I'll pray you may have many. My soul flies

Above this vain world: good mother, close mine eyes. Queen. Never died so much sweetness in his years1.

THE BROTHERS: A COMEDY, BY JAMES SHIRLEY.

DON RAMIRES leaves his son FERNANDO with a heavy curse, and a threat of disinheriting, if he do not renounce FELISARDA, the poor niece of DON CARLOS, whom he courts, when by his father's command he should address JACINTA the daughter and rich heiress of CARLOS, his younger brother FRANCISCO's Mistress.

FERNANDO. FRANCISCO.
Fer. Why does not all the stock of thunder fall?

Or the fierce winds, from their close caves let loose,
Now shake me into atoms?

Fran. Fie, noble brother, what can so deject

Your masculine thoughts? is this done like Fernando,
Whose resolute soul so late was arm'd to fight
With all the miseries of man, and triumph

With patience of a martyr? I observed
My father late come from you.

Fer. Yes, Francisco:

He hath left his curse upon me.

Fran. How?

Fer. His curse: dost comprehend what that word carries, Shot from a father's angry breath? unless

I tear poor Felisarda from my heart,

He hath pronounced me heir to all his curses.

Does this fright thee, Francisco? Thou hast cause
To dance in soul for this: 'tis only I

Must lose, and mourn; thou shalt have all; I am
Degraded from my birth, while he affects
Thy forward youth, and only calls thee son,
Son of his active spirit, and applauds
Thy progress with Jacinta, in whose smiles
Thou mayst see all thy wishes waiting for thee;
Whilst poor Fernando for her sake must stand
An excommunicate from every blessing,

A thing that dare not give myself a name,

1 Mamillus in the Winter's Tale in this manner droops and dies from a conceit of his mother's dishonour.

But flung into the world's necessities,
Until in time, with wonder of my wants,
I turn a ragged statue, on whose forehead
Each clown may carve his motto.

DON RAMIRES is seized with a mortal sickness, but forbids FERNANDO to approach his chamber till he shall send for him, on pain of his dying

curse.

FERNANDO.

Fer. This turn is fatal, and affrights me; but

Heaven has more charity than to let him die
With such a hard heart; 'twere a sin, next his
Want of compassion, to suspect he can
Take his eternal flight, and leave Fernando
This desperate legacy; he will change the curse
Into some little prayer, I hope; and then-
Enter Servant and Physician.

Ser. Make haste, I beseech you, doctor.

Phy. Noble Fernando.

Fer. As you would have men think your art is meant
Not to abuse mankind, employ it all

To cure my poor sick father.

Phy. Fear it not, sir.

[Exeunt Physician and Servant.

Fer. But there is more than your thin skill required,
To state a health; your recipes, perplex'd

With tough names, are but mockeries and noise,
Without some dew from heaven, to mix and make them
Thrive in the application: what now?

Enter Servant.

Ser. O sir, I am sent for the confessor;

The doctor fears him much; your brother says

You must have patience, and not enter, sir;

Your father is a-going, good old man,

And, having made him heir, he's loath your presence

Should interrupt his journey.

[Exit.

Fer. Francisco may be honest, yet methinks
It would become his love to interpose
For my access, at such a needful hour,
And mediate for my blessing; not assist
Unkindly thus my banishment. I'll not
Be lost so tamely. Shall my father die,
And not Fernando take his leave ?- -I dare not.
"If thou dost hope I should take off this curse,

Do not approach until I send :" 'twas so;
And 'tis a law that binds above my blood.
Enter Confessor and Servant.

Make haste, good father, and if Heaven deny
Him life, let not his charity die too:

One curse may sink us both. Say how I kneel,
And beg he would bequeathe me but his blessing.
Then, though Francisco be his heir, I shall
Live happy, and take comfort in my tears,
When I remember him so kind a father.
Conf. It is your duty.
Fer. Do thy holy office.

Those fond philosophers that magnify
Our human nature, and did boast we had
Such a prerogative in our rational soul,
Conversed but little with the world, confined

To cells, and unfrequented woods, they knew not
The fierce vexation of community;

Else they had taught, our reason is our loss,
And but a privilege that exceedeth sense
By nearer apprehension of what wounds,
To know ourselves most miserable. My heart
Enter Physician and FRANCISCO.

Is teeming with new fears.-Ha! is he dead?
Phy. Not dead, but in a desperate condition;
And so that little breath remains we have
Remitted to this confessor, whose office
Is all that's left.

Fer. Is he not merciful to Fernando yet?
No talk of me?

Phy. I find he takes no pleasure

To hear you named: Francisco to us all
He did confirm his heir, with many blessings.
Fer. And not left one for me? O take me in,
Thou gentle earth, and let me creep through all
Thy dark and hollow crannies, till I find
Another way to come into the world;
For all the air I breathe in here is poison'd.
Fran. We must have patience, brother, it was no
Ambitious thought of mine to supplant you;
He may live yet, and you be reconciled.
Fer. That was some kindness yet, Francisco: but

[Exit.

I charge thee by the nearness of our blood,
When I am made this mockery and wonder,
I know not where to find out charity,
If unawares a chance direct my weary
And wither'd feet to some fair house of thine,
Where plenty with full blessings crowns thy table,
my thin face betray my want of food,

If

Do not despise me, 'cause I was thy brother.
Enter Confessor.

Fran. Leave these imagined horrors; I must not
Live when my brother is thus miserable.

Fer. There's something in that face looks comfortably.
Conf. Your father, sir, is dead.

His will to make

Francisco the sole master of his fortunes

Is now irrevocable: a small pension

He hath given you for life, which, with his blessing,
Is all the benefit I bring.

Fer. Ha! blessing! speak it again, good father.
Conf. I did apply some lenitives to soften

His anger, and prevail'd; your father hath
Reversed that heavy censure of his curse,

And in the place bequeathed his prayer and blessing. Fer. I am new-created by his charity.

Conf. Some ceremonies are behind: he did

Desire to be interr'd within our convent,

And left his sepulture to me; I am confident,
Your pieties will give me leave-

Fran. His will in all things I obey, and yours,
Most reverend father: order as you please
His body; we may after celebrate
With all due obsequies his funeral.

Fer. Why you alone obey? I am your brother:
My father's eldest son, though not his heir.
Fran. It pleased my father, sir, to think me worthy
Of such a title; you shall find me kind,
If you can look on matters without envy.
Fer. If I can look on matters without envy!
Fran. You may live here still.

Fer. I may live here, Francisco!

Enter a Gentleman with a letter.
Conditions! I would not understand
This dialect.

Fran. With me, from madam
Gent. If you be signor Francisco.
Fer. Slighted!-

I find my father was not dead till now.
Crowd not, you jealous thoughts, so thick into
My brain, lest you do tempt me to an act,
Will forfeit all again.

FERNANDO tells FELISARDA that his father is dead.
Fer. I have a story to deliver;

A tale, will make thee sad: but I must tell it.
There is one dead, that loved thee not.

Fel. One dead,

That loved not me? this carries, sir, in nature
No killing sound1: I shall be sad to know
I did deserve an enemy or he want

A charity at death.

Fer. Thy cruel enemy,

And my best friend, hath took eternal leave,
And's gone, to heaven, I hope: excuse my tears;
It is a tribute I must pay his memory;

For I did love my father.

Fel. Ha! your father!

Fer. Yes, Felisarda, he is gone, that in

The morning promised many years,

but death

Hath in a few hours made him as stiff, as all

The winds and winter had thrown cold upon him,
And whisper'd him to marble.

FRANCISCO offers to restore FERNANDO his birthright. FERNANDO dares not take it.

FRANCISCO.

Fran. What demands

Fernando ?

FERNANDO. DON CARLOS.

Fer. My inheritance, wrought from me

By thy sly creeping to supplant my birth,
And cheat our father's easy soul, unworthily
Betraying to his anger, for thy lust

Of wealth, the love and promise of two hearts.
Poor Felisarda and Fernando now

Wither at soul, and robb'd by thee of that

1 Like the reply of Manoah in Samson Agonistes: "Sad, but nɔt saddest, the desolation of a hostile city."