as his sons Ampedo and Andelocia are talking of him; and tells his Travels. Fort. Touch me not, boys, I am nothing but air; let none speak to me till you have marked me well.'-Am I as you are, or am I transformed? And. Methinks, father, you look as you did, only your face is more withered. Fort. Boys, be proud; your father hath the whole world in this compass. I am all felicity, up to the brims. In a minute am I come from Babylon; I have been this half hour in Famagosta. And. How! in a minute, father? I see travellers must lie. Fort. I have cut through the air like a falcon. I would have it seem strange to you. But 'tis true. I would not have you believe it neither. But 'tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you brought me to Cyprus. I'll leave you more gold, and go to visit more countries Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your blood, And strews her snowy flowers upon your head, And gives you warning that within few years Death needs must marry you: those short lines, minutes, In peace, not travel; rest in Cyprus then. Could you survey ten worlds, yet you must die; And. Faith, father, what pleasure have you met by walking your stations? Fort. What pleasure, boy? I have revelled with Kings, danced with Queens, dallied with Ladies; worn strange attires; seen Fantasticoes; conversed with Humourists; been ravished with divine raptures of Doric, Lydian and Phrygian harmonies; I have spent the day in triumphs and the night in banqueting. And. O, rare! this was heavenly. He that would not be an Arabian Phoenix to burn in these sweet fires, let him live like an owl for the world to wonder at. Amp. Why, brother, are not all these Vanities? Fort. Vanities! Ampedo, thy soul is made of lead, too dull, too ponderous, to mount up to the incomprehensible glory that Travel lifts men to. And. Sweeten mine ears, good father, with some more. Fort. When in the warmth of mine own country's arms We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small horizon Imprison'd up my body, then mine eyes Worship'd these clouds as brightest: but, my boys, [Lamb has omitted the Shadow's part in this conversation.] appear The glistering beams which do abroad I scorn'd to crowd among the muddy throng There shall you see troops of chaste Goddesses, Whose star-like eyes have power (might they still shine) Had with a look created a new world, The standers by being the fair workmanship. And. O, how my soul is rapt to a Third Heaven! I'll travel sure, and live with none but Kings. Amp. But tell me, father, have you in all Courts Beheld such glory, so majestical, In all perfection, no way blemished? Fort. In some Courts shall you see Ambition Sit, piecing Dedalus' old waxen wings; But being clapt on, and they about to fly, [Act ii., Sc. 2.] Orleans to his friend Galloway defends the passion with which (being a prisoner in the English king's Court) he is enamoured to frenzy of the king's daughter Agripyna. ORLEANS. GALLOWAY. Orl. This music makes me but more out of tune. O Agripyna! Gall. Gentle friend, no more. Thou sayest Love is a madness: hate it then, Even for the name's sake. Orl. O, I love that Madness, Even for the name's sake. Gall. Let me tame this frenzy, By telling thee thou art a prisoner here, Orl. If he do, why so do I. Gall. Love is ambitious and loves Majesty. Orl. Dear friend, thou art deceived: Love's voice doth sing As sweetly in a beggar as a king. Gall. Dear friend, thou art deceiv'd: O bid thy soul Lift up her intellectual eyes to heaven, And in this ample book of wonders read, Of what celestial mould, what sacred essence, Her self is form'd: the search whereof will drive And in sweet tune set that which none inherits. Gall. O call this madness in: see, from the windows Is like a dart shot from the hand of Scorn, Orl. Ha, ha, I laugh at them are they not mad, My love was ever and is still forgot: forgot, forgot, forgot. Gall. Draw back this stream: why should my Orleans mourn? Nay, good friend, stare upon it, mark it well: Ere he be two hours elder, all that glory Is banish'd heaven, and then, for grief, this sky To enforce Care laugh, and Woe not shed a tear! Gall. Dear friend, forbear; Beauty (like Sorrow) dwelleth everywhere. As fair as her's shineth in any place. Orl. Thou art a Traitor to that White and Red, 1 Are not enamour'd of thee: thou didst never Thy fairness is not like to Agripyne's, But thy face looks most lovely in the grave. [Act iii., Sc. 1.] The humour of a frantic Lover is here done to the life. Orleans is as passionate an Inamorato as any which Shakspeare ever drew. He is just such another adept in Love's reasons. The sober people of the world are with him He talks "pure Biron and Romeo," he is almost as poetical as they, quite as philosophical, only a little madder. After all, Love's Sectaries are a reason unto themselves." We have gone retrograde in the noble Heresy since the days when Sidney proselyted our nation to this mixed health and disease; the kindliest symptom yet the most alarming crisis in the ticklish state of youth; the nourisher and the destroyer of hopeful wits; the mother of twin-births, wisdom and folly, valour ⚫ and weakness; the servitude above freedom; the gentle mind's religion; the liberal superstition. [Mr. Swinburne suggests "disdain." Nineteenth Century, Jan., 1887.] THE HONEST WHORE. A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1604]. BY THOMAS DECKER [PART I.] Hospital for Lunatics. There are of mad men, as there are of tame, That, spite of sorrow, they will make you smile. Patience. Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace: [Act v., Sc. 2.1] [Act. v., Sc. 2.] THE SECOND PART OF THE HONEST WHORE [EARLIEST EXTANT EDITION 1630]. BY THOMAS DECKER Bellafront, a reclaimed harlot, recounts some of the miseries of her profession. Like an ill husband, though I knew the same 1 [Mermaid Series, Decker, edited Rhys.] "[Not divided into Acts.] |