Their several foreheads. Faint not in the moment
Of victory! our ends, and Warwick's head,
Innocent Warwick's head, (for we are prologue
But to his tragedy) conclude the wonder
Of Henry's fears: and then the glorious race
Of fourteen kings Plantagenets, determines
In this last issue male. Heaven be obey'd.
Impoverish time of its amazement, friends;
And we will prove as trusty in our payments,
As prodigal to nature in our debts.

Death! pish, 'tis but a sound; a name of air;
A minute's storm; or not so much: to tumble
From bed to bed, be massacred alive

By some physicians for a month or two,
In hope of freedom from a fever's torments,
Might stagger manhood; here, the pain is past
Ere sensibly 'tis felt. Be men of spirit ;
Spurn coward passion: so illustrious mention.

Shall blaze our names, and style us Kings o'er Death.

TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE: A TRAGEDY. BY JOHN FORD.

Giovanni a Young Gentleman of Parma entertains an illicit love for his Sister. He asks counsel of Bonaventura, a Friar.75

FRIAR. GIOVANNI.

Friar. Dispute no more in this, for know, young man,
These are no school-points; nice philosophy
May tolerate unlikely arguments,

But heaven admits no jest! wits that presumed
On wit too much, by striving how to prove
There was no God, with foolish grounds of art,
Discover'd first the nearest way to hell;
And fill'd the world with devilish atheism.
Such questions, youth, are fond: far better 'tis
To bless the sun, than reason why it shines;
Yet he thou talk'st of is above the sun.

No more; I may not hear it.

Gio. Gentle father,

To you I have unclasp'd my burthen'd soul,

Emptied the store-house of my thoughts and heart,
Made myself poor of secrets; have not left
Another word untold, which hath not spoke
All what I ever durst, or think, or know;
And yet is here the comfort I shall have?
Must I not do what all men else may, love?
Friar. Yes, you may love, fair son.

Gio. Must I not praise

That beauty which, if framed anew, the Gods

75 The good Friar in this Play is evidently a Copy of Friar Lawrence in Romeo and Juliet. Souls of his young Charges; deal with.

He is the same kind Physician to the but he has more desperate Patients to

Would

Would make a God of, if they had it there;
And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?
Friar. Why, foolish madman!
Gio. Shall a peevish sound,

A customary form, from man to man,
Of brother and of sister, be a bar
'Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?

Friar. Have done, unhappy youth, for thou art lost.
Gio. No, father; in your eyes I see the change
Of pity and compassion: from your age,

As from a sacred oracle, distils

The life of counsel. Tell me, holy man,

What cure shall give me ease in these extremes?
Friar. Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin :
For thou hast moved a majesty above

With thy unguarded almost blasphemy.

Gio. O do not speak of that, dear confessor.
Friar. Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit,
Who once within these three months wert esteem'd
A wonder of thine age throughout Bononia?
How did the university applaud

Thy government, behaviour, learning, speech,
Sweetness, and all that could make up a man!
I was proud of my tutelage, and chose
Rather to leave my books than part with thee.
I did so; but the fruits of all my hopes
Are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself.

O Giovanni, hast thou left the schools

Of knowledge, to converse with lust and death?
For death waits on thy lust.- -Look through the world,
And thou shalt see a thousand faces shine

More glorious than this idol thou adorest.

Leave her, and take thy choice; 'tis much less sin:
Though in such games as those they lose that win.
Gio. It were more ease to stop the ocean

From flows and ebbs, than to dissuade my vows.
Friar. Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames
Already see thy ruin; heaven is just.

Yet hear my counsel !

Gio. As a voice of life.

Friar. Hie to thy father's house, there lock thee fast
Alone within thy chamber, then fall down
On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground;
Cry to thy heart, wash every word thou utter'st
In tears, and (if't be possible) of blood:
Beg heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust
That rots thy soul; acknowledge what thou art,
A wretch, a worm, a nothing: weep, sigh, pray
Three times a day, and three times every night;
For seven days' space do this, then, if thou find'st
No change in thy desires, return to me;
I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself
At home, whilst I pray for thee here; away.-
My blessing with thee- -we have need to pray.

Giovanni discloses his Passion to his Sister Annabella.They compare their unhappy Loves.

Anna. Do you mock me, or flatter me?

(He has been praising her beauty.) Gio. If you would see a beauty more exact Than art can counterfeit, or nature frame, Look in your glass and there behold your own. Anna. O you are a trim youth.

Gio. Here.

Anna. What to do?

(Offers his Dagger to her.)

Gio. And here's my breast. Strike home, Rip up my bosom; there thou shalt behold A heart, in which is writ the truth I speak. Why stand you?

Anna. Are you in earnest ?

Gio. Yes, most earnest.

You cannot love.

Anna. Whom?

Gio. Me.My tortur'd soul

Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.
O Annabella, I am quite undone.
The love of thee, my sister, and the view
Of thy immortal beauty, have untuned

All

All harmony both of my rest and life.
Why do you not strike ?

Anna. Forbid it, my just fears.

If this be true, 'twere fitter I were dead.

Gio. True, Annabella! 'tis no time to jest ;
I have too long suppress'd my hidden flames,
That almost have consum'd me: I have spent
Many a silent night in sighs and groans,

Ran over all my thoughts, despis'd my fate,
Reason'd against the reasons of my love,
Done all that smooth-cheek'd virtue could advise,
But found al bootless: 'tis my destiny,
That you must either love or I must die.
Anna. Comes this in sadness from you?
Gio. Let some mischief

Befall me soon, if I dissemble ought.
Anna. You are my brother, Giovanni.
Gio. You

My sister, Annabella, I know this:

And could afford you instance why to love
So much the more for this.-

He gives some sophistical Reasons, and resumes.

Must I now live or die?

Anna. Live: thou hast won

The field, and never fought.

What thou hast urg'd,
My captive heart had long ago resolv'd.
I blush to tell thee (but I'll tell thee now)
For every sigh that thou hast spent for me,
I have sigh'd ten; for every tear shed twenty:
And not so much for that I lov'd, as that
I durst not say I lov'd, nor scarcely think it.
Gio. Let not this music be a dream, ye gods,
For pity's sake I beg ye,

Anna. On my knees,

(She kneels.)

Brother, even by our mother's dust, I charge you,

Do not betray me to your mirth or hate;

Love me, or kill me, brother.

Gio. On my knees,

(He kneels.)

Sister,