Eug. That law's too long by nine years and a half,

I'll take my death upon't, so shall most women.

Clean. And those incontinent women so offending, to be judged and censured by Hippolita, wife to Cleanthes.

Eug. Of all the rest, I'll not be judged by her. Re-enter HIPPOLITA.

Clean. Ah! here she comes. Let me prevent thy joys,

Prevent them but in part, and hide the rest;
Thou hast not strength enough to bear them, else.
Hip. Leonides!
[She faints.

Clean. I fear'd it all this while;

[best.

I knew 'twas past thy power. Hippolita!
What contrariety is in woman's blood?
One faints for spleen and anger, she for grace.
Evan. Of sons and wives we see the worst and
May future ages yield Hippolitas
Many; but few like thee, Eugenia!
Let no Simonides henceforth have a fame,
But all blest sons live in Cleanthes' name-
[Harsh music within.
Ha! what strange kind of melody was that?
Yet give it entrance, whatsoe'er it be,
This day is all devote to liberty.

Enter Fiddlers, GNOTHO, Courtezan, Cook, Butler, &c., with the old Women, AGATHA, and one bearing a bridecake for the wedding.

Gnoth. Fiddlers, crowd on, crowd on; let no man lay a block in your way.-Crowd on, I say. Evan. Stay the crowd awhile; let's know the reason of this jollity.

Clean. Sirrah, do you know where you are? Gnoth. Yes, sir: I am here, now here, and now here again, sir.

Lys. Your hat is too high crown'd, the duke in presence.

Gnoth. The duke! as he is my sovereign, I do give him two crowns for it, and that's equal change all the world over as I am lord of the day (being my marriage-day the second) I do advance my bonnet. Crowd on afore.

Leon. Good sir, a few words, if you will vouchOr will you be forced? [safe them;

Gnoth. Forced! I would the duke himself would say so.

Evan. I think he dares, sir, and does; if you You shall be forced. [stay not,

Gnoth. I think so, my lord, and good reason too; shall not I stay when your grace says I shall? I were unworthy to be a bridegroom in any part of your highness's dominions, then will it please you to taste of the wedlock-courtesy ?

Evan. Oh, by no means, sir; you shall not deface so fair an ornament for me.

Gnoth. If your grace please to be cakated, say so.

Evan. And which might be your fair bride, sir? Gnoth. This is my two-for-one that must be the uxor uxoris, the remedy doloris, and the very syceum amoris.

Evan. And hast thou any else?

Gnoth. I have an older, my lord, for other uses.
Clean. My lord,

I do observe a strange decorum here:
These that do lead this day of jollity,

Do march with music and most mirthful cheeks;
Those that do follow, sad, and woefully,

Nearer the haviour of a funeral, Than of a wedding.

Evan. 'Tis true; pray expound that, sir. Gnoth. As the destiny of the day falls out, my lord, one goes to wedding, another goes to hanging; and your grace, in the due consideration, shall find them much alike; the one hath the ring upon her finger, the other the halter about her neck. I take thee, Beatrice, says the bridegroom; I take thee, Agatha, says the hangman; and both say together, to have and to hold, till death do part us.

Evan. This is not yet plain enough to my understanding.

Gnoth. If further your grace examine it, you shall find I shew myself a dutiful subject, and obedient to the law, myself, with these my good friends, and your good subjects, our old wives, whose days are ripe, and their lives forfeit to the law: only myself, more forward than the rest, am already provided of my second choice.

Evan. Oh! take heed, sir, you'll run yourself into danger;

If the law finds you with two wives at once,
There's a shrewd premunire.

Gnoth. I have taken leave of the old, my lord. I have nothing to say to her; she's going to sea, your grace knows whither, better than I do; she has a strong wind with her, it stands full in her poop; when you please, let her disembogue.

Cook. And the rest of her neighbours with her, whom we present to the satisfaction of your highness' law.

Gnoth. And so we take our leaves, and leave them to your highness.-Crowd on.

Evan. Stay, stay, you are too forward. Will And your wife yet living? [you marry, Gnoth. Alas! she'll be dead before we can get to church. If your grace would set her in the way, I would dispatch her: I have a venture on't, which would return me, if your highness would make a little more haste, two for one.

Evan. Come, my lords, we must sit again ; Craves a most serious censure. [here's a case Cook. Now they shall be dispatch'd out of the

way.

Gnoth. I would they were gone once; the time

goes away.

Evan. Which is the wife unto the forward bride

Aga. I am, an it please your grace. [groom? Evan. Trust me, a lusty woman, able-bodied, And well-blooded cheeks.

Gnoth. Oh, she paints, my lord; she was a chambermaid once, and learn'd it of her lady. Evan. Sure I think she cannot be so old. Aga. Truly I think so too, an't please your grace.

Gnoth. Two to one with your grace of that! she's threescore by the book.

Leon. Peace, sirrah, you are too loud.

Cook. Take heed, Gnotho: if you move the duke's patience, 'tis an edge-tool; but a word and a blow, he cuts off your head.

Gnoth. Cut off my head! away, ignorant! he knows it cost more in the hair; he does not use to cut off many such heads as mine: I will talk to him too; if he cut off my head, I'll give him my ears. I say my wife is at full age for the law, the clerk shall take his oath, and the church-book shall be sworn too.

Why, here's humility able to bind up
The punishing hands of the severest masters,
Much more the gentle fathers.

Sim. I had ne'er thought to have been brought so low as my knees again; but since there's no remedy, fathers, reverend fathers, as you ever hope to have good sons and heirs, a handful of pity! we confess we have deserved more than we are willing to receive at your hands, though sons can never deserve too much of their fathers, as shall appear afterwards.

Creon. And what way can you decline your

feeding now?

Until my memory lose your beginning!
For you, great prince, long may your fame survive,
Your justice and your wisdom never die,
Crown of your crown, the blessing of your land,
Which you reach to her from your regent hand!
Leon. O Cleanthes, had you with us tasted
The entertainment of our retirement,
Fear'd and exclaim'd on in your ignorance,
You might have sooner died upon the wonder,
Than any rage or passion for our loss.
A place at hand we were all strangers in,
So sphered about with music, such delights,
Such viands and attendance, and once a-day
So cheered with a royal visitant,

That oft-times, waking, our unsteady fancies
Would question whether we yet lived or no,
Or had possession of that paradise
Where angels be the guard!

Evan. Enough, Leonides,

You go beyond the praise; we have our end,
And all is ended well: we have now seen
The flowers and weeds that grow about our court.
Sim. If these be weeds, I'm afraid I shall wear
none so good again as long as my father lives.
Evan. Only this gentleman we did abuse
With our own bosom: we seem'd a tyrant,
And he our instrument. Look, 'tis Cratilus,
[Discovers CRATILUS.
The man that you supposed had now been travell'd;
Which we gave leave to learn to speak,
And bring us foreign languages to Greece.
All's joy, I see; let music be the crown:
And set it high, "The good needs fear no law,
It is his safety, and the bad man's awe."

[Flourish. Exeunt.

TO MY JUDICIOUS AND LEARNED FRIEND THE

AUTHOR, [JAMES SHIRLEY,]

Upon his ingenious Poem, "The Grateful Servant," a
Comedy, published in 1630.

THOUGH I Well know, that my obscurer name
Listed with theirs who here advance thy fame,
Cannot add to it, give me leave to be,
Among the rest a modest votary

At the altar of thy Muse. I dare not raise
Giant hyperboles unto thy praise;
Or hope it can find credit in this age,
Though I should swear, in each triumphant page
Of this thy work there's no line but of weight,
And poesy itself shewn at the height:
Such common places, friend, will not agree
With thy own vote, and my integrity.

I'll steer a midway, have clear truth my guide,
And urge a praise which cannot be denied.
Here are no forced expressions, no rack'd phrase;
No Babel compositions to amaze
The tortured reader; no believed defence
To strengthen the bold Atheist's insolence;
No obscene syllable, that may compel
A blush from a chaste maid; but all so well

Express'd and order'd, as wise men must say
It is a grateful poem, a good play:
And such as read ingeniously, shall find
Few have outstripp'd thee, many halt behind.

PHILIP MASSINGER.

TO HIS SON J. S. UPON HIS MINERVA.

THOU art my son; in that my choice is spoke :
Thine with thy father's Muse strikes equal stroke.
It shew'd more art in Virgil to relate,
And make it worth the hearing, his gnat's fate,
Than to conceive what those great minds must be
That sought, and found out, fruitful Italy.
And such as read and do not apprehend,
And with applause, the purpose and the end
Of this neat poem, in themselves confess
A dull stupidity and barrenness.
Methinks I do behold, in this rare birth,
A temple built up to facetious Mirth,
Pleased Phoebus smiling on it: doubt not, then,
But that the suffrage of judicious men
Will honour this Thalia; and, for those
That praise sir Bevis, or what's worse in prose,
Let them dwell still in ignorance. To write
In a new strain, and from it raise delight,
As thou in this hast done, doth not by chance,
But merit, crown thee with the laurel branch.

PHILIP MASSINGER.

SERO SED SERIO.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MY MOST SINGU-
LAR GOOD LORD AND PATRON, PHILIP, EARL
OF PEMBROKE AND MONTGOMERY,
Lord-Chamberlain of his Majesty's Household, &c.,
Upon the deplorable and untimely Death of his late truly
noble Son, CHARLES LORD HERBERT, &c.
'Twas fate, not want of duty, did me wrong;
Or, with the rest, my hymenæal song
Had been presented, when the knot was tied
That made the bridegroom and the virgin bride

A happy pair. I curs'd my absence then
That hinder'd it, and hit my star-cross'd pen,
Too busy in stage-blanks, and trifling rhyme,
When such a cause call'd, and so apt a time
To pay a general debt; mine being more
Than they could owe, who since, or heretofore,
Have labour'd with exalted lines to raise
Brave piles, or rather pyramids of praise
To Pembroke and his family: and dare I,
Being silent then, aim at an elegy?

Or hope my weak Muse can bring forth one verse
Deserving to wait on the sable hearse

Of your late hopeful Charles? his obsequies
Exact the mourning of all hearts and eyes
That knew him, or loved virtue. He that would
Write what he was, to all posterity, should
Have ample credit in himself, to borrow,
Nay, make his own, the saddest accents sorrow
Ever express'd, and a more moving quill,
Than Spenser used when he gave Astrophil
A living epicedium. For poor me,

By truth I vow it is no flattery,

I from my soul wish, (if it might remove
Grief's burthen, which too feelingly you prove,)
Though I have been ambitious of fame,
As poets are, and would preserve a name,
That, my toys burnt, I had lived unknown to men,
And ne'er had writ, nor ne'er to write again.
Vain wish, and to be scorn'd! can my foul dross,
With such pure gold be valued! or the loss
Of thousand lives like mine, merit to be
The same age thought on, when his destiny
Is only mentioned? no, my lord, his fate,
Is to be prized at a higher rate;
Nor are the groans of common men to be
Blended with those, which the nobility

Vent hourly for him. That great ladies mourn
His sudden death, and lords vie at his urn
Drops of compassion; that true sorrow, fed
With showers of tears, still bathes the widow'd bed
Of his dear spouse; that our great king and queen
(To grace your grief) disdain'd not to be seen
Your royal comforters; these well become
The loss of such a hope, and on his tomb
Deserve to live: but, since no more could be
Presented, to set off his tragedy,

And with a general sadness, why should you
(Pardon my boldness!) pay more than his due,
Be the debt ne'er so great? No stoic can,
As you were a loving father, and a man,
Forbid a moderate sorrow; but to take
Too much of it, for his or your own sake,
If we may trust divines, will rather be
Censured repining, than true piety.
I still presume too far, and more than fear
My duty may offend, pressing too near
Your private passions. I thus conclude,
If now you show your passive fortitude,
In bearing this affliction, and prove
You take it as a trial of heaven's love
And favour to you, you ere long shall see
Your second care return'd from Italy,
To bless his native England, each rare part,
That in his brother lived, and joy'd your heart,
Transferr'd to him; and to the world make known
He takes possession of what's now his own.

Your honour's most humble and faithful servant,

PHILIP MASSINGER.