Was not ordain'd to riot in expence ; I that have now been chamber'd here alone, Am not for nothing at an instant freed The schoolmen teach that all this globe of earth Anna. So I have read too. Gio. But 'twere somewhat strange To see the waters burn. Could I believe This might be true, I could believe as well Anna. That's most certain.--But, my face? Good brother, for the present, how do you mean Anna. Methinks you weep. Gio. I do indeed; these are the funeral tears Shed on your grave: these furrow'd up my cheeks, Fair Annabella, should I here repeat The story of my life, we might lose time. Be record all the spirits of the air, And all things else that are, that day and night, Early and late, the tribute which my heart Hath paid to Annabella's sacred love, Hath been these tears which are her mourners now. Never till now did Nature do her best, To shew a matchless beauty to the world, Which in an instant, ere it scarce was seen, The The jealous destinies requir'd again. Pray, Annabella, pray; since we must part, Pray, pray, my sister. Anna. Then I see your drift. Ye blessed angels, guard me! Gio. Give me your hand. How sweetly life doth run In these well-color'd veins! how constantly This pulse doth promise health! But I could chide Forgive me. Anna. With my heart. Anna. Will you be gone? Gio. Be dark, bright sun, And make this mid-day night, that thy gilt rays Gio. To save thy fame. (Stabs her.) Thus die, and die by me, and by my hand; Anna. Forgive him, heaven, and me my sins. Farewell. Brother unkind, unkind [Dies.76 76 Sir Thomas Browne in the last Chapter of his Enquiries 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 whereto 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 minds do deprecate. For of sins heteroclital, and such as want either name or precedent, there is oftimes a sín even in their histories. We desire no records of such enormities; sins should be accounted new, that so they may be es teemed 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 may 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. * Who wrote De Antiquis Deperditis, or of the Lost Inventions of Antiquity. THE THE BROKEN HEART. A TRAGEDY. BY Ithocles loves Calantha, Princess of Sparta; and would have his sister Penthea plead for him with the Princess. She objects to him her own wretched condition, made miserable by a Match, into which he forced her with Bassanes, when she was precontracted by her dead Father's Will, and by inclination, to Orgilus; but at last she consents. ITHOCLES. PENTHEA. Ith. Sit nearer, sister to me, nearer yet; Pen. You had been happy: Then had you never known that sin of life Which blots all following glories with a-vengeance; For forfeiting the last will of the dead, From whom you had your being. Ith. Sad Penthea, Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen Hath with a violent hand pluck'd from thy bosom A lover-blest heart, to grind it into dust; For which mine's now a breaking. Pen. Not yet, heaven, I do beseech thee: first let some wild fires Scorch, not consume it; may the heat be cherish'd Ith. Wrong'd soul, thy prayers are heard. A miserable creature, led to ruin Ith. I consume In languishing affections for that trespass, Pen. The handmaid to the wages, The untroubled77 of country toil, drinks streams, Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears. To gall, as bitter as Penthea's curse. Put me to any penance for And I will call thee merciful. Pen. Pray kill me ; my tyranny, Rid me from living with a jealous husband; Ith. After my victories abroad, at home Hath made my actions monstrous: Thou shalt stand A deity, my sister, and be worshipp'd For thy resolved martyrdom; wrong'd maids And married wives shall to thy hallow'd shrine Pure turtles crown'd with mirtle, if thy pity One finger but to ease it. Pen. O no more. Ith. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian banks, Pen. Who is the saint you serve? Ith. Friendship, or nearness Of birth, to any but my sister, durst not 77 A word seems defective here. Pen |