THE BASTARD, A TRAGEDY :

COSMO MANUCHE, 1652.

Lover's frown.

Roderiguez. Thy uncle, Love, holds still a jealous eye On all my actions; and I am advis'd

That his suspicious ears

Are still behind the hangings; that the servants Have from him in commands to watch who visits. 'Tis safest, in my judgment, in his presence That thou forbear to cast a smile upon me ; And that, like old December, I should look With an unpleasant and contracted brow. Varina. Why! canst thou change thy heart, my dear, that heart

Of flesh, thou gav'st me, into adamant,

Or rigid marble? canst thou frown on me?
Rod. You do mistake me, sweet, I mean not so
To change my heart; I'll change my countenance,
But keep my heart as loyal as before.

Var. In truth I cannot credit it, that thou
Canst cast a frown on me; I prithee try.

Rod. Then thus ! [He tries, and cannot; they smile

on each other. Var. I prithee, sweet, betake thyself to school

;

This lesson thou must learn; in troth thou 'rt out. Rod. Well, I must learn and practise it, or we Shall blast our budding hopes.

Var. Come, try again.

Rod. But if I try, and prove a good proficient ;
If I do act my part discreetly, you

Must take it as a play, not as a truth;
Think it a formal, not a real frown.

Var. I shall.

Rod. Then thus: i' faith, minion, I'll look to you. [She swoons. Why, how now, sweet!-I did mistrust thy

weakness:

Now I have learn'd my part, you are to seek. Var. 'Faith, 'twas my weakness; when I did perceive A cloud of rage condensed on thy brow, My heart began to melt.

LOVE'S DOMINION, A DRAMATIC
PASTORAL:

BY RICHARD FLECKNOE, 1654.

Invocation to Silence.

STILL-BORN Silence, thou that art
Floodgate of the deeper heart;
Offspring of a heavenly kind,

Frost o' th' mouth and thaw o' th' mind;
Secrecy's confidant, and he

That makes religion mystery;
Admiration's speaking'st tongue,—
Leave thy desert shades, among
Reverend hermits' hallowed cells,
Where retir'dst Devotion dwells;
With thy Enthusiasms come,

Seize this nymph and strike her dumb.

Fable.

Love and Death, o' th' way once meeting,
Having pass'd a friendly greeting,

Sleep their weary eyelids closing,

Lay them down, themselves reposing;

When this fortune did befall 'em,

Which after did so much appal 'em :

Love, whom divers cares molested,
Could not sleep, but, whilst Death rested,
All in haste away he posts him :
But his haste full dearly costs him;
For it chanc'd, that going to sleeping,
Both had given their darts in keeping
Unto Night, who, Error's mother,
Blindly knowing not th' one from th' other,
Gave Love Death's, and ne'er perceiv'd it,
Whilst as blindly Love receiv'd it;
Since which time, their darts confounding,
Love now kills, instead of wounding,
Death, our hearts with sweetness filling,
Gently wounds, instead of killing.

THE TWINS, A COMEDY:
BY W. RIDER, 1655.

I AM a heavy stone,

Irresolution.

Roll'd up a hill by a weak child: I move
A little up, and tumble back again.

Resolution for innocence.

My noble mind has not yet lost all shame :
I will desist. My love, that will not serve me
As a true subject, I 'll conquer as an enemy.
O Fame, I will not add another spot

To thy pure robe! I'll keep my ermine honour
Pure and alive in death, and with my end

I 'll end my sin and shame: Like Charicles,
Who living to a hundred years of age

Free from the least disease, fearing a sickness,

To kill it kill'd himself, and made his death
The period of his health.

PHYLLIS OF SCYROS, A DRAMATIC PASTORAL:

BY SIR E. SHERBURNE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN, 1655.

True Love irremoveable by Death.
SERPILLA. PHYLLIS.

Ser. Thyrsis believes thee dead, and justly may
Within his youthful breast then entertain
New flames of love, and yet therein be free
From the least show of doing injury

To that rich beauty which he thinks extinct,
And happily hath mourn'd for long ago:
But when he shall perceive thee here alive,
His old lost love will then with thee revive.
Phyl. That love, Serpilla, which can be remov'd
With the light breath of an imagin'd death,
Is but a faint weak love, nor care I much
Whether it live within, or still lie dead.
Even I myself believ'd him long ago
Dead, and enclosed within an earthen urn,
And yet, abhorring any other love,
I only lov'd that pale-fac'd beauty still,
And those dry bones, dissolved into dust,
And underneath their ashes kept alive
The lively flames of my still burning fire.

CELLA, being put to sleep by an ineffectual poison, waking believes herself to be among the dead. The old shepherd NARETE finds her, and re-assures her of her still being alive.

Shep. Celia, thou talk'st idly; call again

Thy wand'ring senses, thou art yet alive;