His finger; 'twas my father's last bequest:
Thus I new marry him, whose wife I am;
Death shall not separate us. O my lords,

I but deceived your eyes with antic gesture,

When one news straight came huddling on another,
Of death, and death, and death; still I danced forward;

But it struck home, and here, and in an instant.

Be such mere women, who with shrieks and outcries

Can vow a present end to all their sorrows;

Yet live to vow new pleasures, and outlive them.

They are the silent griefs which cut the heart-strings:
Let me die smiling.

Near. "Tis a truth too ominous.

Cal. One kiss on these cold lips; my last. Crack, Argos now's Sparta's King!

crack!

[Dies.

THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY.

Contention of a Nightingale and a Musician.

PASSING from Italy to Greece, the tales
Which poets
of an elder time have feigned,
To glorify their Tempe, bred in me
Desire of visiting that paradise.

To Thessaly I came, and living private,

Without acquaintance of more sweet companions
Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
I day by day frequented silent groves,
And solitary walks. One morning early
This accident encountered me: I heard
The sweetest and most ravishing contention
That Art or Nature ever were at strife in.

A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather,
Indeed, entranced my soul: as I stole nearer,
Invited, by the melody, I saw

This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute,
With strains of strange variety and harmony,
Proclaiming (as it seemed) so bold a challenge
To the clear quiristers of the woods, the birds,
That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent,
Wond'ring at what they heard. I wondered too.
A Nightingale,

Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes

The challenge; and, for every several strain

The well-shaped youth could touch, she sang her down;

He could not run division with more art

Upon his quaking instrument, than she,

The Nightingale, did with her various notes
Reply to.

Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last
Into a pretty anger; that a bird,

Whom art had never taught clefs, moods, or notes,
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study
Had busied many hours to perfect practice:
To end the controversy, in a rapture,
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly,

So many voluntaries, and so quick,

That there was curiosity and cunning,

Concord in discord, lines of diff’ring method

Meeting in one full centre of delight.

The bird (ordained to be

Music's first martyr) strove to imitate

These several sounds: which when her warbling throat

Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute,

And brake her heart! It was the quaintest sadness,

To see the conqueror upon her hearse

To weep a funeral elegy of tears.

He looks upon the trophies of his art,

Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed, and cried,

"Alas! poor creature, I will soon revenge This cruelty upon the author of it.

Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood,

Shall never more betray a harmless peace
To an untimely end ;" and in that sorrow,
As he was pashing it against a tree,
I suddenly stepped in.

AMINTOR, a noble Gentleman, promises Marriage to ASPATIA, and forsakes her, by the King's command, to wed EVADNE.-The Grief of ASPATIA at being forsaken, described.

.. THIS lady

Walks discontented, with her wat❜ry eyes
Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in; and make her maids
Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief
That strikes all her beholders; she will sing
The mournfull'st things that ever ear have heard,

And sigh, and sing again; and when the rest
Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
With laughter, she will with so sad a look
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end,
She'll send them weeping one by one away.

The Marriage-Night of AMINTOR and EVADNE.

EVADNE, ASPATIA, DULA, and other Ladies.

Evad. Would thou couldst instil

Some of thy mirth into Aspatia!

[TO DULA.

Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek;

It were a fitter hour for me to laugh,

When at the altar the religious priest

Were pacifying the offended powers

With sacrifice, than now. This should have been
My night, and all your hands have been employed
In giving me, a spotless offering,

Το

young Amintor's bed, as we are now

For you.

Pardon, Evadne, would my worth

Were great as yours, or that the King, or he,

Or both, thought so! Perhaps he found me worthless! But till he did so, in these ears of mine

(These credulous ears) he poured the sweetest words That art or love could frame.

Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk, madam.

Asp. Would I could, then should I leave the cause. Lay a garland on my hearse of the dismal yew. Evad. That's one of your sad songs, madam.

Asp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.
Evad. How is it, madam?

Asp. “Lay a garland on my hearse of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow-branches bear; say I died true:

My love was false, but I was firm from my hour of birth;
Upon my buried body lay lightly, gentle earth."
Madam, good-night;--may no discontent

Grow 'twixt your love and you; but if there do,
Inquire of me, and I will guide your moan,
Teach you an artificial way to grieve,

To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord
No worse than I; but if you love so well,
Alas! you may displease him, so did I.
This is the last time you shall look on me:
Ladies, farewell! As soon as I am dead,

Come all, and watch one night about my hearse;
Bring each a mournful story and a tear
To offer at it when I go to earth:

With flattering ivy clasp my coffin round;
Write on my brow my fortune; let my bier
Be borne by virgins, that shall sing by course
The truth of maids and perjuries of men.
Evad. Alas! I pity thee.

AMINTOR enters.

Asp. Go, and be happy in your lady's love;

[TO AMINTOR.

May all the wrongs that you have done to me,

Be utterly forgotten in my death.

I'll trouble you no more, yet I will take
A parting kiss, and will not be denied.

You'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep