Puslapio vaizdai

SCENE V. Wrong and Infolence.

Now breathless wrong
Shak fit and pant in your great chairs of eale ;
And purly infolence shall break his wind
With fear and horrid flight.


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ACT 1.



LT thou draw near the nature of the


Draw near them then in being merciful ; Sweet Mercy is nobility's trae badge.


Thanks, to 'men
Of noble minds, is honourable meed.

SCINE IV. An Invitation to Love (2) The birds chaunt melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the chearful sun,

(1) Wilt, &c.] Sce vol. I. p. 69. n. 11. This, as Mr, Whalley, has observed, is directly the sense and words of a passage in one of Cicero's finest orations : Homines ad Deos nulla re propius acceduni, quam salutem Hominibus dando, Orat. pro legar, fub. fin. See Enquiry into the learning of Shakespear, p. 64. (2) The Birds, &c.]

Nobilis æftivas platanus, &c.
A plain diffus'd its bow'ring verdure wide
With trembling pines, which to the Zephyrs figh'd :
Laurels with berries crown'd, the boughs inwove,
And the soft cypress ever whisp'ring love :
Midst these a brook in winding murmurs ftray'd,
Chiding the pebbles over which it play'd,
'Twas love's Elysium, Petron Arb. by Addison junior;


The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind,
And make a chequer'd fhadow on the ground:
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us fit,
And whilft the babling echo mocks the hounds,
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
As if a double hunt were heard at once,
Let us fit down and mark their yelling noise :
And after conflict, such as was supposid
The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy form they were surpriz’d,
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave ;
We may each wreathed in the others arms,
(Our paftime done) poffefs a golden Aumber
Whilft hounds and horns, and sweet melodious birds
Be unto us, as is a nurse's fong
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep.

SCENE V. Vale, a dark and melancholy one


(3) A barren and detested vale, you fee, it is.
The trees, tho' fummer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with moss, and baleful misfelto.
Here never Ihines the sun : Here nothing breeds

(3) Barren, &c.]

Non bæc autumno tellus viret, aut alit berbas,
Cespite lætus ager: non verno perfona cantu
Mollia discordi Arepitu virgulta loquuntur :
Scd chaos & nigro Squallentia pumice saxa

Gaudent ferali circum tumulata cuprelua
No autumn here, e'er cloaths herself with green,
Nor joyful føring the languid herbage cheers ;
Nor feather'à warblers chant their pleasing strains,
In vernal concert to the rustling boughs :
But chaos reigns, and ragged rocks around,
With nought but baleful cypress are adorn'd.
Petron. Arbit: translated by Baker,


Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven,
And when they fhew'd me this abhorred pit,
They told

me, here at dead time of the night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hisling snakes,
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
Would make such fearful and confused cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,
Should (trait fall mad, or else die suddenly.

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Scene VII. A Ring, in a dark Pit,
(4) Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole :
Which, like a taper in some monument,
Doch shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,
And thews the ragged entrails of this pit.

Young Lady playing on the Lute, and singing.

Fair Philomela, she but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind.
But, lovely neice, that mean is cut from thee ;
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut th ofe pretty fingers off,
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
Oh, had the monster seen those lilly hands
Tremble, like Aspen-leaves, upon a lute

(4) Upon, &c.]. We may suppose the light thrown into the pie by this ring ; something of that kind Milton Speaks of, in the first book of Paradise Loft,

A dungeon horrible op all fides round,
As one great furnace Aama : yet from these flames
No light, but rather darkness visible

Serv'd only to discover fights of woe, &c. P. 61.

The seat of defolation void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames,
Casts pale and dreadful,-

P. 181.


And make the filken strings delight to kiss them ;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life.
(5) Or had he heard the heav'nly harmony,
Which that sweet tongue hath made :
He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poets feet.

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A Lady's Tongue cut out.
0, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that


hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet various notes, inchanting every ear !

(5) Or, &c.] This puts me in mind of that most excellent pas. fage in Milton's Comus, where upon the lady's finging, Camus obferves,

Can any mortal mixture of earths mould
Breathe such divine inchanting ravishment ?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify his hidden residence :
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of filence, thro' the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness, till it (mil'd! I have oft heard
My mother Circe, with the Sirens three
Amidst the flow'ry-kirtled Naiades
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs,
Who as they fung, wou'd take the prison'd foul
And lap it in Elysium: Sylla wept
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charibdis murmur'd soft applause :
Yet they in pleasing number lull'd the sense
And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself.
But such a sacred and home-felt Delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I never heard till now

A Per

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