portrayed throughout the whole of this curious old Drama, in words which bees would talk with, could they talk; the very air seems replete with humming and buzzing melodies, while we read them. Surely bees were never so be-rhymed before.]

FURTHER EXTRACTS FROM THE SAME.
OBERON. FLORA, a Bee.

Ober. A female bee! thy character ?
Flo. Flora, Oberon's gardener,

Huswife both of herbs and flowers,

To strew thy shrine, and trim thy bowers,
With violets, roses, eglantine,
Duffadown, and blue columbine,
Hath forth the bosom of the spring
Pluck'd this nosegay, which I bring
From Eleusis, mine own shrine,
To thee, a monarch all divine;
And, as true impost of my grove,
Present it to great Oberon's love.
Ober. Honey dews refresh thy meads,
Cowslips spring with golden heads,
July-flowers and carnations wear
Leaves double-streak'd, with maiden-hair;
May thy lilies taller grow,

Thy violets fuller sweetness owe;
And last of all, may Phoebus love

To kiss thee, and frequent thy grove,
As thou in service true shalt be

Unto our crown and royalty.

OBERON holds a court, in which he sentences the Wasp, the Drone, and the Humble Bee, for divers offences against the Commonwealth of Bees.

OBERON. PROREX, his viceroy and other Bees.

Pro. And whither must these flies be sent ?
Ober. To everlasting banishment.

Underneath two hanging rocks
(Where babbling Echo sits and mocks
Poor travellers) there lies a grove,
With whom the sun 's so out of love,
He never smiles on 't; pale Despair
Calls it his monarchal chair.

Fruit, half-ripe, hang rivell'd and shrunk
On broken arms, torn from the trunk :
The moorish pools stand empty, left
By water, stol'n by cunning theft
To hollow banks, driven out by snakes,
Adders, and newts, that man these lakes :
The mossy weeds, half-swelter'd, serv'd
As beds for vermin hunger-sterv'd :
The woods are yew-trees, rent, and broke
By whirlwinds; here and there an oak,
Half-cleft with thunder. To this grove
We banish them.

Culprits. Some mercy, Jove!

Ober. You should have cried so in your youth,
When Chronos and his daughter Truth
Sojourn'd amongst you; when you spent
Whole years in riotous merriment,
Thrusting poor Bees out of their hives,
Seizing both honey, wax, and lives;
You should have call'd for mercy when
You impal'd common blossoms, when,
Instead of giving poor Bees food,

You ate their flesh, and drank their blood.

Fairies, thrust them to their fate.

OBERON then confirms PROREX in his government, and breaks up session

Prorex shall again renew

His potent reign: the massy world,

Which in glittering orbs is hurl'd

About the poles, be lord of: we

Only reserve our royalty-
Field Music. Oberon must away;
For us our gentle fairies stay :
In the mountains and the rocks
We'll hunt the gray, and little fox,
Who destroy our lambs at feed,
And spoil the nests where turtles feed.

THE HECTORS, A COMEDY:

By E. PRESTWICH.

A Waiting Maid wheedles an old Justice into a belief that her Lady is in love with him.

Maid. I think there never was woman of so strange

a humour as she is, in this world; for from her infancy she ever doted on old men. I have heard her say, that in these her late law troubles, it has been no small comfort to her, that she has been conversant with grave counsellors and serjeants, and what a happiness she had to look sometimes an hour together upon the judges. She will go and walk a whole afternoon in Charterhouse Garden, on purpose to view the ancient gentlemen there. Not long ago there was a young gentleman here about the town, who, hearing of her riches, and knowing this her humour, had almost got her, by counterfeiting himself to be an old man.

Justice. And how came he to miss her?

Maid. The strangeliest that ever you heard; for all

things were agreed, the very writings drawn, and when he came to seal them, because he

1 The hum of Bees.

set his name without using a pair of spectacles, she would never see him more.

Justice. Nay, if she could love an old man so—well—

The Waiting Maid places the Justice where he can overhear a sham discourse of the Lady with a pretended Brother.

Brother. What is the matter, sister? you do not use to be so strange to me.

Lady. I do not indeed, but now, methinks, I cannot conceal anything; yet I could wish you could now guess my thoughts, and look into my mind, and see what strange passions there have ruled of late, without forcing me to strain my modesty.

Broth. What are you in love with anybody? Come, let me know the party; a brother's advice may do you no harm.

Sist. Did not you see an ancient gentleman with me, when you came in ?

Broth. What, is it any son or kinsman of his?
Sist. No, no. (she weeps.)

Broth. Who then?

Sist. I have told you

Broth. What, that feeble and decrepit piece of ageSist. Nay, brother—

Broth. That sad effect of some threescore years and ten-that antique relique of the last century—

Sist. Alas, dear brother, it is but too true!
Broth. It is impossible.

Sist. One would think so indeed.

Broth. I grant, you may bear a reverence and regard, as to your father's ashes, or your grandsire's

tomb.

Sist. Alas, brother, you know I never did affect those vain, though pleasing braveries of youth, but still have set my mind on the more noble part of man, which age doth more refine and

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273

S

elevate, than it doth depress and sink this same contemptible clod.

Justice. I see, she loves me.

THE VIRGIN WIDOW, A COMEDY, 1649; THE ONLY PRODUCTION, IN THAT KIND, OF FRANCIS QUARLES, AUTHOR OF "EMBLEMS."

Song.

How blest are they that waste their weary hours In solemn groves and solitary bowers,

Where neither eye nor ear

Can see or hear

The frantic mirth

And false delights of frolic earth;

Where they may sit, and pant,

And breathe their pursy souls;

Where neither grief consumes, nor griping want

Afflicts, nor sullen care controls.

Away, false joys! ye murther where ye kiss:

There is no heaven to that, no life to this.

Cutter.

THE GUARDIAN, A COMEDY :
BY ABRAHAM COWLEY, 1650.1

DOGGRELL, the foolish poet, described.

the very emblem of poverty and poor poetry. The feet are worse patched of his rhymes than of his stockings. If one line forget itself, and run out beyond his elbow, while the

1 This was the first draught of that which he published afterwards under the title of the "Cutter of Coleman Street; " and