The guard of Solyman himself did murmur:
People began to search their princes counsels:
Fury gave laws: the laws of duty vanisht:
Kind fear of him they lov'd self-fear had banisht.
The headlong spirits were the heads that guided:
He that most disobeyed, was most obeyed.
Fury so suddenly became united,

As while her forces nourished confusion,
Confusion seem'd with discipline delighted.
Towards Solyman they run: and as the waters,
That meet with banks of snow, make snow grow water:
So, even those guards, that stood to interrupt them,
Give easy passage, and pass on amongst them.
Solyman, who saw this storm of mischief coming,
Thinks absence his best argument unto them:
Retires himself, and sends me to demand,

What they demanded, or what meant their coming?
I speak they cry'd for Mustapha and Achmat.
Some bid away; some kill; some save; some hearken.
Those that cried save, were those that sought to kill me.
Who cried hark, were those that first brake silence:
They held that bade me go. Humility was guilty;
Words were reproach; silence in me was scornful;
They answer'd ere they ask'd; assured, and doubted.
I fled; their fury follow'd to destroy me;
Fury made haste; haste multiplied their fury;
Each would do all; none would give place to other.
The hindmost strake; and while the foremost lifted
Their arms to strike, each weapon hinder❜d other:
Their running let their strokes, strokes let their running.
Desire, mortal enemy to desire,

Made them that sought my life, give life unto me.87

87 These two Tragedies of Lord Brooke might with more propriety have been termed political treatises, than plays. Their author has strangely contrived to make passion, character, and interest, of the highest order, subservient to the expression of state dogmas and mysteries. He is nine parts Machiavel and Tacitus for one part Sophocles or Seneca. In this writer's estimate of the faculties of his own mind, the understanding must have held a most

tyrannical pre-eminence. Whether we look into his plays, or his most passionate love-poems, we shall find all frozen and made rigid with intellect. The finest movements of the human heart, the ut most grandeur of which the soul is capable, are essentially comprized in the actions and speeches of Cælica and Camena. Shak speare, who seems to have had a peculiar delight in contemplating womanly perfection, whom for his many sweet images of female excellence all women are in an especial manner bound to love, has not raised the ideal of the female character higher than Lord Brooke in these two women has done. But it requires a study equivalent to the learning of a new language to understand their meaning when they speak. It is indeed hard to hit ::

Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day

Or seven though one should musing sit.

It is as if a being of pure intellect should take upon him to express the emotions of our sensitive natures. There would be all know ledge, but sympathetic expression would be wanting.

THE

THE CASE IS ALTERED.

A COMEDY. BY BEN,

JONSON.

The present Humour to be followed.

AURELIA, PHOENIXELLA, Sisters: their Mother being lately dead.

Aur. Room for a case of matrons, color'd black:
How motherly my mother's death hath made us !
I would I had some girls now to bring up;

OI could make a wench so virtuous,
She should say grace to every bit of meat,
And gape no wider than a wafer's thickness,

And she should make French court'sies so most low
That every touch should turn her over backward.
Phon. Sister, these words become not your attire,
Nor your estate; our virtuous mother's death
Should print more deep effects of sorrow in us,
Than may be worn out in so little time.

Aur. Sister, i'faith you take too much tobacco,
It makes you black within as you're without.
What, true-stitch sister, both your sides alike!
Be of a slighter work; for, of my word,
You shall be sold as dear, or rather dearer.
Will you be bound to customs and to rites,
Shed profitable tears, weep for advantage;
Or else do all things as you are inclined?
Eat when your stomach serves, saith the physician,
Not at eleven and six. So, if your humour

Be

Be now affected with this heaviness,

Give it the reins, and spare not; as I do
In this my pleasurable appetite.

It is Precisianism to alter that,

With austere judgment, that is giv'n by nature.
I wept (you saw) too, when my mother died;
For then I found it easier to do so,

And fitter with my mode, than not to weep:
But now 'tis otherwise. Another time
Perhaps I shall have such deep thoughts of her,
That I shall weep afresh some twelvemonth hence;
And I will weep, if I be so disposed;

And put on black as grimly then as now.→
Let the mind go still with the body's stature:
Judgment is fit for judges; give me nature.

Presentiment of Treachery, vanishing at the sight of the person suspected.

Lord Paulo Farneze. (Speaking to himself of Angelo.)

My thoughts cannot propose a reason

Why I should fear or faint thus in my hopes

Of one so much endeared to my love :

Some spark it is, kindled within the soul,

Whose light yet breaks not to the outward sense,
That propagates this timorous suspect.

His actions never carried any force

Of change, or weakness: then I injure him,
In being thus cold-conceited of his faith.

O here he comes.

(While he speaks Angelo enters.)

Angelo. How now, sweet Lord, what's the matter? Paul. Good faith, his presence makes me half ashamed Of my stray'd thoughts.

Jaques (a Miser) worships his Gold.

Jaq. Tis not to be told

What

What servile villainies men will do for gold.
O it began to have a huge strong smell,
With lying so long together in a place :
I'll give it vent, it shall have shift enough;
And if the devil, that envies all goodness,
Have told them of my gold, and where I kept it,
I'll set his burning nose once more a work
To smell where I removed it. Here it is;
I'll hide and cover it with this horse-dung.
Who will suppose that such precious nest
Is crown'd with such a dunghill excrement?
In, my dear life, sleep sweetly, my dear child,
Scarce lawfully begotten, but yet gotten,
And that's enough.
Except mine own.
Except mine own.

Rot all hands that come near thee, Burn out all eyes that see thee, All thoughts of thee be poison To their enamour'd hearts, except mine own. I'll take no leave, sweet prince, great emperor, But see thee every minute: king of kings, I'll not be rude to thee, and turn my back In going from thee, but go backward out,

With my face toward thee, with humble courtesies.88

38 The passion for wealth has worn out much of its grossness by tract of time. Our ancestors certainly conceived of money as able to confer a distinct gratification in itself, not alone considered simply as a symbol of wealth. The old poets, when they introduce a miser, constantly make him address his gold as his mistress; as something to be seen, felt, and hugged; as capable of satisfying two of the senses at least. The substitution of a thin unsatisfying medium for the good old tangible gold, has made avarice quite a Platonic affection in comparison with the seeing, touching, and handling-pleasures of the old Chrysophilites. A bank-note can no more satisfy the touch of a true sensualist in this passion, than Creusa could return her husband's embrace in the shades.- -See the Cave of Mammon in Spenser: Barabas's contemplation of his wealth, in the Jew of Malta; Luke's raptures, in the City Madam, &c. Above all hear Guzman, in that excellent old Spanish Novel, The Rogue, expatiate on the "ruddy cheeks of your golden Ruddocks, your Spanish Pistolets, your plump and full-faced Portuguese, and your clear-skinn'd pieces of eight of Castile," which he and his fellows the beggars kept secret to themselves, and did “pris