But I have made discovery of. Do

you

Think, sir, to th' Antipodes such a journey?

Per. I think there's none beyond it, and that Mandevil

Was the only man that e'er came near it.

Doct. Mandevil went far.

Per. Beyond all English legs that I can read of. Doct. What think you, sir, of Drake, our famous countryman?

Per. Drake was a Dy'dapper to Mandevil;

Candish, and Hawkins, Frobisher, all our voyagers
Went short of Mandevil: but had he reach'd
To this place-here-yes here—this wilderness,
And seen the trees of the sun and moon, that speak,
And told king Alexander of his death, he then
Had left a passage ope for travellers,

That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts,
Dragons, and serpents, elephants white and blue,
Unicorns, and lions of many colours,

And monsters more, as numberless as nameless. Doct. Stay there

Per. Read here else: can you read?

Is it not true?

Doct. No truer, than I have seen 't.

You hear me not deny that all is true That Mandevil delivers of his travels, Yet I myself may be as well believ❜d. Per. Since you speak reverently of him, say on. Doct. Of Europe I'll not speak, 'tis too near home : Who's not familiar with the Spanish garb,

Th' Italian shrug, French cringe, and German hug?

Nor will I trouble you with my observations
Fetch'd from Arabia, Paphlagonia,

Mesopotamia, Mauritania,

Syria, Thessalia, Persia, India,

All still is too near home: though I have touch'd

The clouds upon the Pyrenean mountains,
And been on Paphos isle, where I have kiss'd
The image of bright Venus: all is still
Too near home to be boasted. They sound
In a far traveller's ear,

Like the reports of those, that beggingly
Have put out, on returns from Edinburgh,
Paris, or Venice, or perhaps Madrid,
Whither a Milaner may with half a nose
Smell out his way; and is not near so difficult,
As for some man in debt, and unprotected,
To walk from Charing Cross to th' Old Exchange.
No, I will pitch no nearer than th' Antipodes ;
That which is furthest distant, foot to foot,
Against our region.

Lady. What, with their heels upwards?

Bless us! how 'scape they breaking of their necks? Doct. They walk upon firm earth, as we do here, And have the firmament over their heads,

As we have here.

Lady. And yet just under us!

Where is Hell then? if they whose feet are towards us

At the lower part of the world, have Heaven too Beyond their heads, where 's Hell!

Doct. You may find that

Without inquiry.

Scene, at the Antipodes.

N.B. In the Antipodes, every thing goes contrary to our manners; wives rule their husbands; servant govern their masters; old men go to school again, c.

SON. SERVANT. GENTLEMAN, and LADY, natives. ENGLISH TRAVELLER.

Servant (to his young master). How well you saw Your father to school to-day, and knowing how

apt

He is to play the truant ! Son. But is he not

Yet gone to school?

Servant. Stand by, and you shall see.

Enter three Old Men with satchels.

All three (singing). Domine, domine, duster :
Three knaves in a cluster.

Son. O, this is gallant pastime. Nay, come on.
Is this your school? was that your lesson, ha?
1st Old Man. Pray now, good son, indeed, indeed—
Son. Indeed

You shall to school. Away with him; and take Their wagships with him, the whole cluster of them.

2nd Old Man. You sha'nt send us now, so you

sha'nt.

3rd Old Man. We be none of your father, so we be'n't.

Son. Away with them, I say; and tell their school

mistress

What truants they are, and bid her pay them soundly.

All three. O, O, O!

Lady. Alas! will nobody beg pardon for

The poor old boys?

English Traveller. Do men of such fair years here go to school?

Gentleman. They would die dunces else.

These were great scholars in their youth; but when

Age grows upon men here, their learning wastes, And so decays, that if they live until

Threescore, their sons send them to school again; They'd die as speechless else as new-born children. English Traveller. 'Tis a wise nation; and the piety Of the young men most rare and commendable.

Yet give me, as a stranger, leave to beg
Their liberty this day.

Son. 'Tis granted.

Hold up your heads, and thank the gentleman,
Like scholars, with your heels now.

All three. Gratias, gratias, gratias.

[Exeunt singing.

THE DUCHESS

OF

SUFFOLK,

AN HISTORICAL PLAY:

BY THOMAS DREWE.

A Tragic pursuit.

The DUCHESS, with her little child, preparing to escape by night from the relentless persecution of the Romanists.

Duch. (to the Nurse) Give me my child, and mantle ; now Heaven's pleasure:

Farewell;-come life or death, I'll hug my treasure.
Nay, chide
not, pretty babe, our enemies come;
Thy crying will pronounce thy mother's doom.
But be thou still,

This gate may shade us from their envious will.

[A noise of pursuers.

[Exit.

She re-enters.

Duch. Oh, fear, what art thou? lend me wings to fly, Direct me in this plunge of misery.

Nature has taught the child obedience e;

Thou hast been humble to thy mother's wish.

Oh, let me kiss these duteous lips of thine,
That would not kill thy mother with a cry.
Now forward, whither Heaven directs, for I
Can guide no better than thine infancy.
Here are two pilgrims bound for Lion Quay,1

1 From which place she hopes to embark for Flanders.

And neither knows one footstep of the way.

[Noise again heard.

Return you? then 'tis time to shift me hence.

[Exit, and presently re-enters.

Duch. Thus far, but Heaven knows where, we have

escaped

The eager pursuit of our enemies,

Having for guidance my attentive fear.
Still I look back, still start my tired feet,

Which never till now measur'd London street :
My honours scorn'd that custom, they would ride,
Now forc'd to walk, more weary pain to bide.
Thou shalt not do so, child, I 'Il carry thee
In sorrow's arms to welcome misery;
Custom must steel thy youth with pinching want,
That thy great birth in age may bear with scant.
Sleep peaceably, sweet duck, and make no noise,
Methinks each step is death's arresting voice.
We shall meet nurse anon; a dug will come,
To please my quiet infant: when, nurse, when?
The DUCHESS, persecuted from place to place, with BERTY, her husband,
takes comfort from her baby's smiles.

Duch. Yet we have scap'd the danger of our foes,
And I, that whilom was exceeding weak
Through my hard travail in this infant's birth,
Am now grown strong upon necessity.

How forwards are we towards Windham Castle? Berty. Just half our way; but we have lost our friends,

Through the hot pursuit of our enemies.

Duch. We are not utterly devoid of friends;

Behold, the young lord Willoughby smiles on us : And 'tis great help to have a lord our friend.