And perfumes that exceed all: train of servants, Aret. Have you done, sir? Born. 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 spectator's eyes, And show like bonfires on you by the tapers. Something might here be spared, with safety of Your birth and honour, since the truest wealth Shines from the soul, and draws up just admirers. I could urge something more. Aret. Pray do; I like Your homily of thrift. Born. I could wish, madam, You would not game so much. Aret. A gamester too? Born. But are not come to that repentance yet Should teach you skill enough to raise your profit; You look not through the subtlety of cards And mysteries of dice, nor can you save Charge with the box, buy petticoats and pearls; Nor do I wish you should. My poorest servant Shall not upbraid my tables, nor his hire, Purchas'd beneath my honour. You may play, Not a pastime, but a tyranny, and vex Yourself and my estate by 't. Aret. Good-proceed. Born. Another game you have, which consumes more Into more costly sin. There was a play on 't, Some darks had been discover'd, and the deeds too; Aret. Have you concluded Your lecture? Born. I have done; and howsoever My language may appear to you, it carries In the Ball,' a comedy partly by Chapman, but chiefly by Shirley, a coxcomb (Bostock), crazed on the point of family, is shown up in the most admirable manner. Sir Marmaduke Travers, by way of fooling him, tells him that he is rivalled in his suit of a particular lady by Sir Ambrose Lamount. Mar. He thinks he has good cards for her, and likes His game well. Bos. Be an understanding knight, And take my meaning; if he cannot show Mar. I do not know how rich he is in fields, Bos. Is he a branch of the nobility? Mar. You will not kill him? Bos. You shall pardon me ; I have that within me must not be provok'd; Mar. Some living that have been kill'd? Bos. I mean some living that have seen examples, Not to confront nobility; and I Am sensible of my honour. Mar. His name is Sir Ambrose. Bos. Lamount; a knight of yesterday, And he shall die to-morrow; name another. To kick any footman; an Sir Ambrose were Enter SIR AMBROSE LAMOUNT. Mar. Unluckily he's here, sir. How does thy knighthood? ha! Amb. My nymph of honour, well; I joy to see thee. Bos. Sir Marmaduke tells me thou art suitor to Lady Lucina. Amb. I have ambition To be her servant. Bos. Hast thou'rt a brave knight, and I commend Thy judgment. Amb. Sir Marmaduke himself leans that way too. Bos. Why didst conceal it? Come, the more the merrier. But I could never see you there. Sir, we may live. Bos. I'll tell you, gentlemen, Cupid has given us all one livery; I serve that lady too; you understand me? Amb. That would be no addition to Bos. I think it would not; so my lord told me ; Mar. You did but jest before. Of your heroic blood should fall to th' ground: There was a long cessation of the regular drama. In 1642, the nation was convulsed with the elements of discord, and in the same month that the sword was drawn, the theatres were closed. On the 2d of September, the Long Parliament issued an ordinance, 'suppressing public stage plays throughout the kingdom during these calamitous times.' An infraction of this ordinance took place in 1644, when some players were apprehended for performing Beaumont and Fletcher's King and no King'-an ominous title for a drama at that period. Another ordinance was issued in 1647, and a third in the following year, when the House of Commons appointed a provost marshall, for the purpose of suppressing plays and seizing ballad singers. Parties of strolling actors occasionally performed in the country; but there was no regular theatrical performances in London, till Davenant brought out his opera, the Siege of Rhodes, in the year 1656. Two years afterwards, he removed to the Cockpit Theatre, Drury Lane, where he performed until the eve of the Restoration. A strong partiality for the drama existed in the nation, which all the storms of the civil war, and the zeal of the Puritans, had not been able to crush or subdue. MISCELLANEOUS PIECES OF THE PERIOD 1558-1649. [Convivial Song, by Bishop Still.] [From the play of Gammer Gurton's Needle,' about 1565.] I cannot eat but little meat, My stomach is not good; But sure I think that I can drink I stuff my skin so full within Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But, belly, God send thee good ale enough, I love no roast but a nut-brown toast, And little bread shall do me stead; No frost, no snow, no wind, I trow, Can hurt me if I wold, I am so wrapp'd, and thoroughly lapp'd, Back and side, &c. And Tib, my wife, that as her life Loveth well good ale to seek, And saith, 'Sweetheart, I took my part Back and side, &c. Now let them drink till they nod and wink, Good ale doth bring men to. And all poor souls that have scour'd bowls, Or have thein lustily troul'd, God save the lives of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old. Back and side, &c. No princely port, nor wealthy store, No shape to win a loving eye; And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as are aloft, Mishap doth threaten most of all; I laugh not at another's loss, And conscience clear my chief defence; I never seek by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence; Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all do so as well as I! Song. [From the same.] What pleasure have great princes And Fortune's fate not fearing, Their dealings plain and rightful, On favourite presumptuous, All day their flocks each tendeth, His ship into the East, For lawyers and their pleading "From the Poor Widow's Mite.' By William Hunnis: 1585.] Thou, God, that rul'st and reign'st in light, Thou, God, that know'st the thoughts of men Thou, God, whom neither tongue of man Nor angel can express; Thou, God, it is that I do seek, Thy seat, O God, is everywhere, Thou art the power and wisdom too, But I a lump of sinful flesh, The thrall of sin and shame : And heal my misery. One depth, good Lord, another craves; For saving health in time. Sweet Christ, grant that thy depth of grace The maid, with whom he fell in love, as much as one might be. Unhappy youth! what should he do? his saint was kept in mew, Nor he, nor any noble man admitted to her view. At length the high controller, Love, whom none may disobey, Imbased him from lordliness unto a kitchen drudge, That so, at least, of life or death she might become his judge. Access so had to see, and speak, he did his love bewray, And tells his birth: her answer was, she husbandless would stay. Meanwhile, the king did beat his brains, his booty to achieve, Not caring what became of her, so he by her might thrive: At last his resolution was, some peasant should her wive. And, which was working to his wish, he did observe with joy How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, scapt many an amorous toy. The king, perceiving such his vein, promotes his vassal still, Lest that the baseness of the man should let, perhaps, his will. Assured therefore of his love, but not suspecting who The lover was, the king himself in his behalf did woo. The lady, resolute from love, unkindly takes that he Should bar the noble, and unto so base a match agree; And therefore, shifting out of doors, departed thence by stealth, Preferring poverty before a dangerous life in wealth. When Curan heard of her escape, the anguish in his heart Was more than much; and after her from court he did depart : Forgetful of himself, his birth, his country, friends, and all, And only minding whom he mist-the foundress of his thrall! Nor means he after to frequent, or court, or stately towns, So wasting, love, by work and want, grew almost to the And whilst his pieba. 1 cur did sleep, and sheep-hook lay him by, On hollow quills of paten straw he piped melody. But when he spied her, his saint, he wip'd his greasy shoes, And clear'd the drivel from his beard, and thus the shepherd woos: 'I have, sweet wench, a piece of cheese, as good as tooth may chaw, And bread, and wildings, souling well;' and therewithal did draw His lardry; and, in eating, 'See yon crumpled ewe,' quoth he, 'Did twin this fall; faith thou art too elvish, and too coy; Am I, I pray thee, beggarly, that such a flock enjoy? [wis I am not; yet that thou dost hold me in disdain Is brim abroad, and made a gibe to all that keep this plain. There be as quaint, at least that think themselves as quaint, that crave The match which thou (I wot not why) may'st, but mislik'st to have. How would'st thou match? (for well I wot, thou art a female); I, I know not her, that willingly, in maidenhood would die. The ploughman's labour hath no end, and he a churl will prove; The craftsman hath more work in hand than fitteth on to love; The merchant, trafficking abroad, suspects his wife at home; A youth will play the wanton, and an old man prove The coat of beauty. Credit me, thy latter speech bewrays Thy clownish shape, a coined show. But wherefore dost thou weep?' (The shepherd wept, and she was woe, and both did silence keep.) 'In troth,' quoth he, 'I am not such as seeming I profess; But then for her, and now for thee, I from myself digress. Her loved I, wretch that I am, a recreant to be; I loved her, that hated love; but now I die for thee. At Kirkland is my father's court, and Curan is my name; In Edell's court sometimes in pomp, till love controll'd But the same: now; what now? dear heart! how now? what ailest thou to weep?' (The damsel wept, and he was woe, and both did silence keep.) 'I grant,' quoth she, it was too much, that you did love so much; But whom your former could not move, your second love doth touch. Thy twice beloved Agentile submitteth her to thee: And for thy double love presents herself a single fee; In passion, not in person chang'd, and I, my lord, am she.' They sweetly surfeiting in joy, and silent for a space, Whereas the ecstacy had end, did tenderly embrace; And for their wedding, and their wish, got fitting time and place. Sonnet. [By George Chapman, the Translator of Homer: 1595.] Muses, that sing Love's sensual empirie, And lovers kindling your enraged fires At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye, Blown with the empty breath of vain desires; You, that prefer the painted cabinet Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye, That all your joys in dying figures set, And stain the living substance of your glory; Abjure those joys, abhor their memory; And let my love the honour'd subject be Of love and honour's complete history! Your eyes were never yet let in to see The majesty and riches of the mind, That dwell in darkness; for your god is blind. The Woodman's Walk. [From England's Helicon,' 1600, where it is signed, 'Shep. Tonie.'] Through a fair forest as I went, I met a woodman, quaint and gent, I marvell'd much at his disguise, But thus, in terms both grave and wise, Friend! muse not at this fond array, But list a while to me: Long liv'd I in this forest fair, My first day's walk was to the court, For falsehood sat in fairest looks, Court favour fill'd but empty rooks, Desert went naked in the cold, When crouching craft was fed : Sweet words were cheaply bought and sold, But none that stood in stead. Wit was employed for each man's own; All these devices, seen and known, Unto the city next I went, In hope of better hap; Where liberally I launcht and spent, The little stock I had in store, Methought would ne'er be done ; Friends flock'd about me more and more, As quickly lost as won. For, when I spent, then they were kind; And no degree, among them all, And pray'd for their amending. Back to the woods I got again, There city, court, nor country too, There live I quietly alone, And none to trip my talk: Wherefore, when I am dead and gone, Think on the woodman's walk! There is a Garden in her Face. [From 'An Hour's Recreation in Music,' by Rich. Alison: 1606] There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; Those cherries fairly do inclose Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow: |