have another purchase in hand; I shall have the wench, mine uncle says. I will but wash my face, and shift socks; and then have at her i'faith.Mark my pace, Poggio! Pog. Sir, I have seen an ass and a mule trot the Spanish pavin' with a better grace, I know not how often. Aside.-Exeunt. Ann. This idiot haunts me too. Put. Ay, ay, he needs no description. The rich magnifico that is below with your father, charge, Signior Donado his uncle, for that he means to make this, his cousin, a golden calf, thinks that you will be a right Israelite, and fall down to him presently. But I hope I have tutored you better. They say a fool's bauble' is a lady's play-fellow; yet you, having wealth enough, you need not cast upon the dearth of flesh, at any rate. Hang him, innocent 3! The Spanish pavin.] "The Pavan, from Pavo, a peacock, is a grave and majestic dance; the method of performing it was anciently by gentlemen, dressed with a cap and sword; by those of the long robe, in their gowns; by princes, in their mantles; and by ladies, in gowns with long trains, the motion whereof in the dance resembled that of a peacock's tail. This dance is supposed to have been invented by the Spaniards: Grassineau says, its tablature on the score is given in the Orchesographia of Thoinet Arbeau, Every pavan has its galliard, a lighter kind of air made out of the former."-Sir John Hawkins's History of Music, Vol. II. p. 134. The reference is here to the grave and majestic port assumed by Bergetto. 2 A fool's bauble.] The carved truncheon, which the fools and jesters carried in their hands. On the interesting subject of the fools and clowns, which form so prominent a feature in the an. cient drama, the best information will be found in the late valu. able dissertation of my friend, Francis Douce, Esq. in his Illus trations of Shakspeare, Vol. II. 3 Innocent.] A term formerly used in common, and still retained in some parts of the kingdom, for an idiot. Thus, in Enter GIOVANNI. Ann. But see, Putana, see! what blessed shape Of some celestial creature now appears! What man is he, that with such sad aspect Walks careless of himself? Put. Ann. Where? Look, below. Put. Oh, 'tis your brother, sweet! thing Wrapp'd up in grief; some shadow of a man. [Exeunt from the Balcony. Giov. Lost! I am lost! my fates have doom'd my death: The more I strive, I love: The more I love, Hall's Chronicle, Henry IV. fo. 6. " she depravynge and railyng on Kyng Rycharde as an innocent, a dastarde, a meicocke," &c. In Ben Johnson's Epicone, A. 1. s. 1. " hits me a blow o' the ear, and calls me innocent, and lets me go.” In the Two Noble Kinsmen, by Fletcher and Shakspeare, A. 4. s. 1. -but this very day I ask'd her questions, and she answer'd me So sillily, as if she were a fool, An innocent! and I was very angry."-Reed. Partage.] Partition, parting; so explained by Cotgrave. Here partnership is evidently the meaning intended. The less I hope. I see my ruin certain. To make our love a god, and worship it! I have even wearied heav'n with pray'rs, dried up 1 The faithful picture which our author gives of the gradual progress of the mind of Giovanni, from utter detestation of his lust to a more moderate view of it, and from that to a complete exculpation of his guilt by "school points" and "nice philosophy," is admirable: and it is to be wished the poet's eloquence had been bestowed, in the same degree, upon some of his other pieces, where the plot is not so extravagantly horrible. Mr Lambe subjoins the following note to a subsequent scene of this play, which he has extracted in his Specimens of Dramatic Poets. "Sir Thomas Browne, in the last chapter of his Inquiries into Vulgar and Common Errors, rebukes such authors as have chosen to relate prodigious and nameless sins. The chapter is entitled, Of some relations whose truth we fear. His reasoning is solemn and fine. Lastly, as there are many relations where to we cannot assent, and make some doubt thereof, so there are divers others whose verities we fear, and heartily wish there were no truth therein. Many other accounts like these we meet sometimes in history, scandalous unto Christianity, and even unto humanity; whose not only verities, but relations, honest men do deprecate. For, of sins heteroclital, and such as want either name or precedent, there is oftimes a sin in their histories. We desire no records of such enormities; sins should be accounted Ann. Giov. Enter ANNABELLA and PUTANA. Brother! If such a thing As courage dwell in men, ye heav'nly powers, Ann. Why, brother, will you not speak to me? Ann. Howsoe'er I am, methinks you are not well. Giov. Let me entreat you, leave us a while, Pu tana. Sister, I would be private with you. new, that so they may be esteemed monstrous. They omit of monstrosity, as they fall from their rarity; for men count it venial to err with their forefathers, and foolishly conceive they divide a sin in its society. The pens of men may sufficiently expatiate without these singularities of villainy; for as they increase the hatred of vice in some, so do they enlarge the theory of wickedness in all. And this is one thing that make latter ages worse than were the former: for the vicious example of ages past poison the curiosity of these present, affording a hint of sin unto seduceable spirits, and soliciting those unto the imitation of them, whose heads were never so perversely principled as to invent them. In things of this nature, silence commendeth history; 'tis the veniable part of things lost, wherein there must never rise a Pancirollus, nor remain any register, but that of hell.'Pancirollus wrote De Antiquis Deperditis, or of the Last Inven tions of Antiquity." Count Alfieri, in his tragedy of Mirra, has treated an equally horrible subject in a manner which the chastest minds cannot be offended with. His last two acts are truly admirable. The three first, from his slavish attachment to the unities of the drama, are rather languid. It is indeed singular, that the two greatest dramatists of modern day's have chosen the crime of incest for tragedies which rank among their masterpieces. I refer to the Italian author just mentioned, and to Schiller, whose Bride of Messina is professedly on the plan of the ancients. The fre quent introduction of that crime in the dramas of antiquity no doubt suggested the subject to these modern authors who were so enthusiastically attached to them. Ann. Withdraw, Putana. Put. I will.-[Aside.] If this were any other company for her, I should think my absence an office of some credit; but I will leave them together, [Exit Putana. Giov. Come, sister, lend your hand; let's walk together; I hope you need not blush to walk with me; Ann. Giov. 'Faith, I mean no harm. Ann. Giov. How's this? Harm? No, good faith: I trust he be not frantic How is it with thee? Ann. I am very well, brother. Giov. Trust me, but I am sick; I fear so sick 'Twill cost my life. Ann. Mercy forbid it! 'tis not so, I hope. Giov. I think, you love me, sister. Ann. Yes, you know I do." Giov. I know it indeed-you're very fair. Ann. Nay, then I see you have a merry sickness. Giov. That's as it proves. The poets feign, I read, That Juno for her forehead did exceed All other goddesses; but I durst swear Your forehead exceeds her's, as her's did theirs. Giov. Giov. The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange, Upon your dimple cheeks, do strive for change. Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as those Would make an anchorite lascivious. |