Pog. No, sir, I did not take you for so arrant a baby.

Berg. I am wiser than so: for I hope, Poggio, thou never heardst of an elder brother that was a coxcomb; didst, Poggio?

Pog. Never indeed, sir, as long as they had either land or money left them to inherit.

Berg. Is it possible, Poggio? Oh, monstrous! Why, I'll undertake, with a handful of silver, to buy a headful of wit at any time: but, sirrah, I have another purchase in hand; I shall have the wench, mine uncle says. I will but wash my face, and shift socks; and then have at her, i'faith.— Mark my pace, Poggio! [Passes over the Stage.

Pog. Sir, I have seen an ass and a mule trot the Spanish pavin' with a better grace, I know not how often. [Aside, and following him.

Ann. This idiot haunts me too.

Put. Ay, ay, he needs no description. The rich magnifico that is below with your father, charge, Signior Donado his uncle, for that he means to make this, his cousin, a golden calf, thinks that you will be a right Israelite, and fall down to him presently but I hope I have tutored you better. They say a fool's bauble is a lady's play-fellow; yet you, having wealth enough, you need not cast

The Spanish pavin.] "The Pavan, from Pavo, a peacock, is a grave and majestic dance; the method of performing it was anciently by gentlemen, dressed with a cap and sword; by those of the long robe, in their gowns; by princes, in their mantles; and · by ladies, in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof in the dance resembled that of a peacock's tail.”—Sir John Hawkins.

upon the dearth of flesh, at any rate. Hang him, innocent! *

GIOVANNI passes over the Siage.

Ann. But see, Putana, see! what blessed shape Of some celestial creature now appears!— What man is he, that with such sad aspect Walks careless of himself?

Put. Where?

Ann. Look below.

Put. Oh, 'tis your brother, sweet.

Ann. Ha!

Put. "Tis your brother.

Ann. Sure 'tis not he; this is some woeful thing

Wrapp'd up in grief, some shadow of a man.
Alas! he beats his breast, and wipes his eyes,
Drown'd all in tears: methinks I hear him sigh;
Let's down, Putana, and partake the cause.
I know my brother, in the love he bears me,
Will not deny me partage in his sadness:
My soul is full of heaviness and fear.

[Aside, and exit with PUT.

2 Innocent.] A natural fool. Thus, in the Two Noble Kinsmen, A. iv. s. 4.

66

but this very day

I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me
So far from what she was, so childishly,

So sillily, as if she were a fool,

An innocent; and I was very angry."—Reed.

SCENE III.

A Hall in FLORIO's House.

Gio. Lost! I am lost! my fates have doom'd my death:

The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope: I see my ruin certain.
What judgment or endeavours could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds,
I thoroughly have examined, but in vain.
O, that it were not in religion sin

To make our love a god, and worship it!

I have even wearied heaven with pray'rs, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starv'd
My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art
Could counsel, I have practised; but, alas!
I find all these but dreams, and old men's tales,
To fright unsteady youth; I am still the same:
Or I must speak, or burst. "Tis not, I know,
My lust, but 'tis my fate, that leads me on.'
Keep fear and low faint-hearted shame with
slaves!

I'll tell her that I love her, though my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.
Oh me! she comes.

3 This is a repetition of the sentiment with which he had taken leave of the Friar-My fate's my god. I would not detain the reader in these scenes, on which Ford has lavished all the charms of his eloquence; but it may be cursorily observed, that characters like Giovanni, desperately abandoned to vice, endeavour to cheat

Enter ANNABELLA and PUTANA.

Ann. Brother!

Giov. If such a thing

As courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers, Now double all that virtue in my tongue! [Aside. Ann. Why, brother,

Will you not speak to me?

Giov. Yes; how do you, sister?

Ann. Howe'er I am, methinks you are not well. Put. Bless us! why are you so sad, sir?

Giov. Let me entreat you, leave us a while, Putana.

Sister, I would be private with you.

Ann. Withdraw, Putana.

Put. I will.-If this were any other company for her, I should think my absence an office of some credit; but I will leave them together.

[Aside, and exit.

Giov. Come, sister, lend your hand; let's walk
together;

I hope you need not blush to walk with me;
Here's none but you and I.

Ann. How's this?

Giov. I'faith,

I mean no harm.

Ann. Harm?

their conscience, by setting up a deity of their own, and pretending to be swayed by his resistless influence. This is the last stage of human depravation, and, in Scripture language, is called “hardening the heart."-See Mass. vol. i. p. 217.

Giov. No, good faith.

How is it with thee?

Ann. I trust he be not frantic

[Aside.

I am very well, brother.

Giov. Trust me, but I am sick; I fear so sick,

"Twill cost my life.

Ann. Mercy forbid it! 'tis not so, I hope.

Giov. I think you love me, sister.

Ann. Yes, you know I do.

Giov. I know it, indeed-you are very fair. Ann. Nay, then I see you have a merry sick

ness.

Giov. That's as it proves. The poets feign, I read,

That Juno for her forehead did exceed

All other goddesses; but I durst swear

Your forehead exceeds her's, as her's did theirs. Ann. "Troth, this is pretty!

Giov. Such a pair of stars

As are thine eyes, would, like Promethean fire, If gently glanced, give life to senseless stones. Ann. Fie upon you!

Giov. The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange,

Upon your dimple cheeks do strive for change: Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as

those

Would make an anchorite lascivious.

Ann. Do you mock me, or flatter me?

Giov. If you would see a beauty more exact Than art can counterfeit, or nature frame,