Pal. We will observe it. Soph. Yes, and grace it too, sir, For Corax else is humorous and testy. Are. By any means; men singular in art, Have always some odd whimsey more than usual. Pal. The name of this conceit. Cor. Sir, it is called The Mask of Melancholy. Are. We must look for Nothing but sadness here, then. Cor. Madness rather In several changes. Melancholy is The root, as well of every apish phrensy, Laughter and mirth, as dulness. Pray, my lord, Hold, and observe the plot;-[Gives PAL. a paper]'tis there express'd In kind, what shall be now express'd in action.— Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, THAMASTA, and No interruption;-take your places quickly; Enter RHETIAS, his face whited, black shag hair, long nails; with a piece of raw meat. Rhe. Bow, bow! wow, wow! The moon's eclipsed; I'll to the church-yard and sup. Since I turn'd wolf, I bark, and howl, and dig up graves; I will never have the sun shine again: 'tis midnight, deep, dark midnight, get a prey, and fall to-I have catch'd thee now.-Arre! Cor. This kind is called Lycanthropia, sir; when men conceive themselves wolves. 1 Ford has here introduced one of those interludes in which the old stage so much delighted. The various characters of these "apish phrensies," as he calls them, he has taken from Burton's Melancholy; the book to which he refers in a former scene. He cannot be said to have improved what he has borrowed, which, on the contrary, reads better in Burton's pages than his own.-GIFFORD. Pal. Here I find it. [Looking at the paper. Enter PELIAS, with a crown of feathers, anticly rich. Pel. I will hang 'em all, and burn my wife. Was I not an emperor? my hand was kiss'd, and ladies lay down before me. In triumph did I ride with my nobles about me, till the mad dog bit me; I fell, and I fell, and I fell. It shall be treason by statute for any man to name water, or wash his hands, throughout all my dominions. Pal. Hydrophobia term you this? Cor. And men possess'd so, shun all sight of water; Sometimes, if mix'd with jealousy, it renders them Incurable, and oftentimes brings death. Enter a PHILOSOPHER in black rags, with a copper chain, an old gown half off, and a book. Phi. Philosophers dwell in the moon. Speculation and theory girdle the world about, like a wall. Ignorance, like an atheist, must be damn'd in the pit. I am very, very poor, and poverty is the physic for the soul; my opinions are pure and perfect. Envy is a monster, and I defy the beast. Cor. Delirium this is called, which is mere dotage, Sprung from ambition first, and singularity, Self-love, and blind opinion of true merit. Pal. I not dislike the course. Enter GRILLA, in a rich gown, great fardingale, great ruff, a muff, fan, and coxcomb' on her head. Gril. Yes forsooth, and no forsooth; is not this fine! I pray your blessing, gaffer. Here, here, here-did he give me a shough, and cut off's tail! Buss, buss, nuncle, and there's a pum for daddy. 1 Coxcomb,] i. e. a fool's cap.-GIFFORD. 2 Did he give me a shough.] A shock-dog, a water-spaniel.-GIF FORD. Cor. You find this noted there, phrenitis. Pal. True. Cor. Pride is the ground on 't; it reigns most in women. Enter CUCULUS like a Bedlam, singing. Cuc. They that will learn to drink a health in hell, Pel. Thou 'rt straight to execution. Gril. Fool, fool, fool! catch me an thou canst. I'll tear 'em, I'll sear 'em, I'll roar 'em, I'll gore 'em! Now, now, now! my brains are a jumbling. Bounce! the gun's off. Pal. You name this here, hypochondriacal? Cor. Which is a windy flatuous humour, stuffing The head, and thence deriv'd to the animal parts. To be too over-curious, loss of goods Or friends, excess of fear, or sorrows cause it. Pal. "Tis very strange: but Heaven is full of miracles. THE DANCE. [Exeunt the Maskers in couples. We are thy debtor, Corax,1 for the gift 1 We are thy debtor, Corax, &c.] This good prince is easily pleased; for, to speak truth, a mask more void of invention, or merit of any kind, never shamed the stage. It is singular that Ford did not recollect how absolutely he had anticipated the boasted experiment of this trifler, and laid open the whole secret of the prince's melancholy in the admirable scene with Rhetias in the second act: but he was determined to have a show, and, in evil hour he had it.--Gifford. Of this invention; but the plot deceives us : [Pointing to the paper. Cor. One kind of Melancholy Is only left untouch'd; 't was not in art "T is nam'd Love-melancholy. As, for instance, Admit this stranger here,—young man, stand forth— Entangled by the beauty of this lady, [TO PARTH. The great Thamasta, cherish'd in his heart The weight of hopes and fears; it were impossible As his own proper sufferance could express. Tha. Am I your mirth? Cor. Love is the tyrant of the heart; it darkens Reason, confounds discretion; deaf to counsel, It runs a headlong course to desperate madness. O, were your highness but touch'd home, and thoroughly, With this (what shall I call it?) devil Pal. Hold! Let no man henceforth name the word again.Wait you my pleasure, youth.-'T is late; to rest! Cor. My lords [Exit. Soph. Enough; thou art a perfect arts-man. the skin; And love, penn'd ne'er so close, yet will be seen. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. A Room in THAMASTA'S House. Enter AMETHUS and MENAPHON. Amet. Dote on a stranger? Men. Court him; plead, and sue to him. Men. Servilely; and, pardon me, If I say, basel". Amet. Women, in their passions, Like false fires, flash to fright our trembling senses, Yet, in themselves, contain nor light nor heat. Men. What I confirm is truth. Men. If I conceived you were Jealous of my sincerity and plainness, Amet. What then, sir? Men. I would then resolve You were as changeable in vows of friendship, Amet. My Menaphon, excuse me; I grow wild, By checking the contempt her poor desires Men. With a coldness |