Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes, Had busied many hours to perfect practice: To end the controversy, in a rapture Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly, So many voluntaries, and so quick, That there was curiosity and cunning, Concord in discord, lines of differing method The bird (ordained to be Music's first martyr) strove to imitate These several sounds: which when her warbling throat Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness, To see the conqueror upon her hearse To weep a funeral elegy of tears. He looks upon the trophies of his art, Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed, and cried, This cruelty upon the author of it. Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood, Shall never more betray a harmless peace To an untimely end:" and in that sorrow, I suddenly stepped in. 95. JOHN WEBSTER. Fl. 1623. (Manual, p. 163.) FROM THE DUCHESS Of Malfy. The Duchess's marriage with Antonio being discovered, her brother Ferdinand shuts her up in a prison, and torments her with various trials of studied cruelty. By his command, Bosola, the instrument of his devices, shows her the bodies of her husband and children counterfeited in wax, as dead. Bos. He doth present you this sad spectacle, Duch. There is not between heaven and earth one wish Bos. Than were 't my picture fashioned out of wax, In some foul dunghill; and 'yond's an excellent property What's that? Duch. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk, Leave this vain sorrow. Things being at the worst begin to mend. When he hath shot his sting into your hand, Duch. Good comfortable fellow, Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel I account this world a tedious theatre, For I do play a part in't 'gainst my will. Bos. Come, be of comfort; I will save your life. Duch. Indeed I have not leisure to attend Duch. And those three smiling seasons of the year To its first chaos. Plagues (that make lanes through largest families) Let them like tyrants Ne'er be remembered but for the ill they've done! Churchmen forget them! Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs, To punish them! go, howl them this; and say, I long to bleed: It is some mercy when men kill with speed. 1 Her brothers. 96. JAMES SHIRLEY. 1594-1666. (Manual, p. 164.) FROM THE LADY OF PLEASURE. Sir Thomas Bornewell expostulates with his Lady on her extravagance and love of pleasure. BORNEWELL. ARETINA, his lady. Are. I am angry with myself; To be so miserably restrained in things, Bor. In what, Aretina, Dost thou accuse me? have I not obeyed All thy desires, against mine, own opinion; Quitted the country, and removed the hope Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship We lived in: changed a calm and retired life For this wild town, composed of noise and charge? Are. What charge, more than is necessary For a lady of my birth and education? Bor. I am not ignorant how much nobility Are. Bor. Are. Flows in your blood, your kinsmen great and powerful Of being my wife; I shall be studious, Madam, to give the dignity of your birth All the best ornaments which become my fortune; And be the fable of the town, to teach Am I then Though you weigh Me in a partial scale, my heart is honest; Fourscore pound suppers for my lord your kinsman, More motley than the French, or the Venetian, Must pester every narrow lane, till passengers For hindering of their market. Have you done, sir. Bor. I could accuse the gaiety of your wardrobe, And prodigal embroideries, under which, Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare Not show their own complexions; your jewels, Able to burn out the spectators' eyes, And show like bonfires on you by the tapers: Are. Your homily of thrift. Bor. Pray, do. I like I could wish, madam, A gamester, too! Are. Are. Are. Bor. Are. Into more costly sin; there was a play on it; Some darks had been discovered; and the deeds too; In time he may repent, and make some blush, To see the second part danced on the stage. Your lecture? Have you concluded I have done, and howsoever No other than my fair and just intent To your delights, without curb to their modest I'll not be so tedious In my reply, but, without art or elegance, Assure you I keep still my first opinion; Authorize me, I take it great injustice To have my pleasures circumscribed and taught me. |