And the morn faster goes away from me,
Than I toward it; and so, good morrow.

Scud. Good morrow, sir. Think I durst show it you

Nev. Now, by my life, I not desire it, sir,
Nor ever lov'd these prying listening men,
That ask of others 'states and passages;
Not one among a hundred but proves false,
Envious and slanderous, and will cut that throat
He twines his arms about. I love that poet,
That gave us reading "Not to seek ourselves
Beyond ourselves." Farewell.

Scud. You shall not go ;

I cannot now redeem the fault I have made
To such a friend, but in disclosing all.

Nev. Now, if love
you

me, do not wrong me so;
I see you labour with some serious thing,
And think, like fairies' treasure, to reveal it
Will burst your breast,-'tis so delicious,
And so much greater than the continent.

Scud. Oh, you have pierc'd my entrails with your words,

And I must now explain all to your eyes.

Read, and be happy in my happiness.

[Gives

him the letter.

Nev. Yet think on 't; keep thy secret and thy

friend

Sure and entire. Oh! give not me the means
To become false hereafter, or thyself

A probable reason to distrust thy friend,
Though he be ne'er so near. I will not see it.
Scud. I die, by heaven, if you deny again.

I starve for counsel; take it, look upon it;
If you do not, it is an equal plague
As if it had been known and published.

For God's sake, read, but, with this caution,-
By this right hand, by this yet unstain'd sword,

Were you my father flowing in these waves,
Or a dear son exhausted out of them,
Should you betray this soul of all my hopes,
Like the two brethren (though love made them
Stars)

We must be never more seen both again.
Nev. I read it, fearless of the forfeiture

Yet warn you, be as cautelous, not to wound
My integrity with doubt, on likelihoods

From misreport, but first exquire the truth. [reads. Scud. She is the food, the sleep, the air I live byNev. (having read the letter.) O heaven! we speak like gods, and do like dogs.—

Scud. What means my—

Nev. This day, this Bellafront, this rich heir
Is married unto count Frederick ;

And that's the wedding I was going to.
Scud. I prithee do not mock me-married?—
Nev. It is no matter to be play'd withal,
But yet as true, as women all are false.

Scud. Oh, that this stroke were thunder to my breast,
For, Nevill, thou hast spoke my heart in twain,
And with the sudden whirlwind of thy breath
Hast ravish'd me out of a temperate soil,

And set me under the red burning zone.
Nev. For shame! return thy blood into thy face.
Know'st not how slight a thing a woman is?
Scud. Yes, and how serious too.-

Scud. O God,

SCUDMORE, afterwards, forsaken.

What an internal joy my heart has felt,
Sitting at one of these same idle plays,
When I have seen a maid's inconstancy
Presented to the life; how glad my eyes
Have stole about me, fearing lest my looks
Should tell the company contented there,
I had a mistress free of all such thoughts.

He replies to his friend, who adjures him to live.
Scud. The sun is stale to me, to-morrow morn,
As this, 'twill rise, I see no difference ;
The night doth visit me but in one robe ;
She brings as many thoughts, as she wears stars
When she is pleasant, but no rest at all.

For what new strange thing should I covet life then?

Is not she false whom only I thought true?

Shall time (to show his strength) make Scudmore live,

Till (perish the vicious thought) I love not thee, Or thou, dear friend, remove thy heart from me?

GREEN'S TU QUOQUE; OR, THE CITY GALLANT. A COMEDY:

BY JOSEPH COOKE.

Men more niggardly of their love than women.
THRICE happy days they were, and too soon gone,
When as the heart was coupled with the tongue,
And no deceitful flattery, or guile,

Hung on the lover's tear-commixed smile.
Could women learn but that imperiousness,
By which men use to stint our happiness,
When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs,
By customary sighs and forced tears,
To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint,
But no abundance, that we ever want,

And still are begging; which too well they know
Endears affection, and doth make it grow.
Had we these sleights, how happy were we then,
That we might glory over love-sick men !
But Arts we know not, nor have any skill

To feign a sour look to a pleasing will,
Nor couch a secret love in show of hate :
But, if we like, must be compassionate.1
Adversity.

How ruthless men are to adversity!

My acquaintance scarce will know me; when we meet
They cannot stay to talk, they must be gone;
And shake me by the hand as if I burnt them.

Prodigality.

That which gilded over his imperfections,
Is wasted and consumed, even like ice,
Which by the violence of heat dissolves,
And glides to many rivers; so his wealth,
That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense,
Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers
Ran like a violent stream to other men's.

THE HOG HATH LOST HIS PEARL, A COMEDY:

BY ROBERT TAILOR.

CARRACUS appoints his friend ALBERT to meet him before the break of day at the house of the old LORD WEALTHY, whose daughter MARIA has consented to a stolen match with CARRACUS. ALBERT, arriving before his friend, is mistaken by MARIA for CARRACUS, and takes advantage of the night to wrong his friend.

Enter ALBERT, solus.

Alb. This is the green, and this the chamber-window; And see, the appointed light stands in the casement,

1 This is so like Shakspeare, that one seems almost to remember it as a speech of Desdemona's upon perceiving an alteration in the behaviour of the Moor.

The ladder of ropes set orderly,

Yet he that should ascend, slow in his haste,
Is not as yet come hither.

Were it any friend that lives but Carracus,
I'd try the bliss which this fine time presents.
Appoint to carry hence so rare an heir,

And be so slack! 'sfoot, it doth move my patience;
Would any man that is not void of sense

Not have watch'd night by night for such a prize?
Her beauty 's so attractive, that by Heaven
My heart half grants to do my friend a wrong.
Forego these thoughts, Albert, be not a slave
To thy affection; do not falsify

Thy faith to him whose only friendship 's worth
A world of women. He is such a one,

Thou canst not live without his good,

He is and was ever as thine own heart's blood. [MARIA beckons him from the window.

'Sfoot, see, she beckons me for Carracus.

Shall my base purity cause me neglect
This present happiness? I will obtain it,

Spite of my timorous conscience. I am in person,
Habit and all, so like to Carracus,

It may be acted and ne'er call'd in question.

Mar. (calls) Hist! Carracus, ascend;

All is as clear as in our hearts we wish'd.

[ALBERT ascends, and being on the top of the ladder, puts out the candle. Mar. O love, why do you so?

you

Alb. I heard the steps of some coming this way;
Did not hear Albert pass by as yet?
Mar. Not any creature pass this way this hour.
Alb. Then he intends just at the break of day

To lend his trusty help to our departure.

Mar. Come then, dear Carracus, thou now shalt rest Upon that bed where fancy oft hath thought thee; Which kindness until now I ne'er did grant thee,