I do beseech thee, my dear Geraldine,
Look to thy safety, and preserve thy health
Have care into what company you fall;
Travel not late, and cross no dangerous seas;
For till heaven bless me in thy safe return,
How will this poor heart suffer?

Y. Ger. (Aside.) I had thought

Long since the syrens had been all destroy'd;
But one of them I find survives in her :
She almost makes me question what I know,
An heretic unto my own belief:
Oh, thou mankind's seducer!
Wife. What, no answer?

;

Y. Ger. Yes, thou hast spoke to me in showers

I will reply in thunder! Thou, adultress!

Thou hast more poison in thee than the serpent,
Who was the first that did corrupt thy sex,
The devil.

Wife. To whom speaks the man?

Y. Ger. To thee,

Falsest of all that ever man term'd fair:

Hath impudence so steel'd thy smooth soft skin,
It cannot blush? or sin so obdur'd thy heart,

It doth not quake and tremble? Search thy conscience,
There thou shalt find a thousand clamorous tongues
To speak as loud as mine doth.

Wife. Save from yours,

I hear no noise at all.

Y. Ger. I'll play the doctor

To open thy deaf ears: Monday, the ninth

Of the last month; canst thou remember that?
That night more black in thy abhorred sin,

Than in the gloomy darkness; that the time.

Wife. Monday?

Y. Ger. Wouldst thou the place know? Thy polluted chamber,

So often witness of my sinless vows:

Wouldest thou the person? One not worthy name;

Yet to torment thy guilty soul the more,

I'll tell him thee, that monster Delavel;

Wouldst thou your bawd know? Midnight, that the hour?

The very words thou spake? Now what would Geraldine

Say, if he saw us here? To which was answered,

Tush! he's a coxcomb, fit to be so fool'd.

No blush? What, no faint fever on thee yet?

How hath thy black sins chang'd thee? Thou Medusa,
Those hairs that late appeared like golden wires,
Now crawl with snakes and adders: thou art ugly!
Wife. And yet my glass, till now, ne'er told me so:
Who gave you this intelligence?

Y. Ger. Only He,

That pitying such innocency as mine,

Should by two such delinquents be betray'd,
He brought me to that place by miracle;
And made me an ear witness of all this.
Wife. I am undone !

Y. Ger. But think what thou hast lost
To forfeit me: I not withstanding these,
(So fix'd was my love and unutterable)
I kept this from thy husband; nay, all ears;
With thy transgressions smothering mine own wrongs,
In hope of thy repentance.

Wife. Which begins,

Thus low upon my knees.

Y. Ger. Tush! bow to heaven,

Which thou hast most offended: 1, alas!
(Save in such scarce unheard-of treachery)
Most sinful like thyself. Wherein, oh, wherein,
Hath my unspotted and unbounded love

Deserv'd the least of these? Sworn to be made
A stale for term of life; and this for my goodness:
Die, and die soon; acquit me of my oath ;
But prithee die repentant; farewell ever!
"Tis thou, and only thou, hast banish'd me,
Both from my friends and country.

Wife. Oh, I am lost."

We cannot omit that most amusing description of a land shipwreck, which gave Cowley the hint for his Naufragium Joculare.

"Y. Ger. In the height of their carousing, all their brains Warm'd with the heat of wine, discourse was offered

Of ships, and storms at sea; when suddenly,

Out of his wild giddyness, one conceives
The room wherein they quaff'd to be a pinnace,
Moving and floating; and the confused noise
To be the murmuring winds, gusts, mariners;
That their unstedfast footing did proceed

From rocking of the vessel; this conceiv'd,
Each one begins to apprehend the danger,
And to look out for safety. Fly, saith one,
Up to the main-top, and discover; he
Climbs by the bed-post, to the tester, there
Reports a turbulent sea and tempest towards;
And wills them, if they'll save their ship and lives,
To cast their lading overboard. At this

All fall to work, and hoist into the street,

As to the sea, what next come to their hand,
Stools, tables, tressels, trenchers, bedsteads, cups,
Pots, plates, and glasses: here a fellow whistles;
They take him for the boatswain; one lies struggling
Upon the floor, as if he swam for life:

A third takes the bass-viol for the cock-boat,

Sits in the belly on't, labours and rows;

His oar, the stick with which the fiddler play'd:
A fourth bestrides his fellows, thinking to 'scape
As did Arion, on the dolphin's back,

Still fumbling on a gittern.

Clown. Excellent sport!

Winc. But what was the conclusion?

Y. Ger. The rude multitude

Watching without, and gaping for the spoil
Cast from the windows, went by th' ears about it;
The constable is called to atone the broil,

Which done, and hearing such a noise within,

Of imminent shipwreck, enters the house, and finds them

In this confusion: they adore his staff,

And think it Neptune's trident; and that he

Came with his Tritons, (so they call'd his watch,)
To calm the tempest, and appease the waves:

And at this point we left them."

"The Challenge for Beauty," the next play of our author which we shall notice, is founded upon the following incidents : Isabella, the imperious queen of Spain and Portugal, arrogates to herself the perfection of beauty and virtue, and inflicts the penalty of banishment on Bonavida, an honest nobleman, for not assenting to the justice of her claims. The sentence is to continue in force until such time as he can produce the equal of the royal paragon. He travels far and near, but without success, until he sets his foot upon the shores of England, and there he meets with the object of his search, in the person of the beautiful Hellena. He is smitten with her charm

her his hand, and, in due season, is accepted. It is necessary, however, that he should return to Spain, to make arrangements for redeeming his sentence, and on his departure he leaves her a ring, with a strict injunction not to part with it, on any consideration whatever. He arrives in his native country, unfolds the success of his search, is required to produce the formidable rival of royalty, and on his failure to do so, is thrown into prison. Meanwhile, the jealous Isabella despatches Pineda and Centella, two base courtiers, to England, to try to obtain possession of the ring which Bonavida had given to Hellena, and on the obtaining of which he had offered to rest the issue of his cause. On their arrival in England, one of them makes love to her maid, and persuades her to steal the ring, which she succeeds in doing, whilst her mistress is washing her hands. She delivers it to her pretended lover, who immediately flies with it to Spain, as an indisputable proof of the inconstancy of Hellena. The queen triumphs in the success of her stratagem ;--Bonavida is brought out of prison, to be a witness of the shame of his mistress, which is proclaimed by the two emissaries, and proved by the production of the ring, the identity of which Bonavida acknowledges. For his insolent disparagement of the sovereign of beauty and virtue, he is condemned to death. At the appointed time, every thing being prepared, and the executioner ready to do his office, Hellena, to whom the deceived maid had confessed the fraud which had been practised upon her, and who has shrewd suspicion of the source of it, appears on the spot.

"Hel. Stay!

Isab. Who interrupts our justice?
Hel. As you are royal,

And worthy of those honours arch your head,

Defer that bloody business now in hand,

To right an injured woman.

Sebast. A lovely and sweet presence.

Isab. A rare aspect! had she a suiting virtue,

Pineda, I should half suspect my challenge,

And willingly compound.

Pin. Most divine princess,

Should they meet here, I should not blame your fears,

Since th' one appears to be incomparable.

Sebast. What seek you from this throne?

Hel. That in which kings

Resemble most the gods: justice.

Isab. 'Gainst whom !

Hel. Against a felon, robber, a base thief, Harbour'd in this your court.

Sebast. If such live here,

As we are king, we banish him our patronage,
And yield him up to sentence: first, fair creature,
Give us your name, your birth, and quality.

Hel. My nation foreign: birth, not high degree'd, Nor every way ignoble: for my quality,

Some that presume to know me, call me libertine,
Wanton, and wild wench; nay, a courtezan:
But were I looser than e'er Lais was,

It should not bar me justice.

Sebast. Thou shalt have't.

Pin. You keep your own yet, madam.
Isab. And of that,

Pineda, I am proud, infinite proud!

I ne'er was pleas'd with any since, till now;
It makes me still unpeer'd.

Sebast. Speak, what's your wrong?
Hel. See you this pantofle ?

'Twas a rich pair, till the base felony
Of one of this your court divided them;
For being lodg'd, and nobly entertain❜d,
Was not alone content to vitiate

Both fame and body, and to take full surfeit
Of that my prostitution, but, unworthy,
The title of a noble gentleman,

He stole the slipper there, that fellows this,
Valued at no less than a thousand crowns.

Sebast. And cheaply rated too: find out the man, And be he one enthron'd in our highest grace,

He shall he thine to censure.

Isab. Take survey,

Make strict inquiry, single man by man:
For mine own part, so much I grieve thy loss,
And his base theft abhor, that were he the man

Upon whose shoulder we did use to lean,

Severity should judge him.

Hel. You are all gracious,

And I'll make bold to use the benefit

Of this your clemency.

Sir, look up, you are no whit like the man.

Bon. (Aside.) But she the woman,

For whom the sword thus thirsts: Is this a vision?