A CHALLENGE FOR BEAUTY. BY THOMAS

HEYWOOD.

Petrocella a fair Spanish Lady loves Montferrers an English Sea Captain, who is Captive to Valladaura a noble Spaniard.-Valladaura loves the Lady; and employs Montferrers to be the Messenger of his Love to her.

Pet. What art thou in thy country?

Mont. There, a man.

Pet. What here?

Mont. No better than you see; a slave.

Pet. Whose?

Mont. His that hath redeem'd me.

Pet. Valladaura's?

Mont. Yes, I proclaim 't; I that was once mine own, Am now become his creature.

Pet. I perceive,

Your coming is to make me think you noble.

Would you persuade me deem your friend a God?
For only such make men. Are you a Gentleman ?
Mont. Not here; for I am all dejectedness,

Captive

(the all in all in Poetry) is every where present, raising the low, dignify ing the mean, and putting sense into the absurd. He makes his readers glow, weep, tremble, take any affection which he pleases, be moved by words or in spite of them, be disgusted and overcome their disgust. I have often thought that the vulgar misconception of Shakspeare, as of a wild irregular genins "in whom great faults are compensated by great beauties," would be really true, applied to Chapman. But there is no scale by which to balance such disproportionate subjects as the faults and beauties of a great genius. To set off the former with any fairness against the latter, the pain which they give us should be in some proportion to the pleasure which we receive from the other. As these transport us to the highest heaven, those should steep us in agonies infernal.

Captive to fortune, and a slave to want;
I cannot call these clothes I wear mine own,
I do not eat but at another's cost,

This air I breathe is borrow'd; ne'er was man
So poor and abject. I have not so much
In all this universe as a thing to leave,
Or a country I can freely boast is mine.
My essence and my being is another's.
What should I say? I am not any thing;
And I possess as little.

Pet. Tell me that?

Come, come, I know you to be no such man.
You are a soldier valiant and renown'd;
Your carriage tried by land, and prov'd at sea;
Of which I have heard such full expression,
No contradiction can persuade you less;
And in this faith I am constant.

Mont. A meer worm,

Trod on by every fate.

Pet. Rais'd by your merit

To be a common argument through Spain,
And speech at Princes' tables, for your worth;
Your presence when you please to expose 't abroad
Attracts all eyes, and draws them after you;
And those that understand you, call their friends,
And pointing through the street say, This is he,
This is that brave and noble Englishman,

Whom soldiers strive to make their precedent,
And other men their wonder.

Mont. This your scorn

Makes me appear more abject to myself,

Than all diseases I have tasted yet

Had power to asperse upon me; and yet, Lady,
I could say something, durst I.

Pet. Speak 't at once.

Mont. And yet

Pet. Nay, but we'll admit no pause.

Mont. I know not how my phrase may relish

And loth I were to offend; even in what's past

you,

must

I must confess I was too bold. Farewell;
I shall no more distaste you.

Pet. Sir, you do not;

I do proclaim you do not. Stay, I charge you;
Or, as you say you have been fortune's scorn,
So ever prove to woman.

Mont. You charge deeply,
And yet now I bethink me
Pet. As you are a soldier,

And Englishman, have hope to be redeem'd
From this your scorned bondage you sustain,
Have comfort in your mother and fair sister,
Renown so blazed in the ears of Spain,
Hope to rebreathe that air you tasted first,
So tell me

Mont. What?

Mont. Still it is my misery

Thus to be mock'd in all things.

Pet. Pretty, faith.

Mont, I look'd thus to be laught at; my estate
And fortunes, I confess, deserve no less;
That made me so unwilling to denounce
Mine own derisions: but alas! I find
No nation, sex, complexion, birth, degree,
But jest at want, and mock at misery.
Pet. Love me?

Mont. I do, I do; and maugre Fate,
And spite of all sinister evil, shall,
And now I charge you, by that filial zeal
You owe your father, by the memory
Of your dear mother, by the joys you hope

In blessed marriage, by the fortunate issue
Stored in your womb, by these and all things else
That you can style with goodness; instantly
Without evasion, trick, or circumstance,
Nay, least premeditation, answer me,
Affect you me, or no?

Pet. How speak you that?

Mont. Without demur or pause.
Pet. Give me but time

To sleep upon 't,

Mont. I pardon you no minute; not so much,
As to apparel the least phrase you speak.
Speak in the shortest sentence.

Pet. You have vanquish'd me,

At mine own weapon; noble sir, I love you :
And what my heart durst never tell my tongue,
Lest it should blab my thoughts, at last I speak,
And iterate; I love you.

Mont. Oh, my happiness!

What wilt thou feel me still? art thou not weary
Of making me thy May-game, to possess me
Of such a treasure's mighty magazine,

Not suffer me to enjoy it; tane with this hand,
With that to give 't another?

Pet. You are sad, Sir;

Be so no more: if you have been dejected,
It lies in me to mount you to that height
You could not aim at greater. I am yours.
These lips, that only witness it in air,
Now with this truth confirm it.
Mont. I was born to 't;

And it shall out at once.

Pet. Sir, you seem passionate;

As if my answer pleas'd not.

Mont. Now my death;

[Kisses him.

For mine own tongue must kill me: noble Lady,
You have endear'd me to you, but my vow

Was, ne'er to match with any, of what state
Or birth soever, till before the contract
Some one thing I impose her.

Pet.

Pet. She to do it?

Mont. Or, if she fail me in my first demand, I to abjure her ever.

Pet. I am she,

That beg to be imploy'd so: name a danger,
Whose very face would fright all womanhood,
And manhood put in trance, nay, whose aspect
Would ague such as should but hear it told;
But to the sad beholder, prove like those
That gaz'd upon Medusa's snaky locks,
And turn'd them into marble: these and more,
Should you but speak 't, I'd do.

Mont. And swear to this?

Pet. I vow it by my honour, my best hopes, And all that I wish gracious: name it then, For I am in a longing in my soul,

To shew my love's expression.

Mont. You shall then

Pet. I'll do it, as I am a Virgin;

Lie it within mortality, I'll do it.
Mont. You shall.

Pet. I will: that which appears in you
So terrible to speak, I'll joy to act;
And take pride in performance,
Mont. Then you shall

Pet. What, soldier, what?

Mont. love noble Valladaura;

And at his soonest appointment marry him,
Pet. Then I am lost.

There lived a Spanish Princess of our name,
An Isabella too, and not long since,

Who from her palace windows stedfastly
the Sun, her hair took fire,

Gazing upon

Some augurs held it as a prodigy :

42 A proud Spanish Princess relates this.

I rather