Why might not I be there?-hum!-he's her bro

ther.

Brothers and sisters are but flesh and blood,
And this same whoreson court-ease is temptation
To a rebellion in the veins ;-besides,

His fine friend Prophilus must be her guardian:
Why may not he dispatch a business nimbly
Before the other come?-or-pand'ring, pand'ring
For one another (be't to sister, mother,
Wife, cousin, any thing,) 'mongst youths of metal
Is in request; it is so-stubborn fate!
But if I be a cuckold, and can know it,

I will be fell, and fell.

Re-enter GRONEAS.

Gron. My lord, you are called for.

Bass. Most heartily I thank

wife, pray?

you;

where's my

Gron. Retired amongst the ladies.

Bass. Still I thank you:

There's an old waiter with her, saw you her too? Gron. She sits i' th' presence-lobby fast asleep,

sir.

Bass. Asleep? asleep, sir!

Gron. Is your lordship troubled ?

You will not to the king?

Bass. Your humblest vassal.

Gron. Your servant, my good lord.
Bass. I wait your footsteps.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Gardens of the Palace. A Grove.

Enter PROPHILUS and PENTHEA.

Pro. In this walk, lady, will your brother find

you;

And, with your favour, give me leave a little
To work a preparation: in his fashion

I have observ'd of late some kind of slackness
To such alacrity as nature [once]

And custom took delight in; sadness grows
Upon his recreations, which he hoards.

In such a willing silence, that to question
The grounds will argue [little] skill in friendship,
And less good manners.

Pen. Sir, I am not inquisitive

Of secrecies, without an invitation.

Pro. With pardon, lady, not a syllable
Of mine implies so rude a sense; the drift—

Enter ORGILUS, as before.

[To ORG.

Do thy best
To make this lady merry for an hour.
Org. Your will shall be a law, sir. [Exit PRO.
Pen. Prithee, leave me,

I have some private thoughts I would account

with;

Use thou thine own.

Org. Speak on, fair nymph, our souls

Can dance as well to music of the spheres,
As any's who have feasted with the gods.

Pen. Your school-terms are too troublesome. Org. What heaven

Refines mortality from dross of earth,

But such as uncompounded beauty hallows
With glorified perfection!

Pen. Set thy wits

In a less wild proportion.
Org. Time can never

On the white table of unguilty faith

Write counterfeit dishonour; turn those eyes
(The arrows of pure love) upon that fire,
Which once rose to a flame, perfum'd with vows,
As sweetly scented as the incense smoking
On Vesta's altars, **

* the holiest odours, virgins' tears,

sprinkled, like dews, to feed them

And to increase their fervour.

On Vesta's altars * * * * * * * *, &c.]

It is greatly to be regretted that this apparently fine passage should have been so irreparably mutilated at the press. I have endeavoured to remedy the transpositions; but who can hope to restore what was dropped? It seems to me that Ford calls virgin tears, the holiest odours; and the expression is beautiful and every way worthy of him. In the old copy, however, this, and indeed every other merit is lost. It reads

as the incense smoking
The holiest artars, virgin tears (like

On Vesta's odours) sprinkled dews to feed 'em
And to increase, &c.

Feeding the hungry appetite with steam,
And sight of banquet, whilst the body pines,
Not relishing the real taste of food:
Such is the leanness of a heart, divided
From intercourse of troth-contracted loves;
No horror should deface that precious figure
Seal'd with the lively stamp of equal souls.
Pen. Away! some fury hath bewitch'd thy
tongue :

The breath of ignorance that flies from thence,
Ripens a knowledge in me of afflictions,
Above all sufferance.-Thing of talk, begone,
Begone, without reply!

Org. Be just, Penthea,

In thy commands; when thou send'st forth a doom Of banishment, know first on whom it lights. Thus I take off the shroud, in which my cares Are folded up from view of common eyes.

[Throws off his scholar's dress.

What is thy sentence next?

Pen. Rash man! thou lay'st

A blemish on mine honour, with the hazard
Of thy too desperate life; yet I profess,
By all the laws of ceremonious wedlock,
I have not given admittance to one thought
Of female change, since cruelty enforced
Divorce betwixt my body and my heart.
Why would
you fall from goodness thus?

Org. O, rather

Examine me, how I could live to say

I have been much, much wrong'd. 'Tis for thy

sake

I put on this imposture; dear Penthea,
If thy soft bosom be not turn'd to marble,
Thou❜lt pity our calamities; my interest
Confirms me, thou art mine still.

Pen. Lend your hand;

With both of mine I clasp it thus, thus kiss it,

Thus kneel before ye.

Org. You instruct my duty.

[PEN. kneels.

[ORG. kneels.

you

Pen. We may stand up. (They rise.) Have ought else to urge

Of new demand? as for the old, forget it;

'Tis buried in an everlasting silence,

And shall be, shall be ever: what more would you?

Org. I would possess my wife; the equity

Of very reason bids me.

Pen. Is that all?

Org. Why, 'tis the all of me, myself.

Pen. Remove

Your steps some distance from me; at this space A few words I dare change; but first put on

Your borrow'd shape.'

Org. You are obey'd; 'tis done.

[He resumes his disguise. Pen. How, Orgilus, by promise, I was thine,

but first put on

Your borrow'd shape.] This, as I have elsewhere observed, is the green-room term for a dress of disguise. In the opening of the next Act, Orgilus, who had resumed his usual habit, is said to appear in his own shape.

U