In that you have thus grossly, Sir, dishonour'd
Even our blood itself in this rude injury
Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative

Implies death on your trespass; but, (your merit
Of more antiquity than is your trespass,)
That death is blotted out; perpetual banishment,
On pain of death if you return, for ever
From Verona and her signories.

Phil. Verona is kind.

Sen. Unto you, Madam,

This censure is allotted: your high blood

Takes off the danger of the law; nay from

Even banishment itself: this Lord, your husband,

Sues only for a legal fair divorce,

Which we think good to grant, the church allowing :
And in that the injury

Chiefly reflects on him, he hath free licence

To marry when and whom he pleases.

Abst. I thank ye,

That you are favorable unto my Love,
Whom yet I love and weep for.

Phil. Farewell, Lorenzo,

This breast did never yet harbour a thought

Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:

There's all the words that thou art worth. Of your Grace
I humbly thus take leave. Farewell, my Lords;-

And lastly farewell Thou, fairest of many,

Yet by far more unfortunate !-look up,

And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die
Love's martyr, the sad map of injury.-

And so remember, Sir, your injured Lady
Has a brother yet in Venice.

[Act ii., Sc. 3.1]

Philippo, at an after-trial, challenges Lorenzo.

Phil. in the integrity,

And glory of the cause, I throw the pawn

Of my afflicted honour; and on that

I openly affirm your absent Lady

Chastity's well knit abstract; snow in the fall,
Purely refined by the bleak northern blast,
Not freer from a soil; the thoughts of infants
But little nearer heaven: and if these princes
Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts

1 [Edited Bullen, 1890.]

That's full, five or six chaldron new laid up;
Look in my back yard, I shall find a steeple
Made up with Kentish faggots, which o'erlooks
The water-house and the windmills. I say nothing,
But smile, and pin the door. When she lies in,
(As now she's even upon the point of grunting),
A Lady lies not in like her; there's her imbossings,
Embroiderings, spanglings, and I know not what,
As if she lay with all the gaudy shops

In Gresham's Burse about her; then her restoratives,
Able to set up a young 'Pothecary,

And richly store the Foreman of a Drug shop;

Her sugars by whole loaves, her wines by rundlets.

I see these things, but like a happy man

I

pay for none at all, yet fools think it mine;

I have the name, and in his gold I shine :

And where some merchants would in soul kiss hell
To buy a paradise for their wives, and dye
Their conscience in the blood of prodigal heirs,
To deck their Night-piece; yet, all this being done,
Eaten with jealousy to the inmost bone;
These torments stand I freed of. I am as clear
From jealousy of a wife, as from the charge.
O two miraculous blessings! 'tis the Knight
Has ta'en that labour quite out of my hands.
I may sit still, and play; he's jealous for me,
Watches her steps, sets spies. I live at ease.
He has both the cost and torment; when the string
Of his heart frets, I feed fat, laugh, or sing.

1

I'll go bid Gossips presently myself,
That's all the work I'll do; nor need I stir,
But that it is my pleasure to walk forth
And air myself a little; I am tyed

To nothing in this business; what I do
Is merely recreation, not constraint.

[Act i., Sc. 2.]

[Act ii., Sc. 2.]

Rescue from Bailiffs by the Watermen.

I had been taken by eight Serjeants,

But for the honest Watermen, I am bound to 'em.

1 To his Wife's Lying-in.

They are the most requiteful'st people living;
For, as they get their means by Gentlemen,
They're still the forward'st to help Gentlemen.
You heard how one 'scaped out of the Blackfriars1
But awhile since from two or three varlets,

Came into the house with all their rapiers drawn,
As if they'd dance the sword-dance on the stage,
With candles in their hands, like Chandlers' Ghosts!
Whilst the poor Gentleman, so pursued and banded,
Was by an honest pair of oars safe landed.'

[Act iv., Sc. 3.]

[THE] LONDON CHANTICLEERS. A RUDE SKETCH OF A PLAY, PRINTED 1659, BUT EVIDENTLY MUCH OLDER

2

Song in praise of Ale.

I.

Submit, Bunch of Grapes,
To the strong Barley ear;
The weak Wine no longer
The laurel shall wear.

II.

Sack, and all drinks else,

Desist from the strife;

Ale's the only Aqua Vitæ,

And liquor of life.

III.

Then come, my boon fellows,
Let's drink it around;

It keeps us from grave,

Though it lays us on ground.

IV.

Ale's a Physician,

No Mountebank Bragger;
Can cure the chill Ague,

Though it be with the Stagger.

1 Alsatia, I presume. [Mr. Bullen suggests the theatre at Blackfriars.]

"[For other extracts from Middleton see note to page 144.]

TOTTENHAM COURT. A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1638: PRODUCED 1633]. BY THOMAS NABBS [FLOURISHED 1638]

Lovers Pursued,

WORTHGOOD, BELLAMIE, as travelling together before daylight.
Worth. Come, my Delight; let not such painted griefs
Press down thy soul: the darkness but presents

Shadows of fear: which should secure us best

From danger of pursuit.

Bell. Would it were day!

My apprehension is so full of horror;

I think each sound, the air's light motion
Makes in these thickets, is my Uncle's voice,
Threat'ning our ruins.

Worth. Let his rage persist

To enterprise a vengeance, we'll prevent it.
Wrapt in the arms of Night, that favours Lovers,
We hitherto have 'scaped his eager search;
And are arrived near London. Sure I hear

The Bridge's cataracts, and such-like murmurs

As night and sleep yield from a populous number.

Bell. But when will it be day? the light hath comfort; Our first of useful senses being lost,

The rest are less delighted.

Worth. Th' early Cock

Hath sung his summons to the day's approach:
"Twill instantly appear. Why startled, Bellamie?
Bell. Did no amazing sounds arrive thy ear?

Pray, listen.

Worth. Come, come; 'tis thy fear suggests Illusive fancies. Under Love's protection

We may presume of safety.

(Within.) Follow, follow, follow.

Bell. Aye me, 'tis sure my Uncle; dear Love Worthgood?
Worth. Astonishment hath seiz'd my faculties.

My Love, my Bellamie, ha!

Bell. Dost thou forsake me, Worthgood?

Worth. Where's my Love?

(Exit, as losing him.)

Dart from thy silver crescent one fair beam
Through this black air, thou Governess of Night,
To shew me whither she is led by fear.

A man cannot be merry, and drink drunk,

But he must be control'd by gravity.

Frank. O pardon him; you know, he is my father. And what he doth is but paternal love.

Though I be wild, I'm not yet so past reason

His person to despise, though. I his counsel
Cannot severely follow.

Rain. 'Sfoot, he is a fool.

Frank. A fool! you are a―

Fost. Nay, gentlemen

Frank. Yet I restrain my tongue,

Hoping you speak out of some spleenful rashness,
And no deliberate malice; and it may

be

You are sorry that a word so unreverent,
To wrong so good an aged gentleman,
Should pass you unawares.

Rain. Sorry, Sir Boy! you will not take exceptions?
Frank. Not against you with willingness, whom I
Have loved so long. Yet you might think me a
Most dutiless and ungracious son to give

Smooth countenance unto my father's wrong.
Come, I dare swear

"Twas not your malice, and I

Let's frame some other talk.

take it so.

Hear, gentlemen

Rain. But hear me, Boy! it seems, Sir, you are angry

Frank. Not thoroughly yet

Rain. Then what would anger thee?

Frank. Nothing from you.

Rain. Of all things under heaven

What would'st thou loathest have me do?

Frank. I would

Not have you wrong my reverent father; and

I hope you will not.

Rain. Thy father's an old dotard.

Frank. I would not brook this at a monarch's hand,

Much less at thine.

Rain. Aye, Boy? then take you that.

Frank. Oh, I am slain.

Good. Sweet Cuz, what have you done? Shift for yourself.

Rain. Away.

Enter Two DRAWERS.

1st Dr. Stay the gentlemen, they have killed a man!

O sweet Mr. Francis. One run to his father's.

[Exeunt.

2nd Dr. Hark, hark! I hear his father's voice below, 'tis ten to

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