Sus. Father!

For. What says my girl? good morrow! What 's a clock?

That you are up so early? call up Frank. Tell him he lies too long a-bed this morning. 'Was wont to call the sun up, and to raise

The early lark, and mount her 'mongst the clouds. Will he not up? rise, rise, thou sluggish boy! Sus. Alas! he cannot, father.

For. Cannot! why?

Sus. Do you not see his bloodless colour pale?
For. Perhaps he's sickly, that he looks so pale.
Sus. Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep?
How still he lies!

For. Then he is fast asleep.

Sus. Do you not see his fatal eyelid close?
For. Speak softly; hinder not his soft repose.
Sus. Oh, see you not these purple conduits run?
Know you these wounds?

For. O me! my murder'd son!

Y. For. Sister!

Enter Young MR FOREST.

Sus. O brother, brother!

Y. For. Father, how cheer you, sir? why, you were wont to store for others' comfort, that by sorrow were any way distress'd. Have you all wasted, and spared none to yourself?

O. For. O son, son, son!

See, alas! see where thy brother lies.
with me to-day, was merry.

corpse was, he that lies here.

He dined

Merry, ay, that

See, there thy

murdered brother and my son was. See, dost thou not weep for him?

Y. For. I shall find time;

When you have took some comfort, I'll begin
To mourn his death, and scourge the murderer's sin.

O. For. Oh, when saw father such a tragic sight,
And did outlive it? never, son, ah, never,
From mortal breast ran such a precious river.
Y. For. Come, father, and dear sister, join with me.
Let us all learn our sorrows to forget;

He ow'd a death, and he hath paid that debt.

[If I were to be consulted as to a reprint of our old English dramatists, I should advise to begin with the collected plays of Heywood He was a fellow actor, and fellow dramatist, with Shakspeare. He possessed not the imagination of the latter; but in all those qualities which gained for Shakspeare the attribute of gentle, he was not inferior to him;-generosity, courtesy, temperance in the depths of passion; sweetness, in a word, and gentleness; Christianism, and true hearty Anglicism of feelings, shaping that Christianism, shine throughout his beautiful writings in a manner more conspicuous than in those of Shakspeare, but only more conspicuous, inasmuch as in Heywood those qualities are primary, in the other subordinate to poetry. I love them both equally, but Shakspeare has most of my wonder. Heywood should be known to his countrymen, as he deserves. His plots are almost invariably English. I am sometimes jealous, that Shakspeare laid so few of his scenes at home I laud Ben Jonson, for that in one instance having framed the first draught of his Every Man in his Humour in Italy, he changed the scene, and anglicised his characters. The names of them, in the first edition, may not be unamusing.

How say you, reader? Do not Master Kitely, Mistress Kitely, Master Knowell, Brainworm, &c. read better than these Cisalpines?]

BLURT, MASTER CONSTABLE :
A COMEDY.

BY THOMAS MIDDLETON, 1602.

Lover kept awake by love.

AH! how can I sleep? he that truly loves,
Burns out the day in idle fantasies;

And when the lamb bleating doth bid good night
Unto the closing day, then tears begin

To keep quick time unto the owl, whose voice
Shrieks like the bellman in the lover's ears:
Love's eye the jewel of sleep, O, seldom wears!
The early lark is waken'd from her bed,
Being only by love's plaints disquieted,
And, singing in the morning's ear, she weeps,
Being deep in love, at lovers' broken sleeps:
But say a golden slumber chance to tie,
With silken strings, the cover of love's eye,
Then dreams, magician-like, mocking present
Pleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.

VIOLETTA comes to seek her Husband at the house of a Courtezan. VIOLETTA.—IMPERIA, the Courtezan. Vio. By your leave, sweet beauty, pardon my excuse, which sought entrance into this house. Good sweetness, have you not a property here improper to your house, my husband?

Imp. Hah! your husband here?

Vio. Nay, be as you seem to be, white dove, without gall. Do not mock me, fairest Venetian; come, I know he's here. I do not blame him, for your beauty gilds over his error. Troth, I am right glad that you, my countrywoman, have received the pawn of his affections: you cannot be hardhearted, loving him; nor hate

me, for I love him too. Since we both love him, let us not leave him, till we have called home the ill husbandry of a sweet straggler. Prithee, good wench, use him well.

Imp. So, so, so!

Vio. If he deserve not to be used well (as I'd be loath he should deserve it), I'll engage myself, dear beauty, to thine honest heart: give me leave to love him, and I'll give him a kind of leave to love thee. I know he hears me: I prithee, try mine eyes if they know him, that have almost drowned themselves in their own saltwater, because they cannot see him. In troth, I'll not chide him: if I speak words rougher than soft kisses, my penance shall be to see him kiss thee, yet to hold my peace.

Good partner, lodge me in thy private bed,
Where, in supposed folly, he may end

Determined sin. Thou smil'st: I know thou wilt.
What looseness may term dotage, truly read,
Is love ripe-gather'd, not soon withered.

Imp. Good troth, pretty wedlock, thou makest my little eyes smart with washing themselves in brine. I mar such a sweet face, and wipe off that dainty red, and make Cupid toll the bell for your love-sick heart? No, no, no-if he were Jove's own ingle, Ganymede: fie, fie, fie -I'll none. Your chamber-fellow is within: thou shalt enjoy him.

Vio. Star of Venetian beauty, thanks.

Vera Effigies The Midletoni Gent

Thomas Middleton, from the frontispiece to