The sands, it was my unhappy chance to light
Upon a face, whose favour when it lived
My astonish'd mind inform'd me I had seen.
He lay in his armour, as if that had been
His coffin; and the weeping sea (like one
Whose milder temper doth lament the death
Of him whom in his rage he slew) runs up
The shore, embraces him, kisses his cheek;
Goes back again, and forces up the sands
To bury him; and every time it parts,
Sheds tears upon him; till at last (as if
It could no longer endure to see the man
Whom it had slain, yet loth to leave him) with
A kind of unresolv'd unwilling pace,
Winding her waves one in another (like

A man that folds his arms, or wrings his hands,
For grief) ebb'd from the body, and descends;
As if it would sink down into the earth,
And hide itself for shame of such a deed.1

Match Refused.

I entertain the offer of this match,
With purpose to confirm it presently.
I have already mov'd it to my daughter;
Her soft excuses savour'd at the first
Methought but of a modest innocence

Of blood, whose unmov'd stream was never drawn
Into the current of affection. But when I
Replied with more familiar arguments,
Thinking to make her apprehension bold;
Her modest blush fell to a pale dislike,
And she refus'd it with such confidence,
As if she had been prompted by a love
Inclining firmly to some other man ;
And in that obstinacy she remains.

Love and Courage.

O, do not wrong him. "Tis a generous mind
That led his disposition to the war;

[Act ii., Sc. 1.]

[Act i., Sc. 4.]

1 This way of description, which seems unwilling ever to leave off, weaving parenthesis within parenthesis, was brought to its height by Sir Philip Sidney. He seems to have set the example to Shakspeare. Many beautiful instances may be found all over the Arcadia. These bountiful Wits always give full measure, pressed down and running over.

For gentle love and noble courage are

So near allied, that one begets another:

Or love is sister, and courage is the brother.

Could I affect him better than before,

His soldier's heart would make me love him more.

[Act i., Sc. 4.]

THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY [PUBLISHED IN 1607]. BY CYRIL TOURNEUR

Vindici addresses the Scull of his dead Lady.

Thou sallow picture of my poison'd love,
My study's ornament, thou shell of death,
Once the bright face of my betrothed lady,
When life and beauty naturally fill'd out
These ragged imperfections;

When two heav'n-pointed diamonds were set
In those unsightly rings then 'twas a face

So far beyond the artificial shine

Of any woman's bought complexion,

That the uprightest man (if such there be
That sin but seven times a day) broke custom,
And made up eight with looking after her.
O, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son
Melt all his patrimony in a kiss;

And what his father fifty years told,

To have consum'd, and yet his suit been cold.

[Act i., Sc. 1.1]

Again.

Here's an eye

Able to tempt a great man-to serve God;

A pretty hanging lip, that has forgot now to dissemble.
Methinks this mouth should make a swearer tremble

A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em,
To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em.

;

Here's a cheek keeps her colour let the wind go whistle :
Spout rain, we fear thee not: be hot or cold,
All's one with us: and is not he absurd,
Whose fortunes are upon their faces set,
That fear no other God but wind and wet? 2
Does the silk-worm expend her yellow labours
For thee? for thee does she undo herself?

[Ed. Churton Collins, 2 vols., 1878.]

2[Six lines omitted.]

Are lordships sold to maintain ladyships,

For the poor benefit of a bewitching minute?
Why does yon fellow falsify highways,

And put his life between the judge's lips,

To refine such a thing? keep his horse and men,
To beat their valors for her?

Surely we're all mad people, and they
Whom we think are, are not.1

Does every proud and self-affecting dame

Camphire her face for this? and grieve her maker
In sinful baths of milk, when many an infant starves,
For her superfluous outside, for all this?

Who now bids twenty pound a night? prepares
Music, perfumes, and sweetmeats? all are hush'd.
Thou may'st lie chaste now! it were fine, methinks,

To have thee seen at revels, forgetful feasts,

And unclean brothels: sure 'twould fright the sinner,
And make him a good coward: put a reveller

Out of his antick amble,

And cloy an epicure with empty dishes.

Here might a scornful and ambitious woman

Look through and through herself. See ladies, with false forms

You deceive men, but cannot deceive worms."

[Act iii., Sc. 4.]

Vindici, having disguised himself, makes trial of his Sister Castiza's virtue; and afterwards of his Mother's.

VINDICI. CASTIZA.

Vin. Lady, the best of wishes to your sex,

Fair skins and new gowns.

Cast. Oh they shall thank you, Sir.

Whence this?

Vin. Oh, from a dear and worthy friend.

Cast. From whom?

[Offers her a Letter.

Vin. The duke's son.

Cast. Receive that.

[A Box o' the Ear to her Brother.

I swore I would put anger in my hand,

[Two and a half lines omitted.]

2 The male and female Skeleton in Gondibert is the finest lecture of mortification

which has been read from bones.

This dismal gallery, lofty, long and wide,
Was hung with Skeletons of every kind;

Human, and all that learned human pride

Thinks made to obey man's high immortal mind.

Yet on that wall hangs He, too, who so thought:

And She, dried by Him, whom that He obey'd.

[Davenant's Gondibert, 1651, Canto v., verses 32, 33.]

And pass the virgin limits of myself,
To him that next appear'd in that base office,
To be his sin's attorney. Bear to him
That figure of my hate upon thy cheek,
Whilst 'tis yet hot, and I'll reward thee for't;
Tell him my honor shall have a rich name,

When several harlots shall share his with shame.
Farewell; commend me to him in my hate.

Vin. It is the sweetest box

That e'er my nose came nigh;

The finest draw-work cuff that e'er was worn;
I'll love this blow for ever, and this cheek
Shall still henceforward take the wall of this.
Oh, I'm above my tongue: most constant sister,
In this thou hast right honourable shown;
Many are call'd by their honor, that have none.
Thou art approv'd for ever in my thoughts.
It is not in the power of words to taint thee.
And yet for the salvation of my oath,
As my resolve in that point, I will lay
Hard siege unto my mother, tho' I know,
A siren's tongue could not bewitch her so.
Mass, fitly here she comes! thanks, my disguise—
The Mother enters.

Madam, good afternoon.

Moth. Y'are welcome, sir.

Vin. The next of Italy commends him to you,

Our mighty expectation, the duke's son.

Moth. I think myself much honour'd, that he pleases To rank me in his thoughts.

Vin. So may you, lady:

One that is like to be our sudden duke;

The crown gapes for him every tide; and then

Commander o'er us all, do but think on him,
How blest were they now that could pleasure him
Ev'n with anything almost!

Moth. Ay, save their honour.

Vin. Tut, one would let a little of that go too, And ne'er be seen in't, ne'er be seen in't, mark you,

I'd wink and let it go.

Moth. Marry but I would not.

Vin. Marry but I would, I hope, I know you would too.
If you'd that blood now which you gave your daughter.
To her indeed 'tis, this wheel comes about;

[Exit.

That man that must be all this, perhaps ere morning, (For his white father does but mould away)

Has long desir'd your daughter.

Moth. Desir'd?

Vin. Nay, but hear me,

He desires now, that will command hereafter;
Therefore be wise, I speak as more a friend

To you than him; madam, I know you're poor.

And (lack the day!) there are too many poor ladies already;
Why should you wax the number? 'tis despised.

Live wealthy, rightly understand the world,

And chide away that foolish country girl

Keeps company with your daughter, Chastity.

Moth. O fie, fie! the riches of the world cannot hire a mother To such a most unnatural task.

Vin. No, but a thousand angels can;

Men have no power, angels must work you to't:
The world descends into such base-born evils,
That forty angels can make fourscore devils.
There will be fools still I perceive-still fool?
Would I be poor, dejected, scorn'd of greatness,
Swept from the palace, and see others' daughters
Spring with the dew of the court, having mine own
So much desir'd and lov'd-by the duke's son ?
No, I would raise my state upon her breast,
And call her eyes my tenants; I would count
My yearly maintenance upon her cheeks;
Take coach upon her lip; and all her parts
Should keep men after men; and I would ride
In pleasure upon pleasure.

You took great pains for her, once when it was,

Let her requite it now, tho' it be but some;

You brought her forth, she may well bring you home.

Moth. O heavens! this o'ercomes me !

Vin. Not I hope already?

(Aside.)

Moth. It is too strong for me; men know that know us,

We are so weak their words can overthrow us:

He touch'd me nearly, made my virtues bate,
When his tongue struck upon my poor estate.

(Aside.)

Vin. I even quake to proceed, my spirit turns edge.

I fear me she's unmother'd, yet I'll venture.1

(Aside.)

What think you now, lady? speak, are you wiser?
What said advancement to you? thus it said,
The daughter's fall lifts up the mother's head;
Did it not, Madam ? but I'll swear it does

1 [Line omitted.]