Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rank
Of the rarest wits, was never more than Frank.
Mellifluous SHAKSPEARE, whose inchanting quill
Commanded mirth or passion, was but WILL;
And famous Jonson, though his learned pen
Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher, and Webster, of that learned pack
None of the meanest, neither was but Jack;
Decker but Tom; nor May, nor Middleton;
And he's now but Jack Ford, that once were John.
Possibly our Poet was a little sore, that this contemptuous curtailment of their Baptismal Names was chiefly exercised upon his Poetical Brethren of the Drama. We hear nothing about Sam Daniel, or Ned Spenser, in his catalogue. The familiarity of common discourse might probably take the greater liberties with the Dramatic Poets, as conceiving of them as more upon a level with the Stage Actors. Or did their greater publicity, and popularity in consequence, fasten these diminùtives upon them out of a feeling of love and kindness, as we say Harry the Fifth, rather than Henry, when we would express good-will?-as himself says, in those reviving words put into his mouth by Shakspeare, where he would comfort and confirm his doubting brothers [2nd Part "Henry IV.," Act v., Scene 2, line 48]:Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, But Harry, Harry!
And doubtless Heywood had an indistinct conception of this truth, when, (coming to his own name), with that beautiful retracting which is natural to one that, not satirically given, has wandered a little out of his way into something recriminative, he goes on to say:
Nor speak I this, that any here exprest
Should think themselves less worthy than the rest
Whose names have their full syllables and sound;
Or that Frank, Kit, or Jack, are the least wound
Unto their fame and merit. I for my part
(Think others what they please) accept that heart,
Which courts my love in most familiar phrase;
And that it takes not from my pains or praise,
If any one to me so bluntly come:
I hold he loves me best that calls me Tom.1
JACK DRUM'S ENTERTAINMENT.2
LISHED 1601]. AUTHOR UNKNOWN [PROBABLY BY
MARSTON]
The free humour of a Noble Housekeeper.
Fortune (a Knight). I was not born to be my cradle's drudge,
To choke and stifle up my pleasure's breath.
1[For other extracts from Heywood see note to page 100.]
2[Or, the Comedie of Pasquil and Katherine.]
To poison with the venom'd cares of thrift
My private sweet of life: only to scrape
A heap of muck, to fatten and manure
The barren virtues of my progeny,
And make them sprout 'spite of their want of worth;
No, I do wish my girls should wish me live;
Which few do wish that have a greedy sire,
But still expect, and gape with hungry lip,
When he'll give up his gouty stewardship.
Friend. Then I wonder,
You not aspire unto the eminence
And height of pleasing life. To Court, to Court-
There burnish, there spread, there stick in pomp,
Like a bright diamond in a Lady's brow.
There plant your fortunes in the flow'ring spring,
And get the Sun before you of Respect.
There trench yourself within the people's love,
And glitter in the eye of glorious grace.
What's wealth, without respect and mounted place?
Fort. Worse and worse!-I am not yet distraught,
I long not to be squeez'd with my own weight,
Nor hoist up all my sails to catch the wind
Of the drunk reeling Commons. I labour not
To have an awful presence, nor be feared,
Since who is fear'd still fears to be so feared.
I care not to be like the Horeb calf,
One day adored, and next pasht all in pieces.
Nor do I envy Polyphemian puffs,
Switzers' slopt greatness. I adore the Sun,
Yet love to live within a temperate zone.
Let who will climb ambitious glibbery rounds,
And lean upon the vulgar's rotten love,
I'll not corrival him. The sun will give
As great a shadow to my trunk as his ;
And after death, like Chessmen having stood
In play, for Bishops some, for Knights, and Pawns,
We all together shall be tumbled up
Let hush'd-calm quiet rock my life asleep;
And, being dead, my own ground press my bones;
Whilst some old Beldame, hobbling o'er my grave,
May mumble thus:
"Here lies a Knight whose Money was his slave."
["You touch the quick of sense, but" omitted.]
2[See The School of Shakspeare, ed. Simpson, 1878, vol. ii.]
CHANGES [OR LOVE IN A MAZE], A COMEDY [LICENSED AND PUBLISHED 1632]. BY JAMES SHIRLEY
Excess of Epithets, enfeebling to Poetry.
Friend. Master Caperwit, before you read, pray tell me, Have your verses any Adjectives?
Caperwit. Adjectives! would you have a poem without
Adjectives? they're the flower, the grace of all our language.
A well-chosen Epithet doth give new soul
To fainting poesy, and makes every verse
A Bride! With Adjectives we bait our lines,
When we do fish for Gentlewomen's loves,
And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear
Of amorous ladies; with the music of
These ravishing nouns we charm the silken tribe,
And make the Gallant melt with apprehension
Of the rare Word. I will maintain't against
A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry
The Substantive itself cannot subsist
Without its Adjective.
Friend. But for all that,
Those words would sound more full, methinks, that are not
So larded; and if I might counsel you,
You should compose a Sonnet clean without 'em.
A row of stately Substantives would march
Like Switzers, and bear all the fields before 'em ;
Carry their weight; shew fair, like Deeds Enroll'd;
Not Writs, that are first made and after fill'd.
Thence first came up the title of Blank Verse
You know, Sir, what Blank signifies ?—when the sense,
First framed, is tied with Adjectives like points,
And could not hold together without wedges:
Hang't, 'tis pedantic, vulgar Poetry.
Let children, when they versify, stick here
And there these piddling words for want of matter.
Poets write Masculine Numbers.
[Edition of 1632. For other extracts from Shirley see note to page 393.]
FORSEL TOR JEELISHED 1650), BY 43RAN
COWLEY THE 657)
THE BRAZEN AGE. AN HISTORICAL PLAY [PUBLISHED 1613]. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD
Ven. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love,
And shun this ivory girdle of my arms?
To be thus scarf'd the dreadful God of War
Would give me conquer'd kingdoms. For a kiss,
But half like this, I could command the Sun
Rise 'fore his hour, to bed before his time;
And, being love-sick, change his golden beams,
And make his face pale as his sister Moon.
Look on me, Adon, with a stedfast eye,
That in these crystal glasses I may see
My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amaz'd
And stown'd with wonder. Doth this roseate pillow
Offend my Love?
With my white fingers will I clap thy cheek;
Whisper a thousand pleasures in thy ear.
Adon. Madam, you are not modest. I affect
The unseen beauty that adorns the mind:
This looseness makes you foul in Adon's eye.
If you will tempt me, let me in your face
Read blushfulness and fear; a modest fear
Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful.1
Ven.
wert thou made of stone,
I have heat to melt thee; I am Queen of Love.
There is no practice art of dalliance
Of which I am not mistress, and can use.
I have kisses than [that] can murder unkind words,
And strangle hatred that the gall sends forth;
Touches to raise thee, were thy spirits half dead;
Words than [that] can pour affection down thy ears.
Love me! thou canst not chuse ; thou shalt not chuse.2
Adon. Madam, you woo not well. Men covet not
These proffer'd pleasures, but love sweets denied.
These prostituted pleasures surfeit still;
Where's fear, or doubt, men sue with best good will.
Ven. Thou canst instruct the Queen of Love in love.
Thou shalt not, Adon, take me by the hand;
Yet, if thou needs will force me, take my palm.
I'll frown on him: alas! my brow's so smooth,
It will not bear a wrinkle.-Hie thee hence
Unto the chace, and leave me; but not yet:
[Four lines and a half omitted.]
VOL. IV.-28
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