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Tharsalio's brother and sister, Lysander and Cynthia, had laughed at his presumptuous design. His success is thus communicated to them. The fortunate lover, having dressed himself sumptuously, wraps himself up in a cloak, and throws himself in his brother's way.

"Lysander. What, wrapt in careless cloak, face hid in hat unbanded these are the ditches, brother, in which out-raging colts plunge both themselves and their riders.

Tharsalio. Well, we must get as well as we may; if not, there's the making of a grave saved.

Cynthia. That's desperately spoken, brother: had it not been happier the colt had been better broken, and his rider not fallen in? Tharsalio. True, sister; but we must ride colts before we can break them, you know.

Lysander. This is your blind goddess, Confidence.

Tharsalio. Alas! brother, our house is decayed, and my honest ambition to restore it I hope is pardonable. My comfort is, the poet that pens the story will write o'er my head-Magnis tamen excidit

ausis.

Which, in our native idiom, lets you know,
His mind was high, tho' fortune was his foe.

Lysander. A good resolve, brother, to out-jest disgrace. Come, I had been on my journey but for some private speech with you:

let's in.

Tharsalio. Good brother, stay a little, help this ragged colt out of the ditch.

Lysander. How now !

Tharsalio. Now I confess my oversight. This have I purchased by my confidence.

Lysander. I like you, brother, 'tis the true garb to know,

What wants in real worth supply in show.

Tharsalio. In show, alas! 'twas even the thing itself,

I op't my compting house, and took away

These simple fragments of my treasury:

Husband, my countess cry'd, take more, more yet;

Yet I, in haste to pay in part my debt,

And prove myself a husband of her store,

Kiss'd, and came off: and this time took no more.

Cynthia. But, good brother.

Tharsalio. Then were our honoured 'spousal rites perform'd,

We made all short, and sweet and close and sure.

Lysander. He's rapt.

Tharsalio. Then did ushers and chief servants stoop,

Then made my women curt'sies, and envied

Their ladie's fortune. I was magnified.

Lysander. Let him alone, this spirit will soon vanish.

Tharsalio. Brother and sister, as I love and am true servant to Venus, all the premises are serious and true: and the conclusion is, the great countess is mine. The palace is at your service, to which I invite you all to solemnize my honoured nuptials.

Lysander. Can this be credited?

Tharsalio. Good brother, do you envy my fortunate atchievement?
Lysander. Nay, I ever said the attempt was commendable.
Tharsalio. Good.

Lysander. If the issue were successful.

Tharsalio. A good state conclusion, happy events make good the best attempts. Here are your widow-vows, sister; thus are ye all in your pure naturals, certain moral disguises of coyness, which the ignorant call modesty, ye borrow of art to cover your "busk points ;" which a blunt and resolute encounter taken under a fortunate aspect, easily disarms you of: and, then, alas, what are you, poor naked sinners, God wot! weak paper walls thrust down with a finger, this is the way on't, boil their appetites to a full height of lust: and then take them down in the nick.

Cynthia. Is there probability in this: that a lady so great, so virtuous, standing on so high terms of honour, should so soon stoop.

Tharsalio. You would not wonder, sister, if you knew the lure she stooped at. Greatness! think you, that can curb affection? no, it whets it more; they have the full stream of blood to bear them, the sweet gale of their sublimed spirits to drive them, the calm of ease to prepare them, the sunshine of fortune to allure them, greatness to waft them safe through all rocks of infamy: when youth, wit, and person come abroad once, tell me, sister, can you chuse but hoist sail, and put forward to the main?

Lysander. But let me wonder at this frailty yet: would she in so short time wear out his memory: so soon wipe from her eyes, nay from her heart, whom I myself and this whole isle besides, still remember with grief, the impression of his loss, taking worthily such root in us: how think you, wife?

Cynthia. I am asham'd on't and abhor to think,

So great and vow'd a pattern of our sex,

Should take into her thoughts, nay to her bed,

(O stain to womanhood) a second love.

Lysander. In so short a time?

Cynthia. In any time."

The only farther quotation we shall make from this play is a pretty scene, the subject of which is the fears and anxieties of a wife respecting the safety of an absent husband.

"Eudora. Come, sister, now we must exchange that name For stranger titles: let's dispose ourselves

To entertain these Sylvan revellers,

That come to grace our loved nuptials,

I fear me we must all turn nymphs to night,

To side those sprightly wood gods in their dames.
Can you do't nimbly, sister? Slight, what ails you?
Are you not well?

Cynthia. Yes, madam.

Eudora. But your looks,

Methinks, are cloudy, unsuiting all the sunshine
Of this clear honour to your husband's house.
Is there ought here that sorts not with your liking?

Tharsalio. Blame her not, mistress, if her looks shew

care.

Excuse the merchant's sadness that hath made
A doubtful venture of his whole estate,
His livelyhood, his hopes in one poor bottom,
To all encounters of the sea and storms;
Had you a husband that lov'd you as well,
Would you not take his absent plight as ill,
Cavil at every fancy-not an object,
That could present itself, but it would forge
Some vain objection, that did doubt his safety?
True love is ever full of jealousy,

Eudora. Jealous of what? of every little journey?
Mere fancy then is wanton, and doth cast,

At those slight dangers there, too doating glances.
Misgiving minds ever provoke mischances.

Shines not the sun in his way bright as here,
Is not the air as good? what hazard doubt you?

Argus. His horse may stumble, if it please your honour;

The rain may wet, the wind may blow on him,

Many shrewd hazards watch poor travellers.

Eudora. True; and the shrewdest thou hast reckon❜d us, Good sister, these cares fit young married wives.

Cynthia. Wives should be still young in their husbands'
loves.

Time bears no scythe should bear down them before him,
Our life he may cut short, but not our loves.

Tharsalio. Sister, be wise; and ship not in one bark

All your ability-if he miscarry,

Your well-try'd wisdom should look out for new.

Cynthia. I wish them happy winds that run that

course.

From me 'tis far, one temple seal'd our troth.

One tomb, one hour shall end and shroud us both.

Tharsalio. Well, y'are a phoenix; there, be that your cheer,

Love with your husband be your wisdom here,

Hark, our sports challenge it. Sit, dearest mistress."

The other comedies of this author have not much to recommend them which we can produce in the shape of extracts, except the Gentleman Usher, where the character of Bassalio, whose folly and half-witted jokes run through the whole, is amusing. He gives the name to the play, and is thus introduced, spreading rushes, then the only carpet.

"Bassalio. Come strew this room afresh; spread here this carpet. Nay, quickly, man, I pray thee; this way, foole, Lay me it smoothe, and even; looke if he will; a little more: a little there.

This way

Hast thou no forecast? Slid! me thinks a man

Should not of meere necessitie be an asse.

Looke how he strowes here too, lay me 'em thus:

In fine smoothe threaves, looke you, Sir, thus in threaves.
Perhaps some tender ladie will squat here,

And if some standing rush should chance to pricke her,
Shee'd squeak and spoil the songs that must be sung."

It is in this tragi-comedy, too, that a fanciful ceremony of marriage is performed by two lovers, whose relatives deny a more legal celebration. The lady's reasons, perhaps, are not of the soundest kind, but the vows of each have a great deal of tenderness and beauty.

'Margaret. That shall they never doe; may not we now Our contract make, and marie before heaven?

Are not the laws of God and Nature, more

Than formall laws of men? Are outward rites
More virtuous than the very substance is

Of holy nuptialls solemnized within?

Or, shall lawes made to curbe the common world,
That would not be contain'd in forme without them,
Hurt them that are a law unto themselves?
My princely love, tis not a priest shall let us :
But since th' eternall actes of our pure soules
Knit us with God, the soule of all the world,
He shall be priest to us, and with such rites
As we can here devise, we will expresse,
And strongly ratifie our hearts' true vowes,
Which no external violence shall dissolve.

Vincentio. This is our only meane t' enjoy each other:
And, my deare life, I will devise a forme

To execute the substance of our minds,
In honor'd nuptialls. First, then, hide your face
With this your spotlesse white and virgin vail:

Now this my skarfe I'll knit about your arme,
As you shall knit this other end on mine,
And, as I knit it, heere I vow to heaven,
By the most sweet imaginarie joyes

Of untride nuptialls; by Love's ushering fire,
Fore-melting beauty, and Love's flame itself,
As this is soft and pliant to your arme
In a circumferent flexure, so will I
Be tender of your welfare and your will,
As of mine owne, as of my life and soule,
In all things and for ever; onelie you
Shall have this care in fulnesse, onely you
Of all dames shall be mine, and onely you
I'll court, commend, and joy in, till I die.

Mar. With like conceit on your arme this I tie,
And heere in sight of heaven, by this I sweare,
By my love to you, which commands my life,
By the dear price of such a constant husband,
you
have vow'd to be: and by the joy
I shall imbrace by all meanes to requite you :

As

I'll be as apt to governe as this silke,

As private as my face is to this vaile,

And as farre from offence, as this from blacknesse.
I will be courted of no man but you,

In, and for you, shall be my joyes and woes :
If you be sicke, I will be sicke, though well:
If you be well, I will be well, though sicke:
Your selfe alone my compleat world shall be,
Even from this houre, to all eternity."

The Gentleman Usher affords another extract of great merit. Chapman redeems himself, by this eloquent eulogy of a good wife, from the disgrace of having written the Widow's Tears.

"Cynanche. How fares it now, my dear lord and husband? Strazza. Come near me, wife, I fare the better far,

For the sweet food of thy divine advice.

Let no man value at a little price

A virtuous woman's counsaile; her wing'd spirit

Is feather'd oftentimes with heavenly words;
And (like her beauty) ravishing, and pure.
The weaker bodie, still the stronger soule.
When good endeavours do her powers applie,
Her love draws nearest man's felicitie.
O what a treasure is a virtuous wife,

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