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'(a) Felisbravo. Love, and HONOUR, pull two ways;

And I stand doubtful which to take :
To Arabia, Honour says,

Love says no; thy stay here make. Sir R. FANSHAWE's translation of Querer pro solo Querer. (6) Alphonfo. But Honour says, not so.

Siege of Rhodes, Part I. p. 19.

(c) Ent. Palladius softly reading 2. letters. Pall. I stand betwixt two minds! what's best to doe? This bids me stay ; This spurs me on to goe. Once more let our impartiall eyes peruse Both t'one and t'other: Both may not prevaile.

My Lord, P

Rize not your honour so much as to disprize her that ho

nours you, in choosing rather to meet Death in the field, then Pulchrella in her desires. Give my affection leave once morē to difswade you from trying Conquest with so unequall a Foe: Or if a Combate must be tryed, make a Bed of Roses the Field, and me your Enemie. The Interest I claim in


is fuffi. cient warrant to my desires, which according to the place they find in your Respects, confirme me either the happiest of all Ladies, or make me the most unfortunate of all women. PULCHRELLA.

A Charme too strong for Honour to represse.
Mus. A heart too poore for Honour to possesse.
Pall. Honour must stoop to Vows. But what faies
this ?

[Reads the other Letter.
My Lord,
"HE hand that guides this Pen, being guided by the am•

bition of your honour, and my owne affection, presents you with the wishes of a faithfull servant, who desires not to buy you safety with the hazard of your Reputation. Goe on with courage, and know, Panthea shall partake with you in either fortune : If conquer'd, my heart shall be your Monument, to preserve and glorifie your honour'd ashes; If a Conqueror, my tongue shall be your Herault to proclaime you the Champion of our Sex, and the Phoenix of your own, honour'd by all, equall'd by few, beloved by none more dearly then Your owne Panthea.

I sayle betwixt two Rocks! What shall I doe?
What Marble melts not if Pulchrella wooe ?
Or what hard-hearted eare can be so dead,
As to be deafe, if faire Panthea plead ?


Volscius fits down.
Vols. How has my passion made me Cupid's scoff!

This hasty Boot is on, the other off,
And sullen lyes, with amorous design
To quit loud fame, and make that Beauty mine.
My Legs, the Emblem of my various thought,
Shew to what sad distraction I am brought.
Sometimes, with stubborn Honour, like this Boot.
My mind is guarded, and resolv'd to do't:
Sometimes, again, that very mind, by Love

Difarmed, like this other Leg does prove. Johns. What pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself!

Smi. I, the fool, I see, is mightily transported with it. Vols. Shall I to Honour or to Love give way?

Go on, cryes Honour; tender Love says, nay :
Honour, aloud, commands, pluck both boots on;
But softer Love does whisper, put on none.
What shall I do? what conduct shall I find
To lead me through this twy-light of my mind ?
For as bright Day with black approach of Night
Contending, makes a doubtful puzzling light;
So does my Honour and my Love together
Puzzle me so, I can resolve for neither.

[Exit with one Boot on, and the other off. JOHNS. By my troth, Sir, this is as difficult a Combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determin'd on neither side.

BAYES. Ay, is't not, I gad, ha ? For, to go off hip hop, hip hop, upon this occasion, is a thousand times better than any conclusion in the world, I gad. But, Sirs, you cannot make any judgement of this Play, because we are come but to the end of the second Act. Come, the Dance.

[Dance. Well Gentlemen, you'l see this Dance, if I am not mistaken, take very well upon the Stage, when they are perfect in their motions, and all that.

Whom shall I please? Or which shall I refuse?
Pulchrella sues, and fair Panthea sues :
Pulchrella melts me with her love-lick teares,
But brave Panthea batters down my eares
With Love's Pettarre : Pulchrellas breast encloses
A soft Affection wrapt in Beds of Roses.
But in the rare Pantheas noble lines,
True Worth and Honour, with Affection joynes.
I stand even-balanc'd, doubtfully opprest,
Beneathe the burthen of a bivious brest.
When I peruse my sweet Pulchrellas teares,
My blood growes wanton, and I plunge in feares :
But when I read divine Pantheas charmes,
I turne all fierie, and I grasp

for armes.
Who ever saw, when a rude blast out-braves,
And thwarts the swelling Tide, how the proud waves
Rock the drencht Pinace on the Sea-greene brest
Of frowning Amphitrite, who opprest
Betwixt two Lords, (not knowing which t' obey)
Remaines a Neuter in a doubtfull way.
So toft am I, bound to such straht confines,
Betwixt Pulchrella's and Panthea's lines,
Both cannot speed : But one that must preve. !e.

I stand even poys'd : an Atome turnes the scale. F.QUARLES. The Virgin Widow. Act iii. Sc. i. pp.41-43. Ed. 1649. SMI. I don't know 'twill take, Sir ; but I am sure you sweat hard for't.

BAYES. Ay, Sir, it costs me more pains, and trouble, to do these things, than almost the things are worth.

SMI. By my troth, I think so, Sir.

BAYES. Not for the things themselves, for I could write you, Sir, forty of 'em in a day; but, I gad, these Players are such dull persons, that, if a man be not by upon every point, and at every turn, I gad, they'l miltake you, Sir, and spoil all.

Enter a Player.
What, is the Funeral ready?

Play. Yes, Sir.
BAYES. And is the Lance fill'd with Wine ?
Play. Sir, 'tis just now a doing.
Bayes. Stay then; I'l my self.
Smi. Come, let's go with him.

SAYES. A match. But, Mr. Johnfon, I gad, I am not like other persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get money for 'em : now, I gad, when I write, if it be not just as it should be, in every circumstance, to every particular, I gad, I am not able to endure it, I am not my self, I'm out of my wits, and all that, I'm the strangest person in the whole world. For what care I for my money? I gad, I write for Fame and Reputation.


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· Colonel Henry Howard, Son of Thomas Earl of Berkshire, made a Play, call’d the United Kingdoms, which began with a Funeral ; and had also two Kings in it. This gave the Duke a just occasion to set up two Kings in Brentford, as 'tis generally believed ; tho' others are of Opinion, that his grace had our two Brothers in his thoughts. It was Acted at the Cock-Pit in Drury-Lane, soon after the Restoration ; but miscarrying on the stage, the Author had the Modesty not to Print it ; and there. fore, the Reader cannot reasonably expect any particular Passages of it. Others say, that they are Boabdulin and Abdalla, the two contending Kings of Granada, and Mr. Dryden has in most of his serious Plays two contending Kings of the same Place.

Key, 1704.

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