Garden and orchard, lawns and flowery meads,

(Where the amorous wind plays with the golden heads
Of wanton cowslips, daisies in their prime,
Sun-loving marigolds; the blossom'd thyme,
The blue-vein'd violets and the damask rose;
The stately lily, Mistress of all those);
Are allow'd and giv'n, by Oberon's free areed,
Pasture for me, and all my swarms to feed.1

[Ch. i.]

of these pretty little winged creatures are with continued liveliness portrayed throughout the whole of this curious old Drama, in words which Bees would talk with, could they talk; the very air seems replete with humming and buzzing melodies, while we read them. Surely Bees were never so be-rhymed before.

THE REWARDS OF VIRTUE. A COMEDY. BY JOHN FOUNTAIN. PRINTED 1661

Success in Battle not always attributable to the General.

Generals ofttimes 2 famous grow

By valiant friends, or cowardly enemies;

Or, what is worse, by some mean piece of chance.
Truth is, 'tis pretty to observe

How little Princes and great Generals

Contribute oftentimes to the fame they win.

How oft hath it been found, that noblest minds

With two short arms, have fought with fatal stars ;
And have endeavour'd with their dearest blood

To mollify those diamonds, where dwell

The fate of kingdoms; and at last have faln

By vulgar hands, unable now to do

More for their cause than die; and have been lost
Among the sacrifices of their swords;

3

No more remember'd than poor villagers,
Whose ashes sleep among the common flowers,
That every meadow wears: whilst other men
With trembling hands have caught a victory,
And on pale foreheads wear triumphant bays.*
Besides, I have thought

1[See page 451 for further extracts.]
"["Among" should be "beneath."]

2["Ofttimes" should be "only."] [Four words omitted.]

A thousand times; in times of war, when we
Lift up our hands to heaven for victory;
Suppose some virgin Shepherdess, whose soul
Is chaste and clean as the cold spring, where she
Quenches all thirsts, being told of enemies,
That seek to fright the long-enjoyed Peace
Of our Arcadia hence with sound of drums,
And with hoarse trumpets' warlike airs to drown
The harmless music of her oaten reeds,
Should in the passion of her troubled sprite
Repair to some small fane (such as the Gods
Hear poor folks from), and there on humble knees.
Lift up her trembling hands to holy Pan,
And beg his helps: 'tis possible to think,

That Heav'n, which holds the purest vows most rich,
May not permit her still to weep in vain,

But grant her wish, (for, would the Gods not 1 hear
The prayers of poor folks, they'd ne'er bid them pray);
And so, in the next action, happeneth out
(The Gods still using means) the Enemy
May be defeated. The glory of all this
Is attributed to the General,

And none but he's spoke loud of for the act;
While she, from whose so unaffected tears
His laurel sprung, for ever dwells unknown.2

Unlawful Solicitings.

When I first

Mention'd the business to her all alone,
Poor Soul, she blush'd, as if already she
Had done some harm by hearing of me speak;
Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran
So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks;
As if she thought herself obliged to cry,
'Cause all the world was not so good as she.

1["Not" should be "ne'er."]

[Act i., Sc. 1.3]

[Act i., Sc. 1.]

Is it possible that Cowper might have remembered this sentiment in his description of the advantages which the world, that scorns him, may derive from the noiseless hours of the contemplative man?

Perhaps she owes

Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring

And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes,

When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint

Walks forth to meditate at eventide,

And think on her, who thinks not on herself.-Task. [Bk. vi., 948.

[Edition of 1661.]

Proportion in Pity.

There must be some proportion still to pity
Between ourselves and what we moan: 'tis hard
For Men to be aught sensible how Moats
Press Flies to death. Should the Lion, in
His midnight walks for prey, hear some poor worms
Complain for want of little drops of dew,
What pity could that generous creature have
(Who never wanted small things) for those poor
Ambitions? yet these are their concernments,
And but for want of these they pine and die.

Modesty a bar to preferment.

Sure 'twas his modesty. He might have thriven
Much better possibly, had his ambition

[Act iii., p. 46.]

Been greater much. They ofttimes take more pains
Who look for Pins, than those who find out Stars.

Innocence vindicated at last.

Heav'n may awhile correct the virtuous;
Yet it will wipe their eyes again, and make
Their faces whiter with their tears. Innocence
Conceal'd is the Stoln Pleasure of the Gods,
Which never ends in shame, as that of Men

Doth ofttimes do; but like the Sun breaks forth,
When it hath gratified another world;
And to our unexpecting eyes appears
More glorious thro' its late obscurity.

Dying for a Beloved Person.

[Act iii., p. 51.]

There is a gust in Death, when 'tis for Love,
That's more than all that's taste in all the world.
For the true measure of true Love is Death;
And what falls short of this, was never Love :
And therefore when those tides do meet and strive,
And both swell high, but Love is higher still,
This is the truest satisfaction of

The perfectest Love: for here it sees itself
Indure the highest test; and then it feels

The sum of delectation, since it now

Attains its perfect end; and shows its object,

[Act v., p. 88.]

1[The preceding lines really follow those that here succeed them.]

By one intense act, all its verity:

Which by a thousand and ten thousand words

It would have took a poor diluted pleasure
To have imperfectly express'd.

[Act iv., p. 75.]

Urania makes a mock assignation with the King, and substitutes the Queen in her place. The King describes the supposed meeting to the Confident, whom he had employed to solicit for his guilty passion.

Pyrrhus, I'll tell thee all. When now the night
Grew black enough to hide a skulking action;
And Heav'n had ne'er an eye unshut to see
Her Representative on Earth creep 'mongst
Those poor defenceless worms, whom Nature left
An humble prey to every thing, and no
Asylum but the dark; I softly stole
To yonder grotto thro' the upper walks,
And there found my Urania. But I found her,
I found her, Pyrrhus, not a Mistress, but
A Goddess rather; which made me now to be
No more her Lover, but Idolater.

She only whisper'd to me, as she promised,
Yet never heard I any voice so loud;

And, tho' her words were gentler far than those
That holy priests do speak to dying Saints,
Yet never thunder signified so much.

And (what did more impress whate'er she said)
Methought her whispers were my injured Queen's,
Her manner just like hers! and when she urged,
Among a thousand things, the injury

I did the faithful'st Princess in the world;
Who now supposed me sick, and was perchance
Upon her knees offering up holy vows

For him who mock'd both Heav'n and her, and was
Now breaking of that vow he made her, when
With sacrifice he call'd the Gods to witness:

When she urged this, and wept, and spake so like
My poor deluded Queen, Pyrrhus, I trembled ;
Almost persuaded that it was her angel
Spake thro' Urania's lips, who for her sake
Took care of me, as something she much loved.
It would be long to tell thee all she said,
How oft she sigh'd, how bitterly she wept :

TWO TRAGEDIES IN ONE. BY ROBERT YARRINGTON, WHO WROTE IN THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH. [TWO LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIES, PUBLISHED 1601]

Truth, the Chorus, to the Spectators.

All you, the sad Spectators of this Act,
Whose hearts do taste a feeling pensiveness
Of this unheard-of savage massacre :
Oh be far off to harbour such a thought,
As this audacious murderer put in act!
I see your sorrows flow up to the brim,
And overflow your cheeks with brinish tears:
But though this sight bring surfeit to the eye,
Delight your ears with pleasing harmony,
That ears may countercheck your eyes, and say,
Why shed you tears? this deed is but a Play."

"1

[Act ii., Sc. 6.2]

Murderer to his Sister, about to stow away the trunk of the body, having severed it from the limbs.

Hark, Rachel! I will cross the water strait,

And fling this middle mention of a Man
Into some ditch.

[Act iii., Sc. 1.]

It is curious, that this old Play comprises the distinct action of two Atrocities; the one a vulgar murder, committed in our own Thames Street, with the names and incidents truly and historically set down; the other a Murder in high life, supposed to be acting at the same time in Italy, the scenes alternating between that country and England: the Story of the latter is mutatis mutandis no other than that of our own "Babes in the Wood," transferred to Italy, from delicacy no doubt to some of the family of the rich Wicked Uncle, who might yet be living. The treatment of the two differs as the romance-like narratives in "God's Revenge against Murder," in which the Actors of the Murders (with the trifling exception that they were Murderers) are represented as most accomplished and every way amiable young Gentlefolks of either sex-as much as that differs from the honest unglossing pages of the homely Newgate Ordinary.

1 The whole theory of the reason of our delight in Tragic Representations, which has cost so many elaborate chapters of Criticism, is condensed in these four last lines: Aristotle quintessentialised.

2[Old Plays, ed. Bullen, 1885.]