of these pretty little winged creatures are with continued liveliness portrayed throughout the whole of this curious old Drama, in words which bees would talk with, could they talk; the very air seems replete with humming and buzzing melodies, while we read them. Surely bees were never so be-rhymed before.]
THE REWARDS OF VIRTUE: A COMEDY,
BY JOHN FOUNTAIN. PRINTED 1661.
Success in Battle not always attributable to the General.
Generals oft-times famous grow
By valiant friends, or cowardly enemies;
Or, what is worse, by some mean piece of chance.
Truth is, 'tis pretty to observe
How little princes and great generals
Contribute oft-times to the fame they win.
How oft hath it been found, that noblest minds
With two short arms, have fought with fatal stars;
And have endeavour'd with their dearest blood
To mollify those diamonds, where dwell
The fate of kingdoms; and at last have fallen
By vulgar hands, unable now to do
More for their cause than die; and have been lost
Among the sacrifices of their swords;
No more remember'd than poor villagers,
Whose ashes sleep among the common flowers,
That every meadow wears! whilst other men
With trembling hands have caught a victory,
And on pale foreheads wear triumphant bays.
Besides, I have thought
A thousand times; in times of war, when we
Lift up our hands to Heaven for victory;
Suppose some virgin shepherdess, whose soul
Is chaste and clean as the cold spring, where she
Quenches all thirsts, being told of enemies,
That seek to fright the long-enjoyed Peace
Of our Arcadia hence with sound of drums,
And with hoarse trumpets' warlike airs to drown
The harmless music of her oaten reeds,
Should in the passion of her troubled sprite
Repair to some small fane (such as the gods
Hear poor folks from), and there on humble knees
Lift up her trembling hands to holy Pan,
And beg his helps: 'tis possible to think,
That Heaven, which holds the purest vows most rich,
May not permit her still to weep in vain,
But grant her wish (for, would the gods not hear
The prayers of poor folks, they'd ne'er bid them pray);
And so, in the next action, happeneth out
(The gods still using means) the enemy
May be defeated. The glory of all this
Is attributed to the general,
And none but he is spoke loud of for the act;
While she, from whose so unaffected tears
His laurel sprung, for ever dwells unknown'.
Unlawful Solicitings.
When I first
Mention'd the business to her all alone,
Poor soul, she blush'd, as if already she
Had done some harm by hearing of me speak;
Whilst from her pretty eyes two fountains ran
So true, so native, down her fairest cheeks;
As if she thought herself obliged to cry,
'Cause all the world was not so good as she.
There must be some proportion still to pity
Between ourselves and what we moan: 'tis hard
For men to be aught sensible how moats
Press flies to death. Should the lion, in
His midnight walks for prey, hear some poor worms
Complain for want of little drops of dew,
What pity could that generous creature have
(Who never wanted small things) for those poor
Ambitions? yet these are their concernments,
And but for want of these they pine and die.
Modesty a bar to preferment.
Sure 'twas his modesty. He might have thriven
Much better possibly, had his ambition
Been greater much. They oft-times take more pains
Who look for pins, than those who find out stars.
1 Is it possible that Cowper might have remembered this sentiment in his description of the advantages which the world, that scorns him, may derive from the noiseless hours of the contemplative man?
Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes,
When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint
Walks forth to meditate at eventide,
And think on her, who thinks not on herself.-Task.
Innocence vindicated at last.
Heaven may awhile correct the virtuous;
Yet it will wipe their eyes again, and make
Their faces whiter with their tears. Innocence
Conceal'd is the stolen pleasure of the gods,
Which never ends in shame, as that of men
Doth oft-times do; but like the sun, breaks forth,
When it hath gratified another world;
And to our unexpecting eyes appears
More glorious through its late obscurity.
Dying for a beloved person.
There is a gust in death, when 'tis for love,
That's more than all that's taste in all the world.
For the true measure of true love is death;
And what falls short of this, was never love:
And therefore when those tides do meet and strive,
And both swell high, but love is higher still,
This is the truest satisfaction of
The perfectest love: for here it sees itself
Endure the highest test; and then it feels
The sum of delectation, since it now
Attains its perfect end; and shows its object,
By one intense act, all its verity:
Which by a thousand and ten thousand words
It would have took a poor diluted pleasure
To have imperfectly express'd.
URANIA makes a mock assignation with the King, and substitutes the Queen in her place. The King describes the supposed meeting to the Confident, whom he had employed to solicit for his guilty passion.
Pyrrhus, I'll tell thee all. When now the night
Grew black enough to hide a skulking action;
And Heaven had ne'er an eye unshut to see
Her representative on earth creep 'mongst
Those poor defenceless worms, whom nature left
An humble prey to every thing, and no
Asylum but the dark; I softly stole
To yonder grotto through the upper walks,
And there found my Urania. But I found her,
I found her, Pyrrhus, not a mistress, but
A goddess rather; which made me now to be
No more her lover, but idolater.
She only whisper'd to me, as she promised,
Yet never heard I any voice so loud;
And, though her words were gentler far than those
That holy priests do speak to dying saints,
Yet never thunder signified so much.
And (what did more impress whate'er she said)
Methought her whispers were my injured Queen's,
Her manner just like hers! and when she urged,
Among a thousand things, the injury
I did the faithfulest princess in the world;
Who now supposed me sick, and was perchance
Upon her knees offering up holy vows
For him who mock'd both Heaven and her, and was
Now breaking of that vow he made her, when
With sacrifice he call'd the gods to witness;
When she urged this, and wept, and spake so like
My poor deluded Queen, Pyrrhus, I trembled;
Almost persuaded that it was her angel
Spake through Urania's lips, who for her sake
Took care of me, as something she much loved.
It would be long to tell thee all she said,
How oft she sigh'd, how bitterly she wept:
But the effect-Urania still is chaste;
And with her chaster lips hath promised to
Invoke blest Heaven for my intended sin.
ALL FOOLS: A COMEDY, BY GEORGE CHAPMAN.
Love's Panegyric.
'tis Nature's second sun,
Causing a spring of virtues where he shines;
And as without the sun, the world's great eye,
All colours, beauties, both of art and nature,
Are given in vain to man; so without love
All beauties bred in women are in vain,
All virtues born in men lie buried;
For love informs them as the sun doth colours:
And as the sun, reflecting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fruits and flowers,
So love, fair shining in the inward man,
Brings forth in him the honourable fruits
Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts,
Brave resolution, and divine discourse.
Love with Jealousy.
such love is like a smoky fire
In a cold morning. Though the fire be cheerful,
Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome,
"Twere better lose the fire than find the smoke.
I walking in the place where men's law suits
Are heard and pleaded, not so much as dreaming
Of any such encounter; steps me forth
Their valiant foreman with the word "I'rest you."
I made no more ado but laid these paws
Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth;
And there sat he on his posteriors
Like a baboon; and turning me about,
I straight espied the whole troop issuing on me.
I step me back, and drawing my old friend here,
Made to the midst of them, and all unable
To endure the shock, all rudely fell in rout,
And down the stairs they ran in such a fury,
As meeting with a troop of lawyers there
Mann'd by their clients (some with ten, some with twenty,
Some five, some three; he that had least had one),
Upon the stairs, they bore them down afore them.
But such a rattling then there was amongst them,
Of ravish'd declarations, replications,
Rejoinders, and petitions, all their books
And writings torn, and trod on, and some lost,
That the poor lawyers coming to the bar
Could say naught to the matter, but instead
Were fain to rail, and talk beside their books,
Without all order.
THE LATE LANCASHIRE WITCHES: A COMEDY, BY THOMAS HEYWOOD.
A Household bewitched.
My uncle has of late become the sole
Discourse of all the country; for of a man respected
As master of a govern'd family,
The house (as if the ridge were fix'd below,
And groundsels lifted up to make the roof)
All now's turn'd topsy-turvy,
In such a retrograde and preposterous way
As seldom hath been heard of, I think never.
The good man
In all obedience kneels unto his son;
He with an austere brow commands his father.
The wife presumes not in the daughter's sight
Without a prepared curtsy; the girl she
Expects it as a duty; chides her mother,
Who quakes and trembles at each word she speaks.
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