Duke. Why, how should I believe this? Look, he's merry, As if he had no such charge. One with that care Court. Aye, he may laugh, my lord; That shews but how he glories in his cunning; Duke. If a contempt can be so neatly carried, Duke. Not mov'd a whit! Constant to lightning still! -'tis strange to meet you Upon a ground so unfrequented, sir: This does not fit your passion; you are for mirth, Or I mistake you much. Cle. But finding it Grow to a noted imperfection in me 1 Duke. It seems then you take pleasure in these walks, sir? C. Contemplative content I do, my lord: Duke. So, sir Cle. Which is a kind of grave delight, my lord. you The least delight that has a name. Cle. My lord Duke. In your excess of joy you have express'd Which might be death, a little more incensed. But for a project of your own; But all that's known to be contentful to thee, Into these walks again -aye, or that woman I'll have them watch'd a purpose. 1st Court. Now, now, his colour ebbs and flows. Hip. Oh! who shall bring food to the poor old man now? Speak somewhat, good sir, or we are lost for ever. (Apart to Cleanthes.) Cle. Oh! you did wondrous ill to call me again. There are not words to help us. If I intreat, 'Tis found; that will betray us worse than silence. Pr'ithee, let heaven alone, and let's say nothing. (Apart to Hippolita.) 1st Court. You have struck them dumb, my lord. 2d Court. Look how guilt looks! Cle. He is safe still, is he not? Hip. Oh! you do ill to doubt it. Cle. Thou art all goodness. } Apart. 2d Court. Now does your grace believe? Search, make a speedy search; for the imposture Cannot be far off, by the fear it sends. Cle. Ha! 2d 2d Court. He has the lapwing's cunning, I'm afraid, my lord, That cries most when she is farthest from the nest. THE TRAGEDY OF PHILIP CHABOT, ADMIRAL OF FRANCE. BY GEORGE CHAPMAN, AND JAMES SHIRLEY. The Admiral is accused of treason, a criminal process is instituted against him, and his faithful servant Allegre is put on the rack to make him discover: his innocence is at length established by the confession of his enemies; but the disgrace of having been suspected for a traitor by his royal Master, sinks so deep into him, that he falls into a mortal sickness. ADMIRAL. ALLEGRE, supported between two. Adm. Welcome my injured servant: what a misery Have they made on thee! Al. Though some change appear Upon my body, whose severe affliction Hath brought it thus to be sustain❜d by others, My heart is still the same in faith to you, Not broken with their rage. Adm. Alas poor man. Were There is an exquisiteness of moral sensibility, making one to gush out tears of delight, and a poetical strangeness in all the improbable circumstances of this wild play, which are unlike any thing in the dramas which Massinger wrote alone. The pathos is of a subtler edge. Middleton and Rowley, who assisted in this play, had both of them finer geniuses than their associate. Were all my joys essential, and so mighty, More grief, than all my imagination Upon the torture? Al. Good my lord, let not Didst not curse me The thought of what I suffer'd dwell upon For you and justice: but there's something in Arm'd with fierce lightning and the power of thunder, Can be so black and fatal, to distract The calm, the triumph, that should sit upon Your noble brow: misfortune could have no Time to conspire with fate, since you were rescued Those garlands, that now grow about your forehead, Adm. Allegre, thou dost bear thy wounds upon thee -An eye to read. An open force hath torn Thy manly sinews, which some time may cure. The The engine is not seen that wounds thy master; The flatteries of court, of fame, or honours. Or make her bosom kind, to growth and bearing: Dry up her sap, and shoot a fever through The bark and rind, till she becomes a burden Suspect your health indeed. Adm. No, no, thou shalt not Be troubled: I but stirr'd thee with a moral, See, I can walk; poor man, thou hast not strength yet. The father of the Admiral makes known the condition his son is in to the king. Father. King. King. Say, how is my admiral? The truth upon thy life. Fath. To secure his, I would you had. King. Ha! who durst oppose him? Fath. One that hath power enough, hath practis'd on him, And made his great heart stoop. King. I will revenge it With crushing, crushing that rebellious power To nothing. Name him. Fath. He was his friend. King. What mischief hath engender'd New storms? Fath. |