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Colax. Sir, we strive

To please you, but you still misconstrue us.

Dysc. I must be pleas'd, a very babe, an infant!
I must be pleas'd, give me some pap, or plums,
Buy me a rattle, or a hobby-horse,

To still me, do! be pleas'd; wouldst have me get
A parasite to be flatter'd?

Colax. How, a parasite?

A cogging, flattering, slavish parasite?
Things I abhor and hate. "Tis not the belly
Shall make my brains a captive. Flatterers!
Souls below reason will not stoop so low
As to give up their liberty; only flatterers
Move by another's wheel. They have no passions
Free to themselves. All their affections,

Qualities, humours, appetites, desires,

Nay wishes, vows and prayers, discourse and thoughts,
Are but another's bondman. Let me tug

At the Turks' gallies; be eternally

Damn'd to a quarry: in this state, my mind
Is free: a flatterer has not soul nor body;
What shall I say?--No, I applaud your temper,
That in a generous braveness, take distaste

At such whose servile nature strives to please you.
"Tis royal in you, sir.

Dysc. Ha! what's that?

Colax. A feather stuck upon your cloak.
Dyc. A feather!

And what have you to do with my feathers?
Why should you hinder me from telling the world
I do not lie on flock-beds?

Colax. Pray be pleas'd.

I brush'd it off for mere respect I bare to you.
Dysc. Respect, a fine respect, sir, is it not,
To make the world believe I nourish vermin?
O death, death, death, if that our graves
Without rogues to torment us, let 'em have
What teeth they will."

hatch worms

We have next the extremes of Fortitude," which steer an even course between over-much daring, and over-much fearing," represented by Aphobus and Deilius.

"Deil. Is it possible, did you not fear it, say you?

To me the mere relation is an ague.

Good Aphobus, no more such terrible stories;

I would not for a world lie alone to night:
I shall have such strange dreams.

Apho. What can there be

That I should fear?-The gods? if they be good,
"Tis sin to fear them; if not good, no gods;
And then let them fear me. Or are they devils
That must affright me?

Deil. Devils! where, good Aphobus?

I thought there was some conjuring abroad,
'Tis such a terrible wind! O, here it is;
Now it is here again! O still, still, still.
Apho. What's the matter?

Deil. Still it follows me!

The thing in black, behind; soon as the sun

But shines, it haunts me! Gentle spirit, leave me;
Cannot you lay him, Aphobus? what an ugly look it has,
With eyes as big as saucers, nostrils wider

Than barbers' basons!

Apho. "Tis nothing, Deilus,

But your weak fancy, that from every object
Draws arguments of fear. This terrible black thing—

Deil. Where is it, Aphobus?

Apho. Is but your shadow, Deilus.

Deil. And should we not fear shadows?

Apho. No, why should we?

Deil. Who knows but they come leering after us To steal away the substance; watch him, Aphobus. Apho. I nothing fear.

Colax. I do commend your valour,

That fixes your great soul fast as a center,

Not to be mov'd with dangers; let slight cock-boats
Be shaken with a wave, while you stand firm

Like an undaunted rock, whose constant hardness
Rebeats the fury of the raging sea,

Dashing it into froth. Base fear doth argue

A low degenerate soul.

Deil. Now I fear every thing.

Colax. "Tis your discretion. Every thing has danger,

And therefore every thing is to be fear'd;

I do applaud this wisdom: 'tis a symptom

Of wary providence. His too confident rashness
Argues a stupid ignorance in the soul,

A blind and senseless judgement: give me fear
To man the fort, 'tis such a circumspect

VOL. VI. PART I.

G

And wary sentinel.

But daring valor,

Uncapable of danger, sleeps securely,

And leaves an open entrance to his enemies.

Deil. What, are they landed?
Apho. Who?

Deil. The enemies

That Colax talks of.

Apho. If they be, I care not;

Though they be giants all, and arm'd with thunder.
Deil. Why, do you not fear thunder?

Apho. Thunder! no;

No more than squibs and crackers.

Deil. Squibs and crackers,

I hope there be none here! s'lid, squibs and crackers!
The mere epitomes of the gun-powder treason;
Faux in a lesser volume.

Apho. Let fools gaze

At bearded stars, it is all one to me

As if they had been shav'd-thus, thus would I
Out-beard a meteor, for I might as well
Name it a prodigy when my candle blazes.

Deil. Is there a comet, say you? Nay, I saw it,
It reach'd from Paul's to Charing, and portends
Some certain eminent danger to the inhabitants
"Twixt those two places: I'll go get a lodging
Out of its influence.

Colax. Will that serve?-I fear

It threatens general ruin to the kingdom.
Deil. I'll to some other country.

Colax. There's danger to cross the seas.
Deil. Is there no way, good Colax,

To cross the sea by land? O the situation,

The horrible situation of an island!

Colax. You, sir,. are far above such frivolous thoughts.

You fear not death.

Apho. Not I.

Colax. Not sudden death.

Apho. No more than sudden sleep: Sir, I dare die.

Deil. I dare not; death to me is terrible :

I will not die.

Apho. How can you, Sir, prevent it?
Deil. Why, I will kill myself.

Colax. A valiant course,

And the right way to prevent death, indeed.

Your spirit is true Roman!-But your's greater
That fears not death, nor yet the manner of it."

Of the characters equidistant from Temperance, the Epicure and the Anchorite, we can afford to give but one, which is only inferior, if at all, to the Sir Epicure Mammon of Randolph's father-in-poetry," Old Ben."

"O now for an eternity of eating!

Fool was he that wish'd but a crane's short neck;
Give me one, Nature, long as is a cable,
Or sounding-line, and all the way a palate
To taste my meat the longer. I would have
My senses fast together; Nature envied us
In giving single pleasures; let me have
My ears, eyes, palate, nose, and touch, at once
Enjoy their happiness; lay me in a bed
Made of a summer's cloud; to my embraces
Give me a Venus, hardly yet fifteen,

Fresh, plump, and active; she that Mars enjoy'd
Is grown too stale: and then, at the same instant
My touch is pleas'd, I would delight my sight
With pictures of Diana and her nymphs,
Naked and bathing, drawn by some Apelles;
By them some of our fairest virgins stand,
That I may see whether 'tis art or nature
Which heightens most my blood and appetite.
Nor cease I here. Give me the seven orbs
To charm my ears with their celestial lutes,
To which the angels that do move those spheres
Shall sing some amorous ditty; nor yet here
Fix I my bounds; the sun himself shall fire
The phoenix's nest to make me a perfume,
While I do eat the bird, and eternally
Quaff off eternal nectar. These, single, are
But torments; but together, O together!
Each is a paradise. Having got such objects
To please the senses, give me senses too
Fit to receive those objects: give me therefore
An eagle's eye, a blood-hound's curious smell,
A stag's quick hearing; let my feeling be
As subtle as the spider's, and my taste
Sharp as a squirrel's: then I'll read the Alcoran,
And what delights that promises in future,
I'll practise in the present."

Colax still continues through the play to prove each party in the right. He thus answers the Epicure.

"It shows you a man of soft moving clay,
Not made of flint; Nature has been bountiful
To provide pleasures, and shall we be niggards
At plenteous boards? He's a discourteous guest
That will observe a diet at a feast.

When Nature thought the earth alone too little
To find us meat, and therefore stor❜d the air
With winged creatures, not contented yet,
She made the water fruitful to delight us.
Nay, I believe the other element, too,

Doth nurse some curious dainty for man's food;
If we would use the skill to catch the Salamander :
Did she do this to have us eat with temperance?
Or when she gave so many different odours
Of spices, unguents, and all sorts of flowers,
She cry'd not-stop your noses: would she give us
So sweet a quire of wing'd musicians

To have us deaf? or when she plac'd us here,
Here in a paradise, where such pleasing prospects,
So many ravishing colours, entice the eye,
Was it to have us wink? when she bestow'd
So powerful faces, such commanding beauties,
On many glorious nymphs, was it to say,
Be chaste and continent? Not to enjoy

All pleasures, and at full, were to make Nature
Guilty of that she ne'er was guilty of,—

A vanity in her works."

We shall quote next the extremes of Meekness. The quarrelsome Orgilus, and the patient Aorgus.

"Org. Persuade me not, he has awak'd a fury
That carries steel about him, dags and pistols!
To bite his thumb at me!

Aor. Why should not any man

Bite his own thumb?

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Org. At me! wear I a sword

To see men bite their thumbs-Rapiers and daggers-
He is the son of a whore.

Aor. That hurts not you.

Had he bit your's, it had been some pretence
T' have mov'd his anger; he may bite his own
And eat it too.

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