Might have befriended others, like resolv❜d. King H. A pretty gallant! thus, your aunt of Burgundy,
Your duchess aunt inform'd her nephew; so
The lesson prompted, and well conn'd, was moulded
Into familiar dialogue, oft rehearsed,
Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth.
Warb. Truth, in her pure simplicity, wants art
To put a feigned blush on; scorn wears only
Such fashion as commends to gazers' eyes
Sad ulcerated novelty, far beneath
The sphere of majesty: in such a court
Wisdom and gravity are proper robes,
By which the sovereign is best distinguish'd
From zanies to his greatness.
King H. Sirrah, shift
Your antick pageantry, and now appear
In your own nature, or you 'll taste the danger
Of fooling out of season.
No less than what severity calls justice,
And politicians safety; let such beg
As feed on alms: but, if there can be mercy.
In a protested enemy, then may it
Descend to these poor creatures,1 whose engage
To th' bettering of their fortunes, have incurr'd
A loss of all; to them, if any charity
Flow from some noble orator, in death,
I owe the fee of thankfulness.
King H. So brave !
What a bold knave is this!
We trifle time with follies.
Urswick, command the dukeling and these fellows To Digby, the lieutenant of the Tower :
With safety let them be convey'd to London.
It is our pleasure no uncivil outrage,
Taunts, or abuse, be suffer'd to their persons; They shall meet fairer law than they deserve. Time may restore their wits, whom vain ambition Hath many years distracted.
Warb. Noble thoughts
Meet freedom in captivity: the Tower!
Our childhood's dreadful nursery!
King H. Was ever so much impudence in forgery?
The custom sure of being styled a king,
Hath fasten'd in his thought that he is such.
WARBECK is led to his death.
Oxford. Look ye, behold your followers, appointed
To wait on you in death.
Warb. Why, peers of England,
We'll lead them on courageously; I read
A triumph over tyranny upon
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.
THE LADIES' TRIAL :
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
AURIA, in the possession of honours, preferment, fame, can find no peace in his mind while he thinks his Wife unchaste.
Auria. Count of Savona! Genoa's admiral!
Lord governor of Corsica! enroll'd
A worthy of my country! sought and sued to,
Praised, courted, flatter'd !—
Are echo'd under every roof; the air
Is straiten'd with the sound, there is not room
Enough to brace them in; but not a thought
Doth pierce into the grief that cabins here:
Here through a creek, a little inlet, crawls
A flake, no bigger than a spider's thread,
Which sets the region of my heart a-fire.
I had a kingdom once, but am deposed
From all that royalty of blest content,
By a confederacy 'twixt love and frailty.
Aurelio. Glories in public view but add to misery,
Which travails in unrest at home.
That home Aurelio speaks of I have lost,
And, which is worse, when I have roll❜d about,
Toil'd like a pilgrim round this globe of earth,
Wearied with care, and over-worn with age,
Lodged in the grave, I am not yet at home;
There rots but half of me, the other part
Sleeps, Heaven knows where: would she and I—
my wife
but what, alas! talk I of wife? The woman-would we had together fed On any outcast parings, coarse and mouldy, Not liv'd divided thus!
BY JAMES SHIRLEY.1
Passionate courtship.
Infortunio. I must have other answer, for I must love
Selina. Must! but I do not see any necessity that
I should love you; I do confess you are a proper
Inf. O, do not mock, Selina; let not excellence,
Which you are full of, make you proud and scornful.
I am a gentleman; though my outward part
Cannot attract affection, yet some have told me
Nature hath made me what she need not shame;
Yet look into my heart, there you shall see
What you cannot despise, for there you are,
With all your graces waiting on you; there
Love hath made you a throne to sit, and rule
O'er Infortunio, all my thoughts obeying
And honouring you as queen: pass by my outside,
My breast I dare compare with any man.
Sel. But who can see this breast you boast of so?
Inf. Oh! 'tis an easy work; for though it be
Not to be pierced by the dull eye, whose beam
Is spent on outward shapes, there is a way
To make a search into [its] hidden'st passage.
I know you would not love, to please your sense.
A tree that bears a ragged, unleaf'd top,
In depth of winter, may, when summer comes,
Speak, by his fruit, he is not dead but youthful,
1 Shirley claims a place amongst the worthies of this period, not so much for any transcendent genius in himself, as that he was the last of a great race, all of whom spoke nearly the same language, and had a set of moral feelings and notions in common. A new language and quite a new turn of tragic and comic interest came in with the Restoration.
James Shirley, from the engraving by R. Gaywood,
after the painting by G. P. Lerrick.
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