Win. As heaven is true, I know it-
Ger. Now this calumny

Arriving first unto my father's ears,
His easy nature was induced to think
That these things might perhaps be possible:
I answer'd him, as I would do to heaven,
And clear'd myself in his suspicious thoughts
As truly, as the high all-knowing judge
Shall of these stains acquit me; which are merely
Aspersions and untruths. The good old man
Possest with my sincerity, and yet careful
Of your renown, her honour, and my fame,
To stop the worst that scandal could inflict,
And to prevent false rumours, charges me,
The cause remov'd, to take away the effect;
Which only could be, to forbear your house:
And this upon his blessing. You hear all.

Win. And I of all acquit you: this your absence,
With which my love most cavill'd, orators

In your behalf. Had such things pass'd betwixt you,
Not threats nor chidings could have driv'n you hence;
It pleads in your behalf, and speaks in her's;
And arms me with a double confidence
Both of your friendship and her loyalty.
I am happy in you both, and only doubtful
Which of you two doth most impart my love.
You shall not hence to-night.

Ger. Pray, pardon, sir.

Win. You are in your lodging.

Ger. But my father's charge.

Win. My conjuration shall dispense with that;

You may be up as early as you please,

But hence to-night you shall not.

Ger. You are powerful.

Travellers' Stories.

Sir, my husband

[Act iv., Sc. 1.]

Hath took much pleasure in your strange discourse
About Jerusalem and the Holy Land;

How the new city differs from the old;
What ruins of the Temple yet remain ;
And whether Sion, and those hills about,
With these adjacent towns and villages,
Keep that proportion'd distance as we read:

And then in Rome, of that great Pyramis
Rear'd in the front, on four lions mounted;
How many of these Idol temples stand,
First dedicated to their heathen gods,
Which ruin'd, which to better use repair'd;
Of their Pantheon, and their Capitol ;
What structures are demolish'd, what remain.

And what more pleasure to an old man's ear,
That never drew save his own country's air,
Than hear such things related?

Shipwreck by Drink.

This Gentleman and I

[Act i., Sc. 1.]

Pass'd but just now by your next neighbour's house,
Where, as they say, dwells one young Lionel,
An unthrift youth: his father now at sea.
-There this night

Was a great feast.

In the height of their carousing, all their brains
Warm'd with the heat of wine, discourse was offer'd
Of ships and storms at sea: when suddenly,
Out of his giddy wildness, one conceives

The room wherein they quaff'd to be a Pinnace,
Moving and floating, and the confused noise
To be the murmuring winds, gusts, mariners;
That their unsteadfast footing did proceed
From the rocking of the vessel: this conceiv'd,
Each one begins to apprehend the danger,
And to look out for safety. Fly, saith one,
Up to the main top, and discover. He
Climbs by the bed-post to the tester there,
Reports a turbulent sea and tempest towards;
And wills them, if they'll save their ship and lives,
To cast their lading overboard. At this
All fall to work, and hoist into the street,

As to the sea, what next came to their hand,
Stools, tables, tressels, trenchers, bedsteds, cups,
Pots, plate, and glasses. Here a fellow whistles ;
They take him for the boatswain: one lies struggling
Upon the floor, as if he swum for life:

A third takes the base-viol for the cock-boat,
Sits in the belly on't, labours and rows;

His oar, the stick with which the fidler play'd:
A fourth bestrides his fellow, thinking to scape

695408

(As did Arion) on the dolphin's back,

Still fumbling on a gittern.--The rude multitude,
Watching without, and gaping for the spoil

Cast from the windows, went by th' ears about it;
The Constable is call'd to atone the broil;

Which done, and hearing such a noise within

Of eminent shipwreck, enters th' house, and finds them
In this confusion: they adore his Staff,

And think it Neptune's Trident; and that he
Comes with his Tritons (so they call'd his watch)
To calm the tempest and appease the waves:
And at this point we left them.1

[Act ii., Sc. 1.]

This piece of pleasant exaggeration (which for its life and humour might have been told, or acted, by Petruchio himself) gave rise to the title of Cowley's Latin Play, Naufragium Joculare, and furnished the idea of the best scene in it.-Heywood's Preface to this Play is interesting, as it shows the heroic indifference about posterity, which some of these great writers seem to have felt. There is a magnanimity in Authorship as in everything else.

'If, Reader, thou hast of this play been an Auditor, there is less apology to be used by intreating thy patience. This Tragi-comedy (being one reserved amongst 220 in which I had either an entire hand or at the least a main finger) coming accidentally to the press, and I having intelligence thereof, thought it not fit that it should pass as filius populi, a Bastard without a father to acknowledge it: true it is that my plays are not exposed to the world in volumes, to bear the title of works (as others 2): one reason is, that many of them by shifting and change of companies have been negligently lost. Others of them are still retained in the hands of some actors, who think it against their peculiar profit to have them come in print, and a third that it never was any great ambition in me to be in this kind voluminously read. All that I have further to say at this time is only this: censure I entreat as favourably as it is exposed to thy view freely.

"Ever

Studious of thy Pleasure and Profit,
"TH. HEYWOOD."

Of the 220 pieces which he here speaks of having been concerned in, only 25, as enumerated by Dodsley, have come down to us, for the reasons assigned in the preface. The rest have perished, exposed to the casualties of a theatre. Heywood's ambition seems to have been confined to the pleasure of hearing the Players speak his lines while he lived. It does not appear that he ever contemplated the possibility of being read by after-ages. What a slender pittance of fame was motive sufficient to the production of such Plays as the English Traveller, the Challenge for Beauty, and the Woman Killed with Kindness! Posterity is bound to take care that a Writer loses nothing by such a noble modesty.

1[For further extracts from Heywood alone see pages 101, 408, 426, 428, 433, 458, 461, 529, 570 and 573.]

2 He seems to glance at Ben Jonson.

THE LATE LANCASHIRE WITCHES: A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1634]. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD, AND RICHARD BROME [FIRST HALF SEVENTEENTH CENTURY]

Mr. Generous, by taking off a Bridle from a seeming Horse in his Stable, discovers it to be his Wife, who has transformed herself by Magical Practices, and is a Witch.

MR. GENEROUS.

WIFE. ROBIN, a groom.

Gen. My blood is turn'd to ice, and all my vitals
Have ceas'd their working. Dull stupidity
Surpriseth me at once, and hath arrested
That vigorous agitation, which till now
Exprest a life within me. I, methinks,
Am a mere marble statue, and no man.
Unweave my age, O time, to my first thread;
Let me lose fifty years, in ignorance spent ;
That being made an infant once again,

I may begin to know. What, or where am I,
To be thus lost in wonder?

Wife. Sir.

Gen. Amazement still pursues me, how am I chang'd, Or brought ere I can understand myself

Into this new world!

Rob. You will believe no witches?

Gen. This makes me believe all, ay, anything;

And that myself am nothing. Prithee, Robin,
Lay me to myself open; what art thou,

Or this new transform'd creature?

Rob. I am Robin;

And this your wife, my mistress.

Gen. Tell me, the earth

Shall leave its seat, and mount to kiss the moon ;
Or that the moon, enamour'd of the earth,
Shall leave her sphere, to stoop to us thus low.
What, what's this in my hand, that at an instant
Can from a four-legg'd creature make a thing
So like a wife?

Rob. A bridle; a jugling bridle, sir.
Gen. A bridle! Hence, enchantment.
A viper were more safe within my hand,
Than this charm'd engine.—-

A witch! my wife a witch!

And do not come too near me. O my
Have I, since first I understood myself,

Been of my soul so chary, still to study

trust ;;

What best was for its health, to renounce all
The works of that black fiend with my best force;
And hath that serpent twined me so about,

That I must lie so often and so long

With a devil in my bosom?

Wife. Pardon, sir.

[She looks down.]

Gen. Pardon! can such a thing as that be hoped ? Lift up thine eyes, lost woman, to yon hills;

It must be thence expected: look not down

Unto that horrid dwelling; which thou hast sought
At such dear rate to purchase. Prithee tell me,
(For now I can believe,) art thou a witch?
Wife. I am.

Gen. With that word I am thunderstruck,
And know not what to answer; yet resolve me,
Hast thou made any contract with that fiend,
The enemy of mankind?

Wife. Ŏ, I have.

Gen. What? and how far?

Wife. I have promis'd him my soul.

Gen. Ten thousand times better thy body had Been promis'd to the stake; ay, and mine too, To have suffer'd with thee in a hedge of flames, Than such a compact ever had been made. Oh—Resolve me, how far doth that contract stretch? Wife. What interest in this Soul myself could claim, I freely gave him: but his part that made it

I still reserve, not being mine to give.

Gen. O cunning devil: foolish woman, know, Where he can claim but the least little part,

He will usurp the whole.

Wife. I hope, not so.

Thou'rt a lost woman.

Gen. Why, hast thou any hope?

Wife. Yes, sir, I have.

Gen. Make it appear to me.