amounts to pedantry. "His plays were works, whilst others' works were but plays." His tragedies are frigid and rhetorical; in pathos, in tragic passion, in creative imagination, Jonson was lacking. Though many beautiful occasional lyrics are scattered throughout his plays, still, as Swinburne says, "That singing power which answers in verse to the odour of a blossom, to the colouring of a picture, to the flavour of a fruit,—that quality without which they may be good, commendable, admirable, but cannot be delightful,was not, it would seem, a natural gift of this great writer: hardly now and then could his industry attain to it by some exceptional touch of inspiration or of luck." 178 SCENE--LONDON. Portions which can be omitted, enclosed in thick brackets :— Act I. Sc. i. pp. 179–181. Act II. Sc. i. pp. 193-197; Sc. ii. pp. 204, 205; Sc. iii. p. 209. Act III. Sc. i. pp. 219, 220; Sc. ii. p. 225. Act IV. Sc. i. all; Sc. ii. pp. 239, 240; 245-259. Act V. Sc. i. pp. 262-265. SCHEME for grouping the parts with 14 readers; 13 single The PAGE sings a Song in Act I. Sc. i. p. 181. Instrumental Music occurs in Act III. Sc. ii. p. 229. EPIC ENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN. ACT I. SCENE I.-A Room in CLERIMONT'S House. Enter CLERIMONT, making himself ready, followed by his Page. Cler. Have you got the song yet perfect, I gave you, boy? Page. Yes, sir. Cler. Let me hear it. [Page. You shall, sir; but i'faith let nobody else. Cler. Why, I pray? Page. It will get you the dangerous name of a poet in town, sir; besides me a perfect deal of ill-will at the mansion you wot of, whose lady is the argument of it; where now I am the welcomest thing under a man that comes there. Cler. I think; and above a man too, if the truth were rack'd out of you. Page. No, faith, I'll confess before, sir.* Still to be neat, still to be drest Enter TRUEWIT. [Page sings. True. Why, here's the man that can melt away his time and never feels it! What between his mistress abroad and his ingle1 at home, high fare, 1 Ingle-an intimate friend. soft lodging, fine clothes, and his fiddle, he thinks the hours have no wings, or the day no post-horse. Well, Sir Gallant, were you struck with the plague this minute, or condemn'd to any capital punishment to-morrow, you would begin then to think, and value every article of your time, esteem it at the true rate, and give all for it. Cler. Why, what should a man do? True. Why, nothing; or that which, when 'tis done, is as idle. Hearken after the next horse-race, or hunting-match, lay wagers, praise Puppy, or Peppercorn, Whitefoot, Franklin;1 swear upon Whitemane's party; speak aloud, that my lords may hear you; visit my ladies at night, and be able to give them the character of every bowler or better on the green. These be the things wherein your fashionable men exercise themselves, and I for company. Cler. Nay, if I have thy authority, I'll not leave yet. Come, the other are considerations, when we come to have grey heads,* moist eyes and shrunk members. We'll think on 'em then; then we'll pray and fast. True. Ay, and destine only that time of age to goodness, which our want of ability will not let us employ in evil! Cler. Why, then 'tis time enough. True. Yes; as if a man should sleep all the term, and think to effect his business the last day. Oh, Clerimont, this time, because it is an incorporeal thing, and not subject to sense, we mock ourselves the fineliest out of it, with vanity and misery indeed! not seeking an end of wretchedness, but only changing the matter still. Cler. Nay, thou'lt not leave now True. See but our common disease! With what justice can we complain that great men will not look upon us, nor be at leisure to give our affairs 1 Famous horses of the time. |
