To behold my tragedy. How now, What noise is that? Serv. I am come to tell you Your brother hath intended you some sport: With several sorts of mad-men, which wild object [The Mad-men enter, and whilst they dance to suitable music, the DUCHESS, perceiving BOSOLA among them, says, Duch. Is he mad too? Serv. Pray question him. I'll leave you. Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my death-bed sickness is insensible. Duch. I am Duchess of Malfi still. Bos. That makes thy sleeps so broken : Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But look'd to near, have neither heat nor light. Duch. Thou art very plain. Bos. My trade is to flatter the dead, not the Duch. And thou comest to make my tomb? Duch. Let me be a little merry Of what stuff wilt thou make it! Bos. Nay, resolve me first of what fashion? Duch. Why, do we grow fantastical on our death-bed? Do we affect fashion in the grave? Bos. Most ambitiously: princes' images on their tombs Do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray, Up to heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks (As if they died of the tooth-ache); they are not carved With their eyes fix'd upon the stars: but as Their minds were wholly bent upon the world, The self-same way they seem to turn their faces. Duch. Let me know fully, therefore, the effect Of this thy dismal preparation, This talk, fit for a charnel! Bos. Now I shall. Here is a present from your princely brothers, [A coffin, cords, and a bell. And may it arrive welcome, for it brings Last benefit, last sorrow. Duch. Let me see it : I have so much obedience in my blood, Cari. O my sweet lady! Duch. Peace, it affrights not me. Bos. I am the common bellman, That usually is sent to condemn'd persons The night before they suffer. Duch. Even now thou said'st Thou wast a tomb-maker? Bos. 'Twas to bring you By degrees to mortification. Listen: And bid her quickly don her shroud. Their death a hideous storm of terror. Cari. Hence villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas! What will you do with my lady? call for help. Duch. To whom, to our next neighbours? they Bos. Remove that noise. [are mad folks. Duch. Farewell, Cariola ; In my last will I have not much to give A many hungry guests have fed upon me- Cari. I will die with her. Duch. I pray thee look thou givest my little boy Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl Say her prayers ere she sleep. Now what you please. What death? Bos. Strangling: here are your executioners. The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' th' lungs, Bos. Doth not death fright you? Bos. Yet, methinks, The manner of your death should much afflict you? This cord should terrify you. Duch. Not a whit : What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls ? So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers Duch. Pull, and pull strongly; for your able Fetch her some other strangle the children. Perpetually for this. My turn is next, Bos. Yes; and I am glad Cari. You are deceived, sir, I am not prepared for't; I will not die ; Bos. Come, despatch her! You kept her counsel, now you shall keep ours. Cari. I will not die; I must not; I am contracted And should I die this instant, I had lived Bos. It seems she was born first. Ferd. Let me see her face again. An excellent honest man might'st thou have been, I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits, Had she continued widow, to have gain'd An infinite mass of treasure by her death; And what was the main cause? Her marriage! For playing a villain's part,) I hate thee for't: Bos. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive You are falling into ingratitude; I challenge The reward due to my service. Can prescribe man obedience! Never look upon me more. Bos. Why, fare thee well: Your brother and yourself are worthy men ; Bos. He's much distracted. Off, my painted honour! While with vain hopes our faculties we tire, Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart, To store them with fresh colour. Who's there? Bos. Oh, she's gone again: there the cords of life broke. Oh, sacred innocence ! that sweetly sleeps All our good deeds, and bad; a perspective These tears, I am very certain, never grew Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come, I'll bear thee hence, And execute thy last will; that's deliver Thy body to the reverend dispose Of some good women; that the cruel tyrant Shall not deny me: then I'll post to Milan, Where somewhat I will speedily enact Worth my dejection. FROM THE SAME. ACT V. SCENE III. Persons.-ANTONIO, DELIO, Echo from the Duchess's grave. Delio. YOND'S the cardinal's window. Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey ; Antonio. I do love these ancient ruins : Echo. Like death that we have. Echo. Deadly accent. Del. I told you 'twas a pretty one. A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician, Or a thing of sorrow. Echo. A thing of sorrow. Ant. Ay, sure that suits it best. Ant. 'Tis very like my wife's voice. Del. Come, let's walk farther from't: [men, You may [make it Ant. My duchess is asleep now, And her little ones, I hope sweetly: Oh, heaven! Shall I never see her more? Echo. Never see her more. Ant. I mark'd not one repetition of the Echo But that, and on the sudden a clear light Presented me a face folded in sorrow. Del. Your fancy, merely, Ant. Come, I'll be out of this ague; For to live thus, is not indeed to live ; It is a mockery and abuse of life: I will not henceforth save myself by halves, Lose all or nothing. Del. Your own virtue save you. I'll fetch your eldest son, and second you. However, fare you well! Though in our miseries Fortune have a part, Yet, in our noble suff'rings, she hath none; Contempt of pain, that we may call our own. JOHN FORD. [Born, 1586. Ir is painful to find the name of Ford a barren spot in our poetical biography, marked by nothing but a few dates and conjectures, chiefly drawn from his own dedications. He was born of a respectable family in Devonshire; was bred to the law, and entered of the Middle Temple at the age of seventeen. At the age of twenty, he published a poem, entitled Fame's Memorial, in honour of the deceased Earl of Devonshire; and from the dedication of that piece it appears that he chiefly subsisted upon his professional labours, making poetry the solace of his leisure hours. All his plays were published between the year 1629 and 1639; but before the former period he Died, 1640?] had for some time been known as a dramatie writer, his works having been printed a considerable time after their appearance on the stage; and, according to the custom of the age, had been associated in several works with other composers. With Dekker he joined in dramatizing a story, which reflects more disgrace upon the age than all its genius could redeem; namely, the fate of Mother Sawyer, the Witch of Edmonton, an aged woman, who had been recently the victim of legal and superstitious murder Nil adeo fœdum quod non exacta vetustas The time of his death is unknown. FROM "THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY *." ACT IV. SCENE III. Palador, Prince of Cyprus, having fallen into melancholy from the disappointment of losing Eroclea, to whom he was attached, a masque is prepared to divert his thoughts, at the representation of which he sees a youth, passing by the name of Parthenophill, whose resemblance to his mistress strikes him. SCENE-A Room at the Palace. Persons-PALADOR, Prince of Cyprus; ARETUS, his tutor; SOPHRONOS, uncle to EROCLEA; PELIAS, a courtier; MENAPHON, son of SOPHRONOS; AMETHUS, cousin to the Prince; RHETIAS, servant to EROCLEA. Though I can sleep in silence, and look on Set ye at gaze, and threaten horror. Good sir. Pel. Pal. Good sir! 'tis not your active wit or language, * I have declined obtruding on the reader some passages in Ford's plays which possess a superior power to the present scene, because they have been anticipated by Mr. Lamb in his Dramatic Specimens. Even if this had not been the case, I should have felt reluctant to give a place to one dreadfully beautiful specimen of his affecting powers, in the tragedy of the Brother and Sister. Better that poetry should cease, than have to do with such subjects. The Lover's Melancholy has much of the grace and sweetness that distinguishes the genius of Ford. ["Mr. Campbell speaks favourably of the poetic portion of this play; he thinks and I fully agree with him, that it has much of the grace and sweetness which distinguish the genius of Ford. It has also somewhat more of the sprightliness in the language of the secondary characters, than is commonly found in his plays."-GIFFORD.] Rhetias, thou art acquainted with my griefs; Rhe. I have been diligent, sir, to pry into every corner for discovery, but cannot meet with him. There is some trick, I am confident. Pal. There is, there is some practice, slight, or plot. Rhe. I have apprehended a fair wench, in an odd private lodging in the city, as like the youth in face as can by possibility be discerned. Pal. How, Rhetias? Rhe. If it be not Parthenophill in long coats, 'tis a spirit in his likeness; answer I can get none from her you shall see her. Pal. The young man in disguise, upon my life, To steal out of the land. Rhe. I'll send him to you. [Exit RHETIA3. Enter behind EROCLEA (PARTHENOPHILL) in female altire. Let the substance As suddenly be hurried from your eyes, As the vain sound can pass your ear, If no impression of a troth vow'd yours Retain a constant memory. Stand up! [Kneels. Pal. Ero. I am so worn away with fears and sorrows, Pal. Some bolder act of treachery, by cutting Ero. The incense of my love-desires is flamed Pal. My scorn, disdainful boy, shall soon unweave The web thy art hath twisted. Cast thy shape off; Disrobe the mantle of a feigned sex, : And so I may be gentle as thou art, Pal. Do, do, my Rhetias. As there is by nature, Before we part (for part we must), be true; In everything created, contrariety: So likewise is there unity and league An |