? Do not Master Kitely, Mistress Kitely, Master Knowell, Brainworn, etc. read better than these Cisalpines? THE GAME AT CHESS. A COMEDY. BY THOMAS MIDDLETON, 1624 Popish Priest to a great Court Lady, whom he hopes to make a Convert of. Let me contemplate; With holy wonder season my access, And by degrees approach the sanctuary Of unmatch'd beauty, set in grace and goodness. Doth promise single life, and meek obedience. Would look upon that cheek; and how delightful The first fear of a bride), to beat down frailty! [Act i., Sc. 1.1] THE VIRGIN WIDOW. A COMEDY, 1649. THE ONLY PRODUCTION, IN THAT KIND, OF FRANCIS QUARLES [1592-1644], AUTHOR OF THE EMBLEMS [1635] Song. How blest are they that waste their weary hours In solemn groves and solitary bowers, [Bullen's ed., vol. vii. For other extracts from Middleton see note to page 144.] Where neither eye nor ear Can see or hear The frantic mirth And false delights of frolic earth; Where they may sit, and pant, Where neither grief consumes, nor griping want Away false joys; ye murther where ye kiss : There is no heaven to that, no life to this. [Act iii., Sc. 1.11] ADRASTA. A TRAGI-COMEDY. BY JOHN JONES, 1635 When we were framed, the Fates consultedly Did make this law, that all things born should die. Yet Nature strove, And did deny We should be slaves To Destiny. At which, they heapt Such misery; That Nature's self Did wish to die: And thank their goodness, that they would foresee To end our cares with such a mild decree. [Quarles, ed. Grosart, 1881, vol. iii., see also Appendix, p. 585.] 2[See also "Facetiæ," page 561.] TANCRED AND GISMUND. ACTED [IN 1568] BEFORE THE COURT BY THE GENTLEMEN OF THE INNER TEMPLE. [PUBLISHED 1591: WRITTEN BY ROBERT WILMOT AND FOUR OTHERS] A Messenger brings to Gismund a cup from the King her Father, enclosing the heart of her Lord, whom she had espoused without his sanction. Mess. Thy father, O Queen, here in this cup hath sent The thing to joy and comfort thee withal, Which thou lovedst best: ev'n as thou wast content To comfort him with his best joy of all. Gis. I thank my father, and thee, gentle Squire; For this thy travail: take thou for thy pains * So, now is come the long-expected hour, Ah my dear heart, sweet wast thou in thy life. To send me this mine own dear heart to me. [The messenger here departs.] |