(As did Arion) on the dolphin's back,

Still fumbling on a gittern.--The rude multitude,
Watching without, and gaping for the spoil

Cast from the windows, went by th' ears about it;
The Constable is call'd to atone the broil;
Which done, and hearing such a noise within

Of eminent shipwreck, enters th' house, and finds them
In this confusion: they adore his Staff,

And think it Neptune's Trident; and that he
Comes with his Tritons (so they call'd his watch)
To calm the tempest and appease the waves:
And at this point we left them.1

[Act ii., Sc. 1.]

This piece of pleasant exaggeration (which for its life and humour might have been told, or acted, by Petruchio himself) gave rise to the title of Cowley's Latin Play, Naufragium Joculare, and furnished the idea of the best scene in it.-Heywood's Preface to this Play is interesting, as it shows the heroic indifference about posterity, which some of these great writers seem to have felt. There is a magnanimity in Authorship as in everything else.

"If, Reader, thou hast of this play been an Auditor, there is less apology to be used by intreating thy patience. This Tragi-comedy (being one reserved amongst 220 in which I had either an entire hand or at the least a main finger) coming accidentally to the press, and I having intelligence thereof, thought it not fit that it should pass as filius populi, a Bastard without a father to acknowledge it: true it is that my plays are not exposed to the world in volumes, to bear the title of works (as others 2): one reason is, that many of them by shifting and change of companies have been negligently lost. Others of them are still retained in the hands of some actors, who think it against their peculiar profit to have them come in print, and a third that it never was any great ambition in me to be in this kind voluminously read. All that I have further to say at this time is only this: censure I entreat as favourably as it is exposed to thy view freely.

"Ever

Studious of thy Pleasure and Profit,
"TH. HEYWOOD."

Of the 220 pieces which he here speaks of having been concerned in, only 25, as enumerated by Dodsley, have come down to us, for the reasons assigned in the preface. The rest have perished, exposed to the casualties of a theatre. Heywood's ambition seems to have been confined to the pleasure of hearing the Players speak his lines while he lived. It does not appear that he ever contemplated the possibility of being read by after-ages. What a slender pittance of fame was motive sufficient to the production of such Plays as the English Traveller, the Challenge for Beauty, and the Woman Killed with Kindness! Posterity is bound to take care that a Writer loses nothing by such a noble modesty.

1[For further extracts from Heywood alone see pages 101, 408, 426, 428, 433, 458, 461, 529, 570 and 573.]

"He seems to glance at Ben Jonson.

THE LATE LANCASHIRE WITCHES: A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1634]. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD, AND RICHARD BROME [FIRST HALF SEVENTEENTH CENTURY]

Mr. Generous, by taking off a Bridle from a seeming Horse in his Stable, discovers it to be his Wife, who has transformed herself by Magical Practices, and is a Witch.

MR. GENEROUS.

WIFE.

ROBIN, a groom.

Gen. My blood is turn'd to ice, and all my vitals
Have ceas'd their working. Dull stupidity
Surpriseth me at once, and hath arrested
That vigorous agitation, which till now
Exprest a life within me. I, methinks,
Am a mere marble statue, and no man.
Unweave my age, O time, to my first thread;
Let me lose fifty years, in ignorance spent ;
That being made an infant once again,

I may begin to know. What, or where am I,
To be thus lost in wonder?

Wife. Sir.

Gen. Amazement still pursues me, how am I chang'd, Or brought ere I can understand myself

Into this new world!

Rob. You will believe no witches?

Gen. This makes me believe all, ay, anything;

And that myself am nothing. Prithee, Robin,
Lay me to myself open; what art thou,

Or this new transform'd creature?

Rob. I am Robin;

And this your wife, my mistress.

Gen. Tell me, the earth

Shall leave its seat, and mount to kiss the moon ;
Or that the moon, enamour'd of the earth,
Shall leave her sphere, to stoop to us thus low.
What, what's this in my hand, that at an instant
Can from a four-legg'd creature make a thing
So like a wife?

Rob. A bridle; a jugling bridle, sir.
Gen. A bridle! Hence, enchantment.
A viper were more safe within my hand,
Than this charm'd engine.--

A witch! my wife a witch!

7164

The more I strive to unwind

Myself from this meander, I the more
Therein am intricated. Prithee, woman,
Art thou a witch?

Wife. It cannot be denied,

I am such a curst creature.
Gen. Keep aloof:

And do not come too near me. O my trust;
Have I, since first I understood myself,

Been of my soul so chary, still to study

What best was for its health, to renounce all

The works of that black fiend with my best force;
And hath that serpent twined me so about,

That I must lie so often and so long

With a devil in my bosom?

Wife. Pardon, sir.

[She looks down.]

Gen. Pardon! can such a thing as that be hoped ? Lift up thine eyes, lost woman, to yon hills;

It must be thence expected: look not down.

Unto that horrid dwelling; which thou hast sought
At such dear rate to purchase. Prithee tell me,
(For now I can believe,) art thou a witch?
Wife. I am.

Gen. With that word I am thunderstruck,
And know not what to answer; yet resolve me,
Hast thou made any contract with that fiend,
The enemy of mankind?

Wife. Ó, I have.

Gen. What? and how far?

Wife. I have promis'd him my soul.

Gen. Ten thousand times better thy body had
Been promis'd to the stake; ay, and mine too,
To have suffer'd with thee in a hedge of flames,
Than such a compact ever had been made. Oh-
Resolve me, how far doth that contract stretch?
Wife. What interest in this Soul myself could claim,
I freely gave him: but his part that made it
I still reserve, not being mine to give.

Gen. O cunning devil: foolish woman, know,
Where he can claim but the least little part,
He will usurp the whole. Thou'rt a lost woman.
Wife. I hope, not so.

Gen. Why, hast thou any hope?

Wife. Yes, sir, I have.

Gen. Make it appear to me.

Wife. I hope I never bargain'd for that fire,

Further than penitent tears have power to quench.
Gen. I would see some of them.

Wife. You behold them now

(If you look on me with charitable eyes)
Tinctured in blood, blood issuing from the heart.
Sir, I am sorry; when I look towards heaven,
I beg a gracious pardon; when on you,
Methinks your native goodness should not be
Less pitiful than they: 'gainst both I have err'd;
From both I beg atonement.

Gen. May I presume't?

Wife. I kneel to both your mercies.
Gen. Knowest thou what

A witch is?

Wife. Alas! none better;

Or after mature recollection can be
More sad to think on't.

Gen. Tell me, are those tears
As full of true-hearted penitence,
As mine of sorrow to behold what state,
What desperate state, thou'rt faln in?

Wife. Sir, they are.

Gen. Rise; and, as I do you, so heaven pardon me; We all offend, but from such falling off

Defend us! Well, I do remember, wife,

When I first took thee, 'twas for good and bad.
O, change thy bad to good, that I may keep thee
(As then we pass'd our faiths) 'till Death us sever.
O, woman, thou hast need to weep thyself
Into a fountain, such a penitent spring

As may have power to quench invisible flames;
In which my eyes shall aid: too little, all.1

Frank Hospitality.

Gentlemen, welcome, 'tis a word I use;
From me expect no further compliment;
Nor do I name it often at one meeting;

Once spoke, to those that understand me best,
And know I always purpose as I speak,

Hath ever yet sufficed: so let it you.

[Act iv., Sc. 1.2]

1 Compare this with a story in the Arabian Nights, where a man discovers his

wife to be a goul.

[Heywood's Works, vol. iv.]

Nor do I love that common phrase of guests,
As, we make bold, or, we are troublesome,
We take you unprovided, and the like!
I know you understanding Gentlemen,
And knowing me, cannot persuade yourselves
With me you shall be troublesome or bold.-
Nor shall you find,

say,

I am sorry

Being set to meat, that I'll excuse your fare,
Or
it falls out so poor,
And, had I known your coming, we'd have had
Such things and such; nor blame my Cook, to say
This dish or that hath not been sauc't with care:
Words fitting best a common hostess' mouth,
When there's perhaps some just cause of dislike;
But not the table of a Gentleman.1

[Act i., Sc. 1.]

AND

A FAIR QUARREL : A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1617], BY THOMAS MIDDLETON [1570 P-1627], WILLIAM ROWLEY [1585 ?-1642 ? ]

Captain Ager in a dispute with a Colonel his friend, receives from the Colonel the appellation of Son of a Whore. A challenge is given and accepted; but the Captain, before he goes to the field, is willing to be confirmed of his mother's honour from her own lips. Lady Ager, being questioned by her son, to prevent a duel, falsely slanders herself of unchastity. The Captain, thinking that he has a bad cause, refuses to fight. But being reproached by the Colonel with cowardice, he esteems that he has now sufficient cause for a quarrel, in the vindicating of his honour from that aspersion; and draws, and disarms his opponent.

LADY. CAPTAIN, her son.

Lady. Where left you your dear friend the Colonel ?
Cap. O, the dear Colonel, I should meet him soon.
Lady. O, fail him not then, he's a Gentleman
The fame and reputation of your time

Is much engag'd to.

Cap. Yes, and you knew all, mother.

[For another extract from this play see page 408. For Heywood in partnership

see also page 416. For Brome see page 464.]