DUTCH. Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength, Must pull down heaven upon me: Yet stay, heaven-gates are not so highly arch'd* Come, violent death, As princes't palaces; they that enter there, [They strangle the Dutchess. Bos. Where's the waiting-woman? * Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd As princes' palaces, &c.] When Webster wrote this passage, the following charming lines of Shakespeare were in his mind; Stoop, boys: this gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens, and bows you To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through Good morrow to the sun."-Cymbeline, Act III. Sc. 3. † princes'] The 4to. of 1640, "princely.” "All the several parts of the dreadful apparatus with which the dutchess's death is ushered in are not more remote from the conceptions of ordinary vengeance than the strange character of suffering which they seem to bring upon their victim, is beyond the imagination of ordinary poets. As they are not like inflictions of this life, so her language seems not of this world. She has lived among horrors till she is become 'native and endowed unto that element.' She speaks the dialect of despair, her tongue has a smatch of Tartarus and the souls in bale. What are Luke's iron crown,' the brazen bull of Perillus, Procustes' bed, to the waxen images which counterfeit death, to the wild masque of madmen, the tomb-maker, the bell Fetch her: some other strangle the children. [Cariola and children brought in: they strangle the children. Look you there sleeps your mistress. Bos. Yes, and+ I am glad You are so well prepar'd for't. I am not prepared for't, I will not die; Bos. Come, dispatch her. You kept her counsel, now you shall keep ours. CARI. I will not die, I must not; I am contracted To a young gentleman. EXECUT. Here's your wedding-ring. man, the living person's dirge, the mortification by degrees! To move a horror skilfully, to touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as it can bear, to wean and weary a life till it is ready to drop, and then step in with mortal instruments to take its last forfeit; this only a Webster can do. Writers of an inferior genius may upon horror's head horrors accumulate,' but they cannot do this. They mistake quantity for quality, they 'terrify babes with painted devils,' but they know not how a soul is capable of being moved; their terrors want dignity, their affrightments are without decorum." C. Lamb, (Spec. of Eng. Dram. Poets, p. 217.) • you are] The 4to. of 1640," thou art." CARI. Let me but speak with the duke; I'll discover Treason to his person. Bos. Delays:-throttle her. EXECUT. She bites and scratches. CARI. If you kill me now, I am damn'd; I have not been at confession This two years. Bos. When?* CARI. I am quick with child. Bos. Why then, Your credit's sav'd.-Bear her into the next room; [They strangle Cariola, and carry out her body. Of young wolves is never to be pitied. Bos. Fix your eye here. FERD. Constantly. Bos. Do you not weep ? Other sins only speak; murther shrieks out: The element of water moistens the earth, But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens. When] Is addressed by Bosola to the Executioners: our old dramatists very often use the word, as here, to express impatience. FERD. Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young. Bos. I think not so; her infelicity Seem'd to have years too many. FERD. She and I were twins; And should I die this instant, I had liv'd Bos. It seems she was born first: You have bloodily approv'd the ancient truth, Than remote strangers. FERD. Let me see her face Again. Why didst not thou pity her? what What was the meanness of her match to me? Only I must confess I had a hope, Had she continu'd widow, to have gain'd An infinite mass of treasure by her death; And what was the main cause? her marriage, That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. For thee, as we observe in tragedies innocence] The 4to. of 1640, “ innocency." That a good actor many times is curs'd For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for't, And for my sake say thou hast done much il!, well, Bos. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive You are falling into ingratitude; I challenge The reward due to my service. FERD. I'll tell thee what I'll give thee. Bos. Do. FERD. I'll give thee a pardon for this murther. Bos. Ha! FERD. Yes, and 'tis The largest bounty I can study to do thee. By what authority didst thou execute This bloody sentence ?* Bos. By yours. FERD. Mine was I her judge? Did any ceremonial form of law, Doom her to not-being? did a complete jury Where shalt thou find this judgment register'd, Th' hast forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for't. FERD. O, I'll tell thee; The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up, |