being my most esteemed friend, would take it ill, if you should come to hear of it, that I did not ask you first. Cred. It is a great honour. THE TRIUMPHANT WIDOW, BY THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE, 1677. Humours of a thief going to execution. Officers. Room for the prisoner there! room for the prisoner ! Footpad. Make room there! 'tis a strange thing a man cannot go to be hanged without crowding for it. 1st Fellow. Pray, sir, were you not akin to one Hinde? i Footpad. No; I had run faster away then. 2nd Fellow. Pray, prisoner, before your death clear your conscience, and tell me truly, &c. [All ask him questions about robberies. Margery. I am sure you had my lady's gilt caudle cup. Footpad. Yes, and would have kept it; but she has it again, has she not? James. And the plate out of my butteryFootpad. Well, and had she not it again? what a plague would you have? you examine me, as if you would hang me, after I am hanged. Pray, officers, rid me of these impertinent people, and let me die in quiet. Ist Woman. O lord! how angry he is! that shows he is a right reprobate, I warrant you. 1 A noted highwayman in those days. Footpad. I believe, if all of you were to be hanged, which I hope may be in good time, you would not be very merry. 2nd Woman. Lord, what a down look he has ! 1st Woman. Ay, and what a cloud in his forehead, goody Twattle, mark that. 2nd Woman. Ay, and such frowning wrinkles, I warrant you; not so much as a smile from him. Footpad. Smile, quoth she! though 'tis sport for you, 'tis none for me, I assure you. 1st Woman. Ay, but 'tis so long before you are hanged. Footpad. I wish it longer, good woman. Ist Fellow. Prithee, Mr Thief, let this be a warning to you for ever doing the like again. Footpad. I promise you it shall. 2nd Woman. That is well! thank you with all my heart, la! that was spoken like a precious godly man now. Ist Woman. By my truly, methinks now he is a very proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day. Footpad. Ay, so are all that are hanged; the gallows adds a great deal of grace to one's person. 2nd Woman. I vow he is a lovely man; 'tis pity he should be taken away, as they say, in the flower of his age. Ist Officer. Come, despatch, despatch; what a plague shall we stay all day, and neglect our business, to hang one thief? 2nd Officer. Pray, be hanged quickly, sir; for I am to go to a fair hard by. Ist Officer. And I am to meet some friends to drink out a stand of ale by and by. Ist Woman. Nay, pray let him speak, and die like a Christian. 2nd Woman. O, I have heard brave speeches at this place before. Footpad. Well, good people—if I may be bold to call you so this pulpit was not of my choosing. I shall shortly preach mortality to you without speaking, therefore pray take example by me, and then I know what will become of you. I will be, I say, your memento mori, hoping you will all follow me. 1st Fellow. O, he speaks rarely! 2nd Fellow. Ay, does Latin it. Footpad. I have been too covetous, and at last taken for it, and am very sorry for it. I have been a great sinner, and condemned for it, which grieves me not a little, that I made not my escape, and so I heartily repent it, and so I die with this true confession. 1st Woman (weeping). Mercy on him, for a better man was never hanged. 2nd Woman. So true and hearty repentance, and so pious! 2nd Fellow. Help him up higher on the ladder. Now you are above us all. Footpad. Truly I desire you were all equal with me; I have no pride in this world. 1st Fellow. Will you not sing, sir, before you are hanged? Footpad. No, I thank you; I am not so merrily disposed. Hangman. Come, are you ready? Footpad. Yes, I have been preparing for you these many years. 1st Woman. Mercy on him, and save his better part. 2nd Woman. You see what we must all come to. [Horn blows a reprieve. Officer. A reprieve! how came that? Post. My lady Haughty procured it. Footpad. I will always say, while I live, that her lady ship is a civil person. : 1st Fellow. Pish, what must he not be hanged now? 2nd Fellow. What did we come all this way for this? Ist Woman. Take all this pains to see nothing? Footpad. Very pious good people, I shall show you no sport this day. BRUTUS OF ALBA, A TRAGEDY : RAGUSA, and four more Witches, about to raise a storm. But such as rend the Caspian cliffs, and from All, Uh! Uh ! Uh ! Uh ! 1st W. The cricket leaves our cave, and chirps no more. 2nd W. I stuck a ram, but could not stain my steel. 3rd W. His fat consum'd i' th' fire, and never smok'd. 4th W. I found this morn upon our furnace wall Mysterious words wrought by a slimy snail, Whose night-walk Fate had guided in that form. 2nd W. Thou 'rt queen of mysteries, great Ragusa, How hast thou stemm'd the abyss of our black science, Trac'd dodging Nature through her blind scaperoads, In her dark Mansions seiz'd her, stripp'd her Veil, And brought her nak'd and trembling to the light! Rag. Now to our Task Stand off, and, crouching, mystic postures make, Whilst I fall prostrate to consult my art, [Storm rises. Rag. The storm's on wing, comes powd'ring from the Nore; 'T has past the Alps already, and whirls forward To th' rifled Apennine, whose snow is swept To th' vales beneath, while cots and folds lie buried. Thou, Myrza, tak'st to-night an airy march To th' Pontic shore for drugs, and for more speed On my own maple crutch thou shalt be mounted, Which bridled, turns to a steed so manageable, That thou mayst rein him with a spider's thread. 4th W. And how if I o'ertake a bark i' th' way? Rag. Then, if aloft thou go'st, to tinder scorch The fans; but if thou tak'st a lower cut, Then snatch the whip-staff from the steersman's hand, And souse him in the foam. 4th W. He shall be drench'd. [Storm thickens. Rag. Ay, this is music! now methinks I hear The shrieks of sinking sailors, tackle rent, More turf to th' fire, till the black mesh ferment; |