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From p. 11 of "Cromwell's Conspiracy, a tragi-comedy, relating to our latter Times; beginning at the death of King Charles the First, and ending with the happy Restauration of King Charles the Second. Written by a Person of Quality." 4to, Lond. 1660.

How happy's the pris'ner that conquers his fate With silence, and ne'er on bad fortune complains, But carelessly plays with his keys on the grate, And makes a sweet concert with them and his chains !

He drowns care with sack, while his thoughts are oppress'd,

And makes his heart float like a cork in his breast.

Then since w'are all slaves who islanders be, And theworld's a large prison enclosed with the sea, We will drink up the ocean, and set ourselves free, For man is the world's epitome.

[* To this song, which was written by Sir Robert Ayton, Burns gave a Scots dress, but failed to improve.]

LOYALTY CONFINED.

FROM THE SAME.

Ascribed to Sir Roger L'Estrange.

BEAT on, proud billows; Boreas, blow;
Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;
Your incivility doth show

That innocence is tempest-proof:

Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm;
Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world miscalls a gaol,
A private closet is to me;
Whilst a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty:
Locks, bars, and solitude together met,
Makes me no prisoner, but an anchoret.
I, whilst I wish'd to be retired,"

Into this private room was turn'd,
As if their wisdoms had conspired

The salamander should be burn'd;
Or like a Sophy, that would drown a fish,
I am constrained to suffer what I wish.

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THE INQUIRY.

If we no old historian's name

Authentic will admit,

But think all said of friendship's fame

But poetry or wit;

Yet what's revered by minds so pure Must be a bright idea sure.

But as our immortality

By inward sense we find, Judging that if it could not be,

It would not be design'd:

So here how could such copies fall,

If there were no original?

But if truth be in ancient song,

Or story we believe;

If the inspired and greater throng

Have scorned to deceive;

There have been hearts whose friendship gave Them thoughts at once both soft and grave..

Among that consecrated crew

Some more seraphic shade

Lend me a favourable clew,

Now mists my eyes invade.

Why, having fill'd the world with fame,
Left you so little of your flame ?

Why is't so difficult to see

Two bodies and one mind?
And why are those who else agree

So difficultly kind?

Hath nature such fantastic art,
That she can vary every heart?

Why are the bands of friendship tied With so remiss a knot,

That by the most it is defied,

And by the most forgot? Why do we step with so light sense From friendship to indifference?

If friendship sympathy impart,

Why this ill-shuffled game,

That heart can never meet with heart,
Or flame encounter flame?
What does this cruelty create ?

Is't the intrigue of love or fate?

Had friendship ne'er been known to men, (The ghost at last confest)

The world had then a stranger been
To all that heaven possest.
But could it all be here acquired,
Not heaven itself would be desired.

A FRIEND.

LOVE, nature's plot, this great creation's soul,
The being and the harmony of things,
Doth still preserve and propagate the whole,
From whence man's happiness and safety springs:
The earliest, whitest, blessed'st times did draw
From her alone their universal law.

Friendship's an abstract of this noble flame, 'Tis love refined and purged from all its dross, The next to angel's love, if not the same,

As strong in passion is, though not so gross: It antedates a glad eternity,

And is an heaven in epitome.

Essential honour must be in a friend,

Not such as every breath fans to and fro; But born within, is its own judge and end, [know. And dares not sin though sure that none should Where friendship 's spoke, honesty 's understood; For none can be a friend that is not good.

Thick waters show no images of things;
Friends are each other's mirrors, and should be
Clearer than crystal or the mountain springs,
And free from clouds, design or flattery.
For vulgar souls no part of friendship share;
Poets and friends are born to what they are.

WILLIAM HEMINGE.

great poet's works. He was born in 1602, and received his education at Oxford. This is all that is mentioned of him by the compilers of the

THIS writer was the son of John Heminge the famous player, who was contemporary with Shakspeare, and whose name is prefixed, together with that of Condell, to the folio edition of the | Biographia Dramatica.

FROM "THE FATAL CONTRACT," ACT II. SCENE II.

Aphelia has been contracted by mutual vows to Clovis, younger brother of the young king of France, Clotair, and imagines in this scene that she is to be brought into the presence of Clovis, instead of whom she is brought to Clotair by the treachery of the Eunuch.

Enter APHELIA, and the Eunuch with a wax-taper. Aph. INTO what labyrinth do you lead me, sir? What by, perplexed ways? I should much fear, Had you not used his name, which is to me

A strength 'gainst terror, and himself so good,
Occasion cannot vary, nor the night,
Youth, nor his wild desire; otherwise

A silent sorrow from mine eyes would steal,
And tell sad stories for me.

Eun. You are too tender of your honour, lady,
Too full of aguish trembling; the noble prince
Is as December frosty in desire;

Save what is lawful, he not owns that heat,
Which, were you snow, would thaw a tear from you.
Aph. This is the place appointed: pray heavens
Go well!
[all things
Eun. I will go call him: please you rest yourself:
Here lies a book will bear you company
Till I return, which will be presently.-

[APHELIA reads the book.
Hither I'll send the king; not that I mean [Aside.
To give him leave to cool his burning lust,
For Clovis shall prevent him in the fact,
And thus I shall endear myself to both,
Clovis, enraged, perhaps will kill the king,
Or by the king will perish; if both fall,
Or either, both ways make for me.

The queen as rootedly does hate her sons
As I her ladyship. To see this fray

She must be brought by me: she'll steel them on
To one another's damage; for her sake
I'll say I set on foot this hopeful brawl.
Thus on all sides the eunuch will play foul,
And as his face is black he'll have his soul.
Aph. (Reading.) How witty sorrow has found
out discourse

Fitting a midnight season: here I see
One bathed in virgin's tears, whose purity
Might blanch a black-a-moor, turn nature's 'stream
Back on itself; words pure, and of that strain
Might move the Parce to be pitiful.

Enter CLOTAIR.

Clot. Methinks I stand like Tarquin in the night When he defiled the chastity of Rome, Doubtful of what to do; and like a thief, I take each noise to be an officer.

[She still reads on. She has a ravishing feature, and her mind Is of a purer temper than her body: Her virtues more than beauty ravish'd me, And I commit, even with her piety, A kind of incest with religion. Though I do know it is a deed of death, Condemn'd to torments in the other world. Such tempting sweetness dwells in every limb, That I must venture.

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Alack, why not? say he should offer foul, The evil counsel of a secret place,

And night, his friend, might overtempt his will.
I dare not stand the hazard; guide me, light,
To some untrodden place, where poor I may
Wear out the night with sighs till it be day.
Clot. I am resolved, I will be bold and resolute :
Hail, beauteous damsel !

Aph. Ha! what man art thou,

That hast thy countenance clouded with thy cloak,
And hidest thy face from darkness and the night
If thy intents deserve a muffler too,
Withdraw, and act them not-What art thou? speak,
And wherefore camest thou hither?

Clot. I came to find one beautiful as thou

Aph. I understand you not.

Clot. But you must; yea, and the right way too. Aph. Help! help! help!

Clot. Peace! none of your loud music, lady: If you raise a note, or beat the air with clamour, You see your death. [Draws his dagger.

Aph. What violence is this, inhuman sir? Why do you threaten war, fright my soft peace With most ungentle steel? What have I done Dangerous, or am like to do? Why do you wrack me thus ?

Mine arms are guilty of no crimes, do not torment 'em ;

Mine heart and they have been heaved up together
For mankind that was holy; if in that act
They have not pray'd for you, mend, and be holy.
The fault is none of theirs.

Clot. Come, do not seem more holy than you are, I know your heart.

Aph. Let your dagger too, noble sir, strike home, And sacrifice a soul to chastity,

As pure as is itself, or innocence.
Clot. This is not the way: know you me, beauty?
[Discovers himself.

Aph. The majesty of France!
Clot. Be not afraid.

Aph. I dare not fear; it's treason to suspect My king can harbour thoughts that tend to ill : I know your God-like good, and have but tried How far weak woman durst be virtuous.

Clot. Cunning simplicity, thou art deceived;
Thy wit as well as beauty wounds me, and thy tongue
In pleading for thee pleads against thyself:
It is thy virtue moves me, and thy good
Tempts me to acts of evil; wert thou bad,
Or loose in thy desires, I could stand

And only gaze, not surfeit on thy beauty;
But as thou art, there's witchcraft in thy face.

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More than a living scorn upon your name? The ashes in your urn shall suffer for❜t, Virgins will sow their curses on your grave, Time blot your kingly parentage, and call Your birth in question. Do you think

Than had Aphelia brought me forth an heir,
Whom now you must remember as a sister.

Clovis. O that in nature there was left an art
Could teach me to forget I ever loved
This her great masterpiece! O well-built frame,

This deed will lie conceal'd? the faults kings do Why dost thou harbour such unhallow'd guests,

Shine like the fiery beacons on a hill,
For all to see, and, seeing, tremble at.
It's not a single ill which you commit;
What in the subject is a petty fault
Monsters your actions, and 's a foul offence:
You give your subjects license to offend
When you do teach them how.

Clot. I will endure no longer : come along,
Or by the curious spinstry of thy head,
Which nature's cunningest finger twisted out,
I'll drag thee to my couch. Tempt not my fury.
Clovis. Hold!-hold, my heart; can I endure this?

Monster of men!

Thou king of darkness! down unto thy hell!
I have a spell will lay thy honesty,
And this abused goodness.

Eun. Beat' down their swords-what do the princes mean?

Ring out the 'larum-bell-call up the court

ANOTHER SCENE FROM THE SAME.

Persons. CLOVIS, CLOTAIR, STREPHON, LAMOT the
Physician, Eunuch, APHELIA.

In the sequel of the story, the guards of the king having fallen upon Clovis, he is apparently killed, but is nevertheless secretly cured of his wounds, and assumes a disguise. In the mean time, the queen mother, anxious to get rid of Aphelia, causes one of her own paramours to dress in the armour of Prince Clovis, and to demand, in the character of his ghost, that Aphelia shall be sacrificed upon his hearse. Clotair pretends to comply with this sacrifice, and Aphelia is brought out to execution; but when all is ready, he takes the sword from the headsman, lays it at her feet, and declares her his queen. Clovis attends in disguise, and the poet makes him behave with rather more composure than we should expect from his trying situation; but when he sees his mistress accept the hand of his royal brother, he at last breaks out.

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To house within thy bosom perjury?

If that our vows are register'd in heaven,
Why are they broke on earth? Aphelia,
This was a hasty match, the subtle air

Has not yet cool'd the breath with which thou
Thyself into my soul; and on thy cheeks [sworest
The print and pathway of those tears remain,
That woo'd me to believe so; fly me not,
I am no spirit; taste my active pulse,
And you shall find it make such harmony
As youth and health enjoy.

Eu. The queen! she faints.

Clovis. Is there a God left so propitious
To rid me of my fears? still let her sleep,
For if she wake (O king !) she will appear
Too monstrous a spectre for frail eyes
To see and keep their senses.

Lamot. Are you mad?

Clovis. Nothing so happy, Strephon; would I In time's first progress I despair the hour [were! That brings such fortune with it; I should then Forget that she was ever pleasing to me;

I should no more remember she would sit
And sing me into dreams of Paradise ;
Never more hang about her ivory neck,
Believing such a one Diana's was ;
Never more doat she breathes Arabia,
Or kiss her coral lips into a paleness.

Lamot. See,she's return'd, and with majestic gaze, In pity rather than contempt, beholds you.

Clovis. Convey me hence, some charitable man,
Lest this same creature, looking like a saint,
Hurry my soul to hell; she is a fiend
Apparell'd like a woman, sent on earth
For man's destruction.

Clotair. Rule your disorder'd tongue;
Clovis, what's past we are content to think
It was our brother spoke, and not our subject.

Clovis. I had forgot myself, yet well remember
Yon gorgon has transform'd me into stone;
And since that time my language has been harsh,
My words too heavy for my tongue, too earthly;
I was not born so, trust me, Aphelia ;
Before I was possess'd with these black thoughts,
I could sit by thy side, and rest my head
Upon the rising pillows of thy breast,
Whose natural sweetness would invite mine eyes
To sink in pleasing slumbers, wake, and kiss
The rose-beds that afforded me such bliss ;
But thou art now a general disease

That eat'st into my marrow, turn'st my blood,
And makest my veins run poison, that each sense
Groans at the alteration. Am I the Monsieur ?
Does Clovis talk his sorrows, and not act ?

O man bewomanized! Wert thou not mine?
How comes it thou art his?

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